Diary entry, May 16, 2013

I am tired.  I hate moving.  But it’s my own fault, isn’t it?  Everything is my own fault.

I am an idiot.  An idiot who never learns.  I am a tired idiot who never learns.

I hate myself.  I wish I didn’t.

Not my father's tree...

The coming crisis

“God will not look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas but for scars.” 
― Elbert Hubbard

Journal, May 29, 2000

A car length away from entering my zone
until I fell through the open door

**********************************************

We are wasted in daydream
born again in reality
it hurts but better than 
feeling nothing 
at all.

Diary entry, April 28, 2004

I had another disturbing dream last night.  I was falsely accused of killing a boy, but I had somehow managed to get away so I was on the run, trying to find out who did kill him with the help of a couple of people.

At some point I went to a friend’s house, thinking I’d be safe there, but her kids called the police because they were angry that their parents were getting a divorce.  When I saw the police coming I begged my friend to hide me in the attic, and to not let the police search the house—but I felt terribly guilty about it.

At this point the daughter felt badly about calling the police, so she and her friends were trying to come up with a disguise to help me escape.  The whole time I’m thinking, “They’re going to catch me and put me in the electric chair—and I didn’t do it!”  However, I was trying very hard to be nice and understanding to the kids who turned me in, even as they kept mucking up my chances for escape.

Then my brother Steve showed up and I had to kiss him and act like I was glad to see him...yuck.  Anyway, I finally woke up, and I was really freaked out.  To fall back asleep again, I “finished” the dream by imagining the police telling me they’d found the right person, and they were just there to tell me I was no longer a suspect.

Let’s just say I am so ready for my appointment tomorrow.  I’ve still got to decide what to do about going to Minnesota over Memorial Day weekend.

The Unfinished Forest

Goodbye to All This, 2001

And when I choose to come here again                                                                     

will it snow how it did in my dreams

                        will I be

a story worth telling

                                    because the sadness—

it crackles in the night

           

for you           

the mistake worth regretting

                                                the faraway voice        filled with belonging

do you see where eternity ends

did you know that you were my friend

this planet a box that holds me

when she could not worship the sun               for so long she yearned to sleep         

but the storm came rolling in

                      the storm came rolling in

a million miles of prairie grass

and your golden-haired girl                            exposed once again

unsure how the course of right became the final turn wrong

how her rabbit-hole time for falling   

                                    just      gone

gone

gone

a triumph but for you 

my one truth worth deceiving

a child’s dream for tomorrow so good           it deserved to be buried

behind the wall a red she had never seen                  

           

if I had                        discovered

yet not been found

would your golden-haired girl           

be six feet underground

I guess this was why you had to go

maybe I should have known

but the sadness—

no one told me it would come with the leaving

especially not you

     my last hope worth believing