I Will Languish Ever More


palace of my heart on justrumianting men's blog

My heart has these many dwellings
such dead cold cautionary tales
long disregarded and condemned.

And then there is this secret palace
eclipsing all true loves desolation
where deep resides your essence.

A rapture of all your many graces
this mansion of your many riches
this residence of your memory.

Oh the sweet trinkets that shine
these jewels that will defy all time
the very marrow of all bright stars.

And the awesome portrait that
hangs formidable in the great hall
duchess over all my dominions.

The great chair faces your visage
lovely features of all my landscapes
commanding sure every horizon.

And I sit and stare and die and die
over and over and over again deep
in my world of stoic epic devotion.

Oh how grand is lone stellar view
how lovely in its awesome repose
mute witness to all my sad despair.

My heart has these many dwellings
but only to one loving abode I go
to one haven where I will always be.

Portrait of all my hearts affections
my desperate insanity’s sweet relief
where I will yet languish evermore.

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It’s Not Rocket Science.

It can’t be possible that I anywhere in the world, there is someone saying to himself:

“Gee…I just LOVE the way my dog has destroyed my floors by pissing and shitting everywhere in my house since I brought him home NINE years ago…”

I have the hardest time thinking about the fact that The Old Man who I take care of actually paid money -like, lot’s of money- for the stupid ass, neurotic, total loser of a dog that he calls his own. It actually makes me laugh to myself, seeing as how they say you get what you pay for. Not in this case. In this case, The Old Man was ripped off horribly on the doomed day that he picked out the Red Headed Devil and brought him home.

I know this because even before I was living here to take care of Rodger, I cleaned his house for over a decade. I know the change that took place upon the Devil coming here and creating a space so disgusting and full of filth and absolute nastiness as it is now. The stupid dog does what he wants, even now. Upon moving in, I at first, didn’t have a problem cleaning up the puddles and piles on a daily basis until I realized how futile it was. I then explained to The Old Man that I will not pick up after his spoiled rotten and despicable dog any longer, as the dog is not reprimanded at all for his pathetic behavior, so there is no point in even cleaning it up because he will simply do it in the exact same spots the next day.

If I wanted to spend moments from each day in cleaning up after a dog, I would have a dog that behaved like a jack ass. However, my FREE of CHARGE rescued dog who cost me nothing to adopt (in comparison to the hundreds of dollars that The Old Man spent on his piece of shit pet) doesn’t have the many problems (and is almost 7 years younger than the Devil, mind you) that the Devil displays regularly. In fact, my dog would die before he let his bowels or bladder loose in the house. He is just built that way and has NEVER been a problem in this area at all. I do not feel in the least bit badly or wrong for refusing to enable a spoiled rotten and completely hopeless waste of money and hardwood flooring.

I struggled at first with keeping my word on this, and have had to adjust my daily tasks to avoid the growing number of puddles and piles around the house. The Old Man either ignores them, hopes that I will clean them up after all, or doesn’t see them at all. It’s really disgusting and sad on many levels, how the dog rules the roost between them. I have started spending lots more time in my room with my good dog as means of getting around the ever-growing stench of dog waste in the common areas.

I didn’t come here to clean up after an out of control and incorrigible animal that has no concept of good behavior. And, to be honest, I barely get paid enough to cover my legitimate workload here; and, most certainly do not get paid to follow around a piece of shit, poorly trained, bad dog and clean up his messes repeatedly and with no end in sight due to the shortcomings of someone else’s ability to control his useless and good for nothing pet. Call me what you will, but you can’t call me stupid on this point. Stupid would be the redundancy of dog shitting and pissing where he wants – and me coming behind him to clean up his filth. Maybe The Old Man should hire someone to come specifically to enable his useless piece of shit dog.

If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

When Nobody Else Will Do.

From day to day, it’s just me and him.

And there are moments when…

Everything in the world seems to stop and stand still,

And the madness and chaos melt away to the edges,

And in those moments, I feel like his presence is a necessity,

And nobody else will do.

Notes To Self # 771

Upon being woken up in the early morning hours (5:30) because the old man can’t unscrew a pill bottle, try to remember yourself.

Feeling hatred and disgust towards a spoiled rotten, neurotic dog because, despite his almost 9 years of age, he still chooses to shit and piss inside the house while the door’s wide open probably takes years off your life.

Rear-ending a lifted truck with a trailer hitch, even a low speed, WILL total your Jeep.

People do not give two shits about other people.

Knowing your personal limitations doesn’t always mean you must heed this knowledge; sometimes it’s simply best to go against the grain and try anyway.

When you feel the effects of tiresome company, disappearing into your bedroom and refusing to answer the door isn’t always an option.

Dogs don’t comprehend egotism; stop getting mad when your dog knocks you over and drags you down the sidewalk to sniff a new tree.

If, after ripping you off for over a year by charging you for your dead mother’s line, your cell phone carrier is taking more of your money than the IRS, time to look into leaving Sprint for good. (FUCK YOU SPRINT!!!)

The Back of the Monkey.

A pet in the lap of the admiralty,

purring to the stroking,

laughing at the joking,

you mean to keep me,

to reward your infidelity,

to please the eye by which you see,

to one day stuff my dead body,

and display the beast in me.

Fixed onto the back of the monkey,

the stray in the street,

bloody hands and dirtied feet,

you mean to tame me –

to take me home and re-name me,

to clean me up and change me,

to alter what Life’s made me.

You think you’ve tapped a bead,

but your eyes misconceive,

oh no, that isn’t me,

and since you fail to see,

the truth comes painfully,

I’ll draw blood before I leave,

there’s no re-naming me.

The Life That I Needed.


To those who can say that they know me, the old-lady-ness that defines much of my character isn’t at all a surprise. The fact that I am home 7 nights a week reading a book by myself doesn’t come as a shock either. My absolute dismay of large crowds and unacquainted strangers hardly gets a rise out of anyone who knows me at all. I am admittedly the youngest “old lady” statewide, and likely rank with the nations top young “old lady” contenders. I am boring and domesticated to a fault, yes. I have the most bland existence of anyone I know, to be honest. In the life and times of Yours Truly, the sands through the hourglass fall transparently and in full view of everyone, because my boringness leaves nothing to hide or avoid.

Recently, I took a full-time position as a live-in caretaker for an old friend who I have been somewhat looking after anyway as he ages. He is a 96 year old widower who owns the building where I worked in the tax firm for almost a decade during my late twenties and early thirties. Despite our huge age difference, Rodger and I have a lot in common. He is a kind and gentle soul with a lot of knowledge and wisdom he doesn’t mind sharing regularly (an aspect that I absolutely love about him). Rod and I are longtime lunch/dinner buddies, as we have been eating together on a regular basis for going on 20 years now. He doesn’t mind when I fall asleep sitting up watching one of his non-exciting television shows about the Dust Bowl in the 1930s. He takes it in stride that I go to bed earlier than he does every night. He has always been very non-judgemental of me and the things that I have gone through in my life. He always has surprisingly fresh insights on the things going on in the world. Most people look at him as being “gruff”, “stubborn”, and “stuck in his old fashioned ways”; but between he and I, there has always been a sympathetic bond that remains solid.

Rodger has 2 grown children, a son and a daughter; who, for whatever reasons of their own rarely come around for any reason besides to borrow huge sums of money from him. I have all of these feelings over this that I won’t share here now; but suffice to say that he is neglected by those he loves most in the world. Originally, I was supposed to come for the first 30 days following his release from the rehabilitation, after breaking his back in March. At the end of that time frame, he asked me to consider staying longer with him, as he didn’t feel quite ready to be on his own again. One day, he became quite serious over sandwiches and root beer floats, and solemnly said:

“Truth is, that you have me somewhat spoiled already, and the thought of you being gone is a sad one to me…I hope you know that you’ll always have a place here, if you should ever need one after you leave.”

This was a very touching and heartfelt statement; and coming from “Old Gruff” made it that much more meaningful. Since I got here 3 months ago, I have been experiencing the sense of family that I haven’t had in some time. I have been slowly going through the grief processes attached to my mom’s death in the peace and quiet and safety of Rodger’s home. The only bad thing about being here is the fact that our dogs do not get along; which makes for some serious Chinese Fire Drilling; but otherwise, my existence at present is fairly easy and without much outside influence.


I needed this.