Monday (of a Holiday week)

I give it all – But you can’t stop taking from me…
(how I feel every second of every day of a Holiday week)


That body they pulled from the river

That body they pulled from the river

was once full of smiles and mischief

dancing, laughing and full of life


That body they pulled from the river

was so young

How did she get there?

She doesn’t belong in the river, in the city…

That body they pulled from the river

is someone’s best friend

someone’s auntie

someone’s niece

someone’s neighbor

someone’s classmate

someone everyone knows…


A missing person

A body pulled from the river

A news story

A memory


Today, is a Good Day

One day you once again feel the wind blowing through your hair

One day you find yourself listening to the old songs without crying

One day you catch yourself dancing, smile, and then happily dance some more

One day an old “friend” messages and your heart doesn’t flip or flutter
you exchange honest pleasantries and go on with your day

One day you wake up fully rested, from a good night’s sleep

One day you decide being angry is a waste of your energy
you let the little things roll off your back, and you give attention to the big things

One day you realize YOU get to decide the little things versus the big things

One day you, when you have exhausted every other avenue, come to the conclusion to live while you are still alive

One day you take control of your life

One day, you will once again say, “Today is a good day”

As The World Turns

“Hello” I say into the phone, not bothering to look at caller ID.

“E-mail sucks” he almost groans.  I smile, he’s correct, I haven’t heard from him in hours.  I was getting nervous, to be honest.

I tell him as much, we chat and laugh and smile.  We are busy, we cannot stay on the phone long.  His world, my world; going one hundred miles a minute parallel to each other, intersecting on rare wonderful occasions.  The moments we live for.

I’m back to my coffee and patients, he’s back to his reports.  The world keeps turning, paying no mind to shit e-mail or moon crossed lovers who can’t go a few hours without conversation.  The world keeps mourning celebrities, abusing their own children and pampering their pets.  The world keeps advancing and falling apart at equal speed.

And me, I just want coffee, I want time with him alone, away from this world, in Neverland or on the moon, either will do.  I’m also open to other suggestions.



A Love Story ~ In The Beginning


In the beginning

She was apprehensive, almost standoffish.  I guess he didn’t notice or didn’t care.  He had his very own agenda which had not one single thing to do with her.  Their bad attitudes just happened to collide.

In the beginning

She thought him to be ignorant, but not in the way that one is not intelligent, she knew he was intelligent.  In the way that one is new to something.  Which he was.  He was new to this world which she was so completely consumed within.  She was both bothered and endeared with his newness.  The endearment stuck.

In the beginning

She tried every one of her tricks to push him away.  He either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care.  Her heart skipped a beat each and every time he returned.  He seemed to both notice and care because he never stayed gone for very long. This delighted her very much.  An emotion she wasn’t much accustomed to.

In the beginning

She knew they were in big trouble.



Yesterday my phone chimed, alerting me of breaking news. “Prince dead at 57”, was the simple statement.

Fade to purple as my mind is filled with thousands upon thousands of song lyrics.

Oh yes I know we have lost too many great musicians this year.  All of them tragic and tremendous losses to the music industry.  Each an icon in their own right.  And now, The Purple One has been taken from us.  My heart is heavy indeed.

For myself Prince’s music was indeed The Revolution.  The sexual revolution.  Up until I heard his Controversy album I liked music, some forms of course better than others; but still, music was for listening to, maybe on occasion dancing.  You see I was a teenager in the Shaun Cassidy, Andy Gibb time frame, and for a kid like me that was fine for Teen magazines but not really exciting musically.  I was a bit of a rebel and to my parent’s dismay I would sneak in some Queen and Alice Cooper.  Still not the same, still just music for me.  I hadn’t found “my” grove yet.

Then one Friday night I was staying at a friends house and her sister played Prince’s Controversy Album.  That was it for me.  It took me someplace music had never taken me before.  I felt it.  I felt it in my nipples and in my thighs. I felt it tingling in my fingers and glinting in my eyes.  It made me bite my lip and catch my breath.  Music did this to me.  It was wonderful.  I really didn’t understand the idea of sexy, but I knew that this is what it felt like.  This music made me feel sexy, and I liked it.  That weekend I bought myself a copy of  1999 and played it every chance I could.  I was hooked.  I had no idea who Prince was, but I was hooked.

So of course when Purple Rain the movie came out I had to go see it.  I was very surprised by the appearance of Prince.  He was very petite and almost feminine.  Oh, but he had that soft shy sexy smile that grabbed you and didn’t let you go.  You wanted to hold him, comfort him, and do naughty things with him all at the same time.  It was a very odd feeling.

All of my boy friends were very manly and in fact thought Prince’s music was too feminine.  I think it was a stigmata at that point in time.  I think it was fear.  For me, it was a sexual revolution.  Finding my own grove through music.  A grove that awakened my sexy side, my inquisitive side, my musical style.  It was a game changer for me, to feel the music.  I am forever indebted to Prince and his Revolution.

Thank You Prince, you will be missed.



Dream Lovers

A long (but not) forgotten lover joined my dream without invitation Friday evening.

I was initially displeased to see his face.  Which is odd, as I’m generally pleased to see his face.  Friday night however, he didn’t belong.  He was uninvited, and moreover, unwelcome.  I said as much to the invited guest in my dream.  In fact he is the one who alerted me of “his” presence.  Which was crazy weird, since they don’t know each other.  But hey, a dream is a dream.

My invited guest said “hey, look who is here”, I looked and said “what is he doing here?”  to which my guest replied “I don’t know, this is your dream”, he had a decent point, even my dream-self thought so and rolled her eyes at him.  So I walked over to said uninvited guest, who even thought he did not “belong” in my dream.  I started to ask him “what are you doing here?”, but just as I opened my mouth, he asked me “what are you doing here?”, which was crazy, because it’s my fucking dream!

At this point in my dream I hear the very familiar voice of a mutual friend of mine and said uninvited guest, she chimes in “oh, for goodness sake, both of you get over yourselves and hug already!”  We both (he and I) look over at her (here I will interject that she is a lifelong dear friend of mine, whom he slept with after our breakup) and we say in harmony “what are you doing here?”  She laughs, and I will add she has one of the most beautiful laughs of anyone I know, and says “I need a beer”!  Did I mention, I’m completely in love with her, in the way you can love only a lifelong friend.

I awkwardly hug my uninvited guest, I hug my dear friend even harder and leave those two to drink a beer.  I turn back to my invited guest, kiss him passionately, and ask, “does this seem really weird to you?” he replies “Baby, it’s your dream, I’m just glad I belong here.”  I’m glad he knows he belongs here.  In my dreams and in my life.


A Love Story 04152016

The first time he saw me naked he commented about a tiny freckle on the outside of my knee.

Who notices freckles on knees?

He does, I don’t, or rather didn’t.

I didn’t notice it, had no idea what he was talking about.  He’s crazy.

The other morning as I was applying a generous amount of morning body lotion, I rubbed over a little freckle on the outside of my left knee.  I smiled out loud and said “oh, there you are.”  Don’t worry, the freckle did not reply back, but I am petty sure I heard a gentle “I told you so” whisper in my ear.

He notices freckles, and I remember the moments he does.



My season of inactivity has left me restless rather than restful.

My mind is overwhelmed with more questions than I can answer.

My body is left sore from the lack of proper exercise.

My veins and heart have filled with concrete and it is difficult to move.

Each step and breath is labored.

I have spent too much time in hospitals, though not for myself; I lack medical attention.

The wonders of modern medicine no longer work for me, I seek organic remedies.

I search for myself within the written word, both my own and others.  I remain lost.

My lovers are my characters I’ve created within my mind.

In reality I just push everyone further and further away.

I hate being lonely, yet adore being alone.

My six month hibernation has reinforced my freedom to choose, so I go it alone.

I crave the spring, to crawl out of my cave, yet this hibernation is hard to shake.


*August 19, 2015 was the last real happy day that I can recall.  After that day everything went to shit.  I am trying to find my way back, past all the kicks in the head.  Thank You to everyone who has stuck around.  Special thanks to those to have sent messages to check on me.  Extra special thanks to the one who never lets go no matter how hard I push back.  I love you!  XO






I Got The Boy

Over the Holidays I had the opportunity to catch up with an old friend of mine.  Its funny because we seemed to have “run” with the same crowds, just at different times in our lives.  The catching up that we did had less to do with ourselves and more to do with the other people that we both knew.

We fell upon the subject of an old boyfriend of mine, and the conversation went something like this…

“You know ” my friend says to me “he changed when he moved back here.”

“Changed?!” I asked

“He was different”  my friend makes a funny expression at me

“Different?!  Did I ruin him?  It didn’t end well you know.”  I frown

“I didn’t know, no body knows, no body knows anything, but you could tell.  Anyway, he turned out alright.  He is happy now.”  My friend gives me a knowing look.

“I’ve heard”  I say.

I haven’t heard, but I’ve seen pictures of him with his family.  I’ve seen him in those cumbersome suits and ties.  He looks happy, although constrained.  He looks changed.  He looks, different.

He looks like a Man, a family Man.  Not the fun loving Boy I knew and loved.  Not the Boy who would roll lemons down the side of a mountain.  Not the Boy who drove a jeep along the beach.

That’s okay, change is good.  After all, I got the Boy, and I’d take the Boy every time.



I have deleted more words in the last month then I have written in the last three years.  My words can no longer stop nor bring my tears.  I am numb.  The blood that used to boil within my veins now refuses to even flow.  Death does not even welcome me.  I have become a shell of my former self, spending too many days wishing I were someone else.  So now, as even my words fail me, I struggle to give this life meaning.

Hummm… Should She?

All Hallows Eve

is approaching…

Shall I write something spooky??  Scary??  Haunting??

I just crawled out of Hell!!

There did that scare the shit out of you??

She throws her head back and laughs.  Nobody else finds it funny.  She laughs to herself.  She may be mad.  She probably is.  She has crawled out of Hell, what do you expect.  She sits on her bed with her laptop waiting for the fucking floor to drop, or the ceiling, or maybe the walls to crumble.  Any of those things, or none.  She would not be fazed.  She is both alive and dead.  Fingers typing faster than her mind can think.  Making up for weeks of neglect.  Her mind jumping between visions of fantasy and reality, heaven (no fuck, not heaven, just life) and hell, mostly hell.  She is sane, probably not sable, but most don’t like her that way anyway.  She’d do pretty much anything for a beer and a hard throbbing cock right now, but sits alone and bed and writes about it instead.  She has found that turning off a laptop is much easier than kicking a man out of her bed.

So back to.. should she write something scary or haunting for All Hallows Eve??

The Greatest Gift

Recently I had the honor of watching my dearest friend pass away.

I realize that most would not consider this an honor but rather morbid and awful.  Yet, as often as I have re-played her last words, last breath, and last moments in my mind, I am grateful that I was lucky enough to be with her during those moments.  I don’t think I could accept her death had I not been a witness.

You see, she had been ill for some time, one day short of a month to be exact, but was on the upswing.  She was going to be released from the hospital in a few days, either into a rehab center or home (where I would stay with her), having home healthcare coming in for rehabilitation.  We had spent most of the day discussing plans for her release from “captivity”, right down to the first meal she wanted when she came home.  This might not sound so exciting from a reading standpoint, but just three weeks prior she had been in a coma, and two weeks prior she still could not breathe on her own, so sitting here talking about getting out was a huge deal.

For myself, I was exhausted.  I had spent everyday for the last 29 days going between work and the hospital.  This day was a good day filled with good news and I expected to finally be able to sleep the entire night through.  I was wrong.  Ruth’s heart unexpectedly failed that evening, just as I was preparing to leave for the night.  She had made it quite clear that she did not want to be put back on life support should it come to that again.  So here, in front of me I witnessed a DNR request honored as my dearest friend’s heart stopped for the fourth time in a less than a month.  This time the line on the monitor did not go back up, this time it stayed flat.  This time the “crash cart” left the room as the team called time of death.  This time was the last time.

I sat on the cold floor of the hospital hallway.  Ruth’s favorite nurse came and gave me a hug (his shift was just ending when she coded and he ran into her room), he asked how I was, I said “pissed right the fuck off” and he told me that was o.k., and then I cried, he hugged me harder and asked if there was anything he could do, “no, not anymore, thank you”.  So many others came and hugged me and asked me the same.  Then the hospital clergy came over and talked with me “here are parking passes, how many will you need?  How many will be coming?”, holy shit I thought, I need to call people and tell them!!!

I felt bad and sad for those people who I had to notify.  My grief quickly pushed aside as I took to the business at hand and I became the consoler and comforter.  This is when I truly realized what an honor it was for me to be a witness to her passing.  I got the last moments with her, I have the very last memory of her, it is mine, and I am so blessed and honored to carry that gift.


**Ruth passed away Sept 26, 2015.  She was my closest & dearest friend.  I am still struggling with her death on many levels, and intend to miss her every day.  My writing here on WP has taken a blow during her illness, hospital stay and untimely passing, I have lost my spark and social flair, I don’t know if either of those will ever recover, but I hope so as I miss you all so much.

Much Love,










slowly step from my fantasy

lay down my mask

to reveal, me

Taking baby steps

into the great big world

afraid, yet strong

a woman

yet, a girl

Reaching out my hands

with open heart

Pulling back tightly

and shutting out


step slowly

into reality



To Drift Away

I’ve been spending far too much time in hospitals and various medical buildings during the last three months.  I’ve learned more than I have ever, ever wanted to know about the process of keeping the body alive and functioning.  I am quiet certain that I have been privy to more test results than any one lay person needs to be.

I am neither awed by modern medicine nor am I frightened by death.  I simply am.

It is my wish, whether it be tomorrow or 50 years from now, to never have a test run to find out what is “wrong” with me.  I wish to sit silently with only the sound soft waves lapping at my feet, a pen and notebook resting on my lap (I think I will add a DNR to all my notebooks.)  I want to just drift away in peace, without the tubes and machines.


She removes her flip flops to bare her feet

wishing she were baring her whole being

She wants to push him into the soft grass

not giving a damn about the mess

As her hand lays softly upon his knee

she wishes to run it up his thigh just as easily

She wants to kiss him hard and harder still

to feel every tingle as her body thrills

She longs to turn in his embrace to face him

rip his shirt from his chest to feel his skin

She wants to ride him there where they sit

and that smooth face of his, she wants to lick it

But now is not the time, nor is this the place

she gathers her composure, she shows the greatest restraint