Stinkin Thinkin

That’s what my shrink calls it.
AKA: Mental Masturbation.

It’s 3:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep.
I can’t turn off my brain.
My head is searching for answers.
My heart is pleading for peace.
Both hurt.

TC is struggling.
I haven’t been talking much about her lately.
Another one of my head games I suppose.
If I don’t talk about her dying…
Maybe she isn’t.

She’s sad.
She cries all the time.
She’s scared.
And she misses Billy Goat.

I’ve been falling down on her.
“Self preservation” Mike calls it.
I’ve got to get back in the game.
Put my helmet and pads back on.
Face the opponent.
Death.

It’s hard though.
To suit up.
To fight.
When you already know the final score.

I worry about Dini’s boys.
All three of them.
It’s been 45 days since she died.
45 days.
Without her hugs and kisses.
Without her “I love you’s”.
Without her incredible smile.

It’s 4 a.m.
I’m tired.
I need sleep.
But I can’t stop thinkin.

Stinkin Thinkin.