Blessed Throats

A woman's voice woke me this morning, it was Jean - who stayed with us, eons ago - and like my memory of that time, her voice faded out the door as my mum ushered her away. My mum was going on a date with Jack, and so she was up early. I ate some leftovers for breakfast, and then got dressed and helped my mum a little before she left for her early morning date. I bumped into Jack when he came in, and we shook hands. Jack's a great guy, and he asked me for help to get a laptop. I started pulling more periwinkle, and raked the garden out more.

I took half a Paxil, and then something. I took an Ativan, and then maybe I watched some television with Mike. I went home, and something. Maybe I talked to my dad. He told me that perhaps my antidepressant doesn't work because I am a vegetarian, and a bad one who does not supplement his diet properly. He showed me some links, and suggested looking into 5-htp, a precursor to seratonin synthesis. Somebody hope this might be it. Someone else remember there's likely nothing wrong with me.

I went out with my brother and Mike to get some rocks for the garden, and so that I could buy some 5-htp at the drugstore. We tried redeeming cans at the Hills, however the valley drunks suck too much. We went to the cemetary to collect rocks. Well I collected rocks. My brother and Mike smashed rocks to see what was inside. Some rocks were wet inside, others chalk white, and some sparkled. Some had rocks on the inside. When I got home I ate a veggie burrito, and took 50mg of 5-htp.

I think I took another Ativan. My mum told us our priest was coming over, so we cleaned. I finally was given a closet to put all my clothes into. The priest arrived around five, and we talked. He is a great guy, I really adore him so. Not many people quite as loving, fewer quite as accepting. He blessed the house, and then we sat down and munched a little. He was fasting, which my mum had forgotten, so he talked a lot and told us stories of the fights the priests got into in Bethlehem. He looked at my mums art work, and seemed to really like everything in our house. Not many people are like that. Eventually he left, and I called Erica. Something about she should have called, and tonight she is going to bed early. Maybe she'll try to call in the morning. I told her I'd probably go to bed early as well, maybe play some guitar and draw. I drew two pastels before bed. I took my seroquel. I try to write a poem:

i colour most throats blue
since most throats are not true
i stripe them green for the threads
that choke all glee, all fair words which flee
these blue throats striped green

only a throat green with life
striped blue for its few truths
its honest brutal flaws, which i
let fall, for it's green breath
brings life awake around it

and all true eyes, true lives
just want to be open
to be awake
to fly from your throat