Stories - FD Thornton

On & Off I can pretty much deal the rapid changes that occur within myself. The loss of balance, bodily function, and stamina. I take each of these in stride. If I can say nothing of some of my past medications, it would be that they taught me to not look at things so emotionally. Even after changing over to more tolerant meds. I can still turn a switch on and off, that allows me to distance myself from my overactive emotions.  As the sounds of Stanley Clark radiate through my headphones. I’ve learned to recapture the passions of music and life I thought I had lost. Life has a certain rhythm that we each move to. Mine seems to move towards the syncopated beat, never knowing where it’s going. The freedom of that pulls my mind and emotions to more tolerant places.  Troubles cover our souls more often than not. The introduction of social media and the rapid movement of information, can create an overload of the senses. Looking back at my initial mental health breakdown, I

Draw Back the Flame Where do we come from? The embers of our existence or the flame in which we are formed. Life is a series of survival skills with sprinklings of joy scattered throughout. Spinning out of control, often with no rhyme or reason. So we brand purpose to ourselves following the herd to slaughter. My life is made up of the simple needs of love and acceptance. Often giving up my own will to obtain it. But is love supposed to work that way? Are we simply a vessel which multitudes are allowed to drank? Left drained like an empty glass with nothing to give. My religious upbringing would call me weak and un-giving. But my heart demands more. From this point I feel your heart and you identify with my story. Chained to walls which we will never break free. Listening to the cries of gratitude, only to be left cold as stone. We draw life from the embers of existence. Only wishing to feel the flames of love once again. But are those things too late for us? Are th

The fragrant smell of petunias fills the air this early morn. Birds overhead singing their same old song, while a woodpecker knocks on ever door trying to find a home. I got my rocking chair turned with my back towards the sun. I already prepped tonight’s supper, slow cooked black-eyed peas with ham hocks. So hopefully I’m left with the rest of the day to myself. Outside my little bubble the world can seem like a cold and heartless place. With so many different cultures with so many different rules. Some seem so offensive and repressive, while others just seem to play loose with the rules. Most surprising of them all is the way criticism and distain has flourished between tribes. While that has gone on for thousands of years, I suppose one would hope we’d evolved beyond that. Speaking to my family on social media is like spending time listening the complaint department of an ultra-conservative news outlet. While sitting in with most of my liberal friends is like liste

Just got back from my daughter’s, George is fine BTW. The clothes on the line are pretty much dry, I cranked the Ranger up to clean out the fuel lines, and the cats are lining up to get in my lap like I’m a mall Santa Claus. Just another day in South Central Georgia. Not that I’m complaining, I mean I wish I could be still be working, talking to clients across the world at three in the morning. Overseeing projects and writing systems plans. But fate or poor genetics or both landed me here; not so much kicking, but at least I’m breathing. Gratitude runs in all kinds of directions. I mean, you can be grateful for 100 billion dollars you’re not paying taxes on. Or you’re grateful to simply be able to put food on the table. Me, I’m somewhere in-between. Not very rich, but with food in the garden. At the moment, I’m just happy to just be typing. Because after my chores and cat rubbing were done, my heart started skipping a few beats, leaving me a litt

Today started out pretty good, got some editing done on my book in the early morning. But then I decided to go for a short hike in the park before checking on George. I took a trail I hadn’t been on in a while. It has a lot of elevation changes for short trail, but I enjoy the twist and the scenery. That’s until I noticed I was getting a bit light-headed. I had my cane with me, so I kept my balance without falling. I made to the halfway point and headed back, sat in the Kia for a little bit, and drove to my daughter’s. After checking on George, I had to run over to the grocery store. But again, while pushing the buggy around, I started getting light-headed again. It’s kinda weird to describe, it feels like you’re about to faint as the blood drains from your head. I’ve mentioned this to my PCP and cardiologist. They’ve told me it might happen if I get up too quickly or turn my head suddenly. That is mostly due to keeping my blood pressure low because of my broken heart

I’m sitting here underneath the shade the fig bush and a sycamore tree. Yet all I can think about is now sleepy I am. I mean, I could go back in the house and take a nap. But then I would miss all this wonderful shade and cool western breeze. Lisa’s got a few clothes hanging on the line, Boots is behind me trying to catch a squirrel, and I’m still here fighting the temptation to sleep. I don’t know what to write about or if I should write at all. Sometimes moments are just meant to be moments. I excuse myself by lowering my head and closing my eyes. Just to give myself a spark of inspiration. But it only seems to produce a snore. I lower my head again to the nature around me. But who do I think I’m fooling, because I’m only going to snore again. If you stayed here this long, you might as well ride it out. I do enjoy lazy afternoons, even if it’s only a Thursday. Still, I miss my river, the white sand between my toes. An obnoxious little teenager who wanting to get dra

I would like to think that the power love has over me, has waned over the years. Yet when I stare at the scars of time and loss, I can’t forget when I called love my own. But the insecurity and impatience of youth lend me astray. Questioning true love, looking the other way for an equal, only to find fool’s gold. The product of a lost generation, I searched. Finding moments of passion but never fuel for my soul. Drained near depletion I saw your face again. Aged like mine, forever wondering, forever asking, why? So we tiptoe around the politics and red meat of it, teasing ourselves in lite banter. But who are we fooling, certainly not ourselves. Maybe the few that couldn’t see past their own prejudice. Thinking that we never deserved true love. For you do not own me, nor do I own you. We choose to feel this way. To drop the armor, to reveal our scars, and accept what we see. We leave things unsaid, for we already know. The struggles we have letting others inside. For