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Feeling blue…or not feeling groovy

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

blue is ambiguous, hazy, vague and unclear   pep

feeling sad is not

sadness is pretty much clear, singled out with pity parties thrown but not in your honour

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

feeling blue its totally acceptable-look how many songs about being blue are out there

feeling sad is not   dog

people run away as if you’ve contracted the plague -sadness, we all know is highly contagious

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

blue is an acceptable colour, blue skies, blue eyes, blueberries even playing the blues has colour

feeling sad is not

sad is gloomy and dark, no colour hues like blue just tears, frowns and being down ht

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

like when long standing relationships end because the glitter that kept them going has been thrown and scattered so many times there’s just nothing left

feeling sad is not

especially when you go around trying to pick up those specks of glitter and end up with dust bunnies attached

Sometimes feeling blue is ok download

when it rains on your parade and then, behold, the sun comes through bringing fairies and yellow rays of sun

feeling sad is not

when you try to open an umbrella to starve off the rain on your parade and the wind turns the umbrella inside out and you’re too busy cursing and fighting with the wind and you accidentally knock a fairy upside the head along with the single yellow ray of sun that was guiding it

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

When you buy a hot dog to make you feel better cause the stress at work is bringing you down

Feeling sad is not

you forgot to order sauerkraut with that hotdog and once you take a bite, the bun is stale and you already walked too far from the vendor to run back and curse him out

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

yike

 

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On Running…or random acts of self-gloating.

Running, seriously keeps me in the moment, in the present, with thoughts dabbing tearfully at the past and  plans my hand enjoys squashing like a giant bug swatter dealing with the future.

The act of running,

Is not running…

It’s training to run. IMG_2504

Training is…

Humiliating, teaching one to be humble during a race as gastrointestinal issues make an unexpected appearance before hitting a porta potty. Once there, one recuperates, cursing the lack of tp and continues afterwards with the…

Training that becomes…

Humbling, when a cocky self assured self decides to run a ½ marathon without the training and ends up puking on the side of the running path. Once there, one recuperates cursing at not having the time to train and continues afterwards with the…

Training that inspires…

Aspirations which turn into goals and thus become accomplishments. Once there, one recuperates, cursing at not recognizing what the hard work was for and duh, reveling in the feely, good thingys not only felt but held close to the heart.IMG_2503

Well, those are my thoughts on running or random acts of self-gloating.

No money in my pocket…

The job I do which comes with money, insurance, sick and vacation days-

Will Never Define Me.

If I left tomorrow, another would take my place and yesterday’s trash would hold my memory.  I work for an organization that bears no ownership from me but seeks to own me 9-5 five days a week, 52 weeks of the year.

Not my circus, not my monkeys and,

still I work.

For the pitiful salary that allows me to live paycheck to paycheck.

I work.

Twenty-three dollars of green and cream coloured paper can pay for a NYRR race so yes, I

work.

Some money is better than no money.

Before 9am I am the person who owns myself, running 4-6 miles through Ppark alleviating all the knots and kinks required for the introvert in me to go forth into the wonderful office space world where, annoying can’t be alone extroverts, rule.

After 5pm, I revert to being me, in my apartment, wearing the jammies, with the furbabies, two glasses of wine and a good book or SVU on the tube. The introvert in me welcomes my non-inclusive space.

Non-inclusive means space for me and surely not you.

Lord have mercy…

for the extroverts and their lonely selves cannot exist without the attention sucked from introverts who long for the private office the extroverts occupy.

Still I work.

Money is earned not given in my case.

I work…

not for the accolades which are reserved for those who make the most and work the least.

Work,

because it pays the endless bills left always in arrears.

Some money is better than no money so

I work and will keep working until the bills ride off into the sunset or I win mega millions and with my middle finger held high, I ride off into the sunset.

***images from the web…

Tobias Walsh…Toby.

Tobias…

Tobias, Toba, Tub of lard, Mr. Tobes, Mr. T, Tobester, Tobadia, Mr Tobadia.

Toby, for me

YOU will always be…just Toby. 1440421056303 (2016-11-02T19_58_20.842)

I want to write down the words that tell my feelings about

YOU.

But…

When I think of

USTED, I get all mamba jamba boogied up tight lip and my chest hurts, missing your bunny hopping days through Ppark.

The pain is so real and so there…as

TÚ is no longer here, and neither is Pi and I long to touch and smell

USTED as I do him.

Although, stink, Pi did, as did

YOU, and it did not matter because being all mine, all the time, unconditionally, lovingly far surpassed the dirty dog, musty stink after swimming at the doggy beach in Ppark brought into the house.

USTED passed into shadow on Monday evening, October 9, 2017, licking peanut butter from my finger as Propofol made its way through the vein that would eventually connect with other veins on a path to your heart-unstoppable as your personality and love was.

TÚ paused in the peanut butter licking, confused somewhat and before I could acknowledge what was taking place, the ER vet plunged Euthasol into that same vein, which stopped, and ended the pumping of your sweet heart that held mi alma intact and made me realize that yes,

YOU and your love were stoppable.IMG_2112

Pi took my heart…

TÚ my dear first fur baby, the oldest of the pack, took my soul (mi alma).

Beat on…run on…free at last from the arthritis, the crippling of the joints, the senioritis which left you at times confused looking for our house on return walks the sometimes incontinence, the sometimes-foggy vision, free at last, thank HIM almighty you are free.

Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años.

Gracias for choosing me.

I want to say to

YOU all that wasn’t said while this earth was lucky to have your soul in its presence, it’s concrete jungle, pseudo Ppark in the woods landscape with me by your side. Gracias a

TÚ for finding and choosing me to spend time in your life. Pi was not part of

the package, pero

dscn0751

USTED accepted him or better yet, tolerated him on your own terms.

The residents at the now defunct Bishop Hulces nursing home would also join in this thanks to

YOU, the certified therapy dog who strutted through the dementia ward bringing the gift of words to those who would not normally speak. 1094724054094 (2016-11-02T19_58_16.355)

USTED, my sweet baby boy would allow the locked words to flow in their gibberish, unstoppable, accepted and not challenged or corrected way.

I remember the young teenage girl who was placed in the nursing home due to her disability of severed legs sacrificed from her attempted suicide gone wrong pact with an MTA train. Mother and father were at her bedside during our visits and the tension and awkwardness were too real to ignore. They spoke no English and who knows what if they knew what to make of you grizzly Adams appearance.

YOU jumped on me, and unto her bed, snuggled up to a hip that no longer had an extension.  She in turn was happy to pet your fur which brought forth a smile easing the tensions from the parents who now mirar a

USTED at what I perceived to be respect and admiration. The visits to her room always brought out the best in the soul that resided en

dscn1109

LOVE

TÚ and el alma that took my own away.

Bereavement is not so acceptable when it comes to fur babies because for many they are insignificant, easily discarded as the wrapper on a wad of gum. Going into shadow is as irrelevant as swatting a mosquito of an arm.

But guess what…

For me not having

YOU, the job of life can be done but trust me, it will be half assed done, for your unconditional no judgement love does not await me when I return home and I’m left with no defense to put the day’s sucking vampires behind me.

DSCN0073

I go to work, forced to converse in conversations when I’d rather be home licking my wounds and thinking of you. Grieving for your lil bro was much easier-I was unemployed. 580

To pick up your ashes, I must return to the place your last breath was drawn and I will bring

 

YOU home.IMG_2164

Which is where you are now, my sweet Toby boy.

 

 

 

 

 

** TÚ, USTED = You.  Mirar=look. Gracias a tú=thanks to you. en= in. pero=but. Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años=Thank you my doggy who lived in my life for 14 years.

Dignified Toby-001img_0555roomies-220140916_113709

 

Not in Kansas anymore…or…AND, OR , BUT.

My running season goals of 2017 were:

  1. To be social and branch out of solely running Ppark (Prospect Park)
  2. Graduate from the 5k’s with the tee shirt award to the 10k’s with the tee shirts AND medal awards

Guess what?

Achieved, done, concluded, fulfilled, ended, over and done with!!IMG_2078

Goals are the wish lists we formulate and attempt to complete… OR…fail while doing so.

Failure…

At times, staying in ‘Kansas’ may be the road block which caused the goal failure to begin with. Comfort-ability does have its snags… BUT… so does taking that initial step to ‘make it happen’ and tripping,  falling flat on your face and ending up in a hospital bed, thinking , ‘How the hell did that happen?’

Well, as John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.

And so it does…life happens.

The running goals for 2017 were not going to happen if I continued to run alone in Ppark doing the same thing, the same way, everyday. IMG_2079

Change.

It had to come so I joined a running group, paid the joiner’s fee with money borrowed and not paid back. This major shift gave the best results as my running goals were met as well as having social running buddies. Aspirations and new goals are up a notch for 2018 (God willing because we know he can be tricksy sometimes).

So…

There are no AND, OR ,BUT to change. No excuses.

Just do it.IMG_2075

 

 

 

Mercedes Benz…

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Janis Joplin and her Mercedes Benz…

Of course, my pity me, pity bee self, let those lyrics set in my heart at a young age while I licked my “How many licks does it take to reach the center of a Tootsie Pop?”

Joplin was amazing.

A white chick who could wail like a black chick and gained kudos beyond the norm for being a white chick who could wail like a black chick. Meanwhile the black chicks who are the backup singers to the white musicians remain in the background, behind the lines of the white musicians who need their sound to cross barriers and bring in more buyers of their records.

Tina Turner was amazing as she wailed out in front while her backup singers remained in the back. The black chicks that is…

‘Nuf said.’

So…

Back to asking for that Mercedes Benz…

The ONE and ONLY, THE LEADER OF US ALL, the one otherwise known as JEHOVAH, YAHWEH, ADONAI, GOD, THE ALMIGHTY…this stops here (Current thunder and lightning storm taking place and it is not wise to anger the ONE who controls the weather). Well he’s not giving me a Benz, nor am I asking for it. What I want, what I really want, and yes, I’m telling you, is a grand piano.   piano-1522856__340

 Sigh…

I’ve been teased by three grands over the years.

The first was a Bechstein, when the company was in NY, before the rents went up. It was a lower end model, selling for $8k. I let it go or rather it let me go, for when I decided yes it was the one, someone else bought it then mom, my mom, became sick…very sick.

SOLD

The second was a Mason and Hamlin which sat in a church collecting dust in the corner. I begged, tried to borrow, could not steal- everyone. No loan, no piano. It was bought the next day and ended up on Craigslist a month later selling for $15k. Duh…

SOLD

The third piano, and yes this is it. No more searching, do, did, done. Nunca más.  The heart (mi corazón) cannot allow false hope (esperanza)  to take hold only to dissipate into steam, traveling upwards towards the sky (el cielo) , out of reach, out of sight, out of mind. piano-1655558__340

Sigh…

This time, it was a 5 foot 7 Steinway grand, placed on Craigslist and discovered while scouring the job market ads. The address on the ad was located five blocks up from where I live. Yes, my neighbor who moved here twenty years ago before the gentri came, when it was cool and hip to live here, when the rents were under $2k…enough…is currently selling their 5 foot 7 Steinway grand for an unheard of price.

Bubble gum wraps!!!!  (Not the words I prefer to use but profanity is such a cliché reaction-whatever)

Sigh…

No funds reserved in a savings account, in a 401k fund, in a money market, in an overseas bank account, in a CD, in a mattress or under it, in a silver plated box buried in the backyard, or in a sugar daddy’s pocket. My salary will not cover the cost of the piano, as the salary itself is a joke because I work with others who make way more than me for doing way less.piano-2412403__340

Go figure.

Borrowing the money to pay for the piano is akin to hitting lotto’s biggest jackpot. So close but yet so far or rather I pretend the wasted money I used to purchase the lotto ticket  will bring me riches as I do not know a soul who would lend me the Benjamins, period.

So…

Getting back to Janis with a twist:

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me, my neighbour’s Steinway?

My friends play Bosendorfer’s, I must make amends

Worked hard all my lifetime, switching careers back and forth

So Lord, won’t you buy me my neighbour’s Steinway?

piano-2173426__340

Ellipsis abuse or….what I am.

Ok…so I use allot of ellipsis. Allot.
In case you are wondering what ellipses are are defined by Webster:

Definition of ELLIPSIS
plural
ellipses
play\i-ˈlip-ˌsēz, e-\
1. 1a : the omission of one or more words that are obviously understood but that must be supplied to make a construction grammatically complete b : a sudden leap from one topic to another
2. 2: marks or a mark (such as … ) indicating an omission (as of words) or a pause

  images

I surely did not know the definition of ellipses let alone the word itself until now…and I don’t care.
Ellipsis comes naturally to me. I pause. Allot. It’s how my mind works.
Thought…pause…thought…pause…

Of course, my use of the ellipsis is not in the norm of grammatically correct usage. Realistically it’s not…in my brain it is. I’d also elicit a ‘rolling eyes’ response from English professors with my abuse of contractions. I do try to spell out the: I would not, I would, cannot, should not, etc. Laziness in typing gets the best of me at times and…

I do not apologize for my ellipses or my contractions.Yup.

 

***image borrowed from the world wide web

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