I feel half alive. Constant dragging of phantom slippers, drab robe dangling from my frame like an abandoned flag on a ghost town's pole. Couch tacking stuffed in between my brain and skull. Constant eye heavy tired.

I actually cried watching Ice Age today. Third time I've watched the infernal silly animated movie. First time a sob reaction command was initiated when Manny's baby mammoth expired in his hunt memories. For whatever reason, unstoppable tear streams dug through my cheeks. Blurted out loud "what the fuck is wrong with me?!?". I am definitely losing it.

Think unleashing my insanity on the mic would go far in healing the head. Gotta convince the cacophony that lacing up the combat boots and marching toward the comedy war is imperative. Bickering personalities are creating my own grey bar hotel trap.

Cheery sunshine. Time to end the spill of coal dust through my fingers and continue with the family thematic journey. Next up to the plate is the maternal feline contributor. Gramma, or Alice.

You catch on quick. Yes of course, Gramma's parents also part of the great unwashed that surfaced on yankee shores. Ukranian gypsies that escaped the village literally a day before nationalists came in and killed every man, woman and child. Actually met my Great Gramma, and she wistfully searched the air for visions of her beloved banks of the Volga River. Tough peeps these Ukies. Vodka, yogurt and beets must be the potion for kickin the tar out of the grim reaper. Both she and Great Grandpa bounced me on their thick knees. The trickled down recipe for borscht and dumplings ( gliese I think they called em ) is my most treasured birthright.

Tapping her foot, looking over my shoulder, making sure I put a modest amount of toothpaste on my brush. Gramma was fond of teaching me the frugal lessons of the Great Depression. With thirteen brothers and sisters, meals were a survival of the fittest Olympic ordeal. Thirteen puppies. Woof. Great Gram's pelvis was made out of anodized tungsten. Four of them survive to this day. For one exception, they all owned houses in the same four block radius. Team Ukraine lives off the Fox River in Oshgosh.

During the numerous summers Baby Sis and I spent in her house, she had an ordeal with my hunger for literature. She'd rip books from my hands and order me to go dance in the sun. She was not my favorite person those days.

She sang in the church choir. A lutheran structure, at one time only holding services in German. The smarmy Ukranians had to adjust quickly to that. Especially since the philanthropic christian loaves of bread and baskets of fish came with a sauerkruat clause. Held steadfast membership to the place. Miserable somber place. The granitic wooden pews driving original sin punishment into your weeping backside. Every Sunday the pastor would tell everyone how they don't have much chance in not toasting on satan's bbq pit. Vengeful love is the best.

She insisted I learn the lord's prayer and the ten commandments. Only book I was allowed to read at some point. Secretly shoved a booger into the onion skin pages. Some fun stories in there, like Lot's daughters taking advantage of his wine induced boner. I'd rather have finished my copy of Lord Of The Flies all said and done.

During the one year the Family Command Center Midwest was stationed in the white trash section of Oshgosh, Ma took us to the fabric store. Yards of cloth cheaper to make clothes for us. Baby Sis and I loved the fabric store, so many places to hide and climb around in. Endochrine systems in excitable overload, when Gramma showed up to join in the presew fun, Sis and I rushed her, hugged her by her knees, and she toppled over like a knotty pine. Whoa nelly was she unhappy about that.

Speaking of tumbles. On a visit to St. Louis, down at the levy, she busted her hip. The river smooth cobblestones snagged her instep. Crunched her skeleton all up under the shadow of the Gateway To The West. She insisted her grandchildren had gravitational curse auras circuling around them.

I found by the age of nine that Gramma and I would never be able to have an understanding of each other. Difficult to stomach the thought of your elders not being able to converse on the same level as you as a lad. She took an effrontery to my "fancy" hoity-toity tongue. Said I was too smart for my own good. One of the saddest statements ever heard in my life.

Like all the rest, she is churning away still. Put lymphoma in her back pocket seven plus years ago. Tough old broad. Steeped in hardship. She wants me to believe in a lofty cloud afterlife. Every other word is jesus, lord, christ, savior and so forth. We don't got much to say to each other.