The sun brings on the day. Not headlines or pocketbooks. Definitely not desire. Fear plays no part in the cosmos. Those stars do what they do no matter what. Wish upon them all you want. The universe doesn’t care much about your Facebook posts. Your Twitter feed. What you’re wearing. Who you’re dreaming about. What you want to be whenever you stop being what everyone else expects you to be. … More waking slow
Many of us don’t use our time wisely. We’re unable to recognize opportunities. We don’t capitalize on them when we do. And so, we sit, get weak and weary and bitter, and we fit ourselves into routines we’ll never break from. … More into another day
Down there, you may think you’re in control, that you have friends, but you’re only widening the expanse of the darkness. Making it more and more difficult to find the light. Making yourself more alone. And when you do pop up to make the necessary appearance, the darkness comes with you. I know firsthand. … More on the surface
They want to be heard and recognized. And they’re scared too. Maybe not all the time, but this moving from day to day isn’t always easy. Shit, indeed, does happen. And it’s important to remember others are at it as well. Doing whatever it takes to figure it out, get through, and be as prepared as possible for whatever, whenever it comes. … More bird moments
Dreamt I drank. Felt guilty as hell. There was no desire to drink. Just did it. I was driving my son’s car. 2009 Toyota Corolla LE. Going to get it tuned up for him at a friend’s garage. Strange. Surreal. Exciting and worrisome, as dreams often are. I felt good, buzzed up, but I knew … More phantom hangover
Drinking stops, but thinking does not. As you learn to live all over again—taking baby steps—the world around you continues.
Thirty years of steady alcohol intake trains the body and brain. You don’t notice the aches. Pain. When you’re frustrated, you drink. If you’re tired, you drink. Happy, you drink. Sad, you drink. Drinking goes with everything.
“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy.”
… More seven months
Overhead lights buzz like big fluorescent honey bees. Two fat women with cheeks like tomatoes slug through the bright aisles in baggy black sweatshirts and camouflage pajama pants. They reek of weed and hard-to-reach dirty places. I pass them in aisle nine. Their cart bursts with hot dogs, potato chips, easy-cheese, Mountain Dew, Oreos and … More getting my vodka for the week
Fewer excuses. Less procrastination. Better judgement. That’s what I’ve been experiencing over the last month and three days not drinking alcohol. Granted, I drank half a gallon of vodka and up to half a box of wine a week. Cutting that in half likely would have helped. But, it was time to stop. I was … More a month and three days
We’re more alike than different. Until we recognize this and act upon it through kindness and understanding, the shitshow will continue. We can’t blame 2020. And it’s not a certain group, team, color, race, sight or sound. It’s you. And it’s me. We aren’t making the best decisions we can. We’re moving along in our … More unicorns, ice cream, and balloons
Early Sunday morning. A car stops on State Street because a flock of geese crosses the road. They are doing what they’ve been doing for millions of years. Moving from Point A to Point B. They’ve experienced disease, drought, famine, and legitimate predators—not the weekend gun-jockeys that pop them off in parks during three-day hunts … More crossing the road
The Crooked Steeple 