A Garden of Neurosis

I have a gan-green thumb. Oh yes, I can grow any little herbage in my wickedly fickle garden of irrational delights.

1. Foxglove, actually digitalis. A stimulant when the heart is under threat. This towering condo is full up with adjustment disorders; creative compulsiveness, bi-polarism, hypertension, palpitations; anxieties spinning like ferris wheels from three thirtyish to five fortyish a.m. Trepidation hypomania.
2. Forget-me-nots grow like weeds in this garden; fear of rejection, yada, yada, yada.
3. Daisy’s, of course, with their spikey “pluck-me-nots” house irritations and mood swings. They’re just so darn perky yet crush so easily.
4. Lilies, cleverly three lobed, grow from bulbs. Oh my, deep rooted apprehension and fear of being naked.
5. Blanket flowers have multi-colored petals, rough edged. They go to seed in spiked balls resembling demented clouds… multiple personalities on crack.
6. Columbine. Lovely columbines, curled, fragile petals with tails—definitely self image issues.
7. Iris’s so exotic and yet top heavy. Spanked with a few drops of rain, they topple… definitely hyper-phobic.
8. Pansies. Need I say more? They somehow, sweetly, mirror a crazy set of inferiority complexes.

Gardening is a soothing, get-dirty-with-nature, feel good exercise. You plant seeds, water them a little and your flower bed fills with blossoms of intense color and scent that lasts a short few months of warm sunshine. Glorious life in full splendor. Having said all this, I think I’ll sleep well tonight. So thanks for a sabbatical from chronic insomnia. I owe ya.

A Wise and WayWard Sand-Wich

Wise Woke me this a.m. “Why are you Working so attentively at What makes you feel Worth less?”

And WayWard answered. “We Will help With finding your Way.”

“My Way?” I asked. “Way Where?”

“Why, to the Who you Were,” answered Wise.

art by Cruzeiro Seixas

“Oh, Will you please? I  am Weary, Weak and Witless With loss.”

WayWard Winked. “That is Why We are here.”

Wise said, “Where are you Wanting to go, girl?”

I had to stop and ponder, I’d so Whittled my path a-Way.

WayWard re-Worded, “Where Were you going, girl?”

“To Write!” I proclaimed. “I Was going to al-Ways Write!”

“What are you Waiting for?” asked Wise.

“I Wonder…” WayWard mused, “have you Wasted all your Words?”

I stopped to think. W-once more.

“Writing is playing Witty, Whimsical Word games,” I said. “It is fun. But the networking, publicity WhirlWind is impossible, unmanageable and therefore real Work and no fun.”

WayWard Wisecracked and Wise s-Wore.

While I Was Whispering self-justifications, WayWard and Wise proved me afraid and a fraud… A Writer Who forgot to Write.

No longer Woeful, I’m now sq-Wished between WayWard and Wise and W-once again a Whole sand-Witch.