Uber - Terrible medicine for mental illness - Poems: The Importance of a Window Sill - At the Compost Heap

Figures! I have an opportunity to publish my first novel and can't find the darn thing. Got a new HP Laptop and it's not on there.

Stayed in bed this morning until about 9 as I was deliriously happy reading in bed. Of course in the supine position it's easy to fall back to sleep.

Read Midnight Line, a Jack Reacher book, which Janet Maslin declared one of the best books of the year.

Also read one of the 24 short stories of Haruki Murakami. It was called Nausea. Yes, I felt a little nauseous when reading it.

Let's see what Sartre's Nausea is about.

Google! Here I come!


 It's his first book, published in 1938.

Spoke to a woman on the phone I'll call Jean. She called thru the New Directions line. No meds work for her. She's even had TMS.

She's estranged from her family b/c she has a mental illness. Disgraceful.

It took her 8 months to see a psychiatrist who takes Medicare.

She took a med called Rexaulti and ended up nearly dead at the hospital.

This is true! Read about side effects here. Scroll down.

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Got a phone call from sister Lynn. Tonight I'm going to New Hope to see a play. At 6 am, while I was asleep, UBER arrived outside my door. Then he drove off. It cost $6.

Lynn said the Uber may come again around 4 but ignore him. She will drive me to New Hope. Am really excited about this night on the town.

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THE ZEN OF GARBAGE MORNING

Twilight twinkled in my eyes
as I set out 'round the block
garbage cans purty as fine
china in the old widow's window

My sneakers hopscotched down
Cowbell, up Greyhorse, where I
snatched up stray bottles,
paper plates and a smashed
something that lost its shape
and stuck em in open containers.

There! I'm glad I did dat!

A fast-moving jogger and I
waved and there was Sue,
walking sweet Sydney, as
I trotted toward home,
Poland Spring water bottle
in hand.

I found it on a Greyhorse curb
and emptied it into my bird bath
went inside for my gardening gloves
and sprinkled our crops.

Barry Bush, what are those huge
leaves that look like elephant
ears? Kale?

With arf an hour to go, what
shall I do till the Garbage Men
come?

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AT THE COMPOST HEAP

My bright yellow pitcher
I hold by the arm
spills out egg shells,
lemon wheels and cherry pits

Stay here a while, an inner
voice says, on the day when
my father died 38 years ago.

(He could do numbers in his head)

A canopy of leaves grows over Scott's
property. Members of little civilizations
- hundreds! I'd say - buzzed around.
Honeybees, though I couldn't see what
they were drinking.

Dad wished he had been a rabbi. His
favorite was Lelyveld at Fairmount Temple.

I hurried inside to eat a few more
cherries and spit the pits out the
back door.

You can find Arthur Lelyveld here.

Went to the Upper Moreland Library to complain about not liking The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which I listen to in the kitchen, while preparing meals.

Katie told me the evening group, which read it, offered many different opinions.

I gave it another shot this morning and actually enjoyed it. So I'll keep on listening. I'd told Katie is didn't have any likeable characters.

Actually we just met dictator Rafael Trujillo, a truly horrible person, but he   is    fascinating! So I will carry on.

This informative link talks about the years of the South American dictators.

STAY STRONG, STAY TRUE TO YOURSELF.