It wasn’t Valentine’s Day that got me out of
bed a little before three this morning; it was
the pain, I had to get up. She didn’t stir.
I continued my morning study, only earlier.
A few hours later the cold morning air got
me. I used my phone to light my way into
the kitchen. I put on the range light and made
a cup of Irish Breakfast tea as quietly as I
could. At that hour of the morning, the electric
kettle sounded like rolling thunder. She didn’t
stir. Back down the hallway to my writing
room to enjoy the tea. Linux and I are doing
well so far. Want to get depressed? Read
old journal entries. I was moving some old
entries out of Evernote into a document
so I could close the account. Skimming over
some of these as I copied and pasted made
it seem like I’ve prayed the same things, had
the same issues forever! I think my life has
never been downward or upward spirals.
More like circles with an occasional launch
out of my orbit. I think a healthy life is in
spirals; but a dysfunctional life is in
circles peppered with launches into chaos,
through chaos, or out of chaos. She stirred
about six. I joined her in the kitchen. We
cleaned up from our scrambled egg
extravaganza from last night first. Tomato,
mushroom, green onion, basil, garlic,
a little S & P nicely sautéed in my favorite
iron skillet while I made some turkey bacon
and toast. Half a dozen eggs. Why those
items? What caught my eye in the fridge.
We had a lovely Valentine’s Day breakfast.
Our daily grind and usual fare followed by
cards and gifts. A bag for her; a bag for
me. Sweet, thoughtful, and loving. (She
just got home.) My lunch was alone, so I
continued my WWII read. The end is near.
About an eighth of an inch left to read. How
do you buy your wife a favorite fragrance
that is no longer on the market, black or
otherwise? (I found “scentmatchers” on the
web, who make discontinued fragrances.)
Well, time to go and watch an old movie.
She surprised me with my favorite cologne
and an old movie I was looking for. A nice
touch to an unexpected painful day.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)