Sick Transit, no Gloria

The bus that I was planning to catch 48 hours ago never left the curb. My bags were packed with toxins, accessories, even a small pad of paper bearing the logo of the local landfill (seemed appropriate for quick fade-out notes).

I love my children more than the earth, the sun, the stars, the moon, and every Norwegian flag, Border Collie and Volkswagen bug that ever existed.

Blind with pain - screaming agony, worse than root canal without anaesthesia plus three broken legs plus every other joint dislocated plus burning coals scorching head to foot - the kids fade into the background. Us who live, or visit, here in ASH, know this pain. I've recently read descriptions, here in this forum, that I might have written, had I the words.

It seems impossible to leave: how could I be so cruel?

It's impossible to stay.

Can't go. Can't stay. Early Monday morning, driven plumb crazy by the pressure of hopeless deadlock, I took self-destructive action that brought on a plague of blue-and-red flashing lights. Several hours later, I barely missed a handcuffed ride in a sherriff's car to the state lockup.

Everything is out of whack, my life is a ruin, nothing human (except my kids) is less than 87% evil and destructive. Despoiled world, mildewed mind.

As a couple of ashers have said lately (I paraphrase): what gives Them the right to call us nuts, mentally ill, whatever???? Obviously (to me), suicidal people see more clearly, more honestly, more realistically, than do those fluffy citizens whose lives of illusion feed them EZ listening mind mush.

Up a creek. Thanks for the company.

-Sara F.

Last update: Sunday, March 12, 2000 23:06