Basically just got called out, or called out to. From one of my baby brothers, this:

Let them flow

Maybe because it's such a small town, the grief
is so magnified. I feel sometimes like I am everyone's
mother. After I dropped my keys on the counter
and put my purse on the table this evening, I threw away
something sitting somewhere (I can't remember what).
The garbage closet is next to the refrigerator.

And there he was, on my refrigerator. In his Army
uniform. His mischievous brown eyes looking back
at me. And I could not stop looking at him, thinking
about his mom, about how much she must every single
day miss him, how often she must think This can't be.
But he just kept looking back at me. I could only keep
staring into his eyes, like I was expecting him to speak.
Two years almost. First Iraqi war casualty (and only that
I know of ) from this town. He was my daughter's friend.
He was my sister's best friend's son. He was here, at this
house, on more than one occasion. He was funny. Smart.
Full of spirit. Now he is this picture on my refrigerator.
And I cried.

And then there is Jake. My daughter's friend for so many
years. Her friend who was so many times almost boyfriend.
Who pissed her off, made her cry, made her laugh hysterically,
who came and went, who had just started calling her again
in those last weeks. Jake, the pillow snake. That's what I called
him. Jake with the deep voice. Jake with the badass attitude.
Jake with the jokes. Jake. Jake who is gone now. Jake
whose loss hurts my heart so deeply that I can't even begin to
imagine what his mother's heart feels.

So, I am crying tonight, thinking about these boys--these young
men who were taken before they got to live so many things.
Knowing that in their short years, they may have lived
in ways I'll only ever dream about. But who should be here!

Oh! I hurt.

May all the powers of healing and good and hope
and faith and truth and acceptance be with their mothers this night.

I think last night, you were driving circles around me

Full of Glory

Fist full of wildflowers,
stems staining
the lines,
once fine but now
etched deeply
in glory, she paces
the large backyard,
wonders where all
the elaborate
plans met a not
so inglorious truth.
An unknown
species
of bird startles
this moment;
the unnamed wildflowers
drop from her hand.
She is the starling,
scattering seed.
Next summer,
she will know
all of their names,
these birds filled with glory,
filling the air
with their flight,
an uprising
of wildflowers
left in their wake.

Amotivation

Sneaks up. Feels like someone's filled your shoes
with cement. Your head with a blank page waiting
to be filled on the day you have the worst case of writer's
block ever. The whole I don't give a flying f*** attitude sucks!
But I do, I suppose, give a f***, or I would not be here, typing away,
thinking about what I need to do.

Need and want are two very different things, but each
indicate some pull of the life force. Pull on, baby.

*

Another fox last night. They must love Hwy 120. I see
at least one every time I have to drive it (which is only
when I am on call and have to go to Crittenden Co.
Hosp., which is in the middle of the boonies!). Three
dear crossed within 20 ft of my car. Slowing down as
I was almost at the hospital, so thankfully no mishap.
Appeared to be two does and a fawn. Many lucky little
critters last night (ar at least when I met them!). Can see
their eyes in the oncoming lights. Like two small, red
glaring lights. Then off they shoot into the brush.
Lots of fog last night, too. And a bug-smeared windshield,
which the wipers and washer fluid only made worse, but
the fog kept coating the windshield in a fine mist.

I thank George Winston, Tom Waits, and Lucinda Williams
for keeping me company.

*

Struggling to complete The Man Who Loved Children. Why
I have stayed with it is beyond me. On pg 400 something
and been saying since pg 100 I am sure this is going to get
better. Keep reading. I am sure it's not, considering I only have
about 50 pages left.

*

Still wondering when it's going to happen. It has to for so many
reasons. The facade must crumble away. Not time yet, though.

*

Have a feeling I'm a gonna just stay in this nightie all day!

*
Finished the book. Reflection time. Weighing out why I stayed
with it, what it's really about (as if there is this accepted explanation
out there and the book can only be about that). Wore me out.

Need something really dark to pick me up.

If you did not know who this was, and the song came on the radio, you would be thinking Dylan.

Change

does not come easily. Can remember the day--
was probably 25 or so--when I thought That will
never be me--too fat to move around easily, too tired
to want to go somewhere I once would have gone
come hell or high water, too "set in my ways" to deviate
from the norm, too predictable, too comfortable
to go outside my own backyard and play a bit, too
indifferent, too willing to concede to limitations
set for me.

*

There is a word. Anhedonia. Keep saying, screaming
at times, That is not me, that is not me, that is not me!!!
I must keep screaming, or at least, believing it is not.

*

All day discussions of axons and neurons, chemical imbalances,
environment, genetics, neurotransmitters, the endocrine
system, cortisol, GAD, SPECT and fMRI scans, meds, appointments,
therapy, CBT, RET, etc. I believe and I don't.

*

Overcast this morning. I was excited, hoped for rain. A nice
steady rain all day long, but the sky cleared, the sun kept up
its steady pace, the woodferns laid upon themselves in great
resignation. But tonight, the moon is 70% and waxing, a lovely
light with no heat, the breeze blowing my hair all around my face,
the water from the hose blowing back on my bare arms and legs.
Many apologies I made to those who did not get watered--the coral
bells near the hydrangeas, the hostas, the Japanese maple.
Tomorrow, I promised.

*

Hesse sits next to me, waiting to be opened. TV on in the living
room. Dog lying down next to me. Kitty hiding. Another load
of laundry spinning. The endless spinning. The turning of world
life thought plan body belief. Spinning. Extended cycle.