The count down

Yes I can feel it in the air - it's coming, only 81 days left; 33 days to the last hair cut until after the 81 days; 74 days to the penultimate stage of the transformation which enters its final stage on day 84 (or 85 depending on how bad I behave on day 82 and 83). Ah yes, It's here. That feverish time, the dizzying pace of liming, feting, misbehaving, bacchanal; that time of year when you slip into a trance just from the atmosphere, from the vibe you get off of the people around you - both those you know and those you don't know, those you meet only at this time of year. If you don't know what am talking about then this is not your time of year. I cyah wait!

Monday morning - not so blue

From early on yesterday I knew I would not make it to the Machinery today. There is something about days starting with M that induce an oh gosh why today feeling - with a bit of really, do I have to. Some would say I should be grateful that I am part of the Machinery; that there are people who wish they were in my shoes (these people rarely ever are aware of the journey of the feet and the shoes) - and while I am thankful for it's contribution to the attainment of my basic necessities, I am not overflowing with gratitude.

When you get to the point where you don't look forward to going to the Machinery at all, but you do by default, unwillingly - it is tantamount to mental, emotional and in extreme cases physical torture.

We have been socialised to be accepting of mediocrity - you hear it so often; it is better to have half a loaf than none at all, well I'll tell you what, I want the whole damn loaf and even the bakery. There is nothing wrong with wanting more or better, and if it doesn't come today you work at it until you do get what you want. Better must come.

But on this particular day starting with M, sitting here across my chair in my towel, legs crossed at the ankles hanging over the arm rest , blogging away on my Blackberry - today will not be one of these days of dread. I will uncluter my mind a bit today and attend to the Machinery from the palm of my hand if I so desire. Today on this day starting with M I will have a very good day.

Failing to Plan

A couple days ago the band of merry men who lead our nation made a decision to refuse entry and deny a work permit to popular dancehall artist Vybz Kartel who was scheduled to perform here on 30 April -  sighting their moral obligation and in the best interest of the youth of our nation. In recent months similar action has been taken by Barbados, Grenada and Guyana. All arguing the same point, the music is misogynistic (maybe I don't understand the meaning of the word, but is treating a woman like a sex object the same as hating a woman), promotes violence etc; the usual rhetoric.

In my opinion it would not be an understatment if it were said that the actions of these leaders seem to be the desperate attempts of drowning men clutching at straws (these actions as a result of their inability to arrest the situation with our "youth gone wild") . Let's for one moment forget about the artist and their music who have found themselves to be the latest political football and welcomed distraction (at least by the politians) from addressing the real issues. What programs/initiatives have the governments of the day put in place to engage youth? Where are the social safety nets? Are the current social safety nets, programs, initiatives (scant as they are) functioning effectively and efficiently? I can go on with the questions but what's the point.

Youth have been a political football for years, with each successive administration stating their care and concern for the youth - recognising the importance of the youth to the future prosperity of the country, blah blah blah. With little to no tangible evidence of their benevolence - their masterful plans to right the wrongs which have contributed to the destructive behaviour of our youth.

Ultimately the youth look to the adults for guidance - we fail miserable in that department, then we compound it by blaming them. Really. Does the buck stop with the youth? Did they make the society what it is or did we? We were here first right. Seemingly we as adults had no part to play it how things are now. I'm no saint, don't get me wrong - but that does not prevent me from pointing a young person in the right direction, from accepting and admitting my flaws and urging them to be better than me. Each generation is suppose to improve on the foundation set by the last, if our foundation is weak then what do we expect the youth to build upon.

The objectification of women and violent lyrics did not start with the Vybz Kartel or Movado - there was plenty of it when I was a teenager. But my parents showed me right from wrong, and put enough, love, time and effort into my growing up to be who I am today (even though I made some adjustments to their lessons over the years) that the thought of doing anything that would bring them shame was all I needed not to engage in that activity (I will admit however, I had a few very mischievous moments they know nothing about - thankfully I was never caught). My point is we can't allow artist to usurp our authority when raising our children - we can not neglect them leaving a void and when an unsavory element steps in to fill that void we begin to complain.

Give the youth the tools they need to make the right decisions (accepting that they will still make mistakes - to err is to be human) and there will be little or no need to get on our imaginary moral high horses and make absurd pronouncements.

Estranged

I miss the gentle kiss on my eye lids willingly forcing them to close
Warm silent embrace the feeling of drifting between time and space
The escape from reality, fantasies in reverie
Rejuvenation, restoration, energy from this state
I feel forsaken, unforgiven for the choices that I've made
This separation is tiring counting sheep has not paid

Am I an Alcoholic?

Written by Jeanmel Thomas.


I ask myself a question because the only thing I can seem to remember is this red thong dangling from my lamp post
Who am I , where am I and most importantly who are you
Then it comes to me in the form of a splitting head ache
BOOP BOOP BOOP

Alcohol Alcohol Baby
What have I done for you to forsake me?
You see this lady who lays next to me hair in afro
Look so much prettier five or ten drinks ago
Dam!!!!!!!!!
When did this addiction start?
I can barely remember when I let you into my heart
You see I tried denying it for Years
This was one of my greatest fears
But. am I ?am I?
An Alcoholic

We met a long time ago in a bar I barely remember
Just by aromatic fragrance I knew your gender
You always had me laughing among friends
Making me high feelings I couldn’t comprehend

I tried to get you out my mind couple of times
But But but
Turn on the radio you were there
Every party you were there
Even in Church you were there
In all different forms Rum Bear Wine
And it was so easy to get you at anytime

You made the bad things feel so good
And made the good things feel so much better
And you never got jealous when I flirted with other women
In actuality you always tried to join in
A perfect threesome !!!!!!!!!

We were so good together but oh how things have changed
Ever since you introduced me to your cousin Hangover
And don’t ask for the your best friend Memory Loss
It just can’t work
This relationship is getting too too too Violent
I wake up in too much pain these days

I know you point fingers like I have been unfaithful
But so have you
You think I don’t see in so many different men’s hands
Cold and sweaty on the rocks
Even with Coke and I never knew you liked light skinned guys Sprite
Just can’t take it anymore,
There is no more room for you in my life
No more addiction
Good bye Alcohol

Funking Monday Morning

I've got the Monday morning blues. The weekend was not terrible, but this morning I'm just in a funk. Peeled my self of the make shift bed on the floor this morning (we have guest - so I'm crashing on the floor) and just dragged myself through the routine before I heard out to the pasture. Yeah! That's what this job feels like, cooling out in a pasture whole day eating fucking grass and the occassional exchange of bleets. I went to the cinema last night; I actually watched "why did I get married too?". I'm still debating whether I will blog about that - it's been on my mind; WIP. Anyway, back to the humdrum - maybe I should listen to some music, it may help me get out of this funk.

Saturday morning

Saturday morning, turned on my phone - I notice one voice message; dialed and listened - digital voice comes through the speakers; Friday 10:32pm, the audio is not the best too much background noise - but it sounded something like "garson I eh know what I doing", or something like that. I have not committed the number of the caller to memory, but I have a gut feeling I know who it was; send off a quick text but never get a response. Later on that morning my gut feeling was confirmed. "Garson I eh know why I eh listen to you". You see other than advising my buddy to allow better judgement to prevail regarding his current tryst, I also warned him about a lang kaka "friend" of his fling. I had encountered the lang kaka in the pass, I know she could contribute to things get really ugly, really quick.

I find myself with a front row seats to a potential car crash (no trains here, though a train wreck would have sounded better). You know how it is when there is an accident - everything slows to a crawl as motorist move passed the scene; they wanna see whether they know the person(s) involved in the accident, they wanna see the extent of the damage, and as they drive off they try to process how it may have happened.

In this case I know the persons involved, how it began (and I've made a reasonable assumption of how the "car crash" could happen - it hasn't happened but the cars are swerving). What I don't know and have not tried to assume is the extent of the damage - but there will be damage.

I know what you're thinking - if I see the problem this could create why don't I speak to my buddy right. The thing is, I already have, plus he has already reasoned the potential disaster of the situation. Yet he plunges head first into this - begs the question which head.

I think some time last year I blogged about seeing a train wreck about to happen and doing nothing to stop it - I think I equated it to being insane. I suppose there is some credence in the adage - birds of a feather flock together. In all honesty, I hope my buddy gets ahead of the curve and gets out of this situation before it gets away from him - right now he's like a stick in wet mud, the longer he pounds away at it the deeper he gets, the harder it is for him to get out.

The cocaine high is addictive and can cloud ones judgement - there is nothing nice about being a junkie, getting off the high or going through withdrawal. Hopefully he won't have to learn the hard way.

Thank Thee Indeed

If only she understood, butt, how could she. I don't even understand how and why the sight of her ass induces palpitations in my loins. It confuses my bodily functions. How the sight of those cheeks just peeking through the bottom of those boy shorts or that lace makes me have a good what the fuck moment. Yeah! What the fuck? I'm the one tapping that ass? She fucks me? OMG! Gorge-ASS.

It literally temporarily takes my breath away. I'm hypnotized by the movement  - the seemingly deliberate slow walk that gives her ass that bounce, just enough shake to call to me. It speaks to me in a language, only an ass like me could understand; bumbum talk, it says "yeah baby watch that, yeah you know you want it, you know you want to see me bent over spread apart - you know you want to see your hands on each cheek, pushing and pulling me onto you - don't hold back baby, come get that ass."

Damn, that ass, I trail it till it rounds the corner out of sight, then shake my head thinking - there must be something wrong with me to love the shape of that well rounded ass so much. God I love that ass. In the words of Jim Reeves; "we thank thee everyday as we kneel and pray, that we were born with eyes to see these things"

No Change Required

I was temporarily lost in thought this morning as the warm water run down my body - unfortunately I do not have the luxury of hot and cold running water; so it was back to basics - hot water added to a bucket of cold water. It does what it needs to do. Where was I? Yes lost in thought of human behaviour - our aversion to change, voluntary or involuntary, how we are creatures of habit and change of human behaviour is difficult to achieve. I suppose that is why the need for change management agent/specialist - it was a brilliant individual who thought of parlaying human beings preference to remain in the "way we do things around here" mold into a career.

Anyway I digress. Yesterday Sofie and I got into a tiff about an on again off again situation (quite frankly, I'm not sure it evens qualifies as a situation) - at the end of which, I figured what the hell, no worries, small ting, let's move on. But Sofie being Sofie, insisted on addressing the issue. I've been with this woman for years, and while I don't know her like the back of my hand - I know her pretty well (and she can say the same for me).

Her remedy for the "situation" is predictable - and that's ok. While we were having somewhat of a discussion about the "situation" (damn - this inverted commas situation thing is getting ridiculous - from now on the situation is IT), I thought back to when I was at secondary school and my mom would want me home from school by a designated time. I would often get home late - especially between the months of say May to June/July. At that time of year the sun sets later, so it becomes easier to lose track of time, so I would often get home really late. For which I had to suffer through my moms tirades. My remedy was to cede to her demands for a week or two then slowly revert to the status quo until her next tirade.

With that in mind, and the years of experience with my always aiming to please wife (God bless her soul), I know what to expect. Those thoughts occupied my mind with each bowl of warm water from the bucket - then I thought; really Earl, don't you think it a bit unfair to ask the woman to change, adapt, adjust to your needs, whims and fancies on demand. Seriously, it's not that big a deal when you put it in context - further the woman has had 30 odd years of doing things in her own modus operandi; you want her to change it for you, serious.

Human beings are creatures of habits - I've grown use to hers and she to mine. We adapt when the situation calls for it, we've been doing that well for the last seven years - it works; so in true change averse fashion, "if it ain't broke don't fix it."

Moving on.

Little Effort

"No, you can't always get what you want; but if you try sometime, you just might find; you get what you need..." These words from the chorus of the Rolling Stones song - "You can't always get what you want" These words echoed through my head as I drove home last night. These words capture many disappointments we experience in our lives - but on this occasion it got me thinking about my marriage and other relationships I have been in over my numbered years on this earth.

I recalled my first pass at Sofie back in 2000 (I could not be faulted for trying; after having seen those athletic legs, flat stomach, firm round ass and ample bosom; it would be remise of me not to try to get some) and then again around 2002/2003 - she was uninterested then. It was a time of awaken for her, just re-discovering the power of being young, vibrant, sexy, intelligent, free and independent. I did not meet her criteria, I was vertically challenged (this coming from a woman barely breaking the 5ft barrier); she preferred caramel to dark chocolate; and to her mind my land of birth did not hold any worthy suitors.

As I drove and thought of her preferences, I smiled - it was more like a smirk though. My major preference then was a shabin (I blame my early exposure to porn before I was old enough to know what an erection was on that complexion fixation - damn it, the memories of black in white still linger in my brain); second preference she had to look good to me (very important - it really did not matter how she looked to herself or other people, once in my eyes she looked good); third preference she was interested in "doing it" (the friend zone was not my preferred destination). I'm a simple fella. All the other stuff like, intelligence, caring, thoughtful, determined, affable etc. never came into play - I can't even say they were on the periphery; at least not initially.

So some seven years later (and counting) I got most of what I wanted, and just what I need. At every point in my life, more so when I'm not cognizant of it I get exactly what I need to move along this journey in my life. What I need at different point in my journey is not what someone else may want; but everything serves its purpose - Ecclesiastes 3:1 (yes it's from the bible, not only the domain of the self-righteous and sanctimonious) there is a time for everything. My life is divinely guided (that much I believe) - all of it, the good and the not so good; what is important is what I choose to make of it, crap and all.

I wonder though, did the 5ft 4" stunning young lady from 2000 get what she wanted, what she needed or somewhere in between asking herself - what the fuck?

Oh well, "you can't always get what you want; but if you try sometime, you just might find; you get what you need..."

Hard heads

All our body parts have their respective functions, and like a square peg in a round hole sometimes we misuse our body parts. Often we say men have two heads - but by design only one was meant to be used for the purpose of thinking, there are no neurons in the little head, only nerve endings. I have deduced that when the blood flow increases to the little head it significantly impacts the effective and efficient function on the big head - the brain; hence, cock hard brain soft.

There is a old creole saying deux mal crab pas cah westay en dans meme tout (roughly translated two male crabs do not remain/stay in the same hole). I can only surmise that the head with the neurons and the head with the nerve endings can not see eye to eye when women are involved, and it would sometimes seem that the small head is the more forceful and dominant one; therefore when the small head makes a stand the big head bows out.

I had a conversation with a buddy of mine about a potential tryst; imagine he wanted my advise (:-o) - given what I saw as a latent combustible situation I adviced that he consider the time already invested as sunk cost. The potential havoc that moment of pleasure (brief or otherwise) could result in was really not worth it; he agreed. It was best he allowed this one to slip through his fingers. But that conversation continued for a couple weeks - by which time I concluded it was only a matter of time before he little head subdued the logic of the bigger head. Though I must confess that I wanted him to indulge if but for only a moment - but my motives for him pressing forward was purely mischievous; I am affronted by pussy watchmen.

For those of you not familiar with the term  pussy watchman, this is a man who won't allow his woman space to be alone or with her friends for fear of getting horn. A pussy watchman (PWM) is the type of dude that calls a million times to confirm his woman is where she said she is going to be - and he may just show up there to verify; he's the type of dude that when his woman returns home from a night of liming/partying; he would take a sniff of her to deduce whether she had been with another man. Which reminds me of another creole saying plus ou vayez plus ou pas cah wair (roughly translated the more you watch the less you see). I have observed the potential tryst man - and he is definitely a PWM.

So as it turns out, my buddy did not take my advice and the pussy watchman fell asleep on the job. Score one for the little head, zero for the big. Part of me rejoiced for all the wrong reasons, the other part knows this shit will end bad. My advise right now would be to make a strategic withdrawal from the situation - but if he didn't listen to me about the initial deployment into enemy territory, do you think he would listen about a withdrawal.

Or well so long as the nerve endings are being stimulated the neurons will be misfiring.

Dreaming again - thankfully

It's been a while since I can recall dreaming, and an even longer time I can recall dreaming about fighting. This morning I dreamt the recurring theme of my most intense dreams - this morning I fought hard against the forces of evil. The ones that would seek to destroy me and everything I hold dear. As usual it was a struggle in which I was not the likely hero - the bad guy fighting bad guys who went over board and threatened what was mine - what was my safe area; restricted access.

The battle was fierce, like it always is; and I felt defeated - there are always multiple foes and seemingly insurmountable odds. But as usual, I always find that bit of inner strength, that will to say that I am fighting for something that my foes can never comprehend - and for that I will never give up. I will take the beating repeatedly, but rise to my feet with every blow. I will be triumphant.

I am often the victor in my battles - I win more than I lose; and when I do lose, I dust myself off and go back. I will have what I want in this life, no matter what obstacles stand in my way - I'm not a quitter; this is my life to determine how it goes.

This morning, I woke up - lay on my bed and prayed. I washed the dishes, made breakfast and spoke to my North Wind. He/she gives me hope, that no matter what, I will succeed, and when the chips seem like there down, there is a brighter tomorrow. There is much to be thankful for, most of all that I have the strength to get up the next day and go at it again. I have the love and support of family and friends; and when my strength and theirs is not enough - I have my ever visible invisibly endless supply of energy, love and support.

Thanks.

Yes you can

I received a comment to one of my blog posting that was itself worthy of postings - but I decided against reposting it; besides it gave me another idea for a posting. I figured I will in my own way tackle that ever burning question - why, why do men cheat? So here goes. X (because I have no idea how many I will come up with) reasons why men cheat:
1.) Because we can - you out on a lime notice an attractive woman, you say hey, she says hi; you have a few drinks chat it up for the night, and then the rest is a blur. When your memory begins to return you remember you'll fucked.
2.) Because we can - your woman pissed you off you decide to leave the house to clear your head; end up meeting someone willing to listen to you piss and moan about your distress - baddabing baddabang; you'll cutting.
3.) Because we can - you're actually in a relationship out of some misguided sense of obligation - you yearn for female companionship that you connect with.
4.) Because we can - she look like she could fuck well, she was willing and able.
5.) Because we can - let's be honest your relationship is crap - if you consider you have a relationship; you've been tolerating each other for the sake of the children.
6.) Because we can - you fucked her once and she could take the cock well - she begs for hard fuck; no holding back; no pushing you off when pressure start coming down, as a matter of fact she ask for more and cums hard when you give it to her harder.
7.) Because we can - she showed you a part of yourself you did not know you had and one thing lead to another; well you know that ended.

You get the point right - the circumstances that give rise to a man (or a woman for that matter) cheating may vary; a number of variables come into play. But ultimately it's because they can (unless it's sexual assault - it's voluntary); it's not overly complicated, infidelity is an equal opportunity transgression. Cheating boils down to choice, some choose to, some choose not too; don't judge and condemn because someone's choice is not your own - don't hold everyone to your expectations and standards.

On the other hand I agree that when you decide to make that committment to someone else, while you are not responsible for their happiness, you contribute to their happiness and unhappiness. More attention should be placed on ensuring the former.

Kiss me

Two words spoken so sweet to the ear
They say good morning, I missed you while I slept
Good night, good afternoon, you were missed today
Two words let me know what you mean to say
They replace words that you are sometimes unable to speak
I was an asshole, I'm sorry, you were right
Shut up, I want you, you're wasting time
Goodbye, I enjoyed this, can't wait till next time
These words spoken sweet from your lips
Gladly I cede to your request, just speak
Kiss me!

Where the...what the...

I am some what incensed. Why and why now? I suppose because I have only now allowed myself to think about the reason why I feel incensed. Today while sitting in a meeting I got an SMS from a former tryst. She posed a what the fuck type of question to me - yeah that was my reaction when I saw it; WHAT THE FUCK? In my mind she had no authority morally or otherwise to pose such a question to me; and while I did not tell her what the fuck she asked me that for I did ask her where the hell did that come from. It just seem odd and out of place to me. I suppose I did not really have time get angry about it because 1) I was at a meeting and 2) When I called her with the intent of sorting her out it was lunch time - I don't play by my belly so I figured it could wait. Lunch was good and the incident faded to the back of my mind. Hence it is only at this moment that I have had a chance to think about those SMS. I haven't really vented about this - I will at some point. Anyway, this has helped some what.

In Plain Sight

On the drive home a curious thought entered my head, and since the resurgence of my writer I feel duty bound, drawn to the glow of the screen, the black text expressing thought, the sound of my fingers hitting the keys. I have consumed the freshly baked corn bread - it was delicious, I had planned on eating one but I scarfed down two (my ass either pounding the pavement tomorrow or I at the gym); and while I allow my Chamomile tea to steep, I type.

The thought discretion is the better part of valor - was the thought that entered my head as I drove home tonight; disjointed thoughts seem to frequent my head. I recalled a series of seemingly unrelated thoughts, phrases and events - with one word in common, discretion. It seems now that they were more related than I thought. So much for thinking.

Discretion as defined on the website www.thefreedictionary.com - means "the quality of behaving or speaking in such a way as to avoid social embarrassment or distress" In the married circles this is a word often used within the context of discussions on infidelity. Where discretion means - pretense that what is is not; and the truth is what you are made to, or allow yourself to believe; contrasted with indiscretion which means disrespect to the good social standing of your partner.


It begs the questions; is one better than the other discrete or indiscreet? Is infidelity discrete or indiscreet result in a different outcome? Does the slighted spouse feel any more or less hurt? Is a discrete spouse looked upon in more favour than an indiscreet spouse?


In the war of love and sex does discretion have less casualties?  

At it again

It's trying to make a forceful return - my writer; it hijacks my sleep and intrudes my thoughts, calling me to the glow of the screen the clattering of keys. Like a drug fiend kept awake by the allure of the escape from a tormented reality - my writer tugs at me, calls me, and taunts me. It tells me "you won't get a moments rest if you don't get these thoughts out your head and onto the screen" - "don't allow the thoughts to slip through your mind like sand in an hour glass." So I write, to use the words from a young poet I recently heard whose name eludes me; every letter becomes a word, every word a sentence, every sentence a thought. Yes, it's declared a jihad on sleep and unfocused thought - it's fully equipped with sleeper cells. Alas, the battle rages on, we trade punches, it wins some I win some, and the balance is kept.

Middle World

Stuck between two worlds wandering un-reposed

Not good enough for heaven, not bad enough for hell

Left amid the foul existence of souls longing for deliverance

Treading blindly through passages unknown

The above and the below, tales of which are told

Do you choose consciously where you want to go

Nurtured to be good, in your nature to be bad

On this plain in transit, to depart is to arrive

Stuck here on bitter sweet till departure time

Between two worlds that no one knows
Trying to run from hell, working towards heaven
On arrival day who can you tell, after all my work
I'm sitting here in heaven or hell

Second Circle

There is something hypnotizing about how a skilled woman undulates her waist. Slowly stealing your senses, mesmerizing; drawing your eyes to the rhythmic motion of her waist - gyrating, bottom swinging like a pendulum on a moving axis.

Her waist telling erotic tales you are all but to eager to hear, of endless days and nights of sensual discovery, twisted sweating flesh, warm breath on moist skin, sounds of pleasing, moaning, screaming - you want to experience these tales. Yes that waist, bottom, thighs, hips - boggling the mind inducing temporary hallucinations of the lascivious misdeeds; communication between you sensory organs and your pleasure measure is instant.

Yes, the power of the unbridled post-pubescent male mind set agaze on exquisitely formed gorgeous sun kissed skinned Caribbean women. It is our nature and we have so been nurtured to behold such beauty unbound and lay a waste drifting in our thoughts of  the what ifs.

Such simple pleasure one can attain from nothing but a moment lost in the waist land of the skilled, talented and seemingly abundantly blessed with the ability to turn men into simpletons - with but a swing of the hip, the shake of a butt, the roll of a waist.

Ah! "Roll, roll it gal, roll it..."

Domestic Affairs

A buddy related a story to me about this young woman who found herself almost strangled at the hands of her boyfriend ("boyfriend" is very much appropriate here as it speaks to 1.) the level of maturity; and 2.) the level of reasoning) some three years ago. Allegedly her boyfriend had just discovered that his "angel" was some else's "devil". Again, allegedly (because this is all third party) the "boyfriend" insisted that he rather go to jail for killing her rather than to have her freely allow someone else to partake in the pleasures of "his" goodies - of course I am paraphrasing. It's less raunchy than - he rather kill her than to know a next man fuck her - on the other hand saying it raw like that gives it local flavouring.

Ordinarily, I am not one to engage in she say, he say - but having personally observed the behaviour of the "boyfriend" with this young woman in social settings; I do not find it too hard to believe. To use the Jamaican vernacular, he's a pussy watchman. I suppose there is a lesson for him to learn in the old adage better said in creole - the more you watch the more you don't see.

I chuckled for a minute or few at the third party recount of the story; but having time to process this alleged incident of domestic abuse - I thought to myself, da man mad and his girl more mad to stay with him. My mental practioners and social workers may say the young woman suffers from esteem issues - I would not waste neurons on analysing the boyfriend.

Seriously, a man not only tells you that he rather see you dead than for you to be with another man, but he allegedly tries to make good on his word, and three years later you still in that relationship. My advice would have been - my girl run for the hills.

But this is where this gets interesting, not only is she still there; but she is contemplating repeating the part of her history that resulted in her near depature from this life. I tell you insanity - repeating a course of action and expecting a different result, indeed. Then again, maybe it makes sense that two mentally unstable individuals be together - didn't someone say opposites attract; yeah right, you must have something in common with someone to have the least bit of interest in them.

I am a bit curious how she stopped him from choking her though...my mind is rife with speculation...asphyxiophilia, anyone.

Life, never a dull moment.

Mind over Matter - it continues

Awake now I move on the command of my mind. I have done nine (9), yes nine sets of abs - crunches, obliques and bicycles. Following the unnecessary sets of abs for this time of morning, I have a conversation with god - I say the prayer which we were taught to be the lords prayer; then I proceed to talk to the North Wind, keeper of my soul, my dreams, my secrets. We talk, yes, its been a while.

Now that we have had some dialogue (my guiding spirit and I) I move on to the next bidding of my unrelenting mind - I iron for work. It rains; I'm done ironing; what now? Yes, this thing which has taken on a life of its own has yet another task to be accomplished.

5:45am, outside as the sun peeps through the overcast sky, I stand bucket of water in hand - I'm unwillingly ready to wash my filthy car. Sometime after 6am, and I return inside and begin to wash the dishes...Indeed on this Wednesday morning the battle has been won by my mind - it willed my body to do its bidding; and now I'm here, pressing on into the day, slight throb of the head, burning of the eyes, sipping on some strong coffee. What will it have me do next?

Mind over Matter

4am and I lay awake, reluctantly, my mind restless with innocuous thoughts dragging my body out of its slumber, out from that much needed rest. I'm awaken, contemplative of nothing, eyes still burning, tossing and turn like a dog on a hot summer day trying to find that right spot to get some rest.

My body lays languid, incongruent with my mind. What does it want from me? I struggle to get repose, my brain overactive. It's a struggle to get to sleep and a struggle to stay asleep. My mind haunted by nothingness - my body an unwilling participant of my mental side show.

Once again mind has conquered matter, all hail the conquering hero. To the victor goes the spoils - my body yields, at the mercy of my mind begging for clemency. And now, body and mind are awake - the mind goes to work, contemplating, plotting ways of beating my body into submission; bending it to its will. Now I reluctantly do the bidding of my master. I drag myself from my bed to do whatever my mind tells me. It's 4:38am; I'm awake - wide awake.

Ouch!!!

Four Courvoisier, two Campari, two Pitons and the premature departure from the land of slumber (at the hands of my loud talking fucking neighbours)later, oh my god - my fucking head hurts.

What the fuck was I thinking while I was downing those fucking drinks? The better question is what the fuck was I thinking after I downed those drinks? It's not a blur it just does not make sense. The lines of logic and illogic meld into one after the chemical make up of your cerebral cortex has been manipulated.

Ambrosia, indeed, the Devil's nectar, how it discombobulates and numbs the mind and senses. Fuck this shit - it feels like a bad marriage with some good patches that keep you hesitating whether to stay or leave. We should have a trial separation to see if this is what we really want; at least separate for this weekend.

Who am I kidding, I love this bitch - the good far out weighs the bad; I think. Man I had a blast last night, it was a free flowing night - I planned to go out and go with the flow and that is exactly what I did. My nephew has still not recovered - his ass is home sleeping tight (lucky bugger); but it was good - man we could talk shit when we drink. It was a good night, but not a night I will be having again for this weekend.