Sometime it feels like I have lived forever. Life stratifying year on top of year. The core events have all crumbled to the sea and washed over me just a saline brine of forgotten events. Soon my mitochondrial remains will all become star dust plasma of the universe and I will have morphed to the next adventure seeing new with the eyes of the freshly born.

Dream time

So my poet is back. Two years have passed and for me it is like heaven again. He reads me stories and poems, takes me on hikes in search of all things native American. He spends a few nights, bliss. Even better then I remembered. but things are different for him. Two years gave him time to think or not think, whatever. I hear you can't go back, but I just don't compute that into reality as I slip into my own dream time.

I'll settle for crumbs, small moments of his time...it's that good. Two years gave me time to think too. Like how much I really really enjoyed his company, his style, his attention. Even crumbs are better than most of my relationships of never ending love. But he is more elusive than ever. When he is here he is so here and when he's gone he is so gone. He worries that I am sad. He doesn't want me to be sad but he doesn't want me either accept for a nibble here and there. But he doesn't really want anyone else. Just his writing...his personal dream time is spent tapping out story's, one after another.

so here I am, back to my faithful little blog. Still welcomes me in even though I haven't dropped in for years. Not a single word. Quietly waiting, not being coy for a moment when I do drop off a line or two. Maybe flowers would be nice.

well well well...this ol'e blog is still here and I can still post to it. What-da-ya-know.

the poet in me

So another boyfriend has come and gone since I was last here and I have written a poem to commemorate the blessed event. One poem a every couple of years does not make me a poet. so either I have to speed up the broken heart thing or get a new muse:)

the troubadour spit out the scramble of words
frivolously penned from a voice
of the forgotten dreamer
peices of your promises will remain
etched in their infancy
with the abortionists knife...
...hemorrhaging the brutal desire to be loved
the jesus 's were late to the curtain call
caught napping in the wings
and the burial box had left for Albany
the last bell certainly will ring
before the ice will melts and freezes again
Just say it isn't so...just say it isn't so
the blue shift remains in full swing
love just some forgotten thing

My birthday. For me 58 hasn't been something I really want to celebrate. I think this is the first birthday I have felt truly old. I think I'm missing the magic. So I googled it. Looking for the beauty of getting old. The first page I found have great stuff, a bit cliche, like "even at 80 I got things to do" and "you just have to grow old gracefully, like cheese and wine." but then these women are in their 80's and 90's. So maybe I'm not old.

And I found this lovely little truth, "But society doesn't hand this glory to us when we get older -- we have to give it to ourselves. I'd say in America it's even a bigger problem. Everybody thinks women are so "equal" now, but talk to anyone over age 35 and see if they agree with that." Glory being the ability of feeling special and attractive in spite of wrinkles and jiggles.

...and from Forbes magazine, "We can buy into the promises our culture offers to magically remove the changes we see on our faces and bodies. We can yearn to revive images of old selves and try to slow down the changes we see. Or we can accept reality. Aging does not stop. So, it's time to say good-bye, shed some tears and then optimistically embrace our ever-evolving selves." easy for them to say...hey when did they become experts on ageing.

This was a uplifting article from the daily OM, http://www.dailyom.com/articles/2006/3224.html
And I think I'll leave it at that upbeat link:)

entropy

My new dog

NYC NYC

for what its worth

Traveling on Miles of ugly
She wiped away the endless drizzle
Boots of fear kicked at the likelihood
of unexpected disaster.
Her story no more torrid than some
But faithlessness produces little hope.
Dark in belief
Spirited in a godless sort of way
How could one more romance
Quickened from invetro
unhinge her so
the door of unlikelihood
creaks painstaking open
tightly tucked military corners
frame romance
daylight cracks through venetion blinds
slits of soul splatter across undulating flesh
where love is just another bingo number
and luck is just a word
she moans the joy of surrender
to the child of hope

Popsicle shards imbed
blueberry and raspberry slivers
stranded in my throat
Glaciers will calf before
words will flow
the fire of my cunt
speaks of brimstone
my heart will pump parodies
like acrobats
I pine for some forlorn
puzzle piece
love remains like a black eye.

Never enough

My be’atch wishes
Those last seven seconds
Would last seven more

Lucy left about a month ago. My cat gone again. I miss her but she has many generations of feral cat in coursing thru her mostly blue point Siamese veins. I believe she is happier living on the wilder side of life. Sounds like a david allen coe song. I miss my dog too, but I know he would rather be hang'n with his dog buddy then being my side kick.

So I go to Sedona today for 3 haircuts ($) always a good thing for my always over budget life. And I will go to my poetry group up there that has morphed into a prose thing. I will see my poetry man. Gez, I am crazy about him but he lives up there and I live here. He so dedicated to his writing, so eccentrically self absorbed.

sounds like a torch song bubbling up like champagne. and if I couldn't sully up to a bottle of Don Perion I could always rely on so dry white. So, metaphorically speaking, I sullied up to a young white Chardonnay the other night. Now I feel like I aways did after a night of white chards of the past, hung over and looking for the morning fix.

and I do believe the end of the infatuation with the poetry man must come to a halt. darn. and much like the cheap metaphor this tacky little dog eared tail this story has become, needs to be reworked. and my phone is ringing, a message is left from a former co-worker(male)(married) wanting to get together and show me his photos of his last trip to Sturgis. Ahh the tale getting more tawdry by the moment.

so here I am, back at the blog, my faithful companion, never lets me down, asks nothing from me, its reciprocal, I love my blog, never runs off, doesn't want to be with some other dog, and is married to ME. Who could ask for more.

and here I am

big red paint ball

This is a night I would call my friend Micky. I feel out of wak, out of sorts. He always knew like nobody else what was up with me. I miss that and that alone sets me on edge. I don't believe I've ever felt that way about someone who died. Not even my Mother. What the fuck is up with that. So I called, text messaged, e-mailed, face booked, my spaced, ect... everyone is busy. I'd get drunk if I thought it would even remotely alleviate this feeling. this lack of being able to what, I don't know.

So I thought writing about this nonspiritual hole in my universe might help. And the ability to share this shit with someone might give it some edge of truth. Although I'm not usually so forth coming on the net theres a bit of desperation hanging around. So not that any of this makes much sense, but here it is anyway. This blog feels as about as intimate as everything else in my life. So there the dilemma is like a big red paint ball lobbed at the wall. The godlessness of lonely.

so tomorrow this will just be another one of those nights and like child birth I will barely remember how excruciating it can be. I won't even be able to identify.

Like a rolling stone

In the last week I've scrapped 2 jobs (but kept the week-end one), moved to Paradise Valley (5 miles from the other place), had my car break down twice (to the tune of $150 ish), oh gee, it goes on and on. But really other than living on the financial fringe, life is amusing to say the least. The weather is beginning to take on the perfect luxurious desert fair, Nights being cooler and days are almost bike ridable. So today I am enjoying the end of my 5 day week end and getting ready for my 2 day work week. I won't get rich that way but it does keep me in glycolic peels and axle seals.

Beautiful

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just dropped by to say hi

as I am so busy basking in hearts on facebook. a mindless endeavor but somehow feels rewarding.

That cute little dog

Pooba, RIP, that cute little dog had a stoke last week and just never recovered. He was such a cute little guy. But thats just the way life is, even the cute little guys gotta go too.

IT'S LATE

and the caps were locked. What? ME CARE? I have dental insurance now. I've never had that before. I've always paid thru the nose to fix my teeth. at 56 years old I feel like an adult. The first time I had that feeling was way back when. When I flew myself to NYC for a hair conferance. Must have been 15 years ago. I was in my 40's before I could relate to my adult side. I've regressed in the last few years. Some days I just can't seem to manage my life. I feel like an orphan just one step away from living out of a shopping cart. I bought a sleeping bag on just incase it comes to that. On sale at REI. I'm not sure how adult that was. I'd like to think I'm being prepared for the shit storm that may or may not come. I CAN always go camping, shit storm or not.

i had 3 more poems published. made ten dollars each. Heres one I like:

Recidivist

drenched in summer sweat

a sultry night births

an illusive dream

it tingles and turns

pirouetting on the periphery

of awake and asleep

time appears not to move

mindlessly I dig through the fossils

so rich with inferred romance

I pine for that stillborn moment

like a junky for a fix

as life lumbers forward

shortly before dawn

I, a recidivist

return to dream again

of the instant my tongue touched yours

and your finger found my vagina.

I have a tooth ache

And tooth aches conjure up the cranky in me. I've been trying to get away from that for awhile and doing rather well with the nice guy thing actually. Until this fucking tooth decay incident. In two more weeks I will have dental insurance so I'm holding out for the root canal. I can't afford to loose many more teeth. Over the years I have spent a a big chunk of change to keep my teeth looking rather pristine but since poverty set in a few years ago, poverty and tooth decay I've got a few empties in the chiclets pack. Ok, so I could live without a front tooth. But 2 weeks, I can wait. Just looking at Alfred E. puts me in a better mood.

It's been a long day

it's baaaacckk!

My custom Cat name got swiped up by something in Brussels.  That something wanted $ to give it back to me.  GoDaddy (from whom I bought the name from never bothered to inform me that I needed to reup funds a few weeks ago.  But, for a fee they would investigate and see how much Brussels wanted for the return of lucyblues.com.  Bet you all know what my hardened reply was.

So am I a gold star family?  The name for families that lost some one serving their country?  Does it count that my father came home from two wars having served his county with severe PTSD and no diagnosis?  Lost to his family for at least 45 years in a haze of social discontent?  A stranger to all who knew him and loony tunes to those who didn't?  Or maybe my x-husband in much the same condition as my father?  Lost before life ended?

I don't need a gold star, I don't want a gold star.  And recognizing families that have lost sons, daughters, husbands, wives to the disease of war is not my issue.  But I just want to know, were do we honor the people that came back but didn't really ever come back.

my blog dissappeared?

cat at her best

Well now, I'm back to life as it was, guess last week must have been life as it isn't.  My car is mobile once again after a most expensive transmission replacement.  But I have fallen in love with the lite rail.  The sad part is it goes very few places and by the Bank One Ballpark, I mean Chase field is one of those few places.  so if Bank One got bought out by Chase Bank, it could be called the JP Morgan ball field as that's really who owns Chase bank.  

Well who knows were that could go in this teetering economy, and whats in a name anyway.  Banks are changing their names more often then me.  My reasoning is more theater then anything.  Like vanity plates on a car. or a new pair of shoes.   And then I also work at Target (French owned) but actually I am employed by Boots a cosmetic corporation from England.  But whats in a pedigree. 

babbling just wasting time until I get ready for work.  I don't feel like going today.  But onward and upward.  bills to be paid.  :+)

Signs of a bad economy

cats are so dramatic

I usually don't put stuff out of e-mails on my blog but this is just to funny.

put me over the edge

so last night after writing my not so winy blog post about winy things, I decided to read.  I picked up Amy Tans latest " Saving Fish From Drowning" a while back.  The first sentence had a read more sort of atittude and I like Amy Tans style.  Well, I put that copy down and wandered around the Borders some more and when I was ready to check out I grabbed a copy of aformentioned novel and checked out.  That was 3 weeks ago.  Last night when I picked it up wouldn''t ya know, the first 15 pages were gone.   And who know where the sales slip is.  Not to mention the Borders book store is  10 miles away.  No biggie with a car.  Shit I say.

Life on the flying saucer

How amazing the new Light Rail Transit is here in the Valley of the Sun. There’s a station about 6 blocks from my house and it goes all the way to Tempe with the usual variety of stops, one being right in front of Chase Baseball stadium, where I work when the Diamond backs are in town. Good thing too, as my cars transmission bit the dust last week. I thought it was just a run of the mill clutch problem, but no, it’s a very expensive transmission failure.

Ok, I’ve lived without a car before, and rapid transit is do-able in Phoenix. And this is a bike friendly town. So I will fix the flat tires on my bike and maybe even spring for a tune-up. And wouldn’t ya know, it’s not just a tune-up but a shifter malady. New Shimono gears, $100.00+. So much for the new gel seat. But at least I have a light bike that can be thrown on the bus for the longer halls. And I’ll get back in shape for the liver I’m waiting for.

But I do have two jobs now. I was sure sweating that for awhile. Three months and then I land two. One will have to go though. An hour and a half on the bus one way with a ten minute hike to and from the bus….. 2 hours if all goes well… well I think not. I have such a hard time with quitting. I don’t even really like the job anyway but I will have to pry it out of my system with a crow bar. I’ve even had thoughts of acting bad and getting fired. Sounds like my last relationship. Hmm, better have a look at that.

And I suppose not having a car will change the nature of my friendship with the Poetry Man as I won’t be peddling my bike to Sedona anytime soon. I may never get in that good of shape again in this lifetime. Darn. That was the one thing I could count on to be sweet and far removed from the bustle of my life. Well I’m certain it will just change, not be lost forever. And isn’t that what it’s all about learning how to ride out life and all of its many turns? Lucy Blu seems to be pretty content and she’s on the same flying saucer as me. Cute cat.