08 August 2009


i was in a crash once. i've actually been in a shit-ton of crashes, but only one that matters. only one whose repercussions still haunt my every breath.

i was a wee teen. it was-good god-just shy of 20 years ago. i don't remember it happening, don't remember the hours following, don't remember much of the years that followed. but i remember enough.

i remember the agony. the pain. the suffering. the anger. the sadness. the loss. the blame. the anger. the fight. the three months in the hospital. the wheelchair. the knowing i would never be the same again. the anger.

for that moment, that one small moment in time, that one bad call, that one sliver of poor judgment, i will always suffer. always. it still hurts. when i think deeply about how much i still suffer (a pain i nearly never share because why even bother with a mass that can never understand), tears sting my eyes. i still hurt, nearly 20 years later.

i'm at home, one of my dearest friends from high school was in a crash two months ago. he lost an arm. i haven't seen him, but i spent this evening with his sister, who speaks of his good spirits, of his will, of his blase disengagement. things i liken to denial. he too will suffer as i have and do. he just doesn't know how. not yet anyway.

i am crying for him right now. and for me. there are some things lost that can never be recovered. some things lost that can never be made right. some things lost that no one else will ever understand. and some things lost no one will even try to understand because they don't see my cane or him without an arm.

but just because you don't see my cane doesn't mean i feel no pain.


06 August 2009


i am in the midwest, there is no summer to speak of, and i'm with my family. i cannot escape. someone is _always_ around, there is entirely too much screaming, yelling, crying, noise, and attention grabbing.

i am pretty sure i'm going to need anti-anxiety medication to survive the week. and i'm contemplating life as a hermit when i return to the music box steps.


03 August 2009


i started writing a post about narcissism because i've noticed lately that there seem to be more than a fair number of people in my life who don't give a shit about me enough to ask after my state of affairs, but talk endlessly about themselves, their lives, their kids, their relationships, and the last shit they took.

i even went so far as to look up narcissism in the dictionary, just to make sure i had my arms around the right definition. and when i found this under the first heading, "excessive love or admiration of oneself", i realized that i am a narcissist. and so is every one else i know.