I was going to quit again but thought how it only takes a few minutes to do this so here I am trying again. I could have had so many stories but I thought they had to be made up when all along they were sitting inside people who all through my life had been sitting right next to me. Now that I'm part of the over the hill gang and my four cheeks are falling I know that stories hide in every orifice and most never come to the surface. My greatgrandmother lost four or five husbands. They died.

While young who cares about or who thinks about what the old person schlops around carrying inside. Maybe it is only sawdust and newspapers spotted with rust colored latex paint. We never knew how any of those old men died. I take it back. My greatgrandfather drowned out on the San Francisco Bay. One of them. The other one won some kind of award in a boat race. I always suspected that the drowned one was killed by the Mafia but not long ago I read that working as a fisherman is a high danger job. Nature is a killer.

Unconscious cruelty. I do think that our lives are based on that. The little fly with the brown coat died tonight. I think. I found him on the throw rug. He liked that rug. Just picked him up again. Little leg was twitching. Yeah, I drank wine tonight. Have a problem with that? Unconscious cruelty. We come in. We go out. Don't you think that's a little weird? Who the heck is pulling these strings anyway? You haters. Go ahead and bash me. I don't care. You sons of britches. Eeny meany miney moe. Catch at tigger by the toe

Two flies in the city. Two dogs in the country. Told the male dog to go home. He knows I'm still mad at him. Maybe his owners put rabbits in his food bowl. There are wild rabbits all over. Nothing lasts for too long in the country. The turkey got torn apart. Our lives are based on unconscious cruelty. Do we have a right to be appalled by nature's outright unadulterated conscious cruelty? I quit yoga in part because I didn't want to be a hippocrite. The other reason was that the wood blocks were killing me. My aching butt.

Walked in the forest. Have to carry a gun in case a wild animal jumps out. What if it's a man or someone's pet? What if the dog is snarling? If it's a man how soon would I pull out a gun? Would I tell him back away and motion with the gun? Forests can be very deceiving with that soundless sound. Then you hear a crack and your heart jumps. I already think I have heart trouble. My heart hurts a lot. I do love the forest with the no sound and the seemingly no creatures. Emptiness. A deception.

I'm all talked out. Don't feel like saying, writing anything. Drinking warm grapejuice. Eyes itch. Had pains earlier like a kidney stone wanting to creep along. Like it wanted to but kept sticking its neck out and then pulling back. Have a patch of polyeurethane ultimate glue stuck on my hand between the thumb and pointer finger. Looks like a shiny patch of alligator skin. I should watch television. This is torture today. How many words is this? Ok. I need more. How many is this? Youse guys are irritating. All of youse. I can't remember how to use youse.

How long can a fly live? thought I could end my story but the huge one is still freaking me out. He'll seem to be almost dead, disappear, then comes back full force again. He was walking in the kitchen and when he saw me he pooped brown. Then he flapped only one wing so I thought he lost the other one. He did a circular dance so I brought him a leaf to rest on but he took off flying and acting like he was going to run me down. Now he's making a racket spinning on his head.

I do think that being married drove me to drink. Some of us just aren't meant to be cramped up with another person taking our space. I don't even care to drink coffee now. Maybe I'll get my health back. He was a nice person but really only wanted to be with me if it was financially benefitting him. It started out that the age difference meant nothing. That was a crock. younguns always think they are prizes. No matter what they say. More like a boobie prize. "You paid the rent before I came and I'm never here anyway.-

Writing in cliches is perfectly fine with me. I'm not interested in being original or an intellectual or pretending to be anything other than just a regular person at this point in time here in this part of the world in 2005. I do think that the average person loves cliches. They represent us. A clichÃÆ'© in 2035 must be different than in 2005 so I say honor and give homage to our cliches by using them. wonder who first said "drove me to drink?" Maybe that's an old one. trying to think up one. not having any luck here.

Headed to the country yesterday. Stopped for barbecued chicken even though I hate to eat animals. Bought a Sinatra CD, To Kill a Mockingbird, and a DVD of Freaks. The CD wasn't so good because some was instrumental elevator music. Don't know when I'll have time for the book but a cute young girl is on the cover. She looks like I wish I looked. Freaks was inspiring even though it was banned. Frieda loved Hans. Tried to get healed by a tree today. Went into the woods and found a clearing circle. Don't know what that means but it

Holy Mary Mother of God! I almost got killed. The stupid gun wouldn't go off. I pulled the trigger four times! Tried going back to the healing place. The big dogs still come around. I sent them home but the white one came back to follow me. She took off ahead and disappeared. I went further into the woods toward the clearing. Wanted to videotape my healing tree collage hanging from a tree. Something was in the bushes with a low throaty growl getting closer. I'm still shaking. Before the growl there was howling in the distance. The dog's here.

Layers must still be peeling away. Reducing me to just a teeny rock. Over the past eleven? years. No more 2240 sq. ft. loft in the city. No more Afro-Brasilian, Afro-Haitian, Congolese dance. No more riding horses. No more yoga. No more eating all the things I enjoy. No more husband. No more little dog. Now no more walking in the forest? No more health. Lost the loft but do have a nice rented apartment. Have the house in the country even though I need better bullets. All my dreams and plans come down to needing better bullets. Oh Lordie.

Makes me wonder why I always trusted my husband to know about guns and all that stuff. How could he have put the wrong bullets in my gun? I had the right kind before I married him. It is only a 22. I don't have much strength to pull a trigger. I do need to be nice to the dogs. They patrol around my house. It would have been sad if I shot the Akita growling at another animal? It sounded like a rabied dog or mountain lion. I could have shot her growling at a mountain lion. Holy cow.

I haven't received the book yet that I ordered to help me write. A nice person from this site gave me the recommendation. I wanted to learn to write dialog dialogue sp? between people. It must be on the way. Today I'm wondering about when I became a zombie. I know I had the life sucked out of me. Have no time today because I have to get to work. Answer phones. Pretend to relate to people when I am most comfortable talking to a wall. Have to push myself out the door and roll along down the road. Goodbye.

Since 2000. Maestro the rat. Abdullah the cat. Petite the horse. John the dog. Only the frog is left and he has no name. I forgot the two frogs who got killed by the racoon and left lying on their backs side by side facing my bedroom window. That seemed very mean. I rescued them from Chinatown and then a racoon did that to them to taunt me? That was before 2000. The frog now is just a little African about 5 years old in a cube that environmentalists say is cruel, but he likes his cube. Unconscious cruelty. Me?

couldn't face Petite's death. Still can't. Felt I let her down, too. Kept telling the owner she was losing weight, losing weight, can't get up. John was with me the last time. I wanted to sleep with her but didn't want to bother her. I wanted to put my coat over her but didn't. said he'd call me when the vet was coming and that I wouldn't want to be there when they take her body. I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. he called to say she died in the night so I didn't need to come.

Every one of my marriages turned into a nightmare. I should have known when I was 12 that I was not meant to be hooked up with a man. A nun told us that girls are smarter before age 12 but after that boys advance in intelligence and girls start deteriorating. That was when I decided to not waste my time studying since I only had deterioration to look forward to. My mom said it was obnoxious for a girl to seem smarter than a boy. I did want boys to like me, even though I hated most of them.

The female white Akita does feel it is her job to protect me. She sleeps right against my front door. When I pulled up the other day the black male came first and then she came but patrolled around the property before greeting. Took a white bath to try to dispel negative energy and bring health. Still have pain both psychological and physical. Can't sit or lie on my back without pain. It is like I had a past injury where someone hit me in the butt with a baseball bat, but that never happened. I'll try a shaman next.

I buried my dog 2 months ago and I now can stop thoughts before they form. This is a new experience for me. A picture of a memory starts to form and I stop it. The dog who killed him is sleeping against my door right now. He was a few yards from the house near a pine tree until the rain picked up. He limps. He and the female take turns guarding me. If I speak to him through the door he tilts his head side to side and doesn't think to look up at the little window. Sigh.

Drank boiled milk. Triptophan? A natural sedative? Did love my husband and was comfortable being married. Loved the first one, too. The middle one I did want to get rid of. When I first heard from him after 20 years I forgot I ever had him. "Oh God, yeah, now I remember. I was married to you for a little while." I just never liked his ears. They should have been on somebody else's head. He says I was one of his real loves. Way back he blamed me for making him curl into a fetal position and cry. Ohh.

I feel like being crude today. Husbands: #1 was pee pee. #2 was shit. #3 was just a lot of gass. They'd say worse about me and I wouldn't deny any of it. Except I don't see how it could be me causing #2 to have a total nervous breakdown after only being married for 3 months. Is the s word allowed on this site? If not please just white out the hit instead of deleting the whole month. "You were getting really weird toward the end."#3 said to me. I wasn't. I guess that's a denial. Oh well.

I liked the idea of having a husband. The day to day reality didn't quite make much sense. It is similar to liking people in stories but disliking having to spend time with real ones. It's not that I don't like people. Well, maybe it is that I don't like people. It's the physicality. The odd rituals like having to meet for coffee. Oh God I just got stuck on a phone call while trying to key in words here. This got cut off for 2 hours. I'm still stuck doing work. Why did I think I had some time?

I know I'm averagely awful. Personality-altering medication is designed for people like me, but I refuse to take it. I prefer to not evolve. Let the refrigerator break down and spew brown liquid. The sounds in this place are driving me crazy. The hums, ticks, mostly the hums. What about the drips? The bus whines outside. That is hardly noticeable. The worst is that hum in the middle of the night that causes my eardrum to reverberate? I imagine that it comes from electrical wires. This is one reason why I prefer the country. PG&E is moving in there, though.

Did they burn all the history books from the 1950's, the 60's and maybe from the 70's? A history book said that someday there would be computers that would do so much of our work so that our work weeks would be shortened. It might have said to 4 hours a day and 4 days a week but I can't remember. We were supposed to have all kinds of free time to pursue our interests and spend time with friends and family. Women didn't need to work then and families owned houses with a man only working 9 to 5.

The hard part about writing is knowing what to come out with and what to muffle. I wrote some books for myself twisting real people with fictional including pictures with heads on other shoulders but none of the books turned out to make much sense. One was 200 something pages. I gave it to a couple sisters who pretended to appreciate it but I could see the worry look in their eyes. I don't care. I roar laughing over my books. While I'm writing them. After reading them over I wish they'd .. well there are too many boring parts.

We do have to close our eyes to so much of life because there is no time. People argue that you have to make time. Yeah. You can only stay up all night to fit stuff in for so long. We waste time when we're young. We don't realise that we really do have a future. When we're old we see all the lost opportunities. It's as if you see your life flash before your eyes before you're even dead. Maybe it means you are dead but you just don't know it. This is the young woman's future. Poor dear.

Every time I get to the end of the month I think I won't continue on this site. I can only write so much dribble. In March I might not have access to a computer for part of the time. I cringe when I read old stuff. The only thing I remember about English classes was that you were supposed to keep the I's down to a minimum. My mother would say never write anything. People can hold it against you. My father said, "What good is English? We already speak English. What do you need an English class for?-

This is it for a while. There's really only time after midnight or squeezed in during the day when distracted and most of the time I'm wondering what the heck I'm talking about. And why? I had to throw away a bunch of stuff from the shed today. Mold. Two holes in the tin ceiling. Today was yesterday. It's almost 1:00 a.m. into the new day. Last of the month. Au revoir! Oops. Not enough words. I'll try again. I'll come back after reading my new book on how to write. Books pile up. Order them. Don't get to them.