Designated Doodler

Tomorrow is Wednesday It's the day I've been waiting for Maybe even praying for I check my email And check my phone And I hope you know That I'm still home Maybe I'll get an answer Or catch word I can't believe I still haven't heard Anticipation itches my ribs And weighs on my shoulders It claws and it digs and it sits in my stomach and smolders A fear of failure That is only rivaled by A fear of success It's mildly ridiculous I must confess So I sit and wait For the phone to ring I anticipate Absolutely nothing And absolutely everything.

One thing I do when I'm stressed out or need to think...is take a shower. An absurdly hot, peel your senses off shower. Tonight I made a b-line for the scalding hot water. My clothes, all snaps and buttons, end up haphazardly on the floor. It's almost criminal how I treat my delicate clothes. A thin navy blouse, beige corduroy pants, blinding white shoes all make a trail, like breadcrumbs to the shower. Everyone's always telling me I'm so young, but sometimes I feel so old. So worn out, so scared of the future that it paralyzes my present. I wasn't particularly thrilled to find out today that Dad's getting surgery on his leg next week. I tried to enjoy dinner. I didn't even voice my distaste for meat, like I usually do around my parents. I sipped the red wine and engaged in witty banter. And then that moment happens and my heart drops into my stomach and all the air gets sucked out my lungs. I'm sure that no one would enjoy watching their Dad

I admit I was duped But you were the one that stooped So low that it was  Child's play to deliver the blow I probably should have known You were lying Your lips were moving Your mind devising A plan to look out for its own A crooked smile And warm brown eyes The perfect visage For a traitorous guise You weaved a tangled web And didn't expect me To catch you stupid and empty And decipher your twisted head In the end, doing what I do best Pulling one over  on you instead.

When I was a kid I remember asking my Mom for advice about "how" to fall asleep. I was surprised that the answer wasn't as clear-cut as being told how to flip off a light switch or tie one's shoes. My little seven year old brain wanted a method. I remember looking over one night when I was very young; shocked that the clock said 10 p.m. and I STILL wasn't asleep! Well...after a small bought with insomnia during high school I came away with some tips and tricks that help me fall asleep...and I thought I'd share with you...so try to stay awake. Prepare your surroundings...don't go listening to Deadmau5 or Skrillex and dancing around with all the lights on in your apartment right before you need to be asleep. Turn most of the lights off an hour before sleepy time.  Don't eat stupid shit like the sugary caffeinated Coke, taunting you from the fridge. Also, if you have a teeny weenie bladder like me...don't drink anything at all before bed. Have

I am a hoarder of seconds On the border of boredom Learning life's long lessons Or maybe just ignoring them The carpet is reminiscent of oatmeal The walls are a green, yellow, beige, In the distance keystrokes clack, As someone talks, sniffles, turns a page The TV on the wall is so loud I can't focus on this poem It goes on and on about diabetes, In a loop, like a drone. Take me home. Let's go home. In the air hangs a yawning despair, Not even it wants to be here. It would rather be out there Past the portrait windows In the open air The longer I wait, The more I sedate Until I'm a fixture of the room Like the composite desk in the corner, The green plastic-armed chairs, Or the fake pink flowers, forever abloom.

I decided to accept this writing prompt and my love letter (well, poem really) will be to Frederick Leighton's "Flaming June," oil, c. 1895. Liquid gold Drips off every curve Every delicate fold Rest your heavy head My tired nymph Or are you a naiad? Classicism is safe here Sleep sweet dreams dear And in the depths of rest Have no fear The Oleander suggests death But there is only life here They don't take you seriously Perhaps they have yet to see There is more to you than the promotion of travel Or the vain strive for deep meaning Or delicate detail You are real  But just a dream You are more And yet remain  as simple as what is seen And in your simplicity Lies the making of complexity The brink of thought Just out of reach Trying to grasp some Scheme or theme That lies just past the mind As if a recollection Of a fleeting dream

If brown recluses are called recluses why did one show up and bite my Dad? As if he doesn't have enough to deal with, you know, with the whole cancer thing and compromised immune system...that stupid brown recluse had to go and bite his leg. So now he has a sort of "hole" in his leg. The spider bite occurred in October and he still has this open wound. So naturally I'm a little more worried than I normally am. Spider/insect bites are especially nasty to those with cancer and Dad has gone down many avenues trying to get this thing "fixed" or "closed" or healed. And it's not going that great. They took him off the cancer medicine to try and jumpstart his immune system into healing the bite but his platelets are going too low and if they get below a certain number, he won't be allowed back on the cancer medicine (which was working well for him). And every time he goes to some new doctor they want to scrape stuff and take samples, and t