Stories - FD Thornton

 It’s funny, it’s feels as if the day hasn’t really started, yet it’s 3:50 in the afternoon. Lisa and I have been up since 7 am, me getting her pills divided up for the week, while she put on a load of laundry. Well three loads of laundry, a grocery store run, spring cleaning the office and bedroom, and here it is 3:55 pm.  I guess busies what you make of it. For some reason the whole day hasn’t felt busy, it just needed to get done. So I took each task as it came, divided it up and got my ass to work. Of late I’ve felt very lethargic, I can often trace this back to my health issues. But recently it’s been deeper than that, going back to my mental health issues. No energy to complete anything, mental fatigue, and just plain sitting around for hours doing nothing.  My moods often ebb and flow like the tide. It just seems this time around it bothered my conscious more than usual. Who knows what tomorrow’s going to feel like? Will it be pumped like today? Or another slow ride on the “Debb

Let’s forgo any of the usual foreplay. I was awakened by a savage dream. One rooted in the past, reminding me of one of my many inadequacies. Awaken by my chest pounding, feeling many of the feelings the actual event brought on. I suppose I could get into more detail, but what would be the point. We’ve all lived through similar moments. Regaining my composure, I slip back into my role as the stoic one, the logical one with ease. I suppose it’s only human nature to be this way. The hierarchical nature of tribe caste us to our roles. Moving us up, moving us down, but never changing who we are labeled to be. Life turns ever so slightly, through education and deeper thought. But seldom does the pendulum sway others opinion. That my friend requires a total reevaluation of the whole damn system. Yes, we are the sum of your parts. It is ingenuity and evolution, that has long given us the tools to be better. And while the past can often lay waste to our dreams. That does not

I know you got to be tired of hearing me talk about the same shit all the time. The sleepless nights, the endless bouts with depression, not to mention my never-ending physical issues. I honestly wish I had something more interesting to talk about. Like maybe an exotic vacation or a fabulous night on the town. But hey, all that ended for me long before the internet and social media even started. Lost somewhere in a faded memory, there were days when life was just boundless energy. When friends would gather on the weekend to ride Clyde, Jr. down the highways to play gigs and believing we were making a difference. Moments when life had a greater purpose than just the nine to five. Where friends were family and dreams were more than empty calories from a store-bought birthday cake. Maybe my mind is just romanticizing moments from long ago. Maybe I’m just wishing for things that were never really to come true. But they are my moments and they are my dreams. Our lives are

It’s all quiet within, I feel no stress other than fatigue. A wary traveler seeking solace where ever I can. Putting life back into the economy of a devastated industry. I watch as the waves pull away, while children scream and slash with joy. Seagulls circle for a handout, as a precious few brave the cloudless sky. With phone in hand, I click away at moments that will never happen again. For me photography is meditative, a sort of ritual, were I breathe in and click. I look for no particular scene, just whatever appears in front of me. I take each step mindfully hearing the crackle of tiny shells underneath my feet. I catch reflections from small tidal pools. I see ripples in sand like dry waves of the ocean. How else can I explain my draw to this place. Is it it’s connection to my youth, the quiet beaches, the twisted oaks, or the Spanish moss. Or is it the memories of a distant pass, when nothing really mattered. And so little remains.   #poetry 

Looking at the springtime from the comfort of my room, I suppose it has perks. For one: temperature control, two: my heating pad, and three: a soft bed to fall back on. There are days when I get so tired of being tired. Thinking back, it was nothing for me to work all day, go home, shower, then play all night. Now just walking the aisles of Wal Jack’s makes me light-headed. But as I often like to say, it is what it is. No matter how put together we like to think we are. Inside there’s always something broken. My parents and grandparents often said, “tough it out and stuff it down”. And for a really long time that’s just what I did, stuff, stuff, and stuff some more. Until the box was overflowing. From that moment on, I was a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. It’s taken me the better part of 20 years to unpack that box. And sadly enough, I still got a lot more unpacking to do. I don’t assume to till you I’m cured of anything. I still have bouts of panic and depre

I had a really strenuous morning, my oldest purchased a washer and dryer for her home. But apparently no one planned on how to get them into the house. Like any good parent, I woke up my night owl of a youngest son to help me out. I was a little apprehensive about tickling this job. It wasn’t going to be an easy task, the washer and dryer had to be taken up some steps and through two narrow doorways to get to the laundry room. It’s been a few hours since the job and so far, only my lower back and left shoulder are a little sore. At the moment, I’m having no more ill effects. My hearts not racing, my bowels haven’t gone on a rampage, and I’m having no shortness of breath. I know, I know my son was keeping a sharp eye on me. And if my PCP catches wind of this, there will be hell to pay. I’m grateful for my son’s help, grateful my daughter keeping her texting to a minimum, and yes I know my son and daughter were texting each other about me. So I guess I should be gratefu