Serenity Please

There is only so much I can do.
There is only so much stress I can accommodate.
There is only so much that I can worry.
About everything.

Please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Please grant me the serenity.

don't like this

don't like this
and not sure what's happening to me
not sure why i can't get it all out
and continue
not able to focus, think about anything, see straight
not sure why
don't like it
not sure what to do
and not sure why it came about all day today.
just a build up of everything?
anxiety attack over the course of 10 hours?
prolonged... something?
i can't do something
it doesn't all make sense to me

can't think straight

just can't even think straight
superball life dashing in my skull
feel like i keep falling down steps
and falling down steps

treading

i sit here and feel lost
feel like i could use some help
but don't know who to ask to help me
because i don't really know what's wrong with me
except a whole bunch of stuff
piled on top
so i don't reach out
as i don't know who to reach to
and i don't know what to ask for
except some kind of help
all kinds of help
just struggling in it all today
all feeling really, really heavy
and i'm feeling really, really tired
like i've been treading water for years and just want a break
or the shore
or a floaty
something
but i keep treading water without help
and i keep treading so that i don't drown
but it's so exhausting

Not Logging Absences

A kid gets sick and is taken out of school.
He goes to the doctor, gets medicine, gets better.
Mom takes a doctor's note to the school to show that kid went to the doctor.
Absence is, therefore, excused.
But the doctor note isn't logged properly.
Who knows why.
It just wasn't.
So kid gets sick again.  Doesn't go to school.  Because that's what you do when you're sick.
The school automatically generates a letter because he's had too many unexcused absences.
Mom calls the school, and finds out the doctor's notes weren't properly logged.
She needs to take them back.
She sends all this information to her ex-husband, who is suing her for sole custody of their children.
She sends all this information to her attorney, who has an intense conversation with her about this.
She anticipates this being used against her and her children.
She anticipates the ex will make an issue of it.
She anticipates the ex's attorney will make an issue of it.
They have in the past.
Why would they change now?

It's not about the kid's education and if he's doing well.
It's not about the kid's health and if he's feeling better.
It's about the failings of the mother and why the kid shouldn't be with her.
And the fight intensifies.
For the wrong reasons.
About the wrong issues.
And the kid gets sidelined again.

This.  Is.  Too.  Much.
It is wrong.

little shits

i hate him and i hate him and i hate her and i hate him and i hate her.  i hate them all who stench around me and i hate me for caring about that miserable bile.  and i hate hating and hate beering and i hate thinking about what i'm going to say when i hate him.  and i hate tired and i hate sleep and i hate tv and i hate money and i hate politics and i hate money and i hate money and i hate not having money.  and i hate the knocks in my car and i hate my hair and i hate my lack of hair and i hate my fat and i hate my sedentary and i hate what i've become and i hate where i'm going and i hate the people around me and i hate the people who continue to attack and i hate the backwards and i hate the exposed and i hate the worms who crawl and exploit those who dare to stand.  and i hate those who acted surprised and i hate those who judge and i hate those who are insecure and paranoid and fearful and shy and sad and miserable and mewling.  and i hate faces and people and music that doesn't fulfill.  and i hate spelling and rules and people who correct funner.  and i hate people who make rules like shrimp fork and pinky out.  and i hate exclusionaries and those who empower exclusionaries.  and i hate prenteses and fake and misdirection and deception.  and i hate business and finances and mandatory meetings and intentional complexities and rules that prevent assistance from being applied.  and i hate what we are as people.  and i hate what we've built and what we value.  and i hate all the people who don't think about it and make it stronger through their ignorance.  and i hate the people who remain willfully ignorant.  and i hate the people who encourage ignorance and profit from mass stupidity.  and i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate.  and i rage and rage and rage in my silent cube with nowhere to go and nothing in the future and all i've got is a singular focus on 5:50ish, pushing everything else out of my mind to the detriment of everything else.  fucking people.  fucking person.  it's not worth all this.  it's just not worth it.  you're not worth it.  and he's not worth it.  and she's not worth it.  and fuck off.  all of you.  just fuck the right off.  and fucking fuck yourself for denying your own growth.  for saying no to yourself.  and then asking me to help you.  you help you.  you get over it.  i've given you the path and i've shown you the door.  now step through it where i'm waiting for you.  and let yourself cry and be scared and terrified of that which you can't even verbalize yet and while you're there keep walking towards me unless you want the fear to consume you and win and then for the rest of your life you'll be asking people for help and they will all eventually come to the same answer "let go" which you won't hear and you won't do because you start with "that won't work".  "i'm boring".  go fuck yourself.  and fuck your older married man.  and fuck your business and doorbell and insurance and all your congealed failure wrapped in a success box that people marvel at and say things like "you must really know what you're doing".  i am not the only one who sees you, but others with eyes like mine are few and far between and our numbers are not dense enough to change your behavior or make you realize what a fake you really are.  you pathetic, sniveling fuckstain.  you snack on fecal flecks in your boxers.  you're a zit.  you've grown because you're an infection.  and the other infections don't want you to fall because that might signal that they, too, have been created by the body's need to get rid of them.  you little shit.  all of you.  little.  shits.  on my dinner plate.

Wardrobe Thoughts

If I could, I would probably incorporate a more regular use of the bandana in my everyday wardrobe.

I would probably wear one on my head regularly.  Either in the longer-tail-coming-out-the-back fashion, or as a headband.  Think Brett Michaels, Compton gangsta, or Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow.

I would probably wear one around my wrist, tied tightly without dangling ends.

I would also like to use torn fleece more, like long-sleeved sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off to make them short-sleeved or sleeveless.

I would probably wear bandanas dangling out of the back pocket of my jeans, too.  Like The Boss on the Born In The U.S.A. album cover, except exchange the red ball cap for a bandana.  I would need to start wearing jeans to make this happen, too.  Well, on second thought, maybe I just like the jeans.  Maybe they could be ripped a little.   

I would like to say that I would wear fingerless gloves more.  But I wouldn't.  I did that in the 80s.  Liked it for a moment.  That moment has passed.  It would appear that I have arrived at this moment: Gansta GlamRock Pirate Flashdancer.

Or maybe I'll just wear what Michael Jackson wore, circa 1984.  That shit was dope.