Daily Prompt: Mistake

via Daily Prompt: Mistake

Mistake?  My whole life is a mistake.  My mind my thoughts my hands feet hair and face.

I am my own black hole hurtling coming being existing in the nothingness that is my space.

I sit here in my Japanese robe at my desk in my room littered with papers books bills old magazines and a poem tacked on to the wall that you wrote decades ago.

It’s signed Love, John.  It should be signed Love, Maybe or Love Kinda Sorta

I was supposed to clean the house today, write on my blog today, start the first page of my novel today  look at the dozens of unpublished poems today.

I was supposed to not go in the garden today because it finally rained today and everything is glossy green shiny today. It was a beautiful grey day and much can get done on a grey day inside.   But, the sun has just come out and the garden calls but going out now would be a big mistake.

So I shut all the blinds and I sit here in the somewhat dark feeling lazy feeling tired feeling half eaten like a moth.

It’s harder and harder to get going and to remember why you should get going for what and for whom.

I could get dressed and start doing something.   Rick’s mom an 89 year old woman who died recently with all her wits about her was a wise woman.   She always told Rick that the first thing you should do in the morning is get dressed.   Just get dressed whatever it is.  Tea shirt jeans skirt tie shirt pants or dress.  For God’s sake just get dressed, the rest will follow.

I never get dressed right away anymore.  I go out disheveled, makeup less, underwearless, lipstickless, shoeless, I go out  in my loose opened Japanese robe and I walk around the front and the back of the garden and look at the grasses, the zinnias, the anemones, the Nicotiana and all the other nameless flowers.    A dog walker or jogger or mailman or UPS person or neighbor comes out and I run like a rabbit back down the long driveway to hide.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

My whole life is one big rotten mistake.  Anna once said she could be Oprah Winfrey’s only guest for a year and there was enough garbage in her life for a thousand trucks to haul away.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

The only thing that is not a mistake is a garden and all its flowers and trees and shrubs and the smell of watermelon after the rain.

Or yesterday, coming home  after the reception at the gallery featuring artists’ visions on the 25th anniversary of the Independence of Ukraine.  I loved the one artist who was dressed in sheer fabrics that clung to her wispy body like silk tattoos.  Her grey tight bun and weird shoes.  Why do artists always wear weird shoes?

In the parking lot on the way to the car I saw a rat and then another. Two big rats and a third.  Rats!  Rats!   Rats!   In Ukrainian Village, recently voted one of the hottest neighborhoods in America. ” Rats!”  I screamed.  You pretended you didn’t even hear me you are so enamored of this hot and urban neighborhood.

You drove me home to my safe serene green dark night “suburb” as you always say.  I got out of the car and smelled the dark soft night and saw  about a thousand white stars lit up like candles and smelled jasmine and vanilla and a scent five thousand years away.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

I am my own black hole hurtling whirling swirling in the quicksand of my rotten life and its rotten stupid filthy mistakes…… but for one minute last night stepping out in the garden and smelling the white flowers in the dark I realize that some things are not


About O

I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I love food. But then food is a whole other world.... I think the world has gone mad and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world. What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long. They always bring joy. I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. And that walk each and every day in my little paradise.. because that is what gardens are.... brings me almost complete joy... My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
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