Overthunk

You polished it, the wit, to wit You slid it again and again along every sharpening stone (criticism, disdain, judgement, unkind remarks) Virtually anything that could penetrate the marshmallow heart and poison the hot blood Could serve to make the born-blunt edge thinner, the better to slice you with You sat at the feet of the greats The funny arrows of truth, deftly nocked and swiftly released, reloaded Memorizing the melodies of cleverness, a template for First rehearsed replies, afterthoughts forged by repetition into a more and more accurate weapon, Then hardened into a versatile, agile original design, slashing deep at a moment's notice Always believing this was a method for seizing power, a coup against the lack of various stripes of privilege. And sometimes it is. A needed defense. Not often, but still too much, it's an unattended razor, wounding wantonly Cutting the unwitting, family, friends, slicing and dicing ones you love, leaving you with bleedin

Your failed dreams and past mistakes Your failed marriage/s Your lack of closure on what you wanted in the past Your belief that anyone my age who's childless and never been married is crazy (instead of selective or just a victim of bad romantic luck or dedication to a career and ideals) Someone dying that you loved Your wanting something you can't have Your lack of financial stability or friends or travel or knowledge of anything beyond your immediate situation Your unfinished personal business Your desire for someone out of your league or under the legal drinking age Your inability to see the truth about yourself or undertand art or others Your narcissism, dullness, utter lack of a sense of humor or character Your emotional unavailability, dishonesty or misrepresentation Your erectile dysfunction or midlife crisis Your desire to dwell continually in the past, musically, emotionally, or otherwise Your inability to tolerate intense emotions, honesty, reality, rea

He came to me from a friend of a friend's daughter, who had adopted him without being able to care for him. I already had Pip the pug at the time, but I agreed to take him (and his sister , too). Why not? I was planning to get another dog and they needed homes. I christened him Chex, not really after a snack, but a dragon. He was fierce as one, a scrapper with a fighting spirit.  After I got back from London, I decided he needed a middle name, so I added Bakerloo, after the Underground line, then shortened to Loo. Other names for him were Chihuahua on Stilts (long legs inspired), Circus Dog (because he could stand on his hind legs for a long time in younger days), Tall Dog, and in his later years, Derpy Gramps because of missing teeth. He was one of the lankiest small dogs you ever would see. I'll never know his actual lineage, but I'd guess a mix of chihuahua and Italian greyhound. I often said to him that I wished I had his metabolism. He'd eat two full