It's so odd to me that some people tried to steal from me what I did my best to give to them. My poetry. They only had themselves to give in return, and it wasn't enough. No blame.
It rained after I went to bed last night. No warning. No thunder and lightning. It just started pouring down hard immediately, and then suddenly it stopped. I went outside this morning to see how much water had collected in the plastic bucket on the deck I now use as my front porch. An inch (2.54 mm) came down in a short duration of time. A cool front is sweeping all that heat out to sea, but it's taking it's own good time doing it. It's supposed to rain off and on all day today and tomorrow too. Maybe it's the last hurrah of the the 95/95 dog day afternoons for a while.
I can feel it in my bones. The arthritis has returned to my left elbow. Not as bad as it was. Comparatively, not bad at all. Unfortunately, it runs in the family, which gives me a fair idea of what to expect in the future. My understanding is that the doctors won't prescribe steroids on a continuous basis, but I don't know how often they will think it's okay. Ibuprofen is all she's giving me now. I got another notice from the VA that I'm supposed to come in on the 23rd for a bone-density test for the osteoporosis.
I guess the trip I made to the Seattle area to attend my daughter's wedding connected me up with my ex-family again. We're all exchanging e-mails now. I guess they feel safe doing that. I still don't know where any of them live. I guess I'm being punished. It's been going on for twenty-seven years now. I suspect they're just being nice while they're actually waiting for me to die. I would accommodate them willingly, but I don't think I'll commit suicide for them. Other people are also concerned when it comes to that.
I still don't gnow if God is a who or a what. I devoted my life to that quest, and now it doesn't seem to matter. It costs me everything, and for what? I think I was chosen to go through what has happened to me. The very people who disrespect me the most are the most envious of my commitment, because they didn't even try. At least that's the way it appears to me. Personally, to quote Letterman, I wouldn't wish my life on a monkey on a rock.
I still haven't done much meditating. I intended to, but I just can't get it up to get started. I had a long practice going for over twenty years, until I had an automobile accident and ruptured a spinal disc. I took an operation that supposedly repaired the damage, but like with my hatha yoga practice, I had to stop for a while, and never cranked it back up. I know what all that was done for now, it seems, and I got no motivation anymore. I don't feel like trying.
I'm still prone to weeping on the spur of the moment. It doesn't take much. Either joy or sadness is enough to turn the spigot on. It seems always to be for-the-other, and not so much for-myself. There's nothing to be done for me anymore. I'm a goner. I'm happy I got to see my second family once more, although legally, I guess none of my children except my oldest daughter from my first marriage is still legally mine, and I haven't seen her for years. I don't have a clue where she's at. If the good die young, I'll outlive my own children, much less their mothers.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
