Nothing is happening as in physical, butterfly-effect happenings. But a whole lot is happening as in inside me wasp-effect happenings. But I have to make the effort to come here, because as long as I'm here I'll be fine. The temptation to give my blog a break is big, but I know it will not help, because one day away will turn into a week which will turn into a month, just like last time. So I'm here to stay somehow, even if my ramblings do not always make a lot of sense. Even if I get down to my last cigarette in the house, at the very least, I'll put my words on hold and make the drive to MIA which is always so equipped.
I am at crossroads. I've known it for a couple of days, but I've tried to shelve it because Christmas really didn't look like the best time to stay motionless at the crossroads. Henceforth (now that sounds like one hell of a legal word but anyway) I tried to push myself to at least staying awake and talking, an effort both for myself and for the mister who worries so much. I'm sorry I worry him, but sometimes things are what they are. I know I need not use the sorry word because there is an unsigned understanding that one will pick the other up whenever necessary. No fighting, no shouting, no arguing, no disagreements. Just an understanding. And when you've gone through years with me without temperamental me throwing not a single tantrum, well I guess we're not doing bad at all. But that is not what has me sitting silently under the dim light of an old lamppost which could use a lick of governmental paint. It's cold, but I am wrapped up better then any Christmas present.It's also being wrapped up in thick skin which has seen worse. It's just the lies that I cannot take; the key words being soon, in due course, hoping I will understand, neglect, reluctance and the cherry on the icing ... fear. All of which are a heavy cocktail of lies so big that they cannot pass through the cocktail straw because the cocktail itself is like thick sludge. I am not one for the drink, and certainly not one for a disgusting cocktail like that. It's so sad that anybody human person can have a foot in such dung. And then we boast about integrity.
So should I turn to D.I.Y.? Should I turn to D.I.TV? Or D.I.Letters in newspapers? Or D.I. My Way? I haven't a clue. I could keep my chin up and keep up the drama, perhaps fall and brush myself back up. Or I could quite simply put another expenditure on the government. But hold on it's Friday and it's Xarabank. And I know the address, it's just next door to the people who lie. Same on me for not having walked out and in. But I thought it was for the best, and now I'm not so convinced. Perhaps a touch of D.I.Y.......
I am at crossroads. I've known it for a couple of days, but I've tried to shelve it because Christmas really didn't look like the best time to stay motionless at the crossroads. Henceforth (now that sounds like one hell of a legal word but anyway) I tried to push myself to at least staying awake and talking, an effort both for myself and for the mister who worries so much. I'm sorry I worry him, but sometimes things are what they are. I know I need not use the sorry word because there is an unsigned understanding that one will pick the other up whenever necessary. No fighting, no shouting, no arguing, no disagreements. Just an understanding. And when you've gone through years with me without temperamental me throwing not a single tantrum, well I guess we're not doing bad at all. But that is not what has me sitting silently under the dim light of an old lamppost which could use a lick of governmental paint. It's cold, but I am wrapped up better then any Christmas present.It's also being wrapped up in thick skin which has seen worse. It's just the lies that I cannot take; the key words being soon, in due course, hoping I will understand, neglect, reluctance and the cherry on the icing ... fear. All of which are a heavy cocktail of lies so big that they cannot pass through the cocktail straw because the cocktail itself is like thick sludge. I am not one for the drink, and certainly not one for a disgusting cocktail like that. It's so sad that anybody human person can have a foot in such dung. And then we boast about integrity.
So should I turn to D.I.Y.? Should I turn to D.I.TV? Or D.I.Letters in newspapers? Or D.I. My Way? I haven't a clue. I could keep my chin up and keep up the drama, perhaps fall and brush myself back up. Or I could quite simply put another expenditure on the government. But hold on it's Friday and it's Xarabank. And I know the address, it's just next door to the people who lie. Same on me for not having walked out and in. But I thought it was for the best, and now I'm not so convinced. Perhaps a touch of D.I.Y.......
