Defender/Destroyer

I've spent a good deal of my life living in my head and now I spend nearly all of my time outside of it, and I can't say which way is best, except that real life tastes much better and imaginary life, more sanitized. I wonder if "lucked out" is the same or different from "crapped out", like in cards not like in cars. I hope it's not the same, because if so I've been using it wrong this whole time, and when I say it, what I mean to say is:

"
I don't care
if I never have
even one more
stroke
of good luck
ever again
because, after this,
well, this is....
this that's
between us
is the part
that is left over
after all of the other parts
have been taken away.
This
is the
remainder.
"

That's what I mean when I say I've lucked out. And believe me, I know lucky, because my mother is one of the kindest people I know and my father is one of the wisest and my brother, one of the nicest and my children, two of the smartest, and my husband ... the loveliest. I won't have much to complain about on my deathbed and did you know that my great-grandmother, on her deathbed, asked us to find a little tiny silver teddy bear ring that she had worn as a child in the early 1900's. How crazy is that? You have to understand, she was like a hundred years old, well, less than that, but at least in her 90's and well over 100 in dog years, and, is it just me but are we getting more industrious, faster? And do you ever have an available moment in your ironic, intellectual, hipster douche bag, iCal life to sit back in awe of this place instead of giving it a cavalier flip of your hair whilst you trot out your usual sneered-lip contempt? I mean, really, how lucky to be a spark, to be the fastest swimmer, the survivor of the fittest? Sure, there was a time in my life where I was immature and nihilistic, but now I feel that:

this is a ride
only a ride
and if there had been an actual purpose for
the ride,
following the Attention Signals
you would've been instructed to stay where you are
and await further official
information
news
or instructions.

I just hope it holds out long enough for me to taste saltwater and sand and breeze and my husband all at the same time. Not that I haven't already. I mean again.

I need more tasks in my life, like doing dishes and writing and cooking and taking drives and music, oh my god, music. I am being squeezed right out of my little brain. I often wonder what makes him work. He still has that wayward boy appeal that drew me to him ala moth/flame or cat/hamster or marionette/strings or ace/hole.

I stared at the ring finger on my hand thinking, "This prom dress is the closest thing I have to a wedding dress." Yes, the holidays must be approaching because I'm pitiful and self-indulgent and I think in seasonal, dirty double entendres, like egg my nog and log my yule, and

I know it has been a long time
a long, long time
since last October
but
I'm coming to you now
Baby, I'm coming
to your bed
to await further instruction.

A skull can't save face but I am not ashamed to be a hedonist.