Wasting, wasting, wasting time. Not spending, not giving. I haven't the possession of myself that could, or would produce the deed to an instant of time. I've never owned me. Never wanted the task. I thought it was how it was meant to be. For me. It is what it is because I am what I am. I was born. Then I will die. My trouble is now. Between. I can close my eyes and dream/imagine I am everything. In a dream I am more real, more possible and closer to everything .....everything. I can imagine. I will imagine. The time it is taking to dream a life is more. Between everything and the spent is a waste. I'll give. I'll try. For something.

Driving into the sunset, the angle just so the world drops. I could change my name to Thelma if there was some one to hold my hand. Wings on the water, devils and angels on the radio. Me, drained and ready to take the back road. I get stuck. The view is ruined. While enjoying the ride, I forgot to drive. I don't like this road, it's too fast. Everyone else is on it. I can't see the sun set anymore. Hurry, hurry. I get off of that road. I mosey. I dawdle. I take notice. On one corner I see a Father and his daughter wait for the light to change, she laughs as he playfully yanks her arm, her backpack pushing her hair forward. Next corner I see a young man in a wheelchair ready himself for the bus, his expression is not one of joy. I imagine for the next few blocks how his days will be in the winter months coming soon. I see teenagers cuddling on benches, elder dog walkers and many kids walking home from school. So much more happened. So much more. I get to keep those sights, sounds and smells. They are mine now. I took a drive.

I don't care what sins I have committed, how negative I have become. I just want him back. I want him. I am so cold. I don't know what to do with my hands. They have no place, no pleasing. I have never been good at pleasing people but I could always please him. I am not pleased. I am not warm. I don't see colors like I think I should, the way I remember. I remember sweet breath and brown sugar. Now, it is open air, no where to be and no hurry, no hurry. I feel such shame for having ever wished away a moment of a day, a week, of my life. That wishing was wasted time that could have been better spent with him. He never knew. I know. I could have loved better with him. He loved best with me. I live best when I love. I still want to love him. I still want.

I have been thinking about knowing. We only know what we know and stick by it because, well it is what we know. We, here drive on the right side of the road, our vehicle's have the steering on the left. Is it better? Is it correct? It is what we know. Recently the entire territory of Samoa switched to driving on the right side of their roads to the left. In mid-morning, traffic stopped, every car, truck and van changed sides as a group and life continued. Now, they know something new. Different. How to possibly know what we don't know? How can we know if we are empty, hollow? We never ask the questions because we never understood how much we never understood. We stay mute. Dumb. Driving on the same side of the road because it is all we have ever known. Is it the brave, the bumblers that happen down the other side? Crash their example but blare the once, the once in this one and only lifetime that they took. I have been thinking about steering. I've been thinking I need some directions......

I am incomplete. The reason I ever wanted to come back home, open the door...has gone from this planet. My Bun, The Bun is dead. He died not in my arms, but alone, in a veterinarians cage. Poked by needles that did him no good. Bruises. Holes. Scars that will never heal. So limp he was a half life, while I held him and kissed his dry lips and whispered in his flopped ear "I love you the most, I love you the most, I love you the most" for the last time. My body doesn't know how to feel, I've left something behind. The gas is on, the water is running....no, no, no. My reason, my tangible soul is nowhere. I may never dream again.

I have Morrisey's "The More You Ignore Me" playing over and over in my head. So what am I ignoring? I know for sure it was my laundry. Getting to it. I need to clean out my top desk drawer. Mop the floor. Transfer hard drive, balance checkbook, get in balance, find a doctor, find someone that cares, care a little less. Will it scream out my name, in the dark, in the night, and when I sit up in bed all alone like so many other nights, will it be there? Close, closer. I should drive. I should drive until I don't know where I am and the opportunity for distraction is stolen by fear. Then I couldn't ignore anything. Not even myself.