Anne_of_Thieves's profile

Off to work, my day begins What awaits, before it ends? Will I smile when idiots speak? In endless meetings, will the chairs all squeak? Will I resist the snack machine? Will I keep my language clean When the jackass in the cubby next door Turns his radio to that Limbaugh bore? Will my space be too hot, or maybe too cold? Will lack of any control cause my head to explode? Will my computer slow down when speed is required Will anyone care that I’m so very tired? Will my car not start at the en...

If I lived alone I could sleep on either side of the bed. I could have meals at odd hours, Or not at all. I could work as late as I want, Or go to the market at 11pm. I could leave the bed unmade, Or let the cat in the bedroom. If I lived alone Who would start dinner when I work late, Or work with me until the house is clean? Who would drive when I’m sleepy, Or wax my car and point out my tire is low? Who would be there when I was afraid, Or make me laugh, Or leave me alone when I need alone...

March 29 Dear Diary: The day before yesterday I think my entry was about the crack in the new countertop and how annoyed I am about it. And I think I mentioned that I lost 2 pounds. Did I say that Mom called to tell me she and Dad are coming for a week in June? Did I forget to tell you that the cat threw up in Mike’s shoe again? I rinsed it out and put it back in the closet in the hope that she’ll use it again next time she’s mad at me. It’s those stupid wingtip shoes that Mike's clueless a-h...

Words back up like a gutter overflowing where a bird's nest plugs the downspout, or the way a fender-bender sends long lines rippling up the highway. Like a flood on the Mississippi backs up every little creek and stream that feeds into it I’m backed up with words. I am desperate to get them on the paper. And yet they will not come. I can feel them filling up the empty places Packed in around my heart, under my diaphram, filling my stomach between meals, settling around my spine, in the li...

Fatigue overlays my soul. It is peanut butter on bread Sealing every pore so the weariness cannot escape. In a trance, I sit staring into space, And I lack the energy even to smile That the shadow on the wall looks like Jesus. In a moment I’ll dig deeper And find energy reserves yet untapped. “Push!” a long-forgotten voice insists. Yes, now I remember being this tired before. But, of course, this isn’t labor. There is no baby now. I’m just tired from chasing this day. And the one before i...