Of all the tales of mice and men

And all the things I've ever seen,

The man I am and strive to be

Is the one man you do not see.

"They" say that what you see is what you get and that is partially true, because you don't see everything. You think you do, but you do not = you cannot see inside a person's thoughts.

Putting on a face for the public, which I do not like to be a part of, is like a woman putting on her makeup before she leaves the house, but I'm not a woman and I don't wear makeup, so I just put on my cap and face the world as the man I see in the mirror.

My personal thoughts, as I look in the mirror, do not jive with the physical form. My thoughts are on a loop, a crazy loop, like a tape you rewind and play and play and play again = there is no respite from that loop, that thought process that some people would call "insanity".

No, I don't think I'm insane, but I do think I'm damaged goods = with Lucy Belle as my computer company today, my mind does not rest on her, I notice her, but today my mind doesn't take in her total being. I love her and my other babies unconditionally, but today is just today, no different from the other days in my life, on a continuous loop that will never be silent.

There's an emptiness that's always surrounded me, like a physical, tangible being. When I was tucked into bed at night, Mom would tighten all the covers around me, head to toe, until I thought I was going to suffocate. I waited until I was sure she was asleep and I would kick the tightly-wound covers away from my body and sneak out of bed. I would walk around the house, trying not to disturb anyone.

My thoughts, even then, were racing at break-neck speed, not making any sense to me, bizarre phrases and words kept popping into my head but at that age, I did not understand what they were or what they meant, but I tried to get away from them. I stayed up all night and crawled back into bed, sleepless on Ore Mines Road.

Our collie Lassie (yes, that was her name) slept in front of the fireplace, even though in the middle of the night, it would go out and turn into ashes before morning, but she slept in front of the hearth every night. My bed was in that front room, in the corner, tucked  away in its own nook, like it was shutting me away from the rest of the family and the rest of the world.

We lived near a railroad track and when the train sounded its whistle at the nearby crossing, it seemed to be saying something to me, a pattern that has stayed with me all my life = noises that seem to be saying something to me = even now, it is a muffled sound, like a crowd of people talking all at once, but definitely carrying on a conversation.

Some people would say that was my "muse" talking to me = perhaps, perhaps not, but it's very real. When Baby-Doo died on July 29th of this year, his spirit lingered in the trailer for weeks and it's still here in various forms and shapes, but I can definitely feel its presence. When a bond with a human or a pet is formed, death does not erase it. It is almost physical, almost tangible.

The strange words and phrases that I have in my head never go away. I can be talking to someone, watching TV, reading the paper, reading People magazine or just sitting doing nothing, and a word or a phrase pops into my head and it won't go away = then that phrase will appear in something I'm watching on TV or something I'm reading = there it is, in all its glory.

Age has diminished my looks and my hair and added a lot of wrinkles, but my mind is still intact, still taking in those bizarre words and phrases and still hearing the noises "talking" to me, but I go on, putting my public face out there for the world to see, but taking it off as soon I get home. I am a poet at heart but those rhyming words and schemes do not come to me as easily as they used to, so I move on to what I have left, my ability to write my thoughts down. And on I go.

My words don't "fool" = they tell my truth.