mind dump or drunk writing on a sunday night

One prompt for today suggested I write a list; a list of anything. This is not tickling my fancy. What is making me do a happy dance - while sitting in my cushy chair with my feet up - is this lovely little G & T. It’s not really little but it sure is lovely. Ice cold gin is a joy, a gift from the gods. And with the tonic, I will forever be protected from malaria which is a clear and present danger in New Jersey. I wouldn’t lie to you. I would and you’d enjoy it.

I didn’t write first thing this morning. I was at my daughter’s house and I didn’t get my coffee in a timely fashion and I didn’t have a table to set up my iPad. All of this is bullshit because I could have worked around it all but I didn’t. So shoot me. I am writing now. It’s scintillating and well worth the wait.  

The drive to her house or back to mine takes about one and a half hours. She lives in the Lancaster, Pennsylvania area. I live in New Jersey across the Delaware River from North East Philadelphia. I always want to fall asleep if I’m on a drive of more than a half hour. I’m prone to daydreaming, too, which makes me sleepy. The sky was full of big poofy clouds. I wanted to crawl up into them and cuddle and snuggle like in my grandmother’s feather beds. We used to sleep with the windows wide open in winter; it made sleeping under the down comforters comforting. I felt safe and warm.

It’s Sunday afternoon. Weekends are never long enough. Sometimes they are too long. Have you ever noticed how life is so full of noise. There’s no quiet anywhere. The only sounds that calm me down are either rain on the windows or a breeze in the trees. These sounds are a soothing white noise that help me feel at peace. They’re like someone petting my brain. I can see the sparking along my synapses dampening like a gas burner being turned down. The heat never goes away completely but it becomes manageable.

I’ve made it a whole week, seven days of writing every day. All I have to do is keep doing it. So easy, yet so hard. Mostly its the voices, those voices that badger me with thoughts of “why bother?” The voices peck at me like black birds ignoring a scare crow. Whose fooled by this bull shit? Not me because I want to give up every single moment of every single day. I really, this dream I have is laughable. Believe me, no one laughs hard than I do. And then I have a panic attack. Time is running out. I can’t die without doing this. I just can’t. I hyperventilate. I can’t see straight. The voices peck me raw and yet I can’t allow myself to die without making the attempt. I just fucking can’t.