Go to hell, midnight


Of all the emotions in the grieving process, the hardest for me is feeling “sorry.” Those feelings of self-pity are huge, so powerful and real, but the minute I begin to commit them to words, the “sorry” begins to lift and I feel embarrassed and foolish for having ever had such feelings at all. 

“This too shall pass.”  I will feel it, speak it, and keep working to let it go, over and over, until it’s so diminished that it’s tolerable. Meanwhile, my best hope is that someone reading this journal is comforted and assured that even when you feel like an ugly, unlovable, whining prat, you’ve got company. 

(Now, here’s this morning’s sorry….)





all the minutes spent

burned up planning

avoiding  midnight


One stupid midnight of one stupid day in one stupid year

Oh yay


oh god

all the time lost planning

plotting plodding

to avoid midnight


Actually it’s comical         almost

A quarter century of midnights

And too many forfeited kisses to count

Because he’s conked out by ten

And I’m busy doing whatever before

Hurrying to fall asleep before midnight

So as not to hear the gunfire and then lie awake long afterward

Worrying about where the bullets fell


oh god

to be stupid again

to be ordinary and unaware



to be kissed nearly every day tor twenty five years

and now


go to hell midnight





About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
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One Response to Go to hell, midnight

  1. laycegardner says:

    Beautiful. This really touched me.

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