(The ponderings of guest writer BT. I choose the illustrations around here.)
While driving to Pathmark to pick up some provisions I was hit with some thoughts that though not poem worthy(for now atleast), still notable.
As I drove down Durham Rd. I glanced over my left shoulder. And behold, there he was. The great betrayer. Mr. F. Moon in all his radiant glory. The one who is to inspire romance. Who songs have been written about. That, for the exception or werewolves, is something to anticipate. Little would I know he would play a part in determing the outcome of my relationship with my love.
Then I pondered the effects of PMS, perimenopause, and the very existence of hormones altogether. I already knew that I was woefully inept in dealing with the outward signs of the female affliction. So inept. Then, as if I wasn't already at a handicap, the two conditions conspired against me. I never saw it coming. Never had a chance.
I wish that I was smarter, wiser, calmer, stronger, kinder, patient, loving, etc. Sounds like the makings of a fruit(of the Spirit) salad.
Another thought was about my own life. The sense of loss. That it seems to be a series of short term gains in the midst of long term heartaches and losses. A feeling that nothing has changed since my youth. And if that is the case, wishing I could give up the ghost and go home. But alas, that is not my choice. So how long this time? When will I feel normal again? Not even looking for the next short term gain. Just normalacy. No more hope deferred. Peace.