One minute she's lamenting the loss of her eyeglasses and the next she is asleep. Mouth open, at first breathing shallow and then breathing deep. I find peace in each audible breath. The calm of this room. The easy flow of ink from my ballpoint pen onto yellow paper. This is perfection.

Marsha

There's no right and no wrong, she said. There's no good and no bad. There are simply choices. Be mindful in making these choices. Consider the long term consequences of each choice you plan to make.

This is an unusual way of thinking. At least for me. But it makes a lot of sense.

Maybe you're resisting growing up, she said. Thinking less of long term consequences and instead going for what provides instant gratification.

She stifles a yawn.

The goal then, is to change behaviors. That perhaps to change behaviors might change thinking and a change in thinking might change behaviors. That's the theory at least. I will throw myself into this. Wholeheartedly. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time I will succeed. It's about the effort -- not failure.

There is no right. There is no wrong. There is no good. There is no bad. There are only choices.

and so things change. in an instant. unexpected. familiar. intriguing. i like a man with scars. new possibilities, new challenges and the opportunity to try out the new me. do it right this time. new questions, new theories, new worries. in an instant, things change.

i am not afraid this time. i am me and it is what it is.

During the work week I want to do a million different things before going to bed, and I have to force myself to get at least six hours of sleep before the alarm goes off.  Fridays I can stay up as late as Sunday night, but I end up going to bed the earliest of any other night.  Is this an aging thing?  It's not as if this was a horribly busy week at work, which might warrant tiredness.  I suppose all I can do is make peace with it and pull the covers up over my head.  Hardships!

It was a perfectly lovely day.  The sun was shining.  The grass was growing, green and strong.  The Cuyahoga river was flowing fast and furious.  The cafeteria guy gave me a super big helping of mac and cheese at lunch (I think he likes me, in that eww-gross-why-does-HE-have-to-like-me way) and my milk at breakfast was not yet spoiled.  Fantastic.  I celebrated Friday by buying three, count them THREE, new lipsticks.  And a new brand of shampoo and conditioner.  Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!  The new me is absolutely enthralled by the simple things.  Indian food for dinner -- I'm stuffed to the gills, whatever that saying means -- chicken makhani, veggie samosas and a crapload of naan. 

In unrelated news a man pooped on me today.  He didn't mean to poop on me.  These things just happen sometimes.  When I made the discovery of the poop on me, the man looked and me and I looked at him and I tried to act like being pooped on is a daily, trivial occurrence.  Which it really isn't. 

There was a code yellow drill at the hospital today (in addition to my code brown with the above-mentioned patient).  We were supposed to pretend that our department, on the fourth floor, was crumbling.  All of the administrators and various higher-ups were running around while I drank my coffee and checked my email.  Throughout the day we asked one another "Oh, are we still crumbling?"  I don't understand why we have all these drills.  If an actual disaster were to happen, I think we'd figure out what to do.  A few months ago we had a real code something-or-other; there was an accident on 271 and we were told that all the casualties were being brought to our hospital.  Word was that it was a 40 car pile up.  While all of the administrators and various higher-ups were running around, my coworkers and I discussed the unlikelihood of an actual 40 car pile up.  How stupid would that 40th car be to not realize he should brake?  I mean really.  I was slightly excited when they began bringing patients up for triage in our cardiac cath lab, but the end result was three patients who seemed more interested in getting a free hospital lunch than getting medical attention. 

Life in the hospital has been pretty dull lately.  No big scandals.  No accidental deaths.  I'll have to find things to amuse me elsewhere.  And into the weekend I go . . .

The end of a very good day. Tonight I am at peace with everything. With the world. With myself. A kinder, gentler me is rising up from the ashes. Balance seems less future and more present. Home sweet home.

Emotion comes. Scenes from the past and imagined scenes from the present, somewhere else, somewhere secret and altogether horrible explode like fireworks in my head. Times like these I sing your songs. I wash the dishes and sing your songs. I hug the dog and sing your songs. I fold the laundry and sing your songs. I collapse on the bathroom floor, the tiles cold and hard on my naked skin, and sing your songs. If it weren't for your songs, right here right now, I'd be gone. I pass the time and sing your songs and eventually the moment passes and life goes on. You make me feel safe.

look at her
those empty, vapid eyes
thoughts wrapped up in neat little packages
in black or white
every question with an answer
she is a breeze that does not move the curtains
an old mattress with no dent
a grave with no marker
a letter with no stamp
a monday morning
last night's supper
i hate to admit it
but
i envy her simplicity