Trying to get back to the swing of things.

Old Friends

When I was a child, my dad drove an old tan and white pickup truck.
I don't really remember it, but snapshots capture my dad standing next to it in a matching leisure suit.
Eventually the pictures change over to a brand new blue and white pickup.
Standard cab, bench seat, with air conditioning. A complimentary blue camper shell was quickly added.
We would drive to the farm for the free firewood, me, Dad and Grandma.
On the way there, I would sit in a lounging fold up lawn chair, legs still bent under, and read a book to pass the time.
For the return trip I would be squished between Dad and Grandma, the three of us sweaty of being outside all day in the sun, and my book remained hidden in the pocket of the door.
In it's old age, that pickup truck tolerated me as I learned to parallel park and then chugged me gracelessly to my part time job.
My suit never matched it, and by the time I had my licence the air conditioning had stopped working,
But we had a lot of miles together, that old truck and I.
When it stopped starting every day and started stranding me on the way to work, the pickup was replaced by a nice, reliable Buick. I was happy to see it go.
Now, I'm a little sorry for being ungrateful for all those quiet moments in the lounge chair, reading a book, covering the miles.

State of Mind

There is a lot of negativity building inside riding a way of despair and doubt.
When I lay in bed at night, trying to sleep, I can see it all building and I'm afraid it will blow the top of my head off, neatly,
In a way that will only be apparent to me.
As if I will be able to style my hair over the fracture marks and hide the evidence from the world.

Sleep is a gift that cannot be squandered, yet a horror full of chaotic dreams and insufficient rest.
When I close my eyes I can feel blood pulsing through my ears.
It is a side effect; the one-two punch of congestion and exhaustion turns my hearing towards the internal.
The pulse in oddly comforting in it's regularity, a gentle whoosh, whoosh, whoosh I can almost see against my eyelids.
As if the sound releases some of the pressure and I'll be spared the indignity of this blackness.