Stories - FD Thornton

Another summer morning babysitting George again. All the swelling in my belly has my back hurting, so I pulled out my daughter’s back massager working on that. George is pouting, because I won’t let him finish chewing up the plastic he pulled out of his toy. I thought I had quit raising youngins years ago…I guess I was wrong. At least he’s quit brooding now, because he’s back over here now laying across my feet. It is so deadly silent in this house. At home Lisa or someone has the TV or something going all the time. At the moment all I can hear is the massage pad humming and George sighing because he’s bored. But, I kinda like bored. It’s beats the alternative of hearing nothing but noise. Now don’t get me wrong, I love and appreciate my family. But every once in a while, it would be nice to not have someone barge through my door while I’m working. Apparently, they missed the class on knocking.   But for some people they live for the noise, they can’t stand the si...

Worry and fear have taken over my mind of late. My usual escapes music, reading, and mindfulness; don’t seem to be helping. So I get my rest where I can, in naps and mindless web surfing. But in those silent hours of the night, I find myself awake and exhausted, just like the “good old days”. I’m afforded a lot of free time due to my physical and mental condition. But the exhaustion and fatigue are still real. I’m a pretty good actor when it comes to putting up a front and being “happy-go-lucky”. But the mental strain is still very real and getting harder and harder to disguise. I write this for all of you that understand. Who live each day in dread of the next. Hope can sound very empty when the lights are out and you’re all alone. Still it’s funny, knowing all the answers and all the snap out of it cures. But all that feels so meaningless when the clouds overhead show nothing but rain.  

It’s 5:19 in the morning, I’ve been up a little less than an hour. I slept well considering the problems I’ve had lately. Getting use to the new found reality of lacking a body part is tedious at best. But we muddle through. It’s seems the surgery team spend a great deal of time preparing for the surgery.  But precious little time with the true after effects. My gastroenterologist hasn’t called or set-up a follow up for after the procedure. I sort of get the impression they are done with me. I mean I like the team alright, but they are the worst jugglers I’ve ever seen. Never able to keep more than one ball in the air. But a long time ago, I learned you got to keep up with your own shit, when it comes to your health. So I check my own vitals, take my medications, and back up all my own medical records with peer-reviewed research. Yes, I’m one of those patients.   I know this sounds rather boring and I’m sure you give up looking for inspiration after the first...

(Buffy, our three year old Calico rescue) It’s nearly four in the afternoon and I’m just getting a chance to sit outside. Since six this morning I’ve been prepping the house for my upcoming surgery. It’s basically a day surgery where I pop in and pop out the same day. But I do have my particular precautions due to my heart situation and the medications I take. I can’t say I’m excited, but the doctors are sure that this procedure will help more than it hurts.   So I’m giving the house an extra cleaning, keeping the dishes and laundry caught up and cleaned. I got my meal planning done for the week. Went to the store and stocked up on pantry items. Went and took care of George, and gassed up the Kia. Basically, making plans for a weekend of quiet recovery. So I’m sitting here in my outdoor rocker. Enjoying a very pleasant warm breeze. The grass just got mowed, so I got the smell of fresh cut grass surrounding me. Any other day, I’d probably be super duper happy. But ...

It’s hard to dream of ambition or freedom, when shackles are chained to your feet. When freewill is given to others and peace of mind is dependent what someone else feels. It’s a Godforsaken duality when on one hand your praised as a saint, yet you feel inwardly selfish.  Love, honor, and charity are not given consideration in a world of selfish intent. I often feel like I walk a tightrope between the world of the giving and a drunken dance of my own appetites. Is there such a thing as balance? I certainly don’t feel balanced. I’m not on a team, and I’m definitely not on my own. Yet I’m surrounded by others with agendas all their own.  If you were to ask me, what the hell are you talking about? I don’t know if I could give you an answer. Because I have dreams of my own, yet I feel trapped in a perpetual loop of being in charge of another life. I guess I could pen this as just another story of guilt and entrapment. One I’m sure you’re tired of hearing. But it still ...

It’s getting hard to focus anymore, I’m just starved for a little silly conversation. I’m just tired of talking about whatever ailment I have today. But after a light shower just passed through, I did rehang some laundry that hadn’t dried yet. There’s a breeze is light blowing from of the south, but it is strong enough to shoo away any gnats. I went over to the convenience store to get me and the cat Jim Slim and a fountain drink. Lisa and I had just come back from seeing the grandyoungins. But they were far too busy in building a blanket fort to worry about us. I’d put up a picture, but my daughter would get mad for putting up another pic of her messy house. But just to hear them giggling and laughing was well worth the trip. After we left, we want to the local grocery store. Now mind you, I live in the country, 27 miles from the nearest Wal-Jacks. Yet this country store doesn’t have one bag of dry beans. I’ve had a hankering for some slow cooked baby Lima beans. Looks...

Again, that little flashing line is taunting me, daring me write something profound. But sadly, I’ve sent the last few days without much to say. Oh, when I’m out and about I put on my little show. You know nothing much to see, just a happy go lucky jester, putting out what the world wants to see. An interesting turn of the phase, what the world wants to see. Telling me what I’m really feeling isn’t worth their time. Still the make-up is applied and the lines well-rehearsed. For no one wants to see a reflection, they only want to see perfection. Something they can’t see in themselves. But I am spent, and I am tried. But I have no place to run. Too many depend on me with their burdens left undone. But beneath this façade of what’s to be expected and what they want to get. Lies a broken man, dried up of any potential there might have been left. So don’t try to read too much into this. For there’s not much left to tell. Less and less pours out of this old mind. So when it...