What I want to do is go for a run.
For years I have wanted to be able to go running when I feel like, not for any other reason other than to be able to run. Not because of the day of the week, or time of day, or for any other direction other than to go.
Running was one of my best thinking places.
I used to be able to return home from a run and my mind would be full of sentences, ideas, thoughts.
Running used to exhaust and expend physical energy while allowing my mind to free-think.
I would say, let’s go for a run.
Let’s slather on sunscreen. Lace up the running shoes. Put on the spandex with appropriate under garments to wick away the sweat and moisture. I’ll put my hair up, wear my hat that keeps the sweat out of my eyes. Wear sunglasses because sunscreen, hats, and sunglasses are all best preventative measures against sun damage. I’ll bring my shuffle. It is so small it is a great way to keep my head going. And, we will all of us away through the streets running for the fun of it, for health, for cardiovascular health, for healthy lungs, for the whole body sweat that gives your skin – the largest organ of your body – a healthful glow.
We will away the streets because outdoor running along with being outdoors is so much more enjoyable than being locked inside four walls.
I would cook for you except that has yet to return to me. I had been enjoying myself. Wonder what this tastes like? Wonder what it tastes like if you put this and this together? What about this flavor? What happens when you add this with this?
Yet, it seems there is a diabolical teacher and Svengali allowed upon my whereabouts and premises. Every time I start to let go and create in my mind which is a positive experience – WHAM – aside my head, self-esteem, heart-mindful-power-thinking, and my mind is gone from me.
Because I am not allowed to have emotions, feelings, thoughts, ideas, or imagination. I am only allowed to “do.” Or, copy. Because it is more important that someone else stay employed rather than listen to me allowing me to be. Just be.
What a wonderful thing. To just be.
However, I am not allowed to go running. Or run. Only in my mind where I used to be allowed to be me.
Since, the desire to cook and make others and myself feel better through food has left me so dramatically I would prepare us a breakfast sandwich.
I haven’t been able to have one of these for years now.
Morningstar makes the best breakfast sandwich. English muffin, soy-based turkey sausage, and soy-cheddar cheese. Some fresh fruit, whatever is in season, and yogurt. We did have a big run after all. I’ll do us both a favor I won’t tell you how to have your coffee and you won’t tell me how I like my coffee. Capeesh?
As I am using my spoon to scrape the slightest bit of flavor left out of this plastic tray of microwaved breakfast it is just a dream I could one day hope for.
Also, I am on a diet as what has been delivered to me is nothing but extra weight. I am only 5’2” after all, a few pounds make a big difference. My BMI would say I should weigh a LOT less. So, greatly unhappy am I. Aren’t you all happy for that?!
The truth for the weight, someone’s idea to make me by new pants. Like I have the money for that when I have so many things around my house that need to be fixed.
Just because I watched a show about someone else’s drug abuse does NOT mean it applies to me.
I want more time off.
I do not feel well – still. Fat and heavy because what is delivered to me is not what I ordered. So, depression, great unhappiness consumes me.
It is a toxic combination making me rely on my job as a way to lose weight because I am not allowed to be in the break room or eat while I work. What a great way to motivate someone?! Taking away their self-esteem and any positive ideas they have about themselves.
I should have been able to write several pieces that I have in my head. Writing I want to do. However, what was delivered to me was problems, heaviness, extreme fatigue, and no imagination.
They should be fighting for me rather than against me.
Is it just me or does it seem that The Washington Post has a separate paper just for me? Centered around me? How could that be? Aren’t there other news stories? Everything is so specific it would have to be a separate edition for me. Why do that, I wonder?
I wonder if I should share with you this poem. I would rather have written one of my own, so it could be more personal. So, that I could use my brain and write. However, writing has not been my friend these last few months.
It is hard for me to not look at a person and see. Are you able to stop yourself from breathing? Can you tell your heart to stop beating?
I didn’t think so.
So, as am I not able to not see.
Call it vision if you want. It is being able to see people beyond words and explanations. It is not police training and deduction. It is the ability to see into their hearts and minds. It requires all my senses.
So, this is for a man I saw who’s known persecution, torture, and imprisonment for writing.
This is also for a family torn apart by drug abuse disguised as addiction when words would allow healing. Time, attention, time spent meaningfully with one another, and truthful words spoken – could heal more than wounds.
Isn’t it true words can create such pain and derision they can become impossibilities stronger than any metal?
Yet, the greatest truth written and spoken breaks down walls, barriers, shielded pain, exposing the greatest part of us, our humanity.
Another
By, Pablo Neruda
From, The Yellow Heart
From so often travelling in a region
not charted in books
I grew accustomed to stubborn lands
where nobody ever asked me
whether I like lettuces
or if I prefer mint
like the elephants devour.
And from offering no answers,
I have a yellow heart.
If it is possible to visualize healing for another person, then let me place my hand on your heart, and just be.
There is nothing wrong in that.
*If you saw a news piece that looks similar to what I wrote above, I wrote it first, several days ago. It’s just that my writing has received terrible coverage that I do not understand.
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 