So very well said, Heath. So kind of you to respond (unequivocally). Somehow it helps to write it down, I've imagined.

Driftwood Reassimilation Station: G22

I wish I could reassimilate but I’m driftwood in our riptide. Unless I’m subscribed into someone else’s project, task, or social strata goin’ down presently then the days & weeks blow by in a haze of remaining smells and splendid memory. Even working-out lost meaning because Jake’s not home from school; and that’s when I know I’ve forsaken my self for my memories and undying energies of our days and years ahead that never ever again will commence. & if this isn’t a shared yearning then you’ll probably not understand my subatomic insistency towards not letting go. I know a piano player who hasn’t walked or moved on her own in decades—not remotely by her choice. Nope! She’s the one who most ensues the guilt that arrays inside my self for not using my true physical body to the best of its ability today. But for what it’s worth and not to get real creepy: I would be the likely candidate to trade places with her for a while maybe longer. If I could I would. Let her tear this beast apart in the physical whirl for a while, while I float on this rising & falling tide that pulls me into the depth of my own very simple very real inability to cope well at all without our perfect collaboration, Wife.. I really do care. You know I have for over two decades & more. Nothing I ever wrote came from a cold place. There was cold expressed no less than frigid but it rose to its thawing temperature with the very next paragraph,

...because love suffuses hope.

Maybe if I lived (& contributed) communally for the time being and knew the day-life energies of so many outridges & intimates bouncing their electrons off the ones & zeros that are shorted straight to ground in me, then I could be effected daily to remain in constant evolution around some common and yet uncommon Sun. Energized by the industrious ones; never having been able not to engage in effort when due process has begun, instead of absorbing emptiness & the clutter of far too many things for one man and a backpack to carry into the imaginary future. But you just don’t run across that scenario anymore; not in my experience lately anyway.

Only the one room before the end o the hallway, left or right wouldn’t matter just as long as there’s periodic sunshine in the window(s), a common area for gathering, a clean bathroom & kitchen kept neat by the people because they are willed to be considerate about some things, maybe a pool table to laugh around. & very cool would be a central place where the inspired collect and music is played. With a PA just so and a drum kit bestowed with all the elements that make a drummer want to sit and be rhythmic. A wall of keys. A view of trees. & some could play ...while others just hang nearby or dance or make-out or sit and enjoy the jam that is happenin’ now …& later maybe participate, maybe relearn how good it feels to play. But I haven’t seen that place anywhere for a long time it seems. Maybe there never was such a place..

So like a bird on a wire, wings clipped by the breadth of the tired mind, tightrope-a-dope, hoping to fall headlong into usefulness. But that’s not the way this whirl works (is it?) and I may not even be as prepared as it would take to even abide by the forward motion o those who have remained on a steady daily course of get up and get some, baby. There is a time and a place (and a cliché) for everything, they say, but this is no time or place...it seems to me. There is a tool for every job and a job for every tool, they say, but if I’m a tool then there’s a shortage of jobs and if I’m a job then somewhere a tool involved may need recalibrating for the time being, compensate for this state of being—not that I’m without self-healing, until I wade through this oil spill seascape.

And, anyways, it’s getting’ late. Got boxes to repack & stack, and mail that won't wait. Talked to my sister this morning, already had her coffee. She did aerobics at 6AM. It was 7:30 when I called ‘er as she was making for the shower. ‘At a girl, sista-sista, you go on and take back your will to aim higher and sustain that fiery forward progression again. I admire anyone who will. It lays no bitter pill on me to see your life & good energies break ground and pave way for sunbeams to cascade through the dusky stormclouds overhead. One more cup o coffee ...& some push-ups ..maybe clear my head enough to see the sea above the din

(...and begin)