I am soooo tired. Must be the melatonin. What has become of my favorite late night radio show? What are those foolish programming droids at Disney thinking? They took over 710 am, isn't that enough for them? Do they have to mess up my late night listening on 790am as well?
This is the worst rattie nightmare I've ever been through. I don't know what to do. Should I separate the last two boy ratties? What if I do that and they get lonely? What if I don't do that and one of them dies?
Oh that's it, I'm making myself go to sleep now. I've been editing some of my older poetry. Cydniey took my old site down. God bless her for having put it up in the first place and kept it going for so long. I will miss it though, but I will always be grateful to her. She is a truly good soul. I adore her.
Okay me drag weary head to bed. Hope the cats won't keep me up. I let too mnay of them into my bedroom when Scotty left. They'll have taken over the bed by now and I'll have to find a place to squeeze in.
Night night Live Journal Family, Jacqui
PS: Leaving for Palm Springs tomorrow. This would be a good time to break into my house.
Here's a poem I wrote for my husband long ago (he left a little over two years ago)
He drives flowers into my hands as if they were nails Big pink peonies and poppy flowers meant for someone else My heart has this open gash that's pulling apart at the edges where we used to be happy I remember my beloved cat Skinny choking and gasping for air his lungs filling with water in reaction to the poison that burned them on our wedding day I remember me a mute bride a howl of pain so great it almost filled that space where my mother lives She was there in volcanic form indomitable and controlling forcing us to pose for faithless recreations of moments that had already passed Images they would later retouch to make me look thinner Repainting everything but my own memory I remember taffeta and lace presents and flowers an angry woman pelting me with rice for marrying the brother of the man who would never marry her I remember a small cove, the Italian Riviera a honeymoon picnic on rocks splashing waves and tiny sea crabs a rowboat ride on Lago di Como I remember a sunset view of Switzerland through our bedroom window Bats circling at dusk over Venice The ancient beauty of Rome and my hands drifting in an ice cold fountain I remember so many things but nothing will ever change the fact that he never stroked my hair he never told me I was beautiful he never held my heart with any kind of regard No, nothing will change the fact that we hardly ever made love certainly not on our wedding day or any significant romantic occasion thereafter then hardly at all then hardly now not at all but he presses flowers into my hands that smell of spring and summer that promise happiness and family a soft window seat with a view through warm crystal window panes of a garden in England with silky hens and geese and the sounds of my children playing like music below me A friendly cat climbs the wisteria to rest in my lap and he will come up from behind and wrap his strong arms around me pressing flowers into my hands that were never really meant for me and though they feel like soft pink velvet to my lips they nail me to this empty life and promise so much pain when I try to tear myself away
I have to get going, but I thought I'd share another older one with you. I live in Los Angeles, I bet you can guess who this was about.
Impermanent Blonde
Didn't like her Didn't like her son He was the meanest kid in the kindergarten class Last week I went to a party at her ex husband's house I hadn't realized she was an ex wife of someone so famous She looked tired and thin from trying hard to hide pain, age and anger She seemed dry like her hair and it scared me Counting age spots and wrinkles having dreams about losing my teeth I wondered if I was heading in the same direction At her son's graduation she wore a tight black dress that blew up around her waist with every hot and sunny breeze Her tanned legs looked as hard and out of place as her black silk g-string panties at a preschool picnic At the desert table she apologized for eating a few too many chocolate dipped strawberries as if everyone were watching and counting her calories Driving by her building today I see the yellow tape and avert my little boy's head The front steps are wet with her blood and yet despite the horror, sadness and loss It all feels the same as everything else in this dangerously unstable city where people are as brittle and close to cracking as the faulty earth There are truths we never see laying there crumpled and broken like all the quake wrecked homes crushed to nothing and left in piles in the street Waiting for someone to come and sweep the fear away If I knew I had days left maybe two or three I wouldn't want to spend them worrying about how things look Keeping up a sunny front while desperately counting the caloric content of a piece of chocolate dipped fruit
