Ride along with me

I am a passenger on the road of life
and I travel in the backseat
where my input is not asked for, nor appreciated.

I ride along.

I am a passenger on the road of life,
and if you ask me the direction in which I am travelling,
at best I can only speculate; the view back here is limited.

I am not driving.

Driver #1 is motivated and self-assured
and I sit back with confidence and relax
Until his mistress climbs aboard.

Wait a minute, who invited her?

Driver #2 was handsome once,
and still is except he lacks direction.
Should someone else be paying attention?

I am not alone.

There are others riding along too, including
a lackadaisical high school dropout, whose only motivation
is his parents’ pocketbook and the promise of a Friday night booze up.

How did he get here?

You can ride along with us if you like, but be warned
the vehicle is outdated, and there is no separation between seats
so we you’ll have to squish in.

They don’t make ’em like this anymore.

Oh yeah, and my crazy sister is aboard,
or that may be me, ’cause I swear I saw the ghost of another,
coming back to haunt me along the way.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not driving.

Night is falling, and we stop for gas
and the neon lights of the convenience store remind me,
if I’m going to make a break, it’d best be now.

Or I could find a new driver.

What if I put God at the wheel?
What if I said, God, give me direction, take me somewhere?
Would I have to sit up straighter and pay attention?
Would the adulteress and the sloth have to leave?

Would driver *1 have to be on his best behaviour,
and misguided #2 finally find guidance?

Would my vehicle become a golden chariot,
powered by horses with wings of white?

And we would fly above the obstacles
straight to the promised land?

No, this is just a fantasy, but a good one no doubt.
Instead, I’ll just ride along in this backseat
until life restores my vitality, and my head is clear again.

Then I’ll park this old vehicle.

And get a new one with GPS.


Life Currently on Pause

Yesterday, I decided to pretend that the disease I suffer is not present.  Just for one night I wanted to take a break, be normal, live life. I am not talking big risks here people!  I am just talking a night of t.v. watching like in the old days, before I got sick.

“I’m still lying down, right?”  I convinced myself, hunkering in under the sheets.  “What can it hurt?”  That was 7:00 p.m.  At 11:00, I turned off the noise and distraction and retreated into sleep.

3:00 am the first repercussion hit me – constricted airways, choking for breath.  I staggered to the bathroom and my inhaler, then tried to go back to sleep.

No deal.  My overstimulated brain was locked on wired – replaying the details of the shows I’d watched over and over, like an ongoing, unsolvable debate.

I got up and made myself tea, and noticing a pronounced weakness, allowed my walker to support me.  I had overdone it.

I eventually fell back to sleep just after dawn, and now just coming up to noon, I have managed to get myself dressed.

Why is it so hard for me to learn this lesson?  My body/ mind/ emotions/ spirit have, through the vessel of this disorder (ME/CFS), sent me a clear and profound message:


So life, forgive me for opting out of participation right now – I am taking a sabbatical.