Make My Day

I just completed my weekly outing. I am back from the grocery store, and have strawberries to put on my Cheerios, and today I was not the only person bitching about the cost of everything. I, who speak the worst spanish in the world, was able to help an old woman with a nina in tow, try to understand the questions the very unhelpful technician, about to withhold the prescription, was asking her in loud, slow English. Abuela gets the drugs! The Underdog strikes again!

Everywhere I went I found someone holding the thing they wanted or needed and shaking their heads about the cost. We discussed food shortages, and the fear we feel about this government. We talked about resistance and it's costs in this atmosphere. We talked about what we were going to do with our rebate--everyone says, pay back taxes or buy gas. Discontent is rampant. I'm not alone. And all this collective discontent cheered me up immensely. While I was in line waiting I looked at the covers of the tabloids and learned that Hillary has a hot young lesbian lover, lots of photos. Ummm!

I came home to find Chris Matthews trying his best to strangle Obama with his egomaniacal pastor who has gone before the Press Club to give another inflammatory interview. "He's an albatross! He'll kill Obama. Obama's toast now. He's unelectable." And once again I scream at Matthews, "Shut the fuck up you fat-headed asshole! You know jack-shit. You wish and think it makes it so. Childish prick, simpleton!"

I feel ever so much better. My psychologist called and said he'd talked to my vacationing psychiatrist and she'd given the green light to boost me back to my normal dose of antidepressant.

The Wound

I have a mother wound that will not heal
It hemorrhages loss and hope like a cracked pipe
A house haunted like the clean bones that I pull
One by one from the hole in my arm like
Blood from the veins I’ve tried to open
Like the jellyfish of a dream that empties
Me of bones and teeth and blood and anything
To say help me someone I die of starvation
For a little real something that feels like
Love might now slow the draining death
Of my mother’s need to be better than everyone
Include me, stinking, loud, sucking child of needs