A thousand years, a million miles


Happily uncomfortable.

I remember the feeling of your arms.

Wanting to be held, needing to sleep.

Wondering how long before I’d grow accustomed

To the warmth of your bedtime embrace.

What a lovely habit to make.

Remembering that time.

Our first night together.

A thousand years ago.

Now we’re here.

Aches and pains.

Restless awakenings.

Your side.

My side.

The same bed.

A million miles apart.

Roll over.

A silent tear.

Missing us.

Then your touch.

That loving embrace.

A thousand years

We’re both still here.

One bed, two sides.

Not a million miles wide.

The warmth of your arms reminds me

Sleep is sweeter when love is free.

So we sleep a few feet apart.

We still are close in each other’s heart.

You can roll over now…



Yah, I’m posting something else. PMAO  does it all the time. I need to say something. I’m not well. Yeah, I have MS and broken bones and all that stuff, but I’m mentally unstable. Seriously. I imagine some of you are second guessing your choice to follow this blog, or maybe my mental state is what led you here in the first place. Writers are weird like that. Anyway, so I’m crazy. Terrified of making my kids this way. Wandering alone in the caverns of my mind. Watching reality fade away. Hoping to somehow write the insanity away. Writing is the only thing I have confidence in. I’m not actually a writer. Just a blogger, throwing words into the internet. Hoping that one day when I look at the splatter of words on the walls of my mind, they will make a crazy, magic picture thing that will answer the fruitless questions of my existence.


Lots of fish…


Once upon a time there was a fish.

One fish in the sea of millions.

The thing that makes this fish tale different,

Is that this fish didn’t know  how to swim.

She tried.

She tried so hard.

To be like the other fish.

To “fly” through the water.

The other fish made it look easy.

The same water that lifted everyone else,

Was suffocating, heavy, immobilizing.

A few fish tried to help.

To teach her how to swim

No use.

She couldn’t swim.

Eventually she stopped trying.

She wasn’t strong enough.

At least she wasn’t in her mind’s eye.

So she drifted.

So she fell.

So she drowned.

But don’t be sad…

There are lots of fish in the sea.


Sending out a message:

To the world.

To you.

It’s my fault.

I look at my life and all I see is messy and broken.

It angers you.

It sickens you.

It defeats me.

This is not a cry for help for myself, but for you.

There is only one solution, and it will only anger you further.

I am bad for you.

Disastrous for the kids.

If I could go back, I would have run away.

Away from you.

From everything and everyone.

But now I’m here.

Ruining everything and everyone.

Prolong the agony, or end the pain?

Flip a coin.


Words silence the screams.

They draw life out like a leech.

They hold something magical and powerful, yet it’s not enough.

Enough fighting

Enough heartbreak.

Enough pain.

We’ve had enough.


Just stop already.
Stop pretending you are something you’re not.
Stop wishing for something that doesn’t exist.
Stop hoping.
Stop believing.
Stop trying.
Start living.
You are where you are.
You are who you are.
You are what you are.
Yeah, sometimes it sucks.
That’s life.
What’s the point?
I don’t know.
Maybe there’s some grand purpose.
Maybe there’s no reason at all.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t know how it happened.
When, where, why.
I don’t know much at all, but I know this has to stop.
One way or another.


They cancelled my surgery Friday because my insurance will pay for the surgery, but not the required inpatient rehab. Imagine that.

In other news, I went to the store today, but I avoided eye contact with people. Was it the wheelchair? Not today, although I’m not in an “ignore the pity” mood. It’s the monstrous zit I have forming on my chin.

Why? I’m already disabled and broken and atrophied and everything else. Why can’t life just give me a break and let me have clear skin? If I had a magic wand today, I’d make everyone in wheelchairs drop-dead gorgeous. Have people stare for a good reason.

Alright, enough bitching, guess what day it is? Taco Tuesday! Everything is awesome…

Mentally ill Cyborgs?


mental illness
Any of various conditions characterized by impairment of an individual’s normal cognitive, emotional, or behavioral functioning, and caused by social, psychological, biochemical, genetic, or other factors, such as infection or head trauma.

A human who has certain physiological processes aided or controlled by mechanical or electronic devices.

The Hobbler
Verifiably mental ill individual. Composed of a variety of human and mechanical elements.

I’m having surgery Friday. Medication pump. A little scary, but the thought of going insane is the really scary part. Can you imagine what it feels like to see yourself losing your mind? It’s terrifying.

On the plus side, I already have a psychiatrist and a neurosurgeon, so maybe I’ll make it. Not so sure about the rest of the world. Psycho cyborgs aren’t usually the good guys in the movies.