–a difficult or awkward situation from which it is hard to
extricate oneself; a predicament.“how on earth did you get
into such a fix?” predicament, plight, difficult a, difficult situation, awkward
situation, spot of trouble, bit of bother, corner,
ticklish/tricky situation, tight spot
–a dose of a narcotic drug to which one is addicted.
“he hadn’t had his fix.”
Although you assure me you are strictly on the level, your very need to do so makes me think you are the devil. I find your ethics tenuous, they’re there and then they vanish. Your motives start out lily white but end up rather tannish. You’re fine at razzle-dazzle. You expertly shoot the breeze. You flatter and finagle, you smile and flirt and tease, but have you really done the job or were you merely acting? Is your expertise for real or merely reenacting what you saw in movies or surveyed on the TV? Has fiction finally managed to replace reality?
Did you get your medical knowhow from college texts you’ve read, or learn your bedside manner viewing Chicago Med? Do you really know the way to set a joist or beam? Can you really hem a skirt or sew an even seam? Do you know how to fix my brakes, change oil and do a lube or did you merely look it up last night on You Tube? TV is our Bible and whatever we may view
becomes the thing it is okay to become or do.
We put our idols in office, be they hero, fool or rogue.
What is most entertaining becomes what is in vogue.
Why has the world fallen into this state of dereliction? Simply because we cannot—distinguish fact from fiction!!!
The NaPoWriMo prompt today was to write a poem based on a slang word or phrase or acronym specific to a certain job. Hmmm. That’s a corker!!! Mine seems to work on so many different levels lately, but particularly when it comes to politics.
Those wild cat rambles have done it. I’m up, all meds taken, sitting at my desk. Morrie is outside on the terrace, surveying the sunrise to no avail because it is obscured by trees and houses and somewhat behind us even if it wasn’t. I’m finally trying to eat the birthday cupcake John brought me yesterday. Sans the whipped cream topping, it is bland enough for my stomach to take. Imagine me scraping off the whipped cream! I like the dense texture of Mexican cakes. More like a muffin, actually.
No longer is there any need to leave my house for drink or feed. Costco delivers, as does the son of one I used to join in fun to dance in bars and flirt with men, but now those times are what has been.
Now I prefer my company to what I used to do and see. I hope to circumvent all trouble By living here within my bubble. I lay out solitaire alone and socialize by screen and phone.
I’m done with yoga. Zumba is out. I do not flounce myself about. Here with myself, I pass my life sealed off from politics and strife. Though the world’s pleasures I don’t forget, I choose to turn my back on it.
Safe in my bubble, I peer out and I’m content, without a doubt. Behind these shutters and barred doors, I’m safe from robbers, rapists, wars. I let in nature, and that’s enough. It’s human nature that is too rough.
Every tortured ending, every tearful parting may simply be the means to another soul’s restarting. Freshening up our memory, clearing off the clutter. Making our way simpler, like a warm knife cutting butter. Why do we fuss and bother? Why do we tear our hair when we’re suddenly a single after being a pair? Another game has started—to find each other again in another life or this one. How can we know when? Life is an adventure, a continual seeking full of little wrinkles in need of constant tweaking. We’re blind to the whole of it, but often get a peek to help us find the goal that we are meant to seek. We are the markers in a game whose players we don’t know— impetuously wishing the game were not so slow. We want to know our endings and what we will be getting when in truth each ending will just be a resetting.
If you’re unhappy with your route— dissatisfied and full of doubt— then you might be second-guessing, looking for your parents’ blessing, wanting to please everyone, putting duty before fun, overlooking the main one and therefore satisfying none.
You are the one to satisfy, to be led by and to gratify. The principles by which you’ll bide must be the ones you find inside. So if you make a faulty choice, at least it’s due to your own voice and easier to rectify than if you’ve chosen to rely on rules laid down by another: boss or lover, dad or mother.
So when you step out on that road that takes you to your life’s abode, be sure that that first step you take is one you’ve chosen you should make, led perhaps by older, wiser family member or advisor, but nonetheless, just right for you— what you cannot help but do. For when you’re older, you’ll figure out that’s what life is all about.
His smile an invitation I could plainly see,
I very promptly answered his implied R.S.V.P.
But later on I wished that I had just let it be,
for that smile was for another girl the minute he had me!
An open invitation is his modus operandi.
Every social gathering provides him more eye candy.
Once seen, a tiny little lick is what he seems to savor.
He likes it when each taste he takes presents a different flavor.
Every toothsome girl he sees stirs his appetite,
and even though his smile suggests he’d like a little bite,
no matter what the tasty dish is that you choose to serve,
you’ll never be a main course, but merely an hors d’oeuvre.
What do you value most, my friend? What carries you through life?
Have you friends and children? A husband or a wife?
If what we find of value in all the world contains
all we carry with us when youth and vigor wanes,
would you choose a portrait of all that you have had
that points your view toward happier times as the world turns sad,
or would you choose a camera that points you at the world––
all these younger lives than yours, about to come unfurled?
Whatever gives us life at first, then takes it all away
really only gives us what we have today
to value and make use of. So I want to be bolder,
looking straight ahead of me and not over my shoulder.
Though every hour has value, and every second in it,
the only time we have to spend is the coming minute.
Bake the pies and roast the beast.
Call your friends from west and east.
They’ll enjoy the food, at least,
as from sparse greens my meal is pieced.
For I fear my life’s long feast
has, by necessity, now ceased!