memories of a red sweater
worn every christmas eve
until fire got the better
of it’s fluffy, fuzzy sleeve.
And then that holiday
which isn’t far away
(by the way)
never quite was the same
for the pyro’s who knew the game
of lighting my shirt sleeves
Exhaustion isn’t even close to the right word. I was never a person who suffered from stress, in fact, I’m still in denial of the fact that I even am stressed. But the doc’s say its so and they went to school longer than I did so then it must be so.
So I guess I was out of line when I told the eye doc to eat shit and die and stomped off. I wasn’t even really that mad, but the fact that they wanted to put me on a set of drugs to make me seem like another American Zombie…that just doesn’t fly with someone of my singular vision.
No pun intended.
Sleep threatens my well being every moment that passes and I find myself at ready at any point to just fall face forward to the floor, drooling like some primeval beast, snoring away in the desperate sleep of someone whose been up for two consecutive weeks until 2 a.m. and has to wake up at 5 a.m. for work.
Burnt out, they say, is what’s happening to me. I had my midlife crisis at age 17, went out and bought myself a porsche I’m now too blind to drive.
Rather ironic in my own personal opinion.
But back to my point. Apparently stress has caused these prescriptions of medications I will not take myself but rather sell to the highest High School Student bidder. I always prefered fruit snacks to cough medicine and ice cream to sore throat lozenges anyway.
Amidst all the moments in my life that are, in fact, stressful, I find that rather than being upset or unnerved, I am rather passively serene right now. Sure, I could reach up and grab the chandelaire and bring it crashing down on some hapless sunuvabitches head, but even if I do, I’ll be serene about it.
Stress is a mind set, and it is one I do not have a monthly subscription to. But like all junk mail it somehow shows up time and again after months of leaving me alone, asking me for some kind of hand out.
Sam aka “BoldNTrue” thinks that my life is a Movie, and that I am the protagonist, living my role and following my own self-declared prophecies.
I have a 3 day long sound track for my life, it is rather eccentric and bizarre but utterly wonderful from note to note.
So, if I am stressed it is my self-fufilling prophecy that causes it to be so and no amount of drugs, writing, liquor, or sex is going to alleviate such a calamity as self-desired misery.
And the next peckerwood that calls me stressed may find my middle finger jammed up their nostril, squishing mucus into brain band and leading them to the executioner and his rusty guillotine by nose hair.
I just need a nap.