I worked on my boxes of "stuff" today, pulling out some things with a mind to sell them. I organized my sewing and craft supplies much more than they have ever been. I am still not quite done with the little odds and ends and putting them away, but that should be accomplishable tomorrow.
I had to take this one to the vet tonight. She wasn't meowing at me nor jumping on the bed nor chasing Cooder nor any of her usual hi-jinks. She was sleeping under a chair and not very interested in anything. Thanks to Mom for covering Miep's bill. Results tomorrow night.
This poem was posted on Friends of Barbara Sue Beaver. She is still on my mind. And I often think of her standing on the bridge and wonder what she could have felt.
scratch and scream your feelings raw
give the scab its due
rant and rage against this earth
that feels more pain than you
piety and platitudes
nothing real is said
keen and keening intercede
for living, not for dead
beg and bargain, plead and moan
as all believers do
preach against this hollow hell
as if you had a clue
fear and fright and friendlessness
hopelessness and pain
how dare you give a flying fuck
when darkness wins again
- Arturo Galster