"...how I live with Depression"

"...how I live with Depression"

I sit I write I watch old Star Treks on Netflix. That, and fast forward through their made for cable movies. They annoying, and suck, and all have the same endings. I can't eat sugar because it'll kill me. Nearly lost a leg to diabetes. So no cookies cake chips or even popcorn.

So I stare, and munch on salt-less crackers or apples.

This as I see our republic commit suicide. Otherwise I'm fine with my depression. Fine with my meds fine with vomiting all the time, and being in pain.

I just wish it would snow.

A big snow lasting days. A double whammy storm like we used to get that just won't stop. I just wish this neat shit would dump on us. This so I could calmly watch from  my window. Watch, and slowly fall asleep to the snow.

All swirling whipping at the trees days of snow.

"~M~"

"~M~"

I'm starting to dream again.  At least I'm remembering them again. These are consistent these dreams. 

I'm in a cold place,...so cold.
It's sometimes grey sometimes white or silver. I'm always        wrapped. Cocooned. I see my  self in 3rd person. Grey silver wrapped.

I'm not afraid. I'm not  anything. Just there again, and again.
A holding place?
A place before something else?

"...truth"

"...truth"

Passing the long healing by reading. I picked Walt Whitman. This some of our hero's prose.

The Civil War Journals.
His recounts of tending the lost, and wounded on the battle field, and military hospitals.
He spoke kindly to these souls, and gave little offerings. Fruit biscuits writing paper pencils even hard candies.

In particular he wrote letters home for those too badly wounded. Mostly he did what was most needed. He just sat quietly keeping company with those healing or soon to pass.

Walt noted how so many soldiers North, and South were so young. So painfully young. Drummer boys still children frontline troops 15 to their early 20's. These were farming boys both sides. They in a maelstrom he said "beyond their tender imaginings."

Walt Whitman was witness to the actual battles. "The thunder, and bedlam" of it all he said. In his journals of the war he wrote, "The truth of this war will never be written in books."

True.

So true for that war, and any other.

"~D~"

"~D~"

When in doubt play with your dolls.

Years ago I used to do "Glam" shots f my little pals.

When I recover I may do that again.

"Ponies"

"Ponies"

A dream. I was caring for a child. Sometimes it was a girl sometimes a boy. This an aura of when I looked after my nieces, and nephews.

My little one sang, and as she did she dreamed ponies to life. 

They were there, but not. Small like collies they pranced about.
When they slept they vanished. With song, and dreams more would come. A happy misty dream.

"...Balls"

"...Balls"

Well I got up I 12:40 am to make dinner. 
My days are a bit off. Never sure of when, and where I am,..sort 'a. 

"Veggie Balls".  ...???!
I saw these figured what the hell. They might make the boiled paper I have to eat more interesting. Have no idea what these are. Likely harvested from the vast Veggie Ball plantations of Belize. 
These right next to the French Fry groves, and the Diet Pepsi natural springs.

I always wanted to take a tour of the fast food plantations of Central America. Burgers, and fried chicken on vines. Pastry bushes, and the beloved Root beer, and extra sugar Orange soda water falls.

Oddly all the natives are in the trim, and quite fit. Like all serious drug dealers they never sample the product...wise.

As for them Veggie Balls I tossed some into a lean chicken stew along with the usual mushrooms, and potatoes...I don't dare go farther than this. Well,....okay better than steamed mud. My usual diet. It's as advertised,...a ball of veggies un-spiced. 

I think these things are illegal in 23 States.

What I want is a triple cheese burger large bleeping fries, and a huge Coke with crushed ice, and a large apple pie...hot.

In my dreams.

Speaking of exit wounds. 
I've become expert at butt-hole sanitation. Another vastly unexpected, and horrifying skill age presents you with.

Old bleeps should give talks at middle schools. This to tell the oblivious "I'm never getting old can never be killed, and will live forever" kiddies what's coming for them.

...real soon.

That, and stay the hell away from Veggie Balls!

"~9f~"

"~9f~"

9f degrees. The wind roars.

Brooklyn's Moon 3:47am.

Coming in, and out of the clouds.