omicron december 2021
is the last day of 2021 the day to tell a bitch story
i think not
you need to move on, people.
you really do.
this achy body and brain isn't quite awake;
as i age, more feelings than thoughts come about;
every song i play cuts through a decade in my heart;
le ren lost her mother dyan at a very young age;
she knows what it is to lose your dad at a young age
and it always leaves me here feeling responsible....
Nagymama lived much longer, born in Hungary in 1927.
escaped her mother country in 1957 while pregnant with her daughter,
while i escaped to an SAP contract while pregnant with you.
ended up in montreal with a nursing degree but her husband wouldn't let her work
so he did, at night, for eighty-one cents an hour...
while she raised the three of you;
at the time, the "right" thing to do...
and got a raise one year of nine cents an hour
1,735 dollars a year: my interest payments last year were double that amount....
he made wine every year in the fall in his garage;
they went to myrtle beach every july come hell or hell came.
then in december of 1980 we walked to kevin manchur's party in the deep snowstorm,
while you wore your new fake pigskin coat which no boy your age would have worn.
my heart will continue to hurt more as time goes on without you;
it does not go away; it cuts deeper; and deeper.
i miss you more and more.
dream dream dream
atwood says to write
so here i am
do not listen to this
if your ex died
and your daughter is quarantining over Christmas
there is a different world for us, post ernie.
it's less than the previous world we knew.
it's less important
but we must get up
and make the bed
and think about you every time someone in their fifties dies out of the blue.
RIP Candy Palmater. (Dec. 25, 2021) aged 53.
Ernie would have liked Point La Nim.
maybe you'll bump into each other up there.
oh yes, i wanted to find my Lauren story.
i think i'll go back there.
can I analyze things here
so that they are third party analysis
... ESFJ day.
i'm gonna go back to the Lauren days.
christmas on a saturday
but no christmas this year.
ten thirty am
christmas is wrapped
child is positive
scans this empty room
piled with papers and ribbons
and a tv.
no sleighbells dingaling around here
no giddyup let's go
my title mEp shocked me, i did not forecast no Christmas
in my private space
for words to fall
on an empty page.
seven 0 seven am
two sips of hot coffee
off to the can
christmas hits around december 23rd
when omicron hits
and presents are wrapped
already got a promotion.
fryday 9:46 am.
lack of poetry in my brain
as i sneeze aloud
and tingle and ring
i know when the family parties start
i feel it in the air.
we do have our own rituals
with a tree that i do
and some cheese
some tequilla morning moments
have slapped me in the face;
as i ache and i sniffle
and i sneeze
however, it is all unwritable here:
not leaveable as a legacy:
words must remain unsaid.
december 9, 9:15am
what has happened in 32 years.
should i vlog, is my question, what will my new career look like.
i have so much to say.
what would those fourteen women be doing today?
what would they have accomplished?
how many children would they have?
how much pain?
how much joy?
and does it cancel itself out in the end.....
Jillian Horton will always live inside me.
december 7, 3:58 PM
things zoomed on by.
hopefully omicron will as well.
burning hot in the afternoon and rushing to get this thought out.
ringing ears. tylenol.
dear Matt H,
lucky for me i have the cbc.
just now, when i dragged my big dog into the car with a headache from the cold and barking humping dogs at girouard
flipped on the radio and i wasn't sure what channel i was on, even though i always listen to 88.5
i left it where it was, because in less than 2 seconds, my heart was back in los angeles in 1998.
in another two seconds i was seeing the face of Jillian horton
and for the next two minutes as i wished i could let my dad hear this music and wish ernie could hear any music,
i felt my entire life slowly pass through my heart as i forced myself to continue listening.
perhaps ernie wouldn't mind not hearing it, perhaps he really did not feel music in his body the way i do.
i need to convince myself this is true, because so much music causes me physical pain via the emotional depth of remembering
and this pain, is a gift.
<in between dec. 1 and dec. 7>
i sold ernie's car
i don't want to talk about that
it was very painful
i just keep telling myself
maybe not really as painful for her as she makes it seem
because i can't imagine anyone feeling this pain.