I got back from a week of visiting friends on the MA and NH seacoast and found a foot or so of wet heavy snow in my yard. Too.damned.early.for.this.shit.
Oh, well. I had a a good time sleeping around and yakkin' with pals. I would have liked to visit some folks I keep meaning to spend time with, but there were certain things over which I had little or no control.
I need to return a rental car, pick up insulation and get back to work. So, all you're getting now is this poem:
When I was young I was so hungry, I had such a great hole in my soul.
I gorged myself on hatred and self-loathing,
feeding on the rage until my heart was as bloated and hard as a blood filled tick.
I became so ill. I nearly died.
People in my life tried to give me love, but there could never be enough, because I didn't know what "enough" felt like.
It tasted so good, love did, that I wanted to take everyone's away;
not leaving them any, I was so greedy.
Too nice, too rich, too much.
So I went on the "I don't need anybody" diet.
It works pretty well, most of the time.
I just keep telling myself that my hunger for love will pass;
that loneliness is bearable, that the pangs of longing will fade, that I'm better off alone.
Then I see you, we speak, I learn your name;
I learn to expect your welcoming smile.
It's like that old potato chip commercial
one is not enough, I want them all
I remember how good it felt to be a part of someone's life.
I forget the sense of loss that came with partings.
I feel like singing for my supper but, if I open my mouth,
it will be to scream out my need.
I must remember that hunger is not starvation;
that satisfaction has more to do with restraint,
less to do with gluttony.
I want to taste the sweet, bitter, salty, sour, crunchy, soft and chewy that life offers.
I want to know the difference between enough and too much.