Somebody's Birthday

Which lead me to think of this which lead me to think of Jackson which lead me to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight which should have lead me to exploring the neighborhood on foot but jogging seems to be a long forgotten addiction for me, alas, and any semblance of concentration on babbling seems to be almost as far off a long lost passion, or ability, for that matter. Fatigue, in part, but environment and body distractions that are likely connected more than anything else offer distractions most unwelcome that trip the flow (and I don't mean trip the flow in any good way) and as I stumble, the words stutter to a halt.

Did you understand any of that?

Do you care?

Sure, I ask that most often when stumbling and bumbling my way through the shallows where concentration wanes and focus fucks up. I have laundry to do. I have softball and dinner plans for tomorrow. I have softball for the next morning too and then, Eb will be back most likely with laundry and more filth. The flies are swarming the sink because he has not cleaned his dishes in more than a week. I've opened many cans this week because I am trying very hard to cut calories, save money, and lose some weight. I refuse to clean his crap, so there is added canned juices from meats and veggies under his dishes. I do wash my own dishes as well as I am able, holding them above his dishes, and the antibacterial dish soap I use cleans his dishes and the sink more than he ever does. For the record, the cooking area in it's best light.

Yes, seriously best light. Close ups would show to the crumbs, stains, and I was kid and stayed away from the sink. I don't record it often, but I must record the conditions f my living environment now and then because they do effect my affect, my health, and my writing. That is the kitchen counters and stove two separated occasions of the past week. Between the two occasions, I cleared off half the counter and the entire stove so I could cook. Perhaps he is telling me, consciously or not, that I should not use the kitchen, the living room, or the bathroom. I pay way too much to not have access, but I don't because I will not clean up behind him. This makes life here unhealthy, uncomfortable, and quite distracting.

I was wished Happy Birthday a lot today. Even sung to three times. Even Google (perhaps you noticed) greeted me with Happy Birthday Bugs when I opened the Google page. See why my actual birth date does not go online? I am Bugs, in case you didn't notice that along the way.

Hey?

Way.

I don't know what more to do
to get the truth out of you
you send a text but you are gone
I am alone and carry on

the pretense of caring is insulting
what you did is cruel
and I am still here for you
I must be a fool

caring is knowing what's going on
in someone's life and heart and head
you can't do that when you are gone
do you remember what you said?

you won't be like everybody else
who used and discarded me
you know how I was abandoned
you said
you'd never do that to me

did you know I was in the hospital?
do you know how many doctors I see?
do you know my living conditions?
do you really care abut me?

caring is knowing what's going on
caring is being in someone's life
caring is sharing, not being gone
what's going on in your life?
I don't know
and can you tell me...
what's going on in my life?

Laughable to bring all this together in one babbling entry. Once in love with Amy is the story of my heart. The song is light stuff, yeah it says something, but try Cara Mia or Cherish or Everything I do or Without You or First Episode at Hienton or First of May or... tic... tic... tic...

wanna know what makes me tic?...

how much time do you have?...

how much do you want to know?...

care?

So my heart was broken irreparably many years ago and the sad songs are on the core soundtrack of this life for me. It gets easier to accept the abandonments and betrayals as the years pass. It can become an expectation for someone to follow the pattern of all the others. Use. Care for the moment. Care when they need something. Then disappear until they need something again. That is my experience with human beings.

Still... it turns me on (to dream... to believe... to understand...

And to return from the depths full circle to the pop top surface...