I Wonder What I’ll Mumble, Love.

It’s so embarrassing to have been bamboozled with a poison by a dirty criminal felon US Navy Veteran 26 years ago and to have been so brain damaged in a particular hemispheric region as to have mostly lain here in bed without a wife for life now some 26 years; except for the time I was 30th USA and I didn’t know I hadn’t swum across LI Sound for lacking a boat to swim next to for safety sake. Now 44, living with my parents with only $1k/mo from SSA because the “kick in the teeth” came a BS too soon before OCS so thus I’m the one who “Never Served”. And, somehow, the likes of chiefs all bitch when I even claim the right to simply call this my stateroom. I’d say turn it on the GI pukes and let ‘em try and come back if you’re really a chief. Meanwhile, I really don’t get out much anymore so even dreams of a worst case scenario where I may need a cane to get through Wadsworth Atheneum with this smokin’ hot babe who understands who I am “on the inside” are yet to come to fruition. Worst of all, and you know I don’t get utile with the common lexicon off the bat; I’m not even huge, so maybe that’s why attempts such as to lure nurses into huggable situations with empathetic pathos never work. Or, it might be regulations, literary prowess, wrong time and place, problems with my “public”image. It’s as though there’s no kid named Garp around when the object of nursing affection has ordinary Navy brain damage. Oh, for a woman who can think of my parts unused, stoking my heart, of my brain. Yet, it really is hearts, minds, soul. Half my life is gone and like I said, I don’t get visitors and the women are almost always beyond reach. I imagine St. Benedict wanted a wife in his cave before beatification. Love is canon. To have glimpsed such will bring me to heaven, even if alone till then when she doesn’t show.

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