When the nurse asks if you want a chaplain...

... you find yourself talking to God even if you weren't sure of your beliefs before that moment.

My father had his surgery today. It was supposed to take six hours or so. About halfway through, the head nurse came to ask us if we wanted a chaplain.

Never have I wanted God to exist more than that moment.

"They" say that the third stage of grief is negotiation/bargaining. It's appropriate as we speak of my father, a union negotiator and area director for decades. Bargaining and negotiations were his specialty. Like my hopes for someone or something with whom/which to negotiate, at that moment I hoped my Dad's teachings stuck in my head.

I was begging, pleading, making deals, and offering my own physical strength; I was willing, and still am, to take illness upon myself if it meant that he would recover.

Every moment is a new hope. Every moment is a new fear.

"Kegels, Yoga, and Ceiling Fans"

Just.... don't.... ask.

Another convo with Charlie Watson.

[22:34] Musing: ceiling fans suck ass
[22:34] Pedro Sanchez: you're using it wrong :-D
[22:34] Musing: I am just trying to change the bulbs
[22:35] Pedro Sanchez: yeah, you're definitely doing it wrong, then
[22:37] Musing: =(
[22:37] Musing: The little fuckers won't come out
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: How sturdy is it?
[22:38] Musing: It's like the damn bulbs are glued inside
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: how sturdy is the ceiling fan?
[22:39] Musing: Not very
[22:39] Musing: Standard
[22:40] Musing: It's a nicer one, but it's not sturdy enough to really rough it up
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: ok, this is what you do
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: Get some duct tape
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: and a ladder

Mirror (a poem)

A journey inward,

radiating outward,

spiraling upward as I fall into awareness.

Sitting in the darkness,

my eyes reflecting bright in an otherwise black and glassy mirror.

All the trials and triumphs of my life,

the bricks of my personal temple, a standing testament to who I am and what I am,

tower over everything,

threatening to both celebrate and come crashing down around me.

My eyes becoming the mirror,

black and glassy, barely containing an icy flame and a restless soul.

All at once tempted by control

and bound by chaos.