Sunday, March 24, 2024

Some days, the music isn't so good...

Some days, the music isn't so good...

Some days are... many more toes can you slam into something.

...can I break the same fingernail again but down even further?

...two broken glasses and a bowl.

...when your toothbrush goes flying and lands in the toilet.

...destroying your toast getting it out of the toaster.'s raining slush outside, and your driver's wiper freezes up.

...the garbage can blowing over.

...the toilet overflowing.

...something getting spilled in the bottom of the oven.

...long workdays because two people didn't show up.'re out of coffee.

...the milk jug is empty.

...sad. can't seem to hold onto anything.

...your mouth runs amuck.

...the world is just too peopley.

...everything you eat tastes like shit. can't shit.

...going against everything you were trying to get out of your life. are eating all the ice cream.

...lying to hide the truth from yourself. the feeling you keep repeating a harsh lesson you can't learn.

...just wanting to drive, and drive, and drive, and drive...

...the music isn't loud enough. missing people who hurt you.

...just sucky.

But then, some days...

...your feet get you through the day.

...and your fingers are nimble and your hands strong.

...those dishes were well-worn and didn't owe you a thing.

...that toothbrush has simply seen better days.

...the trashed toast forces you to make a healthier choice instead. finally take the time to change out those old wipers.

...the garbage was all bagged--so, no mess.

...the overflowing toilet is means that something needs to be fixed. just need to clean the oven, so then you can make cookies!

...your co-workers are so grateful for all your help. tea simply tastes better.

...needing milk also reminds you to get eggs, bread, and butter.

...the sad reminds you of all you have to be grateful for.

...when you break things, you learn to slow down and be more present.

...some things need to be said, it is ok if they come out wrong.

...the crowd, though strangers, reminds you, you're not alone.

...trying new food is what your body is asking of you. shit too much.

...perspective is everything.

...the ice cream never tasted SO good.

...the truth clears things up.

...the lesson finally makes sense.

...the drive reminds you of all the little things, and then some.

...the music is all the right words.

...bed people show you how far you've come.

...sucky can be ok.

Sunday, February 28, 2021




And just like that, I’m tired.

My body feels heavy. 

My breathing becomes shallow.

My mind gets fuzzy.

The words feel slurred and I struggle to find them.

Describing something becomes laborious. 

There’s no yawning.

There’s no residual energy to draw myself away from sleep.

I’ll just close my eyes.


I’ll set an alarm to make sure I wake up.

Setting the alarm tells me I’m ok.

But, I really need to lay down and put on my CPAP.

A nap is best served with good comfortable rest.

And that alarm?

Snooze. Snooze. Irritated. OFF!

The ‘when’ I wake up from here is anyone’s guess.

Even then, it’s anyone’s guess. 

Turning the alarm off sends me to the bathroom.

The blankets are still warm, so, back to bed.


Because nothing is more important than allowing my body to rest.

And the bathroom trip is literally exhausting.

Yes it is.

It’s a physiological thing happening to me.

Even when I’ve slept for nearly a week.

And I’m still tired.

And my body is still so heavy.

And then, for no particular reason. 

Not food or rest or will.

It all lifts.

And I feel like walking around ‘normal’ again.

For however long.

Who knows.

And just like that, it happens all over again. 

I never know when.

Right in the middle of something, or a slow creep in.

Should it be medicated? 

Well, it is. 

Being tired can easily feed the peanut gallery of regrets and failures. 

It can also send me down the rabbit hole of self berating.

It polishes irrationality. 

I simply trudge on.

I thank my age, experience and lots of therapy.

It’s taught me to allow and be more present in the lows and their slumber. 

It allows me to move through the chemical action my body is having. 

To be doing the best I can with what I have. 

That this is my ‘normal’, my reprieve. 

My tired doesn’t have to be seen as a negative. 

It’s the tired that relieves my anxiety, despair and hopelessness. 

Being tired, in its randomness, is how my body responds. 

Not listening to my body, I will always be on the losing end.

And there’s where that other fire, that unknown drive, a purpose comes in.

It’s voice say’s, “I don’t want to be on the losing end”.

I’d rather master what I’ve got and work with that!

Being present, in whatever is happening keeps me from going back, or regretting what’s here and now or fearing my tomorrow.

Right now, I’m not tired. 

Right now, I’ve found the words.

Right now, IS my best.

Right now, I can.

Right now, I’m not tired.

I may get tired.

And if I do,

I will rest.

And that will be the best I can do.

This is only one part of me,

Doing the best I can, 

With what I have.

Being the best me I can be…

Even if that means sleeping the day and often then some, away.

Monday, February 18, 2019

Write About It

....”so what would you tell them?” She asked me.
Without a thought I said, “I’d tell them to write”.
“Do THAT!” She said.

And with that I went completely flat. Void of anything more to say.
The lump in my throat rose up as the tears started to pool. My mind repelled the whole thought that I was in any state to write. That I even deserved to write. Who was I? I heard my peanut gallery say. 

And there it was as clear as day. In my asking out loud for help, I had willingly allowed the black hole of depression I’d been allowing myself get sucked into, quietly envelope me. And I now realized I was comfortable there. It was safe. It was familiar. It separated me from the noise of the world outside my door. No coping needed here. Despite my knowing this was not a good place to be, I went without a fight. I was to tired in my mind, body & soul to do anything different. I could care less that it would take from me, my curiosity. Take away my desire to appreciate the love of things yet to happen. The present. Movement. Intention. Inspiration. Desire to even want, let alone need anything. Sexual desire. Intimacy. It would provide me with mental paralysis. Insatiable hunger. Overwhelming exhaustion. Relief from exertion. Contemplation of existence. And the drowningsounds of my peanut gallery of worthless thoughts that were reinforced by every failure & shortcoming I’ve held onto, for times like these.

None of these are excuses. They are my truths. My reality of living with depression, PTSD & the always unpredictable, anxiety storms. Most of all, I hate, hate, hate anxiety. It’s like a tightening rope around your neck you can’t loosen up. You CAN’T BREATH.

“Write about it,” she says.

I couldn’t think, so I couldn’t speak clearly.
And since I couldn’t speak clearly, how could I write?
Sleeping. NO thinking, speaking or writing about it.
With the desperately needed silence, I tried to read. But instead slept. “It’s ok” my therapist said. So, I allowed the silence and slept some more. I let the black hole continue to blanket me. I simply wanted to be there. But “there” meant a complete disconnect from living. From doing. From being the life force that normally sprinkles my creative chaos everywhere I go. Then, in a brief moment, there was a sliver of light and gasp of air. The peanut gallery in my head was drowned out by a voice saying, “tell somebody”. So, somehow, I reached out to tell somebody.

“Write about it” she says.

I thought, “I just want to sleep”.  All I want to do is sleep, snuggled in with my favorite blanket, a cat behind my knees. The kind of warm & comfortable position you don’t ever want to move from kind of sleep. The kind of sleep that isn’t just a long nap, but days & weeks kind of sleep. I don’t want to think, let alone speak. Forget the words, as my pronunciation can be more like slurring cursive at times. I just want to that’s what I’ve been doing, sleeping. And sleeping. And more sleeping. 

“Write about it” she says.

Maybe I’ll just write about this. The sleeping. The black hole. The fact that I don’t care if I miss anything. How the more I sleep, the less sad I am. Maybe this is the beginning of being rested? Healing? Recovering from trauma? Leaving the black hole?
Back to sleep.

“Write about it” she says.

It woke me up. I thought I heard her say it plain as day. I looked around. I was clearly disorientated. Which brings me to here.....writing about it. The not-so-pretty-can’t-really-find-the-right-words, I just want to sleep “writing about it”. My own words were handed back to me, repeatedly. Does this mean I’m emerging from the hole? I would like to think so, but not holding my breath, nor in any rush to get out of bed. BUT, completing a cohesive sentence and possibly a paragraph is positive energy. I am feeling curious. Dare I say a itty-bit creative? My genetic makeup. My saving grace. My fortitude and resilience that doesn’t squash or extinguish, only endures. The blankets have been thrown off.

“Write about it” she said.

It’s been over two months now. 

These are the words, the bits & pieces I’ve attempted to string together. They are how I’ve been living. My own free will given over to being drug into a personal hell. They are also the words that have also disturbed me ever so slightly from my need to sleep. My wanting the dark and quiet. My utter willingness to not participate in living. By somehow starting to peck out words, I’ve written about it. 

Is it cohesive? 

Doesn’t matter. 

Is it vivid, transparent, brutally raw and candid? 

Doesn’t matter. 

What matters is, as she said, was to “write about it”. 

Because of those three words, a shift happened and another circle in my life had connected. That its not a dark ending, but a small part in a journey of being. I have come to believe that no matter how I end up in such a state, that there’s something greater in me that keeps me in breath. Keeps me pushing back to be my with the living. To be w Arartith the light. To be with me, then to write about it.

“Write about it” she said.......

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Come In! Come In!

When I was younger, small talk was substance & an excuse for not knowing what was going on or having to attach myself to ANY responsibility for being in the know. Consequences were easily avoided by simply talking about nothing. Small talk is a vital element as beings, but it has no ability to awaken the soul. Or make the heart race & the mind reel. It doesn’t send waves of energy through your body when you’ve connected with another. When the conversation rambles & meanders & circles back & diverts again about interesting things that may or may not be related. The exploration of free flow of thoughts, emotions & ponderings.

When I read this post, I was excited by what it states. And I was left thinking that many of the things mentioned I’ve never really explored or even know a damn thing about! Or, simply have left in the locked closet of shit I don’t talk about because shame stands guard. I mean sex is taboo, lies, well, they are in the closet and my flaws make me sad because, again, shame stands guard. And I really would like to know what’s up. For me, that question is more easily answered when I am engaged in a deep conversation with someone. Where interruptions or demands of me don’t happen.  I think I’ll rewrite this to better serve my own twisted mind, so I can stop the self-berating & move closer to that which I seek…..substance in conversation.

I hate gossip & narrow minded opinions.
I want to talk about the brain, death, aliens, sex, and intellect, philosophers in art, distant lands & fairytales from my youth. The reverence around food & do you run in the rain or love the smell of fresh cut grass? The neighbors & business clerks, creativity, failure & flaws.
I like people with empathy, yet pragmatic, who seek adventure & a challenge in the spoken word. I don’t want to know he said, she said what. 

Ultimately, I like what Shel Silverstein has to say about all of this….


If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…..
If you’re a pretender come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Loves Of My Life

Relationships take many forms. Two human beings connecting, nature, science, art & faith are all relationships we are engaged in everyday. When those relationships start to crash & burn, it's then that we are more present in reflection. The nature of fight or flight begins & all the emotional response follows. Our method of coping. Or our means of holding on, letting go or allowing in the process.

When I was young, many relationships were lost or bridges burned. It was devastating for me. Even to this day, I can look back & still feel the slight sting or mild regret of some of those moments. With people I internalized it; allowed myself to stay knocked down, blaming & beating myself up. I responded with flight. Although, with all things professional, I never really missed a beat. I was more like, fuck you & moved on to bigger fish. With my art, it just got put in piles or stored in a box. I keep finding these creative blips written on lists or quickly roughed out with abstract margin notes in drawing books, journals & on scraps of paper. The rest is left ramming around in the back of my mind, like elevator music that won't quit. All eventually piling up & falling over, demanding my attention.

These moments of dissolve are not ends. They are only parts or sections in a journey. They are the markedly memorable points of transition that bring us to a higher level of living. Of being. Of loving. They are the dots or cogs that connect together to form a whole. Things break, we fix them & keep moving on. BUT, sometimes, just when we least expect it, from all the rubble emerges the love of your life. And quite frankly that should read “another love of your life”. Because, when you think about it, life is generally long. Some days are long & we want them to be over quickly. Some weeks drag on. Often we can’t wait for the month to end & the weather of the season to shift. And then we look forward to the repair of what New Year’s is really about, new beginnings. When we could be practicing the simplicity of having the New Year start, every single day.

But sometimes the days, weeks, months and years pile up. They become decades, and your standing in the shadow of this huge passing of time. Imagine standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, looking out at its vastness, trying to wrap your head around its immense presence. Decades gone by. It can be overwhelming or change everything you ever thought about all that’s brought you to now. A point of meeting another love in your life. To be gracious in the gift that is before you. To thank that which has come to pass that you are here in its receipt.

Making mistakes, burning bridges, however you define endings or transition, is the only way to come to these loves in our lives. Without them, it’s unrecognizable. And with age we learn this. It is with the experience of living, loving & loosing that understanding happens. Ambition is blind I always say. But it needs a partner in this world, love. Because when we screw shit up on any level, its love that brings us through. It’s the loves in our lives that make us shine light on our world & those in it. 

It’s the loves in our life that put the ripples in the water that go out into the universe, only to come back tenfold. It’s the loves in our life that make us or break us. It’s the moment we meet the loves of our lives, however long or brief they may be, that bring us to who we are in this moment in time for all the world to see & feel. 

Today I am present with a love in my life….it’s a priceless kind of day!

Monday, May 2, 2016

Wise Old Bird

On my bad days, my mind walks to that line. My edge of existence. It is there that my view looks at a nothing. And there I reside. And with all edge teetering, I feel a bit of relief that it's not my worst day ever. My closest to stepping off I ever came. My harsh reality of, you simply, end up here

And, that day wasn't when my parents couldn't get me out of the closet in my early twenties because I was so over-wrought with sobbing & sorrow & fear. 

And it wasn't that time I just kept drinking & smoking & snorting & ingesting whatever it was that was put in front of me. 

And it wasn't the time I was shaking so bad I thought it almost a seizure. And my eyes were nearly swollen shut from the crying I had been doing for hours & hours, finally sitting in the ER, wanting to be committed. Wanting desperately to be relieved of it, but they wouldn't because I wasn't suicidal. I didn't want to die, I just wanted to fade away. Like a slow melting crayon in the hot sun. They wouldn't admit me because I wasn't suicidal; I didn't use the words that describe the act of suicide.

And it wasn't the diagnosis of PTSD randomly taking away my breaths, never knowing when it was going to rear its ugly head & wrap its power around my neck shoving its heavy horror story into my chest. MY horror story. Leaving me wishing for an anxiety attack at that moment instead.

And it wasn't any of the hundreds of times I've envisioned life as if I'd stepped into the nothing.

My edge was when I physically couldn't get up to even walk around in the small world of my apartment. I couldn't get up for weeks. I couldn't do anything but just sleep. Void of dreams & the vivid color that came with them. Void completely through. With each time I awoke, I was physically exhausted just taking a piss & wondering that somehow I was still here. That was my edge. My stepping off point. My point of self-hate and true blue worthlessness. My mind, body & soul were simply unreactive to anything. Void. It was a nothing that consumed me.

Becoming, "a nothing". That is my stepping off point.

And, yes, I go to great lengths to mask such an existence from the world. I am vocal and extremely empathetic about mental illness, yet leave out how I am speaking from experience. How in that moment, I am what I speak to rise above. To give away the belief & courage that someone CAN do it, even though I am consumed with a nothing. And most close to me know I live with this utter blackness, depression, aggravated by anxiety. But people forget those things when you aren't drowning in the obvious outward anxiety & brutality of it all, like debilitating migraines. And when they do recognize your sliding down that slope, you invest even more energy in the art of distraction. You transfer all that you wish for yourself to those around you because it protects a pain that can never be explained clearly & can only truly be understood by those who have their own nothing to face. It can be the worst kind of isolation in a crowd. Forget the exhaustion of its aloneness.

Though, I've found as I've aged, that I've come to really understand it's energy & its need to serve. I've come to know what not to give it to feed its hunger in controlling me. I've wrapped myself in my creativity as a way to distract from it. To know that I have been to the edge of a nothing & walked away. To speak past it as if it were a narcissist climbing on my back. To not give it the energy if needs. To deny it the one thing it needs, my thoughts. And I've learned this through NAMASTE & a little poem that shed a tremendous amount of light onto things for me.

So, for today, I'm going to be more like that wise old bird....despite what's going on on the inside. For today, I will make intentions to give my energy to listening than thinking. My ego & neurotransmitters can take a respite permanently! (Of course, with my medication!) Maybe today is a bad day. Maybe its good. No matter what kind of day it is, know I am working hard at being a light in this world & I have tales & stories to tell.....this one of them!

Friday, October 2, 2015

Let Downs All Around

This is a good mantra to repeat when you are a person with great ambition. 
Because in all reality, ambition is blind to reality more often than not. 
Ambitious people take on to much. 
There have been books written about it & products galore, 
just to help "curb" doing everything! 
It's all the dance around guilt. 
All kinds of guilt. 
Guilt about letting yourself or someone else down. 
Then there's all the guilt underneath the self & others.
There lies the "not everything".

And then, if you haven't already beat yourself up bad enough,
there are those nasty expectations. 
The beginning stages of insanity.
We work really hard at silencing that voice in the back of our heads that says,
"you know how this is going to turn out!"
"you already have far too many things on your plate."
"there you go again, putting others first & being the one who is suffering."
Letting yourself down & others in the vicious circle of this 
seemingly unconscious process that's become a character flaw.

 But, you slap a wet blanket on that inner voice & go ahead & do it anyways.
Results = L E T D O W N
Now the blame game.
You either beat yourself up or blame them for the emotional train wreck
you KNEW you were headed into.
It more resembles insanity really.
While the consideration that either you or them would be
remotely human & make mistakes.
Or it could be a coincidence.
Or unintentional?
It's a bunch of bla-bla-bla revolving in your head 
about a conscious act you continue to repeat.
You know you know.
You know what to do.

 Yes, at some point you get sick of your own lashings.
Of letting yourself & others down.....good, bad or ugly in intent.
And, eventually, the clouds part, 
the sun comes out & the light 
being shown upon another intentional fuck up
is the straw that breaks the camels back.
You can't go back.
You can only move forwards.
It starts with the ten-second rule.
Before you open your mouth, count.
And only then, be clear about what comes out!
There's courage in your voice, 
why not make it worth the space it will take up
once put out there?
But sometimes, it comes out.
And there it is.....
And then it's rinse & repeat 
or go home & live for another day.
But don't wrap yourself up in any more guilt or even worse,
r e g r e t.
If you slide head first into regret, you're walking through life backwards.
And the only flowers back there to water
have long since died.
Turn around,
put on your big girl panties & allow in what it is.
Nature taking its course.
Because the funny thing is,
more often than not,
people are drawn to each other for reasons.
And forgiveness & understanding come from love.
And even though some have more let downs than others,
eventually, we come back around.
Either to ourselves. 
Or to those we've let down or been let down by.
Because it's human nature.
And you can dwell in the house of
should-a, could-a, would-a.
Or you can use those moments to grow into
a more beautiful human than 
you already are....
even though you'll eventually be
 a letdown.

This is for all those whom I've let down....with what's done, I now send my love.