Thought prints. All these are, the incessant dialogue in my head. In a funk. Designer fruit. Sick of snow. Winter. A gun shop called the Gunatorium. Mammogram tomorrow. Ugh. Will the U.S have a black or woman president? Downing virtual shots with virtual friends on Facebook. I’m getting a sore throat and my lash conditioner fell down the toilet. Boo hoo, could not retrieve it. I’m feeding wild birds. What does that say? I derive satisfaction out of watching them feed and flit about, especially in winter.

I found myself lecturing my kid on punctuality this morning as he slept in again. Claims not to hear the alarm clock. He is becoming an adolescent, generally snarky and no longer up at the crack of dawn. I need to adjust but I wish he would take the initiative more, with other responsibilities as well. I spend a lot of time reminding, cajoling and at times coercing. Perhaps I’m expecting too much of a 13-year old Aspergers boy. Like all children on the spectrum, he has a unique profile and I suspect he is capable of doing these things, that he’s just a slacker like neurotypical kids his age. Doesn’t help that his stepfather has his own sense of time, Josef Time we call it. In any case, I was trying to explain that when you are late, you are being rude and arrogant, basically demonstrating to others that your time is more important than theirs. I had a girlfriend in Los Angeles who was a southern belle from Tennessee. She was on Dixie time. Everyone loved her. She was very charming, so charming she got away with being routinely late. She always kept me waiting, an hour minimum. Even if we planned to meet at her apartment. She gave me a key so I could let myself in, her idea of being considerate. I chalk it up to passive-aggressiveness. Our first fight was about her tardiness. She blew me off a couple of times and I had to watch most of True West, the Sam Shepard play, by myself. Both Quaid brothers made it onstage that night but Pearl (not her real name) didn’t get there until halfway through the end of the last act, and she paid for the tickets. She would just laugh off my frustration.

I should be used to it. Disappointment. If I didn’t want, could ditch desire, I suppose I would be happier. Everything’s relative. I don’t think I want much but compared to many, I am rich. Clearing files off my tape recorder I hear French practice. My accent’s not too bad but it’s another dead end. We had taken French lessons for a time last year until our instructor moved away. I really want to learn French, to be able to speak French with my relatives in Quebec. So, it’s on my list and hasn’t happened yet. Like the William Shatner piece on Ben Folds produced album, “Has Been,” “It Hasn’t Happened Yet.”

I was crossing the snow fields
In front of the Capital building.
It was Christmas, and I was alone.
Strange city.
Strangers for friends.
And I was broke.

As the carollon sang its song
I dreamed of success.
I would be the best.
I would make my folks proud.
I would be happy…

– It hasn’t happened yet
– It hasn’t happened yet
– It hasn’t happened

At my age
I need serenity
I need peace

– It hasn’t happened yet
– It hasn’t happened yet
– It hasn’t happened

***********************

Damn. WordPress isn’t inserting line breaks where I want them.

Found a few dreams too. Bizarre, the logic in dreams, how it is not questioned until we’re awake.

We were in the Grand Canyon and somehow my dog SamIAm was standing very precariously on the top of a tall, column-like butte. I was watching him from a great distance, terrified that he was going to fall. I was frantic, trying to think of a way get him down. Then he fell and I thought, maybe he’ll survive then realized he could not. It was not possible. I was very distraught throughout.

I was at a party in a big house that kept getting larger in scale. It was a very cultured crowd, the hosts a professor and his wife. There were lots of women gossiping and laughing passing cards and photos around. I didn’t get to see them. I entered a darkened room, a library I think where an old man was sitting. He asked if I was going to watch the film. I said I don’t think so. He showed me an article in a magazine written by the host. There was a picture of me in it. The next day (?) I was on a bus, in the back. I exchanged business cards with the woman sitting next to me. She said, “Your poetry is honest.” This was deeply affecting for some reason. It made me sad and I began to weep.

I came upon a house surrounded by water and found two black puppies. One fell into a big hole. I looked down and saw a sow and a big rat. Then I was holding the rat but it was actually a stuffed animal.

I was with friends. We walked by my dad several times, and not once but twice, I pretended not to know him. What would I say if he came up to me and said something? I didn’t want them to know he was my father.

I heard a commotion in the house. Something was in the attic. It had claws. I thought it was a cat trying to get in but saw that it was a bird, a large bird or prey, perhaps a hawk. Everyone in the household was trying to catch it including the dogs. Lucas put a coat over it and took it outside and put it on the ground. I was worried that it was injured. I thought its talons looked like an old man’s hands. There were holes in his hands and I heard a clicking sound, like skis. Then the creature turned into a boy! I thought, does that mean he just broke into our house?