Not too bad, so far. Yesterday, I thought I was gonna die before 1pm came around but, it wasn’t so much that I was hungry or that my tummy was growling.
It was mostly that I just wanted to eat something.
Anything….Babies… Puppies…wood
See what I’m saying? It was the act of chewing that I craved, I guess.
Well, I ate my 1st initial meal yesterday.
It was kinda big, but not too.
I was figuring that I only had 7 hrs of eating to prepare for 16 hrs of nothing so, eat until I popped.
FEED ME, SEYMOUR!
I was wrong.
I tried to eat a couple of Baloney sammitchs’ 2 hrs later, and could only get one down. And it was like rubber. I chewed and chewed until I had to force swallow.
This is a real thing… Like a cow…with cud.
I wasn’t hungry, yet.
I thought “Oh crap, I’m gonna starve before tomorrow’s eat time”
But, I soldiered on and swigged a fruit cup for desert. No chewing involved.
And that’s it, until now, 0808 CST and I’m doing OK.
No hunger pangs.
I’m a terrible terrible fat American.
I’ve only had my cup of Java so far. Like I said yesterday, I know Mormons aren’t supposed to drink coffee but in my defense, coffee keeps this trucker from going ape s**T and running 4 wheelers off the road.
It’s a coping tool š¬
I did notice something else yesterday though, just as the last 30 minutes before eat time began. I started getting that low blood sugar feeling.
You know, swirly brain, tingly fingers, slight touch of vertigo…overall, just weird. So, as I learn, I guess I’ll start my eat time an hour earlier, say noon to 7pm to avoid going into an embarrassing coma or shock.
Here’s a thought…
I wonder if I had beef jerky to chew on, if that’s cheating or would invalidate my efforts. Not swallow the jerky, just the juice?
What think ye?
Only 4 more hrs to go.
Just don’t think about it Trey. It’s OK not to eat all of the time.
It wouldn’t be as tough if I smoked…but,thats one Mormon rule I do adhere to.
I’m such a munch mouth though! I have a feeling this is gonna save me money on groceries…or future gastric surgery.š·āļøšā°ļø
I have decided to focus my recently dormant creative blogging energy toward my fatness and the prominence of said gut….
I have decided that I do not look good as a full figured man.
If you get my point.
I will turn 54 this year and my goal is 185 lbs. Not the 261 I currently am. Oh, btw, that’s from a truck stop scale so it could be + or – 20lbs.
I am pursuing Intermittent Fasting.
No, I’ve only been studying about it for a couple of days and I’m only on day 1.
I will share as I live and learn.
Hey! It’s our journey together!
So, here goes on day 1.
Fat Attack, Engage!
I have way more gray hairOooooo No, this is not a New Years resolution.
The toughest part of intermittent fasting (IF), for me, is getting past the mental part. The part that says that I have to eat or munch on something all of the time.
After I thought about it, I discovered that I really only eat breakfast out of habit. I know its considered the most important meal of the day but, I hardly ever wake up hungry anyways. All I usually want is coffee in the morning, anywho. I know, I know, Iām a terrible Mormon. If thatās my only failing today, Iām good.
So, Iām on my first day of IF and I havenāt eaten since yesterday afternoon and Iām still not hungry. The biggest obstacle is not to munch just to munch. Kinda like, if I smoked, I guess. Smoking a cigarette just to smoke. But, since I donāt smoke, I munch….then get fat.
Itās gonna be kinda tough with me being a truck driver, since my schedules are always jacked up and hard to stay consistent with anything. I figure though that if I keep the general time frame intact, I should be good. Of course the body acts different at night than during the day, blah blah blah.I know, I know…Lotās of interesting, common sense stuff with IF. Yāall read up on it. Iāll keep you up to date on how itās going with me. Hereās how Iām starting out:
1) No Breakfast (liquids are fine. Water, coffee, tea, etc., easy on the sweeteners; calories bad)
2) Eat normally but wisely between 1-8pm
3) Fast for 16 hrs or until the next day eating period.
If you don’t post everyday or drop a line or opinion everyday, your WordPress fans go away. Not that I had any really but, dang, I have to work for a living and do other important grown up stuff.
I wish I could write everyday…….or come up with something interesting, provocative or controversial or entertaining at a moments notice for my “audiences” viewing pleasure but, I’m only a hack writer and somewhat of a weirdo and have absolutely no talent or unbroken attention span.
IMHO….
I like making stuff up or exaggerating about a life event; mine or someone else’s?
Ok, I lie.
I don’t really like writing or giving an opinion on politics; especially not in today’s world , nor in this current partisan mood.
Twitter will KILL me!
It seems like the older I get the more I am concerned with the world around me and the future of my species.
Does it you?
Why should I worry about that, anyhow?
Is it because I have kids and grandkids?/
Is it because I want them to have a peaceful and fruitful life and a beautiful world? /
Of course, I do.
I’m not a freaking monster.
Would I worry about the world after I’m dead if I had, had no progeny?
I’d like to think I would but, unfortunately I am anti-social with borderline personality disorder and am completely self absorbed, so….fuck’em.
The same thing goes for my opinion on religion/s.
I am what you would call….non-commital.
I believe that organized religion is corrupt in God’s eyes.
I believe that God still talks to man but no one knows it.
I believe that Jesus was the literal son of God, just as we all are.
I believe that there have been many men and women that have been “touched” by the finger of God and have taught many many essential truths.
Sorry, my train of thought just derailed….
I am becoming more jaded, the older I get.
The more I put my opinions or thoughts down on the screen and reread them, I ponder my words and come to the startling summation that I am either crazier than hell, a grumpy old man or a normal Joe Schmoe…..
That’s probably the scariest thought….am I actually normal?
No, that’s crazy, I know I’m batshit.
I have to be. I can’t be normal!
That would ruin my whole deal if I was normal!
I’ve been under the self diagnosed assumption that I am crazy, off kilter, a dysfunctional unit, a piƱata that’s full of shit.
If I’m normal, I am going to be very disappointed in God when I see him.
If he tells me that I was the only normal man on earth, after everything single mean thought I’ve ever had, shoplifted piece of candy, cruel or biased judgmental observation, every dirty sex thought(I’m a freaking pervert, I swear) or any bad thing that has flashed thru my drug and or alcohol addled mind at the moment, I’ll kill myself…again.
Right there, in front of God, I will blow my freaking brains out.
I can’t be normal, I just can’t!
All of the excuses I’ve ever had won’t be worth a shit!
Ok, that train of thought complete, let’s continue: shall we?
I know I’m crazy.
I’ve read up on it!
I fit like 4 different patterns of mental illness!
I don’t like talking about politics because I hate hypocrisy and everyone else’s opinion is bullshit.
Same goes for religion….
I am what I am.
I am spiritual.
I am bi-partisan.
I love my country but believe national borders are wrong.
I also believe there are evil people and that hard, unpopular decisions must be made to protect the innocent and meek among us; to protect freedom of will, choice and worship.
I believe that our way of life hangs in the balance, as it has for generations upon generations.
I believe that we are not alone in this universe.
It’s illogical….and arrogant
The place is just too big, and its still growing.
Change does that.
Evolution does that.
Innovation, prosperity, war and famine….does that.
We used to throw rocks at the moon and some people on this earth still make huts out of cow shit so, there….
How’s that high horse riding, now?
Our planet, to the best of our limited knowledge based on rules, guidelines and words created by fallible men, is said to be 4 billion years old.
Oh, words are hissing noises or guttural noises and we have spelling bees….
This world does not need us, we need it.
I know that I am nothing.
I know that I am everything.
I know that I am a miracle of evolutionary progress and I used to pee in my pants.
I know that change never ends.
There will be others after us…
Just imagine.
I believe that it is the doom of man that we forget
The rain began to patter on the window that looked out over my best friendās small garden.
I was holding her frail hand, you know, the one with her so called āgreen thumbā.
I smile at thisā¦
She always giggled when she told me that she could kill a plastic plantā¦
Iāve seen it happen.
But now her eyes were closed, hardly able to breathe….
ā¦.. today was a good day for her though, considering everythingā¦.
She may have been asleep but, her fingers gripped mine as hard as she could squeeze.
I could barely tell I was holding her hand at all, as weak as she was.
Itās so painful, beyond belief really, to try and imagine strength draining away from the strongest person you have ever known.
ā¦.like sand in an hourglass.
I laced my fingers thru hers, gripping them a little harder, tracing the veins on the back of her hand with my other fingers.
I canāt believe Iām losing herā¦.
My bestest friend in the whole world is dyingā¦ā¦ā¦Dying!
[RUMBLE]
I can hear the thunder in the distance, the rain coming and going, the branches of the trees scraping lightly across the panes of glass
In the storm graying light of the small bedroom I turn back into time to think of our lives together.
I have done this more than usual latelyā¦.
Six monthsā¦..seems like yesterday.
It’s been years, really….
Too fastā¦
ā¦..Way too damn fast.
Doesnāt it seem weird that when you are about to lose someone close to your heart, a piece of your very soul, that we start to reflect on our memories of them more, as if though trying to burn them deeper into our hearts and mindsā¦.
Itās as if though we are afraid that we might forget something importantā¦.forget them?
I remember when she was sober.
I look at her face as she sleepsā¦.
Sheās so beautifulā¦ā¦..even now.
My flower is fadingā¦.
The sun is leaving her eyes.
The rain reminds me that I must not cryā¦ā¦
Cloud tears trickle down, the beads of sky diamonds ornament her windowā¦..
I’m not going to cry…not now at least.
She gets upset when I cry.
I sit there, holding my friends tiny hand, staring out the jeweled window as the storm drums the shutters.
The lightning is bright, the thunder is closerā¦.the rain, more insistentā¦..
I can smell the trees.
I begin the stroll down our memory lane; it isnāt raining here.
There was only laughter, joy and our high school prom.
(I got to first base….ha ha…slut…ha ha)
Seems like forever ago…
There was only skinned knees, gum in our hair and friends we shared.
It was all a dream.
It couldn’t have been real.
It was all….too perfect.
[RUMBLE]
I am brought back from my breaking heart to the bedside when I feel her stir under the blanketsā¦.
The thunder moves her.
Her eyes are open and I follow my dying friends hooded gaze.
She’s looking out the window, watching the storm.
Shadows of the window panes, rain drops and lightning dance across her faceā¦..
She is quietā¦.
Dying sober, thank God….
Oh so stillā¦..
God? Where have you been….”God”?
I notice a small tear is running down her pale cheek and across her dry lipsā¦
She did it all to herself.
(Drunk bitch)
I fucking hate her.
I reach up and wipe the tear away with my finger.
All of a sudden, I feel guilty that I’m alive.
She grabs my hand and presses it to her lips and then drops my hand with a tired sigh.
She turns her face toward meā¦.
I raise my finger to my lips and kiss whatās left of her tearā¦.
She gives me that shy grin of hers and turns back to the storm.
āWill you do me a favor?ā she asks in her beautiful, weak voice; the stormy sky reflecting in her dimming, pretty eyes.
āI donāt knowā I say āIām kinda busyā I grin.
(I hate you for dying)
She squeezes my hand again before turning to look at me, her gaze imploring.
āIām seriousā She says.
My face softens, I will not cryā¦.
(You did this to yourself, all you had to do was say something)
[RUMBLLLLLLLE]
āYou betā I whisper, both my hands pressing hers to show my promise.
I canāt squeeze her hand too hard…..
She lives very close to pain that I canāt imagine.
(This could have been avoided)
So easy to avoid….(It’s my fault)
She turns her face back toward the window as the rain dances across the roof, the thunder making the panes trembleā¦.
She says āThink of me when it rainsā¦.ā
I cannot cry in front of herā¦.
I will notā¦.I won’t!
My best friend in life is slipping away like a dream, like water thru my fingersā¦.
āI hope it rains foreverā I sayā¦.
Her eyes are closed nowā¦
Her fingers relax in mineā¦.
āIt doesnāt hurtā¦ā she whispers….”weird” she breathes.
I thank God for this small answer to my anguished prayersā¦.and I curse him.
(This is all your fault, you ASSHOLE!!!)
āNoā¦donāt goā¦ā I say
I feel like the asshole for being alive.
I never thought that would be the last thing she would hear from my lips.
No Godā¦.not herā¦.
Not my friendā¦..
(I HATE YOU!)
Take me instead, Iāll go. Iāll go right now!
Sheā¦..
She dropped my hand.
Her heart has finished its toil.
I canāt breatheā¦.I gotta get out of hereā¦.Iā¦ā¦.canātā¦..breatheā¦.Oh my God!
Oh my God!!!
She has gone from me into the stormā¦.
……she lives where lightning is born, nowā¦.
Our lives will continue as my memoryā¦.
I guess I should cry nowā¦.
But, I think it would still upset herā¦
…..no matter.
She did it to herself so, fuck her.
I will dance in the rain with the memory of my friend, and we will laughā¦
I rejoice in the fact that as long as I live, she will be there with me.
SOBER
She will watch our children grow.
SOBER
She will watch our children become best friends.
SOBER
It is time for me to weep for my lovelyā¦
I thank God for Heaven and eternal lifeā¦.
(I’m sorry I yelled at you, God…earlier)
I’m….just…….mad
Oh my God, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of her?
I don’t believe in heaven, only hell is real.
I can hear her voice in my headā¦
āCry babyā
I smileā¦.
Itās trueā¦.
Sheās hereā¦..right now.
SOBER
….sorry again, God.
I didn’t mean that part about only believing in hell.
I’ve seen pieces of heaven, sometimes; here and there….
The rain began to patter on the window that looked out over my best friendās small garden.
I was holding her frail hand, the one with her āgreen thumbā.
I smile at thisā¦
She always giggled when she told me that she could kill a plastic plantā¦
Iāve seen it happen.
But now her eyes were closed, her breath labored.
ā¦.. today was a good day for her, considering everythingā¦.
She may have been asleep but, her fingers gripped mine as hard as she could squeeze.
I could barely tell I was holding her hand at all, as weak as she was.
Itās so painful, beyond belief really, to try and imagine strength draining away from the strongest person you have ever known.
ā¦.like sand in an hourglass.
I laced my fingers thru hers, gripping them a little harder, tracing the veins on the back of her hand with my other fingers.
I canāt believe Iām losing herā¦.
My bestest friend in the whole world is dyingā¦ā¦ā¦Dying!
She did it to herself….
[RUMBLE]
I can hear the thunder in the distance, the rain coming and going, the branches of the trees scraping lightly across the panes of glass
In the storm graying light of the small bedroom I turn back into time to think of our lives together.
I have done this more than usual latelyā¦.
Six monthsā¦..seems like yesterday.
Too fastā¦
ā¦..Way too damn fast.
Doesnāt it seem weird that when you are about to lose someone close to your heart, a piece of your very soul, that we start to reflect on our memories of them more, as if though trying to burn them deeper into our hearts and mindsā¦.
Itās as if though we are afraid that we might forget something importantā¦.forget them?
I remember when she was sober.
I look at her face as she sleepsā¦.
Sheās so beautifulā¦ā¦..even now.
My flower is fadingā¦.
The sun is leaving her eyes.
The rain reminds me that I must not cryā¦ā¦
Cloud tears trickle down, the beads of sky diamonds ornament her windowā¦..
I wonāt weepā¦..she did it to herself; selfish bitch.
I’m not going to cry…not now at least.
She gets upset when I cry.
I sit there, holding my friends tiny hand, staring out the jeweled window as the storm drums the shutters.
The lightning is bright, the thunder is closerā¦.the rain, more insistentā¦..
I can smell the trees.
I begin the stroll down our memory lane; it isnāt raining here.
There is only laughter, joy and our high school prom.
There is only skinned knees, gum in our hair and boyfriends we shared
.
[RUMBLE]
I am brought back from my breaking heart to the bedside when I feel her stir under the blanketsā¦.
The thunder moves her.
Her eyes are open and I follow my dying friends hooded gaze.
She’s looking out the window, watching the storm.
Shadows of the window panes, rain drops and lightning dance across her faceā¦..
She is quietā¦.
Dying sober, thank God….
Oh so stillā¦..
God? Where is God now?
I notice a small tear is running down her pale cheek and across her dry lipsā¦
She did it all to herself.
I hate her.
I reach up and wipe the tear away with my finger.
All of a sudden, I feel guilty that I’m alive.
She grabs my hand and presses it to her lips and then drops my hand with a tired sigh.
She turns her face toward meā¦.
I raise my finger to my lips and kiss whatās left of her tearā¦.
She gives me that shy grin of hers and turns back to the storm.
āWill you do me a favor?ā she asks in her beautiful, weak voice; the stormy sky reflecting in her dimming, pretty eyes.
āI donāt knowā I say āIām kinda busyā I grin.
(I hate you for dying)
She squeezes my hand again before turning to look at me, her gaze imploring.
āIām seriousā She says.
My face softens, I will not cryā¦.
(You did this to yourself)
āYou betā I whisper, both my hands pressing hers to show my promise.
I canāt squeeze her hand too hard…..
She lives very close to pain that I canāt imagine.
This could have been avoided.
So easy…
She turns her face back toward the window as the rain dances across the roof, the thunder making the panes trembleā¦.
She says āThink of me when it rainsā¦.ā
I cannot cry in front of herā¦.
I will notā¦.I won’t!
My best friend in life is slipping away like a dream, like water thru my fingersā¦.
āI hope it rains foreverā I sayā¦.
Her eyes are closed nowā¦
Her fingers relax in mineā¦.
āIt doesnāt hurt anymoreā¦ā she whispers.
I thank God for this small answer to my anguished prayersā¦.and I curse him.
āNoā¦donāt goā¦ā I say
I feel like an asshole for being alive.
I never thought that would be the last thing she would hear from my lips.
No Godā¦.not herā¦.
Not my friendā¦..
(I HATE YOU!)
Take me instead, Iāll go. Iāll go right now!
Sheā¦..
She dropped my hand.
Her heart has finished its toil.
I canāt breatheā¦.I gotta get out of hereā¦.Iā¦ā¦.canātā¦..breatheā¦.Oh my God! Oh my God!!!
She has gone from me into the stormā¦.
She lives where lightning is bornā¦.
Our joined lives continue as memoryā¦.
I guess I can cry nowā¦.
But, I think it still upsets herā¦no matter.
I will dance in the rain with the memory of my friend, and we will laughā¦
I rejoice in the fact that as long as I live, she will be there with me.
SOBER
She will watch our children grow.
SOBER
She will watch our children become best friends.
SOBER
It is time for me to weep for my lovelyā¦
I thank God for Heaven and eternal lifeā¦.
Oh my God, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of her?
When I first started with WordPress, pert near on 3 yearsĀ ago I do reckon, I was very prolific with my new posts. I was spouting off everyday, sometimes 3 posts a day; cranking out some good stuff, some bad stuff, but mostly inane stuff.
Fun though….
But, it seems like I have either burned out this year or something weird; I bet I haven’t posted anything new or noteworthy for quite a spell.
No, no I don’t have writers block. You have to be a WRITER to get blocked.
I am just a hack.
People that can stay focused, dedicated or obsessed in creating a work of literature, poetry or the like, or maintaining a continuing stream of thought that keeps others intrigued or interested….
That’s a writer.
I just get easily bored with nothing else to do.
That’s how I am, I guess; or the only excuse or maybe justification I can even use for my apparent apathy towards my sleazy, sticky, fumblingĀ attempts at writing.
I know how I can get with things and it makes me even crazier.
I have the attention span of a $2 crackhead….or maybe a gnat.
Speaking of my creativity or lack thereof, my dwindlingĀ level of interest, my non-existent ability to focus on anything other than cooking shows or the Discovery Channel for periods longer than 30 minutes, my aforementioned miniscule attention span, my “creative juice” seems to ebb and flow.
Speaking of juice, my posting is kinda like my 52-year-old testosterone level, really….
At an elderly 52 years old (which I’ve never been this old before) I will unabashedly admit that I would kill for an early morning wake-up boner or WOOD as it is also referenced as by the male of our species; or I’d give a kidney for a boner with amorous intent or hell, I’d be grateful to the point of tears and snot for a boner at the worst possible time. You fella’s reading this know the kind of boner I mean….
A 7TH GRADER BONER FOR HELL SAKES!!!
The kind of boner that a cat can’t scratch or one that could cut diamonds!
Ahhh…the memories.
No, I haven’t any shame or ability to be embarrassed any longer.
I lost that on my 50th birthday.
The truth will set me free.
Anywho….
However, now that I ponder a little more on my bonelessness (is that a word?) I would consider selling my soul to whatever devil exists in this millennium to treat my long-suffering, dearly betrothed, regretfully abstaining wife to a good ol’fashioned Viking rape and pillage.
It would have to be a Viking rape fantasy playtime, if I ever get the chance. Last time I had wood, I was a masked burglar that jumped out of the closet to assault her and she shot me…..
Ok, I’m getting side-tracked…..again; see how easily I get distracted?
Told you….
[Quick present moment reality admission]
I made my morning coffee too strong. I have sweat running down my ribs and man boobs. I swear to God there is cocaine in Folgers 100% Columbian.
Hmmm….could be a connection here with my inability to write anything lately…..
Just add copious amounts of stimulants, give me a dose of inspiration or a reason to bitch (which could be the same , I guess) crack open the laptop, back away from the crazy person and watch the fat man dance.
It’s resolution time of course, and here are mine.
More dope than a Mexican cartel…
I will post updates, stories or assholes…oops, I meant opinions, at least twice a week; or maybe more if the caffiene is pure or when my testosterone is up.
Please, Jesus…..
I will practice more on my guitar playing and not on buying them.
I am tweeking an earlier post in tribute to my wifes brother, Richard Peoples, who recently passed…
Get along little doggie…. The Dying Rain
The rain began to patter on the window that looked out over my brothers backyard garden.
I was holding his frail hand, the one with his āgreen thumbā.
I smile at thisā¦
He always laughed like hell, when he’d told me that he could kill a plastic plantā¦no problem.
I’ve seen it happen.
But now his eyes were closed, his breath labored.
ā¦.. today was a good day for him, considering everything….
He may have been asleep but, his fingers gripped mine as hard as he could squeeze.
I could barely tell I was holding his hand at all, as weak as he was.
Itās so painful, beyond belief really, to try and imagine strength draining away from one of the strongest people you have ever known.
ā¦.like sand in an hourglass, it seems….
I laced my fingers thru his, gripping them a little harder, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with my other fingers.
I canāt believe Iām losing himā¦.he’s been here all my life
My big brother, bestest in the whole world, is dyingā¦ā¦ā¦Dying! Like a normal people!
[RUMBLE]
I can hear the thunder in the distance, the rain coming and going, the branches of the trees scraping lightly across the panes of glass
In the storm graying light of the small bedroom I turn back into time to think of our lives together, times apart….
Too much time spent apart, life getting in the way and all that
I have done this more than usual latelyā¦.regret
monthsā¦..years….?
Too fastā¦
ā¦..Way too damn fast.
Doesnāt it seem weird that when you are about to lose someone close to your heart, a piece of your very soul, that we start to reflect on our memories of them more, as if though trying to burn them deeper into our hearts and mindsā¦.
Itās as if though we are afraid that we might forget something importantā¦.forget them?
I look at his face as he sleepsā¦.if you can call dying sleep.
Heās so handsomeā¦ā¦..even now.
My big brother is fadingā¦.
The sun is leaving his eyes.
The rain reminds me that I must not cryā¦ā¦
Cloud tears trickle down, the beads of sky diamonds ornament his windowā¦..
I wonāt weepā¦..
Not now at least, he gets upset when I cry.
I sit there holding my brothers big old hand, staring out the jeweled window as the storm drums the shutters.
The lightning is bright, the thunder is closerā¦.the rain, more insistentā¦..
I can smell the trees….
In my heart of hearts, I begin the stroll down our memory lane; it isnāt raining here.
There is only laughter, joy……family.
There is only skinned knees, gum in my hair; friends and family we grew up with….
[RUMBLE]
I am brought back from my breaking heart to the bedside when I feel him stir under the blanketsā¦.
The thunder moves him.
His eyes are open and I follow his hooded gaze.
He is looking out the window, watching the storm.
Shadows of the window panes, rain drops and lightning dance across his faceā¦..
Richard is quietā¦.Still.
Oh, so stillā¦..
I notice a small tear is running down my big brothers pale cheek and across his dry lipsā¦
I reach up and wipe his tear away with my finger.
All of a sudden, I feel guilty that I am alive.
Richard grabs my hand and presses it to his lips and thenā¦.he drops my hand with a tired sigh.
Richard turns his face toward meā¦.
I raise my finger to my lips and kiss whatās left of his tearā¦.
He gives me that shit eating grin of his and turns back to the storm outside his window.
āWill you do me a favor?ā he asks in his Cajun drawl; a weak voice now; the stormy sky reflecting in his dimming, big brother eyes.
āI donāt knowā I say āIām kinda busyā I grin.
Richard squeezes my hand again before turning to look at me, his gaze imploring.
āIām seriousā He says.
My face softens, I will not cryā¦.
āYou betā I whisper, both my hands pressing his to show my promise.
I can’t squeeze hard.
Richard lives very close to pain that I can’t imagine.
He turns his face back toward the window as the rain dances across the roof, the thunder making the panes trembleā¦.
My brother says quietly, almost a whisper, he says āThink of me when it rainsā¦.ā
I cannot cry in front of himā¦.
I will not….
My big brother is slipping away like a dream, like water thru my fingersā¦.
āI hope it rains foreverā I sayā¦.
His eyes are closed nowā¦
His fingers relax in mineā¦.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore…weird” he whispers.
I thank God for this small answer to my anguished prayers….and I curse him.
“No…don’t go…” I say
I feel like an asshole for remaining here on this earth, for staying alive.
I never thought that would be the last thing he would hear from my lips.
No God….not Richard….
Not my brother….
Take me instead, I’ll go. I’ll go right now!
He…..
Richard dropped my hand.
His heart has finished its toil.
I can’t breathe….I gotta get out of here….I…….can’t…..breathe….Oh my God! Oh my God!!!
My big brother has gone away from me, into the stormā¦.
He lives where lightning is bornā¦.
He has all the answers now….
Our joined lives continue as memoryā¦.
I guess I can cry now….
But, I think it still upsets him
…no matter.
I will dance in the rain with the memory of my friend, and we will laughā¦
I rejoice in the fact that as long as I live, he will be here with me.
He will watch my children grow.
He will watch all the children find best friends, be with our family.
It is time for me to weep for my big burly guyā¦
I thank God for Heaven and eternal life….
Oh my God, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of him?
I can already hear his voice in my headā¦
āCry babyā he’d say….
I smileā¦.
Itās trueā¦.
Richardās hereā¦..right now.
As long as earth lasts forever, He’s alive in the thunder and rain.
Yesterday, I thought I was gonna die before 1pm came around but, it wasn’t so much that I was hungry or that my tummy was growling. 
I have a feeling this is gonna save me money on groceries…or future gastric surgery.š·āļøšā°ļø
The same thing goes for my opinion on religion/s.
There will be others after us…
I need to drink more beer.
Listening to the ungrateful fuckers walking around, talking about me…..
[RUMBLE]
āI donāt knowā I say āIām kinda busyā I grin.