It really is becoming a problem, finding hope in this world we live in right now. Not sure if I have mentioned this, but I keep my news reading pretty varied so I can see the spin on stories or lack of reporting, that is, depending on readership. I have no idea why more people do not do this, it's like there's a piece of people's brains that require them to sit inside echo chambers full of their own ideas, and any intrusion of an opposing though will make them shut down and not even. I mean--I do have a lot of critique of the conservative party because people neglect to see the rich and select few governing and setting up rules for the many to benefit those select few--money is the first and only American value, after all. It's hard not to be critical of a government catering to the whims of the few to affect so many. But I read far left far right and some things in the middle to keep me pretty well-versed in the conversations. It is why I know what each side is missing in its servings of reality.
So I read these ...
That isn't something you will ever see me comment on--not big into praying as you all know that's like a wish in my head and that's not something real people did in my world. It doesn't mean I didn't secretly mutter or freak out enough to tilt the universe a bit more in my direction--but asking a thing I have never met for help is just as good as wishing into the wind, so no, I do not pray in the classic sense many seem to--asking for forgiveness, declaring I am a sinner and all the other hogwash that goes into impressing a dead man---as one of my favorite Don witticisms is "Never ask a dead man for any favors."
So I wished and freaked out and no, I didn't play the lottery because that is iced coffee money which is a definite smile, unlike an un-winning ticket. And today the letter came out saying,
Deanna will not be able to come into the office for an indefinite period of time.
What?
And yes, this did happen this morning which has upped my mood quite a bit given the circumstances so now I can take the time I needed to ...
Oh my god. Sometimes I am mildly pathetic in my weepings. It's not that I am not grateful to those of you wandering around in my past, nope, it's just that sometimes I make myself sick with the comparisons. I sat down last night and tried to write the poetry I was so fucking prolific with for years and I realized that part of my brain, the part that saw everything in images and color and expression, actually died with that surgery in 2009. I wrote poems on cocktail napkins for years, handing them out to those who'd express an interest--Joe, who worked at ACE bar in NYC had at one point, definitely at least a dozen or two. I wondered last night if they ever got into someone else's hands. Did someone take credit for my poetry? It's possible but it died, that part of my brain seemed to die in its expression really then--I was writing pretty consistently up until that point, and now I tried to capture it again last night and there was this recognition it was not as easy as it once was--I used to spew poetry out quite easily and last night ...
