optimist installation dinner

it was pretty good. my friend is still a board member, secretary.  possibly I’llrun for treasurer myself next year.  I am wondering how you become a board member.   that might be cool.

I joined this group because of my friend, and am really grateful now.  I promised not to embarrass him at events, so I did not drink very much and honestly should not be drinking much, if at all, anyhow.  moderation is the key.  And I was moderate.  should I understand what moderate is.

personally I am at odds with the relationship I have developed with this friend.  He confuses and frustrate me very much.  Has proven himself to be a great friend, yet I can’t help but feel like there is more to come.  Don’t even know what that really means.  it’s just I feel something under the surface.

I did feel bad about one thing, he was clapping, this annoying clap that he and a friend do.  This clap is loud and drawn out and makes the hair on my neck stand up on ends.  Drives me literally batty.  he started that clap and without control over my own reflexes I grabbed his hand to stop him.  I really had no right.  It was completely out of line and I know better.  I do things before I think.  Later he called me mom about it, and that hurt even more.  I’m very hyper sensitive about being maternal to anyone, because I have no right.  And particularly not to a grown man who had every right to live his life however he please.


17 Days


17 Days

Since last we saw each other,

See here, what I have done

These are the strings I have attached

Like a fine puppeteer to my heart

Knotted the aorta to the blue line,

The pulmonary atrium to the green,

And the left ventricle to the red.

The blood rushes through smoothly

Then twist into tangled messes.

Floating around violently against the

Left atrium digging against the wall

Looking for exits that don’t exist.

I have so little control pulling at the strings,

As you well know.

All the valves working, but the rhythm is off.

A skipped beat, a forgotten moment,

Another lonely night.

I am a sloppy puppeteer, my dear.

I am not good at the slight tugs of the lines,

The sudden pulls to move right,

The operation of the emotion.

I want to be a master class

More agile and elegant

Moving like you do,

Nearly enchanting the strings to work on their own.

So I have this sad puppet of a heart

Which I hand over begrudgingly.

It belongs with someone that knows how to use it.

Entertain the women to come

With the way you can make it dance

And manipulate it to stop