Quality Time

              The concept of spending time narrows down to perspective.  As does love.  As does respect.  Is it the amount of time that two people spend that defines how much they want to be with each other?  I say no.  In fact, it's most importantly the desire that two people have for the want of spending time with the other person that shows how much that other person wants to be with them.  I don't know how many times I've heard the saying, "bottom line" or "at the end of the day".  But it's certainly enough for me to aim a pistol at my temple and shoot, if I hear it again from anyone, anywhere.  Geez, life seemed so complicated back then but compare my past to now and it seemed much more simple. When I was with someone.  They loved me and there was reciprocation.  We would spend as much time that was allowed and we'd ache to spend that time.  We both shared the anticipated lust of each other's presence.  Now, it's analytical equations, broken down reasoning and just plain repetitive confusion.  I feel more broken than I've ever been.  I don't know how to put myself back together.

"Looking for something I've never seen.  Alone and I'm in between." 

Finally took the step to see my mother.  The most unreasonably difficult person in my entire world.  Also, one of the people that have the most impact in my life.   Took the path and entered the renovated world that is her and did something I had never thought of doing.  I went straight to the fridge, grabbed a beer and sat down for dinner.  After awkward hugs and shy greetings from close and distant family members, I was once again at our usual family dinner.  Nothing short of the unusual.  The drunk stepfather, my anxious mother, my overly talkative sister, but some things changed.  It seemed after Chloe entered my life, the rest of the family followed suit and got dogs of their own.  No comparison to the outrageously cute factor that is Chloe but dogs nonetheless.  And one other thing, the stepfather and I had beer.  Yah, may seem common but not common at all and somehow this allowed him to approach me.  He repeatedly said, "You're too skinny.  It's not good for you to be too skinny."  It wasn't a compliment but better than he's ever been, ever before.  For now, it's all I can take.  For now.  Who knows about later.  

Grateful Emancipation

One swallow and I was transformed.  My sedated mind finally able to greet and smile without pretension.  Pressured to share the tiny but greatly affected part of my daily routine with my coworkers allowed them to enter a part of my life I was unprepared to welcome.  To many, I've been claimed an "open book".  There is a large degree in which I understand this point but there are also many things I don't vocalize nor share with some of my closest friends.  Only those that fully opened their heart to me showed me willingness to unlock secrets I laboriously bare.  It was infinite despair weighing on my anxious nerves that survived me from hitting the peak of mental failure.  One round tiny pill and my body loosened to life, to work, to be the person I had to be today.  My body involuntarily absorbed by the pill effects, drained my energy and though I'm not spinning off that dizzy edge, I am TIRED.

Vexed Immobility

The mere thought of getting older is arduously taxing for this soul.  I mentioned the realization of being fixated on the word "bones" today.  The word itself invokes vivid images of shifting age that I catch myself seeking clarity.  It would be easy to admit it's my shell I contain that causes me to accept the years I've acquired but unprovoked reflections of past has placed an unnecessary burden on my thoughts.  The cycle of exhaustion, being tired, and feeling unproductive.  Perhaps it's the last thought that forces me to re-examine how I feel.  No revelation, my chaotic thoughts drag me down to a most vexed immobility. How have I been processing all this information and not achieved the ability to understand the most absurd situations?  For now, I have no answer.  The mind IS a powerful thing.  Mine leads me to tragic places but brings me unexpected joy.  This week, without pills, I was surprisingly released from genetic disorder.  Over too sweet apple pie and overcooked crab cakes, I was able to laugh before my body wanted to cry.