Wasted afternoon

Stress is like a living force. It grows and thrives in an all consuming wave, devouring any sort of creative spark that you might have otherwise had. I spent the entire afternoon sitting in mediation. About five years ago I was in an accident. An honest to Hades, unavoidable rear end accident that even the officer took one look at and said this isn’t even worth writing up a report. Exchange insurance and have a nice day. Five years later I’m being sued and my entire afternoon was a total waste of time. Though the attorney that represents my insurance company says there’s nothing to worry about, she can’t see it through my eyes. She doesn’t know how the universe likes to use me as it’s kicking post.

Thoughts keep escaping my head. They’re at the tip of my fingers until I sit – as though the change in elevation or pressure causes them to retreat.

There were two things on the internet today. I could give a frilly f*** about one of them… however Leonard Nimoy will be sorely missed. To the man that taught that logic and rationality can solve any problem – farewell. Your time on this planet was fascinating. May your travels lead you to a wondrous new life.



I think I have sat down at this computer for probably no more than ten hours since September. Bills, wedding, organizing and such… but writing? I’ve tried. I’ll knock out a few words, but the mental block is so strong it manifests itself into something physical. And reading over what I’ve already done? Forget it. The words blur together, lines run into each other and I keep losing my place. My head starts to hurt, my eyes burn, and at that point I’m just stuck staring uselessly at the screen.

My mind wanders… and keeps going to lonely and dark places as I sit. I have to get up and move, and just keep moving. Moving helps. Not a lot, but I’ll take what I can get.

On September twenty-fourth, my mother took her last breath in my arms. I sat in the room holding her head as she passed. The road up to that night was rocky and painful, so that evening came as no surprise. I’d been expecting it for sometime.

For those who have never lost someone – it is not easier if you know it’s coming. There is no solace in knowing the person is at peace or no longer in pain. The loss is palpable, smothering, and completely overwhelming. You hear stories from people that it gets easier. This too is different each person. It’s been five months this week. Five months since I held her hand the night before as she cried out in pain, praying to any deity that would listen help her.

I tried talking about it. I suppose you have to find the right person to talk to. Or I just don’t talk. For the most part it’s numb… until I’m still. Then the memories start the flit in. Little things like the way she’d walk into the room and chastise me for being on the computer so long as I wrote; asking why I did it.

Nothing feels the same, and keep wondering if it ever will again. This is a part of all of us. We outlive those who came before and learn to move on. You suffer a trauma and have to teach your muscles how to work all over again. I have to learn how to write again. To navigate through the pain and to lose myself in my imagination once more. The path is strewn with broken shards of my shattered world. So I dawn my work boots and start to rebuild. I have to pick up each piece and find a way to rebuild.

I don’t know how far this debris is spread, or how long it will take for me to learn how to string coherent thoughts together again. I do know that I can’t give up, and that I’m strong (and stubborn) enough to get the job done.