I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal. Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me. Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish. That’s how much I fear. Fear opening my mouth to ask for more. Fear not anticipating my actual appetite. Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out. What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private? I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this. Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered.
Lubricate the places where you get stuck
Burying the Impossible Dream
I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud
I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house.
I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along
I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt.
I didn’t stand and look in the mirror
I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity.
I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft
I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom
I didn’t do the things I could not do
I did the things I had to do
I didn’t think I could ever let it go
I know now that I must
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault