and then there were none

ten little aspirations all in a line
reality struck one
and then there were nine

nine little aspirations out by the gate
abuse killed one
and then there were eight

eight little aspirations dreaming of heaven
one died of loneliness
and then there were seven

seven little aspirations in a house made of bricks
brotherly affection destroyed one
and then there were six

six little aspirations barely alive
till a sister undressed one
leaving now only five

five little aspirations dreaming of more
but father took his belt off
and then there were four

four little aspirations hiding in the tree
the school bully pulled one down
and then there were three

three little aspirations knowing not what to do
one grabbed the kitchen knife
now there were two

two little aspirations playing with the gun
until one gave up on life
and then there was one

one little aspiration looking for his hero
found only the family
and now there are zero

’twas the night before thanksgiving and all through the … wait – wrong holiday

i cannot wait until tomorrow.  No work, no phones, no people.  Just me, the dog, and maybe the television, if i turn it on.  But quiet.  Solitude.  Peaceful, restful, horrifying aloneness.

i was alone when my brother and his friends raped me.  i was alone when the principal’s son and his buddy stripped me and left me in the woods outside the school.  i was alone the night i got mugged by a gang of punk kids.  i was alone when the doctor decided to get handsy during my physical exam.

Bad things happen when i’m alone.  But if i can be COMPLETELY alone then i can keep the demons at bay.  Lock the doors and windows.  Isolate, isolate, isolate.  Safety first.  Physical safety, anyhoo.

i am beginning to doubt the reality of “mental safety” as i am beginning to doubt the reality of “mental wellness”.  Not something i’m going to accomplish, or reach, or discover, or whatever the means is that people hit the Nirvana of mental health.

It’s only one day; i’m back at work Friday.  So one day is going to have to be enough.  It won’t be, of course, but it’s still better than nothing.  I suppose.  Besides, if it were longer i don’t know if i could handle the emptiness, and that would prompt me to go out and do something stupid just to not be alone.

Soon though Thanksgiving will be but a memory and i will be able to build up the armaments against Christmas and New Years.

This coming Sunday starts Advent.  Four weeks of me playing piano for twenty minutes before each church service.  Christmas hymns, of course.  And then Christmas Eve.  Played dinner music last Sunday during the Thanksgiving potluck dinner.  That was ok – kept me from having to socialize for the most part.

i need to just get through the next couple of days.  Then i can worry about the next few weeks.

this anti-social time of year

i hate this time of year.  Life plummets on my birthday and continues its rapid downward spiral until the second or third week of January.  It takes practically every fiber of my being to not pull the plug on this blog and just withdraw completely.

Seasonal Affective Disorder.  But not quite.  Holiday Syndrome.  But not really.  Doctors love to give labels – it allows them to shrug it off as “normal” and “not to be worried about, here, take this pill…”

Why is it so hard to understand when i get this way the LAST thing i want to do is take another pill??!?  Unless it’s the “end-it-all” pill.  Then i might actually consider it.  And THAT takes me to a scary place.

No – i’m not suicidal.  Not really.  But if a mad gunman raced into the hospital and started shooting, i might just go out and say ‘hi’…


why am i here?
what is the meaning
of life
why am i here?

why do i stay
when all purpose
is bogus
and empty

the loneliness
is too large
a burden

tears at my joints
my very soul
cries in anguish

why am i here?

aha moment

First, my thanks to V.J. of One Woman’s Quest for her suggestion that waking up at the same time might have to do with systems within the body.  I did some searching on body clocks and found David Wolfe’s blog on the very subject, along with the following graphic:


So, my waking up at 2:30 in the morning coincides with liver function.   On David’s page it goes on to explain that 2:30 wake up could also be anger/rage issues … but it’s not like I have any of THOSE, so it must be liver…

And for Paul Lamb of Lucky Rabbit’s Foot – your waking at 3:15 would look like lung function.

… I guess the adage is true – you can still teach and old man new stuff …

[ok, ok – so that’s not exactly how it goes  – it still applies]

the mystery of 2:30 am (MST)

what is it about 2:30 am that wakes me?  i can go to bed at 8:00 and wake up at 2:30.  i can go to bed at midnight and still wake up at 2:30.  i don’t wake up to ringing phones or alarm clocks.  it even takes time for me to wake up if the fire alarm goes off in my building.  so why am i waking up at 2:30?

i can’t find anything on Google that happens at that hour of the day/night ANYWHERE.  yet i wake up EVERY night at that time.  it doesn’t matter how tired i am or how long i’ve been asleep.  2:30 am rolls around and BOOM – i’m awake.

going back to sleep is no simple feat, either.  most nights at best i will cat-nap until 4:30 when i get up for work.  and that’s Monday thru Friday.  weekends are even more fun to wake up at that hour when there is NO REASON AT ALL to get up until at least the sun comes up.

i’ve tried melatonin.  i’ve tried milder sleep aids.  even muscle relaxers.  no good.  i will still wake up at 2:30.  [ok, to be honest, it’s not EXACTLY 2:30.  might be 2:28 or 2:37 – but basically we’re talking 2:30 am]

this little mystery is beyond frustrating.  if i was just waking up at some hour during the night for some obnoxious bodily function, i might be able to accept this better.  but to just wake up – fully alert – at the same time night after night after night is AGGRAVATING!  by the time 4:30 comes, i’m frustrated and fatigued.  maybe i should just get up and go to work two hours early.

i am not, repeat NOT happy about this.

stop the ‘all lives matter’ BS

let’s just stop the ‘all lives matter’ BS.  we know it’s not true.  i am so tired of reading that ‘all black lives matter’ and ‘all white lives matter’ and ‘all lives matter’ and yadda yadda yadda.  enough.

if all lives mattered, that baby would not have been aborted 2.5 seconds ago.  obviously his/her life didn’t matter to the woman carrying it (i won’t say ‘mother’ because no ‘mother’ would abort her child).  it must not have mattered to the doctor that assisted.

if all lives matter, that inmate wouldn’t have been executed, whether he had a death penalty over his head or not.  not if ALL lives matter.

so when you try to tell me that my life matters because all lives matter – the whole argument falls in the toilet.  after being abused, used, thrown away, rejected – you can’t tell me my life mattered then.  and if it didn’t then it doesn’t now.  I KNOW ME.  i know i don’t matter.

enough is enough.  all the lies and backtalk in the media.  and not just this election – it’s widespread and nonstop.  tell the people what the people want to hear.  well, THIS person doesn’t want to hear the ‘all lives matter’ lie anymore.  so don’t tell me.

spread it somewhere else.  i have enough garbage in my life to last unlimited lifetimes, i don’t need more.  i refuse to accept any more.  i know the truth and if you can’t see the truth then that’s your problem, not mine.

all lives do NOT matter.

my life does not matter.

so just stop already.

all the things he said

When he said it wouldn’t hurt
and it did
I thought I must be doing something wrong

When he said I would like it
and I didn’t
I thought I must not be normal

When he said it had to be our secret
and I never told anyone
I never realized what that silence would cost

When he said he really liked me
and then hurt me
I thought people who liked me would always hurt me

When he said it would get better
and it didn’t
I thought I was terribly malformed

When he said someday I’d understand
and I never did
I was sure I was mentally crazy

My whole life has been spent trying to connect reality
to the things he said
But now I realize there is no connection and never was

I just wish I could clear my thoughts
of all the things he said

time on my hands

I hate slow afternoons. There is too much time for my mind to go to those places I am not ready to see. At least not without a true, understanding friend at my side. Barring that, my therapist better be present.

Anyhoo – I hate slow afternoons.

And how the **** does management know that my hands are “idle” and I should be given 2 or 3 “Priority 1” jobs?   And yes, dear readers, it is possible to have multiple tasks, all at the top priority, all due at the same time — a time, typically, that you can’t accomplish ONE much less THREE.


I hate slow afternoons because I hate having time on my hands.

Dear Dad

I know you died almost 5 years ago today, but this isn’t something I’ve wanted to do.

Until now.

I had actually meant to call you earlier that week. I had been thinking about the days you spent teaching me to ride horseback – and the first day I soloed in your airplane after you spent countless hours patiently teaching me.

But I didn’t call. Because I also remembered the other stuff. The pain, humiliation, never being good enough – being the butt of all your jokes… The other things never spoken of. My own son still didn’t understood why I never took him to see his grandfather after his grandmother passed away. And he was angry with me for a long time when he realized he’d never see you again. Someday I may share with him why.

I want you to know Dad, the pain hasn’t left – the humiliation either. They have only begun to lessen. But something has joined them that I was in no way prepared to feel.


I guess, bottom line, good or bad, right or wrong, you were my father. I inherited my joy in music from you. Other things too – but this is not the time to rehash those old wounds.

I may not be able to explain the sorrow… but I guess I have it to carry for a while. Understand, Dad – it’s not the heart-rending pain that I suffered when Snick passed away … but it’s still there – like a small black hole in my personal universe.

So I want to do the dutiful thing … no … I want to do what is right in my heart, and that is to thank you for the good times (though few) we DID have, and start letting go of the bad.

Rest in peace, Dad. I wish things could have been better between us.

Your number two son,