Half Asleep

I don’t know why I’m writing.

There’s no way I’m going to make sense.

I want to go back to sleep but I promised myself I’d get an early start

So, here I am…

Styrofoam cup of luke warm, lightweight coffee in my hand…

Tired. Eyelids heavy. Nodding in my chair.

No sleep last night.

I think the rats are back.

Wait, only one. Running through the walls, nawing on a closet door.

The holes

The holes they make

are perfect.

Rodents.

Not much stops them.

Makes for bad dreaming.

Posted in Blues, eighties, Fiction, humor, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Side Of The Street

It’s up to me.

Keeping it clean

And I haven’t done a very good job of it.

Back in the day,

I used to say, “Not

hurtin’ no one but me.”

Bullshit.

And it’s bullshit today.

Only difference is…

I know it’s bullshit but

Still

I plop it all over my

Side of the street.

And I have friends

Y’know, those kinds of friends,

the ones who say, “We’ll call you on

your bullshit.”

Most of them don’t.

Not with me.

They want to justify my harm to others by saying, “They’ve done bad things, too.”

Fuck that. That isn’t why I’ve done bad things to them.

Even the unintentional injury, the mistakes in judgement, the cruel pun, the stuff I can rationalize as no big deal.

The stuff my “call you on your bullshit” friends help me justify and minimize as trivial. Not worth a quick sweep into the dustpan.

Bullshit.

I hurt somebody.

Don’t help me find a reason why it’s not my fault.

Draw me a map to the dumpster.

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, aging, Blues, Co-Dependency, Denial, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Just My ‘Magination

So the Costa Rica flight is delayed almost three hours.

Seems like the airline had to drum up a crew on a moment’s notice.

I’d like to know how that happened.

I booked this flight in June because the powers that be (TPTB) published it as available and worthy to fly November 1, 2021.

That means TPTB had plenty of time to gather a crew…and I bet they did.

And I bet the original crew assigned to fly me to Costa Rica chose today to walk off the job demanding better working conditions, better pay, health insurance, mandatory masks, mandatory vac…or not…or not…

Maybe the Original Crew partied hard, too hard Halloween Night and were in no condition to do their job. From pilot to attendant, mechanics to baggage handlers…not up to the job…

Coz we all have baggage… especially when our flight is delayed 3 hours and 90% of the folks waiting are looking for any port in the terminal providing sufficient charge for their smart phones…

And, when 90% of these folks end up draining completely their fully primed and pumped to go above/beyond this morning cel, rendering it a useless contraption long before they are halfway through their unexpected wait…

Well, let’s just say tempers flair and maybe, just maybe, it will be the lead story on National Nightly News…

And highlight reels will broadcast fist fights and foul mouthed passengers but no one will think to ask, “What about the Original Crew? Those people hired to get our plane in the air on time?”

And, that’s okay coz no one’s gonna want to answer a “who cares” question like that anyway?

Not when there’s film at seven of frustrated potential passengers gone besetk.

Posted in Blues, Denial, humor, Love, Memoir, Parenting, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Airplane Mode

I made my flight this morning.

The airline app said I had no reservation, said nothing was confirmed.

The app didn’t know what it was talking about. I showed up at the terminal and clicked on to all of my information.

No problem.

Flying smooth all the way to Miami where I’ll switch it up and take another plane all the way to Costa Rica.

Where nothing’s confirmed.

Posted in aging, Denial, humor, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Always Something

It was chilly last night. Temperature dropped over 20°f.

I don’t know how far the drop would’ve been in Celsius. I guess I could Google the conversion just to find out but, nah, I’m just going to go with, “It was chilly last night.”

Around 2am, there were two dogs up on the bed with me.

I guess they thought they could get away with jumping from floor to my single box spring and mattress.

I guess they thought they could get away with anchoring themselves at the bed’s foot thus trapping my own two feet and legs under a blanket.

I guess they thought they could get away with it because, last night, I let them.

I didn’t even gripe.

I just lay there, eyes closed, breathing deep, steady and sound. Like I was asleep.

I fooled them. And, eventually, I fooled myself, too.

I fell into a deep slumber and stayed that way for six hours.

And, though my knees, hips and back were aching because the whole night was spent in fixed fetal position on one side of my body, I woke refreshed and ready to take on the world.

Yeah, I might’ve been ready but those hounds weren’t. They liked my blanket and they took more than a few minutes resisting their forced return to the floor.

Then, for some reason, my “usually no big deal” wake up and stand from my bed and attend to my morning bathroom ritual took a long time.

Hell, I walked around bent spine stooped for an hour.

It took most of the morning to “straighten up and walk right,” but I’m fine now…for now.

Though it’s still chilly and where in the name of God did I put the space heater?

Posted in aging, Blues, Co-Dependency, humor, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10218785531300532&id=1567923560&sfnsn=mo

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Brother’s Team Is Going To The Series

The Atlanta Braves are going to the World Series for the first time since 1999.

Pretty cool. My brother, Dan, would be happy.

Or, maybe, he is happy looking down from his afterlife perch.

I can see him hunched over, elbows on legs, pointing his half-good eye in the direction of the game being broadcast via tv screen. His sonor ears focused on the play by play and color commentary.

“I listen to what’s not being said,” he told me once. 

“Yes, you do,” I said.

“Whatcha mean by that?”

“Nothin’.”

What I mean, now, is I’ve adopted the Braves.

I picked up my brother’s torch. I put on his Atlanta cap.

Because, even though he didn’t ask me, I heard, loud and clear, what he didn’t say

Posted in Blues, Co-Dependency, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

En El Día De Los Muertos

I will be 70 years old.

It’s amazing to me

I’m still alive and, for the first time

in decades, I’m acting like I have a future.

I’m stepping up my music career.

I’m chasing a woman.

Spending money I don’t have.

I’ve never had money.

Never wanted any

Till now…

Almost 70 and

I’m ready to make my fortune.

It doesn’t matter how much time I have left.

It doesn’t matter if my last breath comes tomorrow or

Tonight…

I’d like to make it through 7 decades and beyond.

I was born on the Day of the Dead aka All Souls Day aka November 2nd…

I’m a late bloomer by temperament.

It takes me a while to get going.

But once I’m going, I do my best to keep going…

And it’s my intention to keep going…

Till I’m done.

Posted in aging, Blues, humor, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, song, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Looking For A Sign

I don’t want to do what I used to do.

But does that mean I do nothing?

Give up.

Give in and settle?

Settle for consolation scraps and

say goodbye to happiness?

Oh, I have been helped

so many times and I’m

telling myself,

“No more.”

Even though my

two feet are tired

of standing alone.

Even though my heart will be

crushed and years of dreaming

will be replaced by

sleepless nights and

bleary eyed

squinting at

the sun

all day,

every

day.

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Recovery, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dramatic Reading

He’s getting into it.

His turn to read.

Voice rising and falling,

a bit of word flow

followed by a stumbling crash

of syntax and

clumsy

pronouncement.

Then, he sighs, closes the book and says, “That’s it. I’m done.”

A couple of folks start clapping but the chairperson stops them saying, “Thank you. Who’d like to read next?”

Nobody volunteers.

The meeting closes early.

Posted in 12 Step Meetings, Co-Dependency, Love, Memoir, Poetry, Relationships, Uncategorized | Leave a comment