Brief Stream of Consciousness (as in no concerns with punctuation, capitalization, etc.) STREAM!

spent part of the morning with the therapist of my son's family. trying to learn how to keep from being the monkey in the middle. trying to learn how to be valuable in their lives without getting my own self twisted up in chaos and drama. great visit. came home and went to work on work from home job. voices coming over the phone to me from places near and far. often overseas. often difficult to understand. those darn romance languages and the rolled r's are tough to understand on the phone. please spell your first and last name i say in what i am sure is a southern drawl to any ear listening on the other end of the line. then i ask them to repeat because i have gotten lost in their accent and the odd to me rolling of letters as if there is some automatic guttural mechanism in their throats that is not in my throat. same with people with accents from India. i mean no harm. this is not profiling. it is just how small our world has become through technology. california, georgia, illinois, hawaii, hong kong, argentina, south korea, london,,,all fly by in brief telephone calls of less than 45 seconds. fascinating to someone like me who loves people and a bit disconcerting as visualization is another one of my traits or maybe imagination plus visualization so when i hear a voice i often associate with that voice and my mind wanders as i key in their information and send them on to their next digital destinaton. babies crying in the background, radio music, whispers of office staff, frustration with the process on my end of the line, mad scrambles to find passwords or id numbers and often the sound of traffic as someone i will never meet careens down the highway talking to me on the phone and fumbling to find their information. i am constantly listening for the crash of metal and indeed had one phone call in which the person calling basically did not speak a word other than "OH-H-H! in a startled voice that gave me the shivers and the line went dead. somewhere out in this land or another land someone had a moment which was shared with me in about 1 second or less that made the hair on my arms rise up and freaked me out a bit. professional women who are in a hurry with little patience for talking to me at all. they are often haughty or as haughty as one can be in a brief interlude on the way to a conference on-line or by telephone or who knows what part our system plays into with their system or what they will discuss because we do not listen at all if possible...once in awhile hear brief phrases that are almost always part of a greeting or something about sales...like the sounds coming from a car as it passes at a rapid speed, windows rolled down and the radio blaring...click...i am off of the call in a nano-second and often immediately talking to someone else. did i say this was going to be brief? i could discuss my two cats who are completely off the hook for part of the evening. hissing, running, leaping, rolling around on the floor being primal in an aluminum condominium as the woman on the computer types quickly, thoughts flying through her head, choreographing scenes and dialogue in her head as she writes. flashes of thoughts had during the day. a rush of emotion that drags her down for a moment, distracted by the darn cats, the flow of the air conditioning and the realization that it is late. too late to be going on and on about whatever and this and that..too late to discuss any impressions that pop-up such as the awesome chihuahua puppy at the neighbor's this afternoon or the absence of Mr. Owl for the past week. men cleaned the water tower. I imagine Mr. Owl is watching the tower to decide if the coast is clear now. I imagine so much that my mind should burst but instead makes more room for imagining. sign of brilliance or insanity. either could be true. does it really matter? soon will be 62 years old. who knew? i never planned to come this far. that is the problem in a nut-shell. i did not "plan". in some ways my youth and middle adult years were truly lived one day at a time though i confess i was stoned part of those years meaning i don't remember things the way they really happened unless prompted and then i often have to trust the one telling me how things were back then. i'm not proud of it. what is...is! today, sober for a long, long time and working on sanity of a sort i find recall to be a challenge. is it stress or a society filled with stimuli or distraction as i wander around in my head creating and listening to that still small voice and ruminating on the nature of things and how did i end up on the coast living in an aluminum condominium (trailer...o.k.?) wasn't i destined for something a wee bit more colorful. sister, the colorful is in your head. let it flow out. colorful is as colorful does...writing opens a can of worms or a bouquet of flowers or a doorway into another realm or soothes the savage beast. writing is painting without brushes. loving people as they move and breathe and have their being around me in this world is painful, exquisite, wonderful, heartbreaking, what i was born for to my way of thinking. hello, may i have your conference id number. brief interaction with a voice. identification. click. gone. next up please. jeez, look at the time. i gotta get in that bed. no excuses. pardon me invisible audience whom i love. time for lights out.