 iStock Despite the fact that I look, talk, walk, and apparently act like my dad. I definitely inherited some traits from my mother’s side of the family. Mostly my quick wit and smart ass ways. As the years fade, I don’t remember my Granddaddy Geiger as well as I like. I just know when I was younger he worked a lot. And that he and my Grandma owned an old family property near where I live now. But for the last remaining years of his life, he lived crippled and in isolation due to his weakened heart condition. Sound familiar?
I remember those days well, running errands for my Grandmother when I could. Sitting with him in his air conditioned office, turned into a hospital room. I remember a little pencil holder that I made for him at Vacation Bible School once that still sat on his desk. I remember a large image of the seven chakras that hung on his wall and his library of “occult” books. That later on my parents gladly burned in the name of Jesus. It should also be noted they said a demon lived in my little brother’s Stretch Armstrong. My granddad died the year after I graduated from high school. It’s strange that I don’t remember much about the funeral other than his office remaining unchanged for a long time. I made an interesting discovery a short while back that should excite my family. While my parents both died at the age of 59, me and my sister (yes, I’m including you in this) have passed that threshold. What I discovered was our Grandpa Geiger passed away at 63. The twisted irony is, I’ll be 63 this year. Did you see that plot twist coming? Lord knows I don’t understand my fascination with death. It drives my wife and kids insane. So for their benefit we’ll keep this between us and the four other people that read this. But I warned you ahead of time, I have a sick sense of humor. But that my friend I inherited from my Grandma, who always liked to say, “You either gonna laugh or cry about it and, I just assume laugh”.
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My old candle finally died after three weeks of inspiration. So I placed a new candle in the bowl hoping for a little more light. But all I’ve gotten so far is the shit you’re reading now. People tell you life doesn’t plan a thing unless you have a clear objective. Well for most that maybe true, but when you think of the billions of other people living on the whims of a madman/woman. What choice do they have but play the game they were dealt?
The late Johnny Cash was quoted as saying, “He wore black for the downtrodden and the helpless”. I assume that is true due to the number of times it was quoted of him. But not to lay a mark on his legacy, he was just a man trying to find his way the best he could. And his song choices reflected that spirit. Don’t ask me how I got on this Johnny Cash tangent, but it seems at the moment that no one else around fits the standard. I watch the news with a broken heart at how thousands of people are allowed to starve. While I fill my overweight belly of chicken, mushrooms, in a light cream sauce. But the emotion is real so I can either ignore what I see on TV and social media, or I could pray or write something to light up other suffering hearts. For much like Mr. Cash I can see the suffering, but instead of judging the downtrodden and unclean. I can instead lend my gift, raise my voice and say, “How dare you judge, for there will come a day when we will all be judged”. In this lifetime or another.  George the Duck I woke up after a night of haunting dreams, where I was being chased by thoughts I was never fast enough to avoid. The feeling left me a bit anxious, an old emotion I know very well. Still I woke up and turned my attention to my wife, who under the red light offered enough distraction to clear my head. Now sitting here in the office, the curtains parted halfway, showing an outside full of potential and uncut grass. Still I completed my morning chores of making the bed and taking my pills.
My coffee tastes sweet to my lips while my stomach still hasn’t gotten used to the new medication. Causing me the slightest touch of indigestion and heartburn. So I suffer through just like a good boy obeying his mom after a spoonful of Castor Oil. Living an open life can often lead to pain, if not discomfort. But at the same time living a life in total denial can do the same thing. With it’s moments of self-doubt and loathing, along with a good dose of discomfort to you soul. So no matter which attitude you wish to take. There’s always a bit of discomfort to face. In my case it’s the acceptance that I will always fall short of the voices in my head. Even with the greatest self-awareness, there will be times of doubt and pain. So instead of pushing those voices away with cheap affirmations and mindless chants. How about giving them a voice, giving yourself a sounding board if you can. It may not completely eliminate the pain or the fear, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. Often I feel the pain and become very disappointed with myself. But when surrounded by the voice of nature and calm, you can usually survive most anything when you try.  Chewing up my gummy vitamin I look over at the flame of a slowly disappearing candle. Reminding me that by the end of the day I’ll be replacing it with another candle from its place of creativity. Now I no more believe that that candle has anything to do with my creative ability, as I believe you receive blessings from the sight of a dove. But it is nice to keep up appearances especially in a world so black and white, and grey.
Still I savor my cold cup of coffee as a sort of ritual that keeps me grounded. Much like making up my bed when I first get up or looking at my phone so the bank can remind me of how broke I am. Material things don’t bother me as much as the Inevitability of being what I am. Just a poor soul blessed with a gift that no one will every get to see. Making the gift all the more unique when it is found. But why listen to the ramblings of an old man before his time. Where the crippling pain or the fading heartbeat will slowly steals you away. Sorry for being so melodramatic, but I guess that’s the mood I am in. Especially when listening to a solid voice that has now faded into a whisper. Or watching a once vibrant candle slowly fade away. For time is a reminder of the things we take for granted only to realize how quickly it consumes us as well. So don’t be afraid, accept your fate. For there will always be another candle to take our place.  Adobe Firefly Do I have the right to judge you based on the tingling feelings I may feel. Does logic supersede the adrenaline of emotion that is delicately intertwined within us? God forgive us for making rules that each of us in society need to keep. Even if those rules seem rigid and unbending. But thankfully there are moments of grace written into most laws. Where young men/women are granted favor for a youthful impulse. Still the hardliners of the law may interpret things in a different way. Through their own upbringing and convenient thought they may see things in a different more unbendable way.
Don’t ask me what brought me to this train of thought. Other than thinking about my own thoughts of religion and the hierarchy of hypocrisy I see every day. Where the rights of me, mine, and my own trump any emotions or beliefs you may have. Where is the spirit of compromise that has shaped this nation? Or was all that just a fable like so many tall tales? I’ve read what you’ve wrote on paper, yet my interpretation reads so differently. The isolation of fear, tribalism, and the non-existent autonomy of social media. Has created a monster and I wonder if we can ever put the genie back in the bottle. But who the hell knows what I’m trying to say. At least I’m not afraid to admit I’m wrong. Maybe that is it? That it all goes back to the fear. The fear that our competitive society has created, where getting ahead supersedes the pursuit of peace of mind. I suppose I’ve asked more questions then I have given answers. But answers are what we must seek. So instead of being critical of others that seek peace through a higher power. Maybe I should just mind my own business and speak when spoken too.  Happy afternoon with a Heat Index hovering around 101°f, I see my purple haired neighbor walking her dog outside the window. It’s a cotton ball cloud kinda day, with a dry stifling heat you often see anywhere but here. Sitting on the other side of the apartment in the relative shade I peck away at the keys just to kill time. I’m never sure if I’m going to publish any of these stories. I have hundreds of them half-finished or sitting somewhere in a lost file, that will more than likely get deleted into the ethos when I’m gone. (When the MS 365 bill stops getting paid).
So with my usual wry wit I sit here killing time doing what I do best…bullshitting. But my AI editor tells me I have promise, along with the ten million others it writes papers for. So the question has to be, where is the soul? Is it in the content you pulled from days, months, decades of living? Or does it come from the moral code implanted somewhere in our past? Convenience it seems has given way to laziness and impatience. I mean even now I find myself growing impatient with todays “modern tech”. Shredding passwords and the endless suggestions AI pours into my feeds. But I have to remember this is not a perfect world. But it is the imperfection and finality of it all that makes it special. So I sit in front of the monitor casually looking out the window observing the slightest breeze. So I’m reminded that this too shall pass, and that memories are but a mile marker. To the wonderful things we create out of nothing for the marking of time.  I guess I was too young to really remember what jinxed it. Maybe it was the oil embargo or the dealings of our tricky president. All I know is things changed. No longer were we going on nice vacations to Six Flags or taking trips to the beach. No longer were we having pot roast on Sunday afternoons, instead we were having Hamburger Helper and canned chicken and government cheese. No more trips to Sears for school clothes, instead we’d swap clothes at the swap meet. And although times did seem to get better, they were never really the same.
I dreamed me and my mother rode the river in a large john boat, hitting different encampments swapping the goods we had with others. It was almost like a travelling minstrel show, minus the minstrels. Wearing raggedy clothes bartering with others down the river. Swapping stories and warning each other about what was going on down towards Florida. I remember I had gotten pretty good at telling stories, while my Mom had a talent for making blankets and clothes from scraps of cloth. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was all we had in my dream. Somewhere in the dream we were staying with some kinfolk downriver near Florida. The way down there was long and treacherous with storm debris strewn along the way. The waterway was low, and we couldn’t paddle near shore for fear of stumps and roots just beneath the surface. But through the will of survival our little band of misfits made it to the settlement. There we were greeted by our family and bedded down for the night at their once proud home in the middle of town. There we were greeting with warm cooking and even an old television with an antenna ran by raggedy pair of solar panels. With the batteries charged I sat down on the floor to watch the staticky picture of the evening news. As usual it was the same propaganda we’d been hearing for years. That once the evil had been rooted out prosperity would come back to the land, if we would just suffer through a little longer. I slept on a bedroom floor huddled with several other kids and teenagers. While the grown folk carried supplies back and too to the boats on the river, and that’s when I woke up. Even now as I write all this down, I wonder how the truth of the first paragraph and the dream of the rest tie together. At the moment I’m really not certain, other than the fact we as a nation are fed propaganda from both sides of the political fence. Life there is reduced to worst case scenarios, where if one side doesn’t win, then we’re all doomed. But there are no such thing as worse case scenarios in real life, nobody gets anything they went. If you do, are you really satisfied? So take a moment, empathize with how the other half lives. Then ask yourself, “Is my way or the highway really worth it?” Don’t jinx it, life can work for everyone.  I never inherited anything from my parents other than my mom’s heart condition and quick temper, and my dad’s good looks and tendency to ignore his own well-being. So with my poor health and mental troubles, I’m destined to leave my own kids with a barrel full of problems. With no house or land to leave and a near zero balance in my bank account. And let’s not forget me leaving them their mother and brother to tend too.
Basically all I have is some change I keep in a pill bottle and two dollars in my wallet. It’s not much of an inheritance but at least I’ll save them the squabbling when casting lots for my clothes. Life is more than just about money; it’s about the legacy you leave. In the case of my parents it was my mothers can-do spirit and my father’s quiet strength and vast intelligence. Even if neither one of them used their gifts for fame or fortune. They used them to support their family and their church in so many ways. Lord knows I have more faults than most, which my children would gladly tell you about. But I hope I leave them something. Maybe the strong will to take care of family no matter what. Or the ability to stay clear headed during a crisis. Or the loyalty and patience to see their families succeed. God knows I’m not perfect, not even close. But I am about family and no matter how abused or tortured they may feel. I certainly hope they believe I tried.  It is the late afternoon and earlier today I went to pick up my monthly prescriptions from my pharmacist. Well, to my surprise one of my medications that has actually helped me is no longer available under my insurance. Neither the pharmacy nor my cardiologist office could give me a definitive answer as to why. So being the disabled/retired systems analyst that I am, I looked it up myself.
According to my insurance providers website as of 06/01/2025 my required medication has a quantity limit. So I can only assume that I’ve met my quantity quota. It's funny how my mind works, at first I was mad at my government funded health insurance for cutting off my needed medication. But then I started to think that I knew this time would eventually come. Than looking at the documentation printed out in black and white, I kinda smiled to myself knowing those without are treated with less, while those with plenty are treated let kings. As an analyst I was trained to find the flaws within a system. I was taught to weed out the waste and to create more efficiency and therefore more profit. By many on my team I was called the “boy scout” because I was prepared for anything. But one of the things I wasn’t prepared for was the total lack of humanity I found; in a world totally ready to “cut off its own nose despite it’s face”. It’s sad that it the name of efficiency and profit, we are willing to loose the very thing that used to make us unique…our compassion. So as I sit here typing this. In the back of my mind, I’m already making plans and looking for alternatives. Because that’s what I do. I may not be a perfect optimized specimen, but I was good in my time. Too bad so many of us that are made to feel important. Are now considered piles of trash by those we worship.  I was just thinking: where do all the voices inside your head go when you don't let them out? I think it’s kinda like having a cat or a dog. Because if you don’t let them out, eventually they’re going to shit up the whole place. They are the annoying little thoughts that come into our heads, polluting our minds, keeping us awake at night, filling us with panic or dread.
If you've ever read anything I've written, you'd already know what I do to free myself of these voices. I write and I practice mindfulness and compassionate listening. I give those little stinkers (the voices) a place to have their say. Where I listen to them, forgive myself for feeling that way, and respond to them with love and compassion. Now I’m not saying my way is the only way to ease a troubled mind. My mother used to write and burn letters and believe me when I say, she burned down a whole forest of paper just on me. I also use cognitive therapy training and medication to supplement my lack of serotonin. I try my best not to sweat the small stuff and allow myself time to think things through before making rash decisions. So to wrap all this with a pretty little bow let me just say. You will be okay. We all experience anxiety and fear and most of it is justified. It’s just that to live a happier more balanced life allow yourself a way to vent, without harming yourself or anyone else. So if your way of clearing your head is through writing, great than write! If it’s through prayer or meditation, that’s great so pray! Just be mindful with your thoughts and compassionate with your heart. Never stop learning. |
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FD Thornton, Jr Copyrighted. All Rights Reserved. Archives
January 2026
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