How in the heck did we get halfway through the year already?

I shouldn’t be so surprised, each year this happens and you’d think I’d get used to it. Up until April, I can’t remember what year it is. Then I blink, and we’ve had a week in the hundreds. There’s all kinds of science to explain how time passes more quickly as you get older, but I am certain it’s got to be some type of  primal magic.

My last post was a bit cryptic, so I suppose I should explain what was going on and why I haven’t posted here in while by way of list:

21 year old cat is diagnosed with diabetes.
it’s not manageable with food.
it’s not manageable with shots.
imagine messy litter boxes.
imagine messy everything around litter boxes.
imagine so much cat piss you actually want it to end.
he starts to show suffering so you help.
it’s sad.
your dad’s sick.
yeah, the one you don’t really talk to.
whose been diabetic and in renal failure for the past 5+ years.
your “uncle” calls your brother saying dad’s in a coma
it’s really that he’s been found nonresponsive.
several times.
then he’s in the hospital.
several times.
you talk your brothers through it.
you talk about it with your sister.
it starts to sink in he may die.
you think about how sad it is he’s never really X Y or Z.
your 21 year old daughter’s 2 year old cat is sick.
you talk her through it.
he’s better.
he’s sick again and it’s thousands to fix it.
you talk her through it.
he’s suffering and she has to put him down.
you cry with her on the phone.
you take an online poetry class.
you write and obsess.
you obsess and write.
you examine your own issues.
poetry makes your life harder.
then you get a call from your wife that the school called.
that your stepson is in the ER.
he has a broken leg.
it’s his femur.
there was a tumor.
that shit escalated quickly.
your wife is riding in the ambulance in the middle of the night to the hospital 5 hours away.
you drive down the next day after taking the dog to the kennel and stay five days.
at the hospital.
with the ex and his family.
it all works out.
he’s so doped up after surgery his eyes roll back in his head as he talks.
he can’t pee.
oh, the irony.
he’s home.
he’s using a wheelchair.
a walker.
he can pee, but it takes both of us to help him.
he’s scared.
you talk him through it.
you develop a cough.
your voice is going.
you talk for a living.
you are short of breath.
you have pneumonia.
your dad’s in the hospital again.
you and your siblings start a group text for updates.
he’s not doing well.
he wants to die.
you fly out to see him.
with pneumonia.
your brothers drive out to see him.
you get him to sign medical power of attorney.
you make him eat a burger.
you talk your brothers through it.
you talk you “uncle” through it.
you go home.
you get better.
he get’s better.
he’s home.
he’s angry.
he wants to die again.
you talk him through it.
you have taken so much time off work.
you feel guilty.
for being sick.
for being mortal.
for having feelings about people.
you work more.
you still can’t pay your stinking taxes.
you use your personal credit card.
the one you’ve been trying to pay off forever.
screw it, you’ll never catch up.
you talk yourself through it.
you examine your own issues.
you are still breathless.
you get tested for allergies.
you are allergic to cats and grass.
you have two cats left.
you live in the Plains.
you take allergy shots.
sooooooooo itchy.
you take an online poetry challenge.
you get lost in experimental form.
you don’t get enough feedback from other people.
you keep doing it anyway.
you obsess and write.
you write and obsess.
you examine your own issues.
you work less.
poetry saves your life.
you go to the pulmonologist.
you get bloodwork done.
it’s your thyroid.
it’s GERD.
try taking less X try taking more Y avoid Z.
always avoid Z.
it works out okay.
you start doing yoga again.
you travel for fun.
remember how travel used to be for fun?
you miss the plane home.
you rent a car and stay a night and make it out the next day.
you work some more.
you take another online challenge.
a different one.
this time, you’ll post it all online.
this time, you’ll raise money for an independent press.
this time.
it won’t matter what they say.

I hope you can’t relate to much of this…we live such frenetic lives. It just doesn’t seem right, somehow. In any case, I AM going to be writing a poem a day again, a MARATHON of poetry, in support of Tupelo Press which is just an amazing group of people I first met last November in one of my new favorite places, Truchas, New Mexico.

PLEASE consider following my poetry all through the month of July at their 30/30 project site and, if you’re in a generous mood, consider donating OR subscribing to their series under my name (Carrie Nassif)

I know I’ve not been writing on here much, but knowing you are out there helps.
Thanks for everything!

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