2017



december 30

7:58am


waking only once during the night (aka in the morning) is always a surprise and a delight
two times now, in a row, this aching body slept all night.
a gurgling fish tank sent me into the room lit with trees and the sound of snow removal.











































december 29
6:24am

the morning after the morning after. i slept all night.
i have moved fifty objects before he rises, thought a hundred thoughts

and the counters are scrubbed and wiped, floor swept, plants watered, carving set packed, coffee made, and pigs fed. by the time i set myself down to write the coffee is more than just tepid, and i return for a top-up.

my ears ring, medium decibel and slightly thinner frequencies, rising at 5:30 has its drawbacks, with it's pluses.

Caroline once wrote "this is MY diary" - well, this isn't mine, anymore.
i can hardly write a percentage of thoughts which race through my mind
as i become more detached from what i really think, and more attached to
what i used to think that got me absolutely nowhere. or so it seems.
a million blogs and we all still ask the same questions day in and day out,
fight the same fight, sing the very same songs, act in the same play.


at least we have squid-ink farfalle.
















december 27


a switch has flipped
it lets me see me and it lets me see you and it lets me be sometimes objective and sometimes not
a paper bag of kindness now, for those who are kind to the bag, pops, allowing the inside out and a bit of a mess ensues

it's a market day while i make sense of conversations which go awry;








december 26 noon
food food food


























December 24

home again for a while; among hungry guinea pigs and a bank account i sit
the internet used to be so vast, and now that everyone is on it, it's small indeed.

some large flakes are falling, one might say it looks like christmas eve
but my brain is on saturday and my back on the fritz;

a windowsill of plants


December 23

rushing dreams of last minute Christmas shopping with strange shops and a woman i barely know
i was barely dressed
as i am barely ready
and barely awake
as a swiss man inhales me
while i sift through thoughts; tilt my head;
and google last minute christmas shopping
the swiss man mumbles
i dreamt of his bare sanity
and i should not write that
but i did.






















december 22
entj efficiencies be like...

i abhor waste - don't waste my cinnamon sticks, my turmeric, or my maraschino cherries

my parents were born of a time where questions were few; waste was non-existent;
and most things in life pre-determined
this was a simpler time; a man was a man a woman was a woman
and the older i get
the more i long for such simplicity.
it was efficient, to be sure.z


                                                                                                          december 21 wednesdy

   no other word for this coffee but 'blech'
no amount of it moves neurons
"say something i'm giving up on you" - who have you given up on
i push out those feelings
i push out alot of feelings
feelings can kill you.

december 18 - sunday sunday

           i woke without a storm in my head
            it's a great day for a bed head
            and a tickly cough seems okay

           
    facebook beckons me away
            it's the pull of a thousand voices;
            a cacophony of  choices
            and a plethora of  vices
           
            the house is larger now
           

           









december    17  
9:16  am     saturday fastly arrived

_____________________________________________

  time, be gentle with me,  i'm ravaged in your grip, this treadmill is away from me
and all the remaining days seem numbered now: a week seems no more a week.
and i've twisted so many realities i'm not sure which are mine anymore
the problem is, owning yourself, poots, is danger! will robinson to many
and you never wanted to be alone; which is where you may have erred
cancelled parties and cancelled texts and christmas trees and pretty parcels
to send to Switzerland are all part of this holiday season
plus a Chinese Canadian  friend,  some newfound perspective,
and a hundred lives on facebook distract me from everything
as this tepid Bold Nabob barely shakes me back into living
in a thrice vacuumed house (by me)
inhabited at once by him and perhaps by her and i
and our impossible standards for living.
...
yet time erases some wounds and brings people back
so all in all, does the sum add up?

 



 december    14    6:58 am    

_____________________________________________

  winter wonderland is here as the sun still  slowly rises
while  australians eat dinner and canadians check the weather
    a Swiss man scribbles work that is everything and the fish tank,
barely gurgling, comes in and out of my focus.
    my father was born in Pubnico 84 years ago today.

_____________________________________________

  watching cynthia petersen tour australia with a backpack;  some of the things i never understood are coming clear;
   and some are disappearing. depression is a thing i fear because i cannot control it; an alcoholic is easier to control; the predictability rate was about one hundred percent;  i teeter totter between caring about friday and not; lurking or not;
this ENTJ needs to confirm what she already knows.
again.
and again.
and again.



                                                            D

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          it is december.  2016. sunday. 8:58 AM.
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                                               poots reminisces back and forth over Prokofiev note;
                                                wishing there were another way, to feel alive, constantly
                                                            other than a biting wind
                                                                    which follows us down the hill
                                                                            and cools the sweat from the biker's brow
                                                                                        as they walk the last mile                               
                                                                                                up a forgiving hill