ReRuns

Tags

Arctic, Christmas, John Lennon, memories, Peru

I bet you thought I was going to talk about Carol Burnett, The Sonny and Cher Show and I Love Lucy and why don’t they run them anymore? Well I do wonder. Back in the day TV was actually worth watching. Loved how Carol Burnett’s team were always cutting up mid-stream. Families could sit together and enjoy these shows without concern of covering ears or putting a hand over an innocent pair of eyes. Good clean fun.

Publicity photo of Sonny Bono and Telly Savalas from the television program The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I used to know what this meant. But the past year has been a grueling time of nasty shocks and uninvited evils in the form of humans or at least, I thought they were. Human, I mean. I wrote this poem just over a year ago but how do you erase decades of falseness, the reruns play in your dream time and escape as you might try, the reminders are everywhere in your awake time.  I swear if another human being pokes another hole in me, there will be nothing left.

Emmental – Swiss cheese (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I just read this poem I wrote last year and to qualify rerunning it, I will share this: Best day in life: “You don’t have cancer.” Worst day in life: “Friend’s Betrayal.”

A contemporary white wedding cake decorated with sugar bows. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The marriage I had come to grips with and was at peace when I left. My sisters said we were way better friends anyway. Until my best friend… well… former… anyway… as Christmas approaches I remember things I wish I didn’t… it was all such a lie and so deceitful to me… Sigh. I bought a ticket today,  a lottery ticket. If I win, I am moving away. Far far away. Where nothing is familiar any more. Some days feel like that anyway so why not? I’ve always wanted to visit Peru and the Arctic. I don’t know why. I just have a longing to visit those places. Further down the list is Europe because of ancestry, etc… anyway, I am tired so rerunning my poem. Have a great night or day, wherever you are, in spite of my pain or perhaps because I have come so far since it first happened and I could not even wash my hair for three weeks and could not function properly at all for two months.

Gianciotto Discovers Paolo and Francesca (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Even so, he made fun of me, mocking my stammering and my inability to cope as they sexually pursued one another… imagine even “wanting” to put your parts where your good friends privates used to be… makes me so sick I could vomit. Working hard not to attract nutbars any more… it is really damn hard work. They seem to proliferate without warning. Just as my friend did in her own handwriting to deem her deceitful self of virtuous character while beginning that sentence by telling me “You are of NO character value.” IMAGINE.

John Lennon, I do imagine. But that’s all I seem able to do right now. The reality is a year later, I hurt and cry almost as much as then. At least I can wash my hair now. When it began falling out in handfuls, I was afraid to even do that. Voicing my pain and breathing. That’s about all I am any good at anymore. Hoping once the dust settles, my brain can calm, I can get away and at least have one area of my life in order.

Here’s the poem I wrote to her last year (on my blog, do not recall sending it but I may have via email, couldn’t even speak to her, just so shocked by her indignant posturing when she so brutally abused me and our friendship out of her own selfish neediness):

“I didn’t take anything from you,” wrote you

Yet, in misplaced writings of anger lust

You doubly cursed the only gift worth having

When you betrayed and shattered all trust

The apologetics above you

Only venomous lashes deeming me of no character, “I?”

No remorse, no shame nor humility,

Deceit your own blinding sty.

(c) JAuroraMorealist November 8 2011