I sat staring so long, thinking so hard,
my coffee was cold with sludge floating
on the surface. It sat too long; I sipped
but it left a heavy ring on the inside of
the cup which matched the ring I
imagined was on the inside of my head.
No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t
make anything change or improve. Well,
not really. I mean, the little things count.
My trial bullet journal for March couldn’t
get more messy. I’m hoping the new one
I start for April will make all the clouds
go away. I never write a post this early in
the morning. Well, I can’t say that now,
can I? The day is like me today. Overcast.
But I am filled with words and want them
to come out. I’m not done yet but I don’t
know what I’m doing. Coffee can’t fix
everything. In preparation for EMDR today,
I revisited some of the authors of my youth;
it didn’t cheer me up as I became more
melancholy. Prolific writers all. The fact
that I’m nobody else but me makes my coffee
intake whimsical at best; coffee may enhance
but it doesn’t solve the problem. John
Dickson Carr, P.D. James. They were brilliant.
Azimov, Heinlein amazed me constantly.
There were many others. Bonhoeffer stands
out for his wisdom. I think we could have
talked for hours. This must sit until later; I
must face the day as it is. What must happen
to make the stories come out? What must
happen to make the words flood the page?
They are at my fingertips like a log jam but
won’t come out! I’m looking at an itchy water
blister at the base of my pointer finger of my
left hand. Haven’t seen those since I was
twelve at summer camp. (I squeezed the heck
out of it. Now it really hurts.) Remember
calamine lotion? I used to be covered in it.
It was no fun then; not fun now. Time got
away from me again. Well, I’m back but it is
Friday now. I decided to walk Thunderbird
before lunch yesterday. My feet were too
painful to walk the day before. Heavy low
clouds rumbled overhead. A few drops of rain
dotted the windshield and the temperature
dropped to sixty degrees. Cool for here. I made
my way from the parking lot to the first ridge
line. The clouds were moving rapidly to the
east. (Who knows what I pressed by accident,
but the phone wouldn’t take a landscape shot.)
It was sunny and cool by the time I finished.
I stopped for a few grocery items on the way
home and had a late lunch. I’m cutting back
on wheat, mostly bread. Back to Mestemacher
whole rye bread for breakfast toast and lunch.
The slices are long and thin and don’t fit in
the toaster. I remembered that as I was about
to open a new package of seven slices. Aha! I
cut the package in half with a bread knife,
wrapped each half in foil, put them in quart
plastic bags, then in the fridge. This way I can
toast them easily, etc. I’m a genius when it
comes to stupid stuff. So why do things like
writing, love, life, and everything else drive
me to despair? The blue ink cartridges came for
my Pilot Metropolitan and old Namiki pens
today. A blessing in a small box works for me
taking me one step closer to BuJo heaven.
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.)