One More Time

I’ve been blogging for years.  I’ve had a few blogs.  One in particular turned into a political free for all.  It was like I just couldn’t post an article, or quote or opinion that wouldn’t be challenged, often fiercely and often with supreme cruelty.  But then again I also had blogging friends who were great writers and whose opinions I appreciated even if I didn’t agree with them.  Seems most people have gone the Facebook and Instagram route now.  Or Tumblr. Which I totally over my head.  I’m sure there are even newer platforms but I’m just to exhausted to figure them out.

I noticed just now that I started this blog 11 years ago.  My previous blog was started in the early 2000s.   It had a following.  Which surprised me.  And frightened me because I felt obligated in some way to post on a regular basis.  Post for others.  But not necessarily for myself.  I felt I had to be profound, witty and intellectually challenging all the time.

The genesis of this blog was that in 2006 I moved from Brooklyn to the Mid-Hudson Valley in New York.  Not at all the “North Country.”  But my one of my very, very favorite songs has always been Bob Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country.”  So, yes compared to Brooklyn, I am living in the “North.”  And I’m a girl.

My life was not good after my move.  Within months of my move, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Maybe more on that later, maybe not.  My father died in 2009 of Alzheimer’s.  I fell into a very deep depression that really fucked up my work (at the time I was self-employed).  I found solace in drinking.  Drinking a lot.  I joined AA.  I found out that AA (for all it’s good intents) is not for me.  I accept 100% percent Steps 1, 2 and 3.  I don’t accept the high-school popularity contests that seem pervasive in those rooms.  They are not safe for people like me.  Not safe emotionally.  There is a “you’re either with us or you are against us” mentality there.  Or at least that is how it felt.  The women were highly cliquish.

But my drinking days are mostly over now.  I did a lot of damage.  All of it to myself.  I hurt no one else.  Because I had no one else who really cared or was paying attention.  More on that later too.  I stopped working for myself in 2015.  I got a job.  Then that job ended 18 months later.  Then I got another job.  But it was not what I was promised and I left.  Then I got another job and THAT was not what I was promised and ended up leaving there as well.  I have a nice job now.  Challenging.  Not the friendliest place.  But I see it may work for me in the longer term.  But then again.  Maybe not.

So ok.  I’m gonna write.  I’m gonna get it out.  I’m gonna blog not to entertain but to get it out.

 

 

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Poetry Monday

Try to Praise the Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski Try to praise the mutilated world. Remember June’s long days,and wild strawberries, drops of rose wine.The nettles that methodically overgrow the abandoned homesteads of exiles.You must praise the mutilated world. You watched the stylish yachts and ships; one of them had a long trip ahead of it, while salty oblivion awaited others. You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere, you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully. You should praise the mutilated world. Remember the moments when we were together in a white room and the curtain fluttered. Return in thought to the concert where music flared. You gathered acorns in the park in autumn and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars. Praise the mutilated world and the gray feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.

In the Wink of an Eye My Soul is Turnin’

The Last Thing on My Mind (Dolly Parton)

Its a lesson too late for the learning
Made of sand, made of sand
In the wink of an eye my soul is turnin
In your hand, in your hand
Are you going away
With no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
Oh I couldve loved you better
Didnt mean to be unkind
You know that was the last thing on my mind

As we walk along my thoughts are tumblin
Round and round, round and round
Underneath our feet are someplace rumblin
Underground, underground

Are you going away
With no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
Oh I couldve loved you better
Didnt mean to be unkind
You know that was the last thing on my mind

Ive got reason a plenty for goin
This I know, this I know
The weeds have been steadily growin
Please dont go, please dont go

Are you going away
With no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
I couldve loved you better
Didnt mean to be unkind
You know that was the last thing on my mind

Are you going away
With no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
Oh I couldve loved you better
Didnt mean to be unkind
You know that was the last thing on my mind
You know that was the last thing on my mind

One More Day …

Reasons to Leave (PTSD)  … and my long days as a denizen of NYC will be over.  I’m happy and sad.  This photo reminds me that I may finally be over my post-9/11 PTSD.  Yet sometimes I go off into a coughing jag, and think of the debris that may be lodged in my lungs from working and living on Lower Broadway in the months afterward.  Will I end up with some strange variation of mesothelioma or an indeterminate lung disorder one day?  I certainly hope not.  But we’ve all got to leave this world one day.  Maybe that’s how I’ll make my exit.