Journal 39 - 2nd Round Bye

It’s nice to not have to coordinate my eye-
lids with my belt or shoes. Oversized sun-glasses
are a drain on my better judgment. Purple (or
fuchsia) is the color of royalty – well, those who
pretend to such royal diadems and celebrated
atrocities of social adjustment. Adjustment is the
Epimetheal desire of the ignorant and callow
breeding. The sound of the parties and laughter and
dance music waft over to me in undulant
affirmations of my lost life. Not everything
lost is desired. All of life is a burden not
shared in my bestest dreams. My pen has decided
to be generous with its drawing ink – how nice.
The pressure is over. Especially since Melissa the
waitress is curious if I’m writing stories or
poetry. I say something in between. Since
I’m in between thoughts right now. I want to
be hugged by a beautiful stranger – I suppose of
the opposite sex. Opposites are nice but difficult
and troublesome in their unfamiliar differences.
I haven’t carried my children to the bar yet
but apparently it’s the thing to do. No worries –
entertainment is just around the corner in a
2 year old mixed girl picking the flowers under
the watchful and corrective eye of her experienced
mother. A love for beauty is a wonderful thing –
when does that love turn destructive, the
plucked flower losing its battle for life. I wonder
at times when I lost my battle for life? Before
children and marriage – yes. that’s the point of
those thing right? Resuscitation. I need the
paddles applied. Wait, been there done that –
about 5 times. Nothing’s happening – each day
is like taking steps in the same footprints I
made the days before. Alcohol has me in a
rut listening to music copulated in the 1980s.
Robots have more freedom of choice than I –
stuck relishing in the thought of a 2^nd round bye.

4.25.09