Saturday, February 27, 2010

Tired Of Waiting

I am an itchy person. I don’t do well at stand up parties because I squirm. I squirm in lots of ways. One of the reasons the women in my life will think of me as a bear, I use walls and other pointy stable things to scratch my back. Just thinking about itching is not good. I notice that these days I do sit more still. I think it is the blood pressure meds that do it. I don’t know if it is good that I am less restless. This planet has earned my restlessness, I think. I used to drink. The world deserves a drink. Now that I don’t drink, what can I do??

It’s a problem. I looked to the experts. They offered a solution. I don’t like the solution. Now what?? As my friend Vivian says, "They offered me door number one. They offered me door number two. There are only two doors. I want door number three."

Tough shit.

Tired Of Waiting

I am so restless,
impatient, tired of waiting,
sure you said you'd come,
soon you said. How come
you're not here right now, damn it?
I need to scratch now.

I have no choice, none.
Not without you, not without
your damn permission.

April 9, 2009 3:41 PM


  1. i identify!!!
    ...and it came to me when i read this, seeing your words as apposed to my thoughts bouncing around up there, that we have to build our own door number three.
    big enough to fit through with a nice sharp edge to scratch against.
    thank you.

  2. Turning that itchiness into positive action is the only option. Otherwise, it becomes a burden too great.

  3. Hmmmm. So I have new questions...

    How do I sit still long enough to practice music, to write poems, to even earn my dailies??

    My house is a complete mess because I have so little time. Huh? What do I do? I itch.

    That's what dope and drinking was for. It got me over the hump but at a terrible price. It would not have been possible else for my younger self. Of that I have no doubt.

    Why are some of us built like this?

    More questions. They seethe and burn just under the surface and I itch. To just shut up about it is not possible.

    I am not sure the actions I take are positive. I skate along the edge of cliffs, I think, but the pressure is too great. In my own way I am the same guy as the one who takes to extreme sports. The risks are great either way but life intolerable otherwise.

    People say I think too much but I say I have little choice. I am a philosopher poet, a scientist theologian, a mage and a foolish mathematician, and weirdly innocent for all my erotic sense of things. I dance on the horns of dilemma and glide across paradox all before I sit down to breakfast. For all that I am fat and have an achy old body that says it is far too late for a second chance at things. I wonder who will love me now? Who will sit next to me as I am, as this is, looking to what comes next. It won't be much, not anymore.

    This is what I get. I am marshalling my loose ends. Soon I will present my case. I am readying for that. I took a touch on the heel, an inner scar, a name and a calling. I stood and stared down my destiny before I even began. I promised sincerity without knowing how completely fucking brave such a promise was. If it had not come at me a bite at a time, I could not have eaten this elephant. Now I suspect I have not eaten even close to all of it. Yet there it is.

    Thank you for your willingness to return to this place. I look at my Feedjit and see you all out there. I see that it cuts both ways. There is a remarkable number of you who seem to care about this conversation we have here. For God's sake, there is someone coming back steady from the Canaries. But I notice too this is global, to get any audience I have to present to the whole world. Out of all the billions on the planet, only a few score of you return. I am not alone, but there aren't that many. Most go what the fuck? That is just how it is, here as well as in the rest of my life.

    My boss loves me. He has no clue who I am, just that I do what he needs better than most. The girl who runs the admin desk is sure I am crazy, but she likes me okay. The people in AA have a consensus. It takes time, but after a while I start making sense. My old cat wanders off but she comes back. I continue to snuffle around my cave and then go out after berries.

    Whatever. It's the questions that get you. The answers seem less important.

  4. I'm in agreement with Karen. ;)

    And if you need a third door, bust through the wall, so long as you know there's a floor on the other side.

  5. If people say you think to much
    maybe they just don't get it, or worse, they don't want to.

    "I dance on the horns of dilemma and glide across paradox all before I sit down to breakfast." Wonderful!!!-by the way.

    "...far to late"
    I had thought that for years and years as a curmudgeon, it changed for me. I know longer eat at the sink, well sometimes. But the point is, IT DOES CHANGE even at our time.

  6. We keep on truckin'

    I don't eat at the sink :)

    I do however have spots on all my t-shirts. Heh.

    Joseph, the trouble is, you don't get to know until you go. I think you already know this.

  7. Damn that instant gratification bullshit :)




  8. A little lower, to the left,
    yes! right there! ooooohhh






  9. Interesting...that itch. I feel it more than ever now and there is no scratching post with friction enough. It is that itch that keeps me moving forward. I find...I kinda like it...'til I bleed from effort to scratch.

  10. Well, m'dear, everything will change. Mostly I search out the scratching posts. More than one required because more than one area itches. I try really hard to avoid the posts that make me bleed. I also learned a while ago that certain things make the itch worse even when they seem to ease the way at first. I try not to do those things.

    I have thought under extreme duress that I might take my damn skin off...but not lately.

    Harumph! murfle. snort.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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