Saturday night in my own room and listening to Rickie Lee Jones and thinking I can change what I don’t think is right so that it is better and creates moments of dignity and peace of mind to replace the nothingness and the being of what we are allowed to be, making sure the light bulb in the No Exit sign doesn’t get replaced. Adapting to the post part of my post traumatic stress disorder.  Learning from my experiences, before sedation I could hear the sound of yours and grow from them as we share via late night transistor radio frequency turning the dial so we don’t replay unnecessary sadness. Is this the Prisoner’s Dilemma or The Tragedy of The Commons? Life has plenty of sadness which needs to be there, strangers befriending and crossing wires and cutting lines, emitting cruelty and senselessness selfishness and spirits, mean and altered.  Put the fork in the toaster before the bread begins to burn.

In the same room of Saturday nights since I was born.  My room where I am alone.  I’ve been so far but in this moment I feel that I have gone no where and no one is looking for me and there are fewer satellites that can get me out of here than before.

Saturday night thinking of loving and being loved, of laughing and of piece of mind, of being in the clear space uncluttered of the cruelty and senselessness selfishness of ego and mean spirits and others that alter.

The house has changed, carbon dioxide detectors, fire alarms, packaged differently, smaller sizes, higher prices, organic in large print, mold on the cheese. Nothing is new there’s just more of nothing of what has always been here of you leaving me alone and me leaving you so that I can be alone in my room alone and remembering.