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Back In the Real World-A Journal-Part Two

I go into my kitchen and actually cook for myself tonight. It does not matter it only takes 10 minutes to make. I have not cooked in a week. You have to get back in the swing of things slowly, sometimes.
Amber comes over and we play a game of Revenge, laughing hysterically the whole time. She is great. We have to wipe our eyes a lot.
It has felt like October all day long. And there is nothing I enjoy more than October. We decide to take a lazy walk to Tim Horton's to grab coffee. We must look odd not moving fast.
We stop to talk to Gord briefly on the way back.
Then we go in her house. We play The Cat in the Hat on her new X-Box, for about ten minutes. It is hard to play something that looks like a movie. Sigh. I am getting old.
We gab girly and laugh through a box of her favorite stuff.
I walk through my front door after 11 p.m. and I guess I just did not see it.
I think I might blog. I wonder if I have anything to really write about.
So, I stall. I go pee. I clean up Tim Hortons cups. I turn on my media player and I still have no clue what to write about. Today was average, right?
I play I Believe In A Thing Called Love-The Darkness first. That guy is a freak. He is wonderful. But I want to sing along all freaky with him and this is not giving me any ideas for a blog.
Maybe someone is on Messenger. Sometimes, creative has been known to come from my list.
Shawn is online. That makes me smile. He is a pretty smart guy. And I haven't talked to him in 5 days. And of course, we have a good conversation. I also decide to leave an experiment in the window for a few days to see what happens, during this time.
Charlie comes on Messenger. He asks if I got it. Got what? The coffee he left on my porch. Charlie did decide to come over! I feel bad I was not home.
And he thinks I should.
He was in a car accident not too long after he stopped knocking on the front door I never opened tonight and although both him and the car are fine and he had himself towed on home, he would like to know how I would have lived with the guilt had he died out on that horrible hi-way in pitch darkness, all alone(run-on sentence-wink*).
The sad part is, I do not know if I could have.
I already have Bill.

To Be Continued


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breathing in the
heat waves shimmering off the people
and the cats
and that lazy raccoon that I later named Mondrian in my mind
after I saw my first one,
I did not look for you.
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the magazines, in the new towns,
or down the old roads,
on silver screens, between the book shelves, down on my knees
hands in the clover.
I took you for granted.
Oh hey.
There you are.

I know myself
Far, far, far more than I let on
I know what I am doing.

Love is such an easy word.
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We can keep it there, easy, big, broad like the straight black painted lines, it's nice.
Effortless. Quiet. Assured.
So then, I guess that it is not the word.

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Minnie is 14. She likes wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
Right now, Tommy is arguing with her. "Vitto will be waiting for me then."
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"Yeah," Tommy says. "That might work. Vitto would believe that. Three different cops stopped me on the street this week."
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“No, they aren't."
But she knew. "For sure they are. Listen. Meet me outside the pool hall at 9:30. I'll havethe dope then, Tommy."
“No. I really should go see Vitto first.” He kisses her quickly on the forehead and then runs home to make himself some Kraft Dinner for supper.

When he walks in the front door, there is Momma with a bottle of whiskey tucked between her legs, her head rolled to the back of the couch, her mouth open.
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I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold, I'm being sold-out
It is torture but
I don't even care
Except to love you more, to love myself more
Those hot-burned tears for you as I rally to save my skin
wind down me and leave behind gold and green
and I don't stop looking
until I look upon you
What on earth...
I've been sold, I've been sold, I've been sold.
I'm being sold-out.

Sunlight filtering through cracks
in the sky
in the walls
fall across your skin
I fingerpaint across your chest
Every word
known to man
and found in you

Fresh snow
Our footprints mark us
You are here!
I am here!
We are here!
Turn your face upwards
Let falling snow rest on your eyelashes
(dream of me)
Let the white melt on your outstretched tongue

It's spring.
Just one word.

I'd sit across the hall
looking upwards until I saw the flicker; light on
Sit with you while your busy hands rolled over these plains, these fields
The stretches of nothing
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