Something I couldn’t put a title on: On anchors and barnacles

Thursday, today was crazy.  It literally bitch slapped me back to reality.  I can’t say that Thursday hit me like an old lady.  It caught me off-guard.

Reality:  I am not invincible.  Shit happens.  Sometimes you don’t have anything to wipe it off or wash it off.

Reality:  Even if things go awry, not according to plan, I come home to my anchor.  She’s a tough rock, a ball and chain as described by people in my kind of situation.  I am very thankful that I have my anchor.  She keeps me sane while  I drive her insane.  We’re a match made in heaven, she doesn’t know it yet.  Together we’ve made lovely barnacles that we don’t mind keeping on the hull of our rusty ship.

This is the closest that I come to my dream of writing something that resembles cheese.  She loves cheese, the dairy kind.  I know that she loves the nondairy kind, and won’t admit it, but I am not too sure if I can dish it out either.  This is the closest to a try I’ve had in years.  I just hope she stays sane long enough for me to actually pull out a magical rabbit from my hat.

Thursday bitch slapped me today, more than a couple of times than I care to remember.  Tomorrow, I’ll face Friday.  Maybe I’ll give it a firm kick to the groin and then just run away, back to my very dear anchor.  After all, tomorrow’s the 13th.



  1. I used to, when my love life was going south. But not lately. I’m too happy. I once wrote this 20 page story/poem. It was a tad racy at one point ( a preacher running off with a young maiden), and I made the mistake of showing it to my mother. She kinda went apoplectic. She was a straight-laced woman. A really good woman. I slipped off the track now and then. I have one foot back on and the other kicks around where sometimes it ought not (GRP),


      1. I like that line. “not wasting your anonymity”. Don’t be surprised if it pops up somewhere else.

    1. More like miles and miles away from poetry. LOL.

      Poetry? Hmm, maybe I should try to pick that up. I wasn’t very good at it before. I don’t think I’ll be good at it even if my life depended on it. I can try once a week. PNoy rhymes? Kiddin’

      You write poetry, Joe?

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