The Daily {W}rite July 2018 wk o4

I swam out of the great depths of a dark sleep. Opening my eyes, I found myself on the sandy shores of consciousness. My face enjoyed it. A smile rose up, blossomed into a glowing flesh flower. My taste buds loved the sweet and sour taste a grin bestows upon them. And coffee  in the morning? Nothing new there. Always a the warm taste of coffee on my lips . . . even when I'm dreaming.

Doctor's appointment made for Thursday at 10:10am. Yeah, David is gonna love getting up at 9:00am to drive me cross town to the doctor's. Why an appointment so early? Well, I have to see THE doctor this time, not a PA, because . . . well lets just say it's a bit embarrassing to talk about. Not serious (I hope) but definitely embarrassing.

My only Sia album playing on the DVD player. My depression is flowing gently around and around inside my head . . . my thoughts . . . a soft tenderness to them today. My body relaxed . . . a sparrow calm after the storm has tired itself out . . . becoming a gentle rain. Yep. Rare to feel this way anymore . . . so forgive me for wallowing in it for the rest of this post.

I wrote a whole poem from scratch last night . . . okay, very early this morning BEFORE today's sunlight stretched its light across my windowsill:

Mime Train . . . All Aboard!

Late night . . . actually, early morning/. . . but it only counts as morning/when you wake up, and you can't/wake up until you go to sleep. However,/some people sleep with eyes wide open/while their minds drift through life/as if they were sleeping, dreaming./Their words if ever they speak at all/sounds more like a Gregorian chant,/a dog growling at its own dreams/of finally catching that damn cat/that always encroaches on his/backyard territory,/or that sound my drunken  father/ would make when passed out/on the front room couch/while watching the Sunday/stock car races. He snored/like thunder, like a train/moaning through the midnight./You remember when trains/sang through Norman town?/I miss that sound, which always/made more since than people/constantly screaming nonsense/in my already too burdened ears./My quality of life would improve/if people would stop talking just/long enough to hear a leaf fall. -Woodie

Tuesday, July 24, 2o18 

I woke-up. A little disappointed. Grogginess, head full of empty space, flattened out a bit during the moments of deliberate unconsciousness . . . sleep. but the day picked up as it droned on. That gentle anxiety that stumbled through my veins yesterday transformed itself into a pleasurable feeling inside my head. The day kept tripping over itself, its big feet, and my voice just giggled a bit at it. Depression turned into a sideshow filled with my monsters dancing and singing, entertaining me for a change.

Warm. The window facing west is warm. Like . . . like a piece of buttered toast. I should've gone to the laundromat today. I haven't washed clothes in . . . what? A year? Maybe a bit less . . . but a year sounds right, well rounded, believable. Anyway, tomorrow I promise my . . . self, tomorrow laundry. Clothes are all ready crammed into the new backpack . . . ready to go to dirty laundry confession . . . cleanse the souls of cotton blends. Yes, tomorrow I redeem myself.

THURsday, July 26, 2o18

So, into the Classen Family Clinic. The outside, red bricks the color of dried blood. Inside that stale smell, that old people smell . . . you know, like a graveyard, something rotting. Your nose wants to run off your face . .. find a disinfected corner (white, white, white walls) to crawl up into and hide. Nothing like walking into a doctor's office to make you feel like you're a five year old kid terrified by the thought of a needle puncturing your skin. What if Nurse Ratchet breaks that long, skinny piece of metal off  in my arm?

Last month I went to the same clinic. And they told me I owed them x amount of dollars for my last visit, which I had paid already. The woman up front didn't care . . . it didn't show up on her screen, and no payment in full, no doctor's appointment. So, after a heated discussion I paid the bill, and two days later I received the check I HAD sent to the billing company with the letters "VOID" across it's green face. And guess what happened when I went to the doctor's the same doctor's office that hassled me over a bill not being paid? Yeah, you know.

SATurday, o7-28-18

Sometimes It Just Rains

I wake up each morning with a very thick, heavy head attached to my neck. Not sure where the weight, the dead weight inside my skull, came from. Perhaps too many fat-ass dreams squatted on my cerebellum just to catch their breathe. Too large sighs from my dry mouth and the weight is gone . . . the most terrible things are always the most fragile. So, coffee, always coffee, first.  My coffeemaker  had died yesterday, just up and died. Maybe by its own handle, or suicide by coffee filter. We will never know for sure. There was no note, no hint of dark-roasted depression. He always seemed happy enough . . . as happy as a coffee pot could be. Everyone liked him especially me. So, improvisation. Simmered some water in my popcorn pan, transferred the hot (but not too hot) liquid into a cup and filtered it through the coffee I had put in the coffee filter I placed in the dead carcass of my Mr. Coffee coffeemaker and  . . . hot coffee. Well, warm coffee at least. If I wanted it HOT, I'd have to reheat it in the popcorn pan. Lukewarm coffee suits me just fine, compliments my life, my life as it has always been. 

      TUEsday, o7-31-18

The Universe Inside

12:30am
Well, here it is, July saying a warm goodbye as we enter the last day of sun for this particular month.

4:30pm
Yeah, I'm having a difficult time writing this last day, putting the days before in some . . . some . . . way that sounds . . . poetic?

Large clouds hanged in the sky by the hangman crows that just flew by. Sad clouds, lifeless clouds just laying there turning white to gray as the day licks them dry. I wonder why nature is so cruel.

Went to see the new Mission Impossible movie last night. Note to producers: If your movie franchise is failing to draw an audience, immediately hire the actor Simon Pegg. Revenues will at the least triple.

Big deal on Facebook, they plan to "protect us" from Russian trollers. I'm much obliged . . . but do I really need protection from trolls? Don't I recognize them when I see them? Yeah, now that I know they exist I just don't answer back at their dribble. Okay, sometimes I do, but I only answer back with my homemade Meme.
See you, dear reader, next month. {smiles}