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My mouth is attempting to kill me yet again. I'm sure it's because last week I had this precise thought:

"It's so nice to not have ANY pain anywhere. I feel SO good!"

Time was you could think things like that and not be struck down. (Get off my lawn!) I'm guessing those times are gone. It's kind of like when you suddenly find yourself with a bit of extra money and you, this doesn't happen that often. It feels fun, it gives you a boost of extra security and then WHAM! The tranny on your car dies a horrible death and *POOF*! Not only is your extra $ gone but you're in a the hole just that much more.

We used to never talk about *extra* money around our vehicles because we learned that for some horrifically costly reason, THEY KNEW WE HAD EXTRA MONEY!!! Not only did they know, but they were determined to suck it from us as soon as possible.

Much like congress, but that's another rant subject entirely.

Then we would whisper about our surprising windfall around our modes of transportation. BOOM. Apparently whispering was still audible to our gas guzzling behemoth. So no talking about it, no whispering about and then that all went out the window when we discovered it could READ OUR THOUGHTS. Either that or it's little computer was somehow connected via the interwebbies to the mainframe of our bank and it was checking our balances.

We're going to start burying our money in mason jars out in the backyard. Let's see our little techno-genius-nosey-machine discover that little hoard! And when I say 'hoard', I really mean just $28.37

So let this be a warning to you. When your mouth feels good and you don't have a toothache, for the love of all that's monetary DO NOT PUT THAT THOUGHT INTO WORDS!

Or you'll end up like me, with a swollen face, prescriptions for oodles of legal narcotics, hours spent in a reclining chair and a guy in a mask doing ugly things to your mouth.

You've been warned.


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A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
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Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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