I’m not dead yet…

Which is to say, Happy Birthday to me! Hooray, huzzah, hoopideedoo!

Still Alive

I honestly had my doubts.  I survived 2018. However, it left scars.

I love almost everything P!nk sings, but in particular, I love this song and this lyric:

“Look, I’m still around.”

Things I want for my birthday.

  • Flowers: Sweetheart pink roses, white daisies, yellow daffodils, orange lilies, purple statice, green leaves.
  • Sushi: Because I always want sushi.
  • Steak: Rare, but it has to be good steak. NO SIRLOIN!
  • Whiskey/Beer: Not an issue when you’re born on St. Patrick’s Day. NO GREEN DYE!
  • Silence: Let me put in earplugs and not have to talk to anyone, so I can recharge.
  • Time: I really need to do some painting, some reading, some writing.
  • Sex: Unfortunately, I need love to enjoy sex. And I am still in love with a man who… well, it’s complicated. So maybe I can make-do with some chocolate and a vibrator.

People say I am hard to shop for, but I really am not. Because I believe in making myself happy so all the above, that’s on me.  Instead, buy me something that you will think I will like, and the knowledge that you thought about me and what I might like is the real gift.

That is not a line of bullshit.  It is the 100% bonafide truth.

In regards to my writing, I am slogging along with my novella Wife, Lover, Abigail.

The details have to be exact, since I am dealing with such a serious topic, and that requires time to do the necessary reading.  In the meantime, this article is relevant.


While I’ve been doing the legwork, my mind has been stepping out on me with my muse.

That is to say, I have been working on a novella that is set on a college campus during the 1980s. I am still trying to nail down the central conflict on that story. Probably something to do with anti-nuclear proliferation, but maybe the AIDS epidemic.

I have also been working on a novella that involves two spies in the pre-OSS American intelligence community. She’s Jewish; her name is Esther. I haven’t figured out his name yet, but he’s a Gentile from the Midwest. Maybe he should be called Christopher or Christian. I plan on naming the story The Third Degree.

And I have been writing poetry.

I used to compose needlessly long and sentimental drivel that I forced my mom to read.

When I list the things I have done in my life that need forgiveness, that’s one of them.

Really, all I was doing was attempting to create a safe space, in an effort to protect myself from criticism.  I have since trained myself to adhere to a rhythm scheme and I feel powerful enough not to care. Don’t know why.

not everyone deserves

I am not ready to release my other poems, but I think I am ready to release one of them.

I wrote this poem in October 2018, when I was disarranging my life for good. Take that both ways. For good, permanently.  For good, as improvement. I am also referring to a song by K’s Choice called “Virgin State of Mind.”

And I am stalling. Here’s my poem in 6-beat lines. May I live long enough to write more.


I met a soldier once;
was acting as a spy.
eagle on two branches,
an airman, do or die.

I met a nomad once;
his house was not his own.
foot in sea, foot in sand,
a king who’d sold his throne.

still yet, a re-admit;
was passing through my door.
with Summers as his guide,
he’d been there once before.

so do I know enough,
to call the code to crack?
even in my anguish,
I will not take it back.

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