This journal wanders about. It's poetry, reflections, snippets from other stories and ideas of others, and my own pot luck thoughts reflecting the transparent thinking of this post-traumatically stressed, majorly depressed social phobic before and after my breakdown.

February 26, 2009

lazy girl heaven

I know that there is a heaven.

O, really (chuckling).

It's foggy at first but i suspect now that would have cleared up once i got in. I had the feeling it was big, and inside it had everything i needed. I didn't have time to think about what i wanted. It all happened so fast.

hmmmm.

Yes, it was very lulling and compelling at the same time.
It's white, a space, up to the left. Like i need to turn my head to the left to see it properly.
Yes, like a tunnel. as people say.

then what happened?

There are friends waiting
but only one main person beckoning. It looked like Jesus to me, but what do i know!!
(only what i've been socialized to know). He wore a robe, no other way to describe it. Kind of like a monk's with a hood and all.

I wish you remembered more.

i do.

hmmmm

I got sucked back here. According to the guy in the robe, i had "more" to do. Geesh. what else is there? I felt 100 years old back then. Twenty-two and lost like Alzheimers (sp). First scared, then sad, maudlin and then back to frightened, anxiety through the roof; unemployed, addicted, depressed, insane ol' me. Yup. One hundred years old, there about.

I heard one man at my dad's nursing home say, "i'd rather die at 75, then live at 95.

you're a cynic too, then?

tell me about being nineteen.

no. You tell me about your abortion last month.

well, June, to start, i'm 44 and tired and ill. How can i provide?

i'm not dissing you, i support your decision.

thank you. Richard doesn't.

Richards never do. I've never met a fully feminist Richard.

hahahhahaha

hahahahahaha

Seriously, i think we're both tired. Christ, it's hard, eh? I hate fucking life. Too much to do. i've heard Heaven has lazy-girl chairs. Did you see any?

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