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 The Choppers start at dusk. They keep us inside because maybe there's a criminal roaming the streets and the cops chase them through our neighborhood and there's a shootout and maybe being inside isn't such a good idea when you live in a 10 can. We're in the screen room, Lonny and me, smoking the computer weed all legal like. He says "i heard someone at the window last night but i didn't wanna wake you."  

I give him the side eye. "what stopped you ?"

"it went away"

'IT?"

"they"

I think for a second about the "it".  i always get suspicious of Lonny when he doesn;t wake me up. But if he's telling me  then what's to hide? i let it go. wait for the choppers to pass. they're flying low tonight almost drone height, stirring the dolorous tropical air into something akin to a breeze. i really don't have much to say   anyway. Lonny does all the talking.   about work or someone he knows or his kid. his kid. his daughter's kid that is, the one he's raising.

that's why i don't talk. it's a kid. what can you say about it? they're the innocent tragedies in the making, the ones where you see the future but can't change it. oedipus engraved in our genes. so what's to say? mostly i just listen. only jump in when the yelling goes on too long. kids are rough, they make you wanna slap 'em just cuz you ca't get thru to stupidity quicker than that. and blah blah the constant things you have to keep up with along with going to work and making money. the whole thing sucks the second time around when it isn't yours. that's why i wouldn't do it. yet here i sit, caught in it anyway.

* was gonna see if a short story would develop but instead i really need to write this angst i'm feeling so i need to drop the fictional distance at all. no choppers on the porch. truth to power. the power of relationship, of implicit promises, of future. no one knows how much time they have(despite the protests of peacfrogs and other end of worlders who insist it's this coming up month's end. and if so, yay) and when i think of spending the last years of mine slaving to give my daughter a home it makes me feel trapped. but what of love? ithought i could separate myself from the mother role but instead   placed me in the step grand role, and through that i've tried to not be wicked. but i'm selfsih. i am. i want to have something that is ours. his and mine. even if it was second, at least it would be ours. but when our alone time comes, it still centers on the kid. sigh. i mean i don't really care, do u?

so this is what i wanted to say: i feel like we're lost. like we don't have a home in each other's heart anymore. i feel disrespected in so many ways-my requests go unanswered or put off, my demands are delivered in exasperation and fulfilled sullenly because why should i have to demand? i am the one compromising which actually is simple capitulation to inevitalble.

real life examples: the "cleaning" of the shed; the influx of ever more objects into the potato hole;the laundry detente; the last time you mopped the floor or broke out the vacuum and used it yourself. 

and the elephant that really stomped on me: you started a fire. in consequence of that i broke my arm and bent my stent. in consequence of that i used all my personal time for the year and met my out oof pocket maximum in insurance costs.  i lost half my wages for 3.5 months. an entire quarter. the only reason i've not gone broke is because my dad died and left a few bucks. some of which you've borrowed. i ask you to help me pay these bills and you tell me this-and i'm paraphrrasing because you're so pendantic but the gist-- was "you were the one who decided to run  into the room with the fan and run out."

mic drop.

it makes me want to cry. i have a broken heart about it/ i mean it's fine you don't have the money now or you can only give me a few bucks at a time. something like that would be compromisable. but to feel like you have no culpability in the path of my life for the last few months is unconscionable. tthat means you have no conscience. and yet you're wracked with guilt by so  much. always saying sorry for the wrong things and nekver meaning them it when it counts. 

so the kid is innocent. the kid has no part in this part of your actions/thoghts/words. i don't want to hash this out with him in the house. so i wait and i brood and i try to see a way to salvage this while living with a person i am afraid to love.  because to love means to bee advantageous. and some people will take advantage. 

i have blocked your path , wanting to play the little dance strangers in hallways do when about to collide, and end it with a smile and a kiss. you stood stoically speaking of something inconsequential till i let you pass unmolested. 

you come to bed as i'm about to fall asleep, so i leave our bed for mine earlier now. no cuddling for weeks, no sex on a regular basis. it makes me ponder if you're fucking someone else. we both cheated to leave our spouses, would we do it again? i 'm pretty sure i won't cuz i sincerely don't want any more men if you and i were to split.  you are a special kind of selfish breed, you men. i can't even explain except to use phrase fish swimming in sea of privilege. and did i spell that word right? hey, it's 2025, spelling is so last century.

All I want is tobacco and to be pain-free. I'm hoping a week off will do that for me maybe I can muscle through you till the new personal time comes in. And I got to make a decision about insurance the more they push it the less I want to do it. Said the best thing the other day but I can't remember what it was. I guess that's why I tweeting took off. 

Anyway, sitting on the edge of no wind or w h e n depending on the ai's ability to understand poetic manipulation of wording. No win. N o w h e n. It means the same as timelessness. There is no wind when I speak the word. 

I just lit a cigarette but I only have one minute to smoke it. Good little worker bees would be right at the ADP machine but I only acknowledge it as time to get moving inside. Where it's freezing and time creeps like a win when it's winning.