Physical aches and pains tug my mind away from a happy holy healthy existence even before the day begins. The sick cycle—bad sleep—take a pill—groggy morning breakdown—drink coffee—groan at the list of things to do.— what importance do these things to do really have,….. really now!

Alice in wonderland. Beware the downward spiraling thoughts and gravity’s suck of foul emotions. Shun guilt about relying on medication—wanting medication to less’n the pain and depressive thoughts is not a bad thing but, anti-depressants just depress me.

Where’s the bump of adrenaline? Where is that shot of energy? Not here for sure? What is here is the great temptation to do wrong when trying to do righteous good (good whose benefits are not immediately seen) is good and difficult.
GOOD! Good God where are you?

The days are so long. The excitement of youth is gone. I read the Book of Ecclesiastes by the Teacher who teaches what? All is meaningless? All is vanity? It’s good to eat and drink and enjoy ones work? The eating and drinking make me fat and sluggish…. and my work?……what work? It’s all work, even this getting out of bed to make the coffee that doesn’t pick me up or perk me up like it once did. Anymore it just perks and kicks up stomach acid, for which I also have a pill.

Sleep, clean sleep, rest, where are you!?
Line up the doctors whose availability suits their schedule and needs but not mine. Their time-table for my visits lines seems to line up with their Audi or Benz payments, of this I’m sure. Perhaps that’s a little harsh, but, what do you expect! I’m not in a good healthy mood. Could this all be just a bad case of bad self talk? What the mouth speaks—what one thinks is what you are and who you will be?
Does this existentialism dictate to us………


Three score and four—not old but ancient—not spry just weary. Every day is not something new but seems a rehash of the day before, the past repeating itself.

Worst movie ever? Ground Hog Day, Bill Murray. Life is like fiction is like life.




I mean no insensitivity, so please don’t hold it against me where I am going here:
Mom, bless her 88 years, complains to me about the ear wax build up in her…EARS, (naturally, where else would ear wax be building up, in her nose?).
She gripes about the trip to the doctor’s office in the cold and the snow and about the damn nurse and her harsh poking and prodding to get the EAR WAX removed. I try not to be flippant but I still sound somewhat insensitive when say, “Hey MOM, it’s EAR WAX, not cancer!!!!” 
It’s there where I add a chuckle.

How is that I can take a step toward positivity when the shoe is on somebody else’s foot? I can be the voice of pep when pep is needed for someone else, but where’s the pep for me? There’s the problem say the Teacher, IT BE ME!!

Buying and selling, selling and buying. Crap and stuff supposedly to make my life work better. More! More!!!! More profitable, more useful, more, more!!! Where and when does more end?
It doesn’t does it, and it doesn’t work does it?  What works? Now let cut down on the  question marks and get on with it.

What works is this seeking.

Go into and beyond self, force feed faith.Take out the trash—clean house—look at everything you discard with a learners eye says the teacher. Don’t delay removing that which will fester and decay—make the process a prayer.

Do it when you can’t. Pretend if you must, but tend to it and do it!. ONE*WORD*AT*A*TIME. Redirect your mind—preachers use the word intentional. I get it!!

Our Father……….ABBA…….where are you? In heaven?
Bring you and yours here to me please.
What do you need from me today?
Please give to me what I need so I can put you on my list for which to do good for
(good intention and meaning can sometimes be bad grammar)
Stand in front of the downers who attack me Lord.
be my defensive line and hold back the offensive thrust of swirling negativity.

Lord had mercy and gave me patience and grace.

It seems like mere moments since I dragged my self from my expensive bed. In truth, it’s taken me  5 hours to journal this piece, only 5 hours. In the fog I knew I couldn’t make it alone. I knew I would not survive this day by my sweet by and by. I cried. I tried.
I was dying there alone.
All was whining until I spoke the word, I call’d His name.
It’s not all suddenly a bed of roses, it’s not suddenly the grand adventure.
But suddenly I am not alone, I am not a victim to physical pain and mental boredom, nor am I lost in loss.

Now it’s WE, and WE can make it…together.
Thank you ABBA,