I am Girl Accomplishment!
Despite the bitter chill in the air and a thick coat of frost covering the grass this morning, I left my cozy, warm bed and was out on the highway, before the first rays of sun, had even begun to flicker across the eastern horizon.
Wide awake and feeling the need to get something done, I set out, a solitary car on a quiet road, while the rest of the world slumbered softly in their beds.
There's something about being the only car on the road, the pink rays of dawn streaking across the skyline, that makes you feel as if everything could start from scratch and be a new beginning.
I'd like to call it hope.
These few small moments when the world feels, as if it just might be your oyster and you the bright shiny pearl that lives inside. That one moment, when you believe there's nothing on this earth you cannot do, that your dreams are closer than you think, and for the first time, in a long time, you can see the destination that lies ahead.
Sometimes other people come in to cloud your vision. They tell you all about the things you cannot do, all the things you cannot be. They tell you not to hope. Not to dream. They tell you must accept things as they are, that one person cannot change the world.
You wonder how it is they could be so wrong.
When all it takes is faith and the belief, that as sure as the sun comes back to chase the night away, with a little hope and imagination, just about anything can be done.
Stacey's Done List (not bad for a Sunday morning)
1. Clean fish tank.
2. Clean cat litter.
3. Take garbage out.
4. Do dishes.
5. Do laundry.
6. Grocery shopping.
7. Random cleaning.
8. Blog ...
Something is up with my computer and it's driving me nuts!
There is absolutely nothing worse than getting an error message, repeatedly, and then having no clue as to what the hell any of it means, other than the fact that the computer is having an emotional moment!
So now I'm frustrated, and ready to toss the damn PC right out the window. And you can be damn sure, if tossing it doesn't work, I'll finish it off with a couple good whacks from a baseball bat!
And another thing! Who the hell came up with error messages that read like Greek in the first place!
Who gives a flying rats ass over some general protection fault, blah, blah, dee blah sort of thing! Nobody understands what that means anyway!
So why not just be up straight and honest with it all, and skip the whole computer error lingo for something like this ...
"You bought a piece of shit computer, you don't have enough memory."
or
"You've completely screwed up your computer by messing around with your utilities."
or
"You had better call a technician, cause this one goes way over your head."
So drop the computer mumbo jumbo jargon and tell it like it is dammit! I've already had more than my share of stress today.
There is absolutely nothing worse than getting an error message, repeatedly, and then having no clue as to what the hell any of it means, other than the fact that the computer is having an emotional moment!
So now I'm frustrated, and ready to toss the damn PC right out the window. And you can be damn sure, if tossing it doesn't work, I'll finish it off with a couple good whacks from a baseball bat!
And another thing! Who the hell came up with error messages that read like Greek in the first place!
Who gives a flying rats ass over some general protection fault, blah, blah, dee blah sort of thing! Nobody understands what that means anyway!
So why not just be up straight and honest with it all, and skip the whole computer error lingo for something like this ...
"You bought a piece of shit computer, you don't have enough memory."
or
"You've completely screwed up your computer by messing around with your utilities."
or
"You had better call a technician, cause this one goes way over your head."
So drop the computer mumbo jumbo jargon and tell it like it is dammit! I've already had more than my share of stress today.
I'm thinking about taking my counter down, though it's not because I don't want to know how few hits I actually get to this page. Actually, it's because the random hits to this page make me sick to my stomach.
There are some real sickos out there trolling about the web. The kind of people who input rape and domination fantasies into their browsers hoping to get a fix off the net. It's disgusting.
But even more disgusting, is one of yesterdays hits hoping to find more of the same above, but this time with children. There are no words I can even begin to say that could possibly define my opinion of people like this. Violence against women is monstrous enough, violence against children, the very personification of evil.
I know I've said it before. Wanting to change this sites name because of such random hits and the keyword: "NAKED" ranking among the top reasons why people accidentally trip over this site.
But everytime something like this happens, I remember why I wanted to name NWTLO like I did, because when I am here, writing away, that is what I am. My thoughts, my ideas and my beliefs naked to a world that can stop and read a while or pass me by without so much of a glance.
It is, in one word, a conundrum.
There are some real sickos out there trolling about the web. The kind of people who input rape and domination fantasies into their browsers hoping to get a fix off the net. It's disgusting.
But even more disgusting, is one of yesterdays hits hoping to find more of the same above, but this time with children. There are no words I can even begin to say that could possibly define my opinion of people like this. Violence against women is monstrous enough, violence against children, the very personification of evil.
I know I've said it before. Wanting to change this sites name because of such random hits and the keyword: "NAKED" ranking among the top reasons why people accidentally trip over this site.
But everytime something like this happens, I remember why I wanted to name NWTLO like I did, because when I am here, writing away, that is what I am. My thoughts, my ideas and my beliefs naked to a world that can stop and read a while or pass me by without so much of a glance.
It is, in one word, a conundrum.
I wish I could ...
Call work and tell them that I am sick (and tired) and won't be coming in for the remainder of the week.
I wish I could ...
Get paid for staying home.
I'd rather be ...
Rich, looking for an occupation to fill my time, rather than depending on one to make a living.
If I could I'd be ...
Somewhere on a secluded mountain overlooking a serene lake, cup of cocoa in hand, tapping away on a keyboard, writing a novel.
What I'm doing now ...
Giving up on the wish list and getting my disheartened butt to work.
Call work and tell them that I am sick (and tired) and won't be coming in for the remainder of the week.
I wish I could ...
Get paid for staying home.
I'd rather be ...
Rich, looking for an occupation to fill my time, rather than depending on one to make a living.
If I could I'd be ...
Somewhere on a secluded mountain overlooking a serene lake, cup of cocoa in hand, tapping away on a keyboard, writing a novel.
What I'm doing now ...
Giving up on the wish list and getting my disheartened butt to work.
I want my underoos and I want them now!
When I was 10, I could run around half naked in a thunderstorm, wearing nothing but yellow terry cloth bottoms and an Indian Chief headdress, and nobody would have glanced twice. (Other than my mother who always managed to capture that kind of Kodak moment on film. And let me assure you, that there is indeed, a picture of the aforementioned, somewhere in some treasure box buried away.)
But nothing ever compared to my underoos.
They were all the rage back then. You weren't somebody, unless you had them and for me, my Wonder Woman roos said it all.
Beneath my clothes, I was a superhero waiting for danger to strike, complete with magic lasso and invisible plane. A card carrying member for the forces of good, I was always willing to fight the good fight.
Unfortunately for me, the evil foe I usually fought, turned out to be my older sister.
Not such a good thing, considering she wasn't inclined to be of the loving and adoring persuasion of older sisterhood. A personality defect that was apparent by her choice of Darth Vader underoos, that pledged her alliance to the dark side.
And what is one to do, when your sister turns out to be Darth Vador? Invite her over for tea and cakes?
Nah ... It was much smarter to opt for the magic lasso, the light saber or whatever other sort of handy object happened to be lying around. In the right hands, even a simple little smurf mug could easily become a weapon.
Of course, when your mug ended up being among the casualties of such an episode, things could get a little depressing. So could the fact that you'd been grounded for an indefinite amount of time for breaking your sisters wrist.
However, despite the grounding and the very small twinge of guilt that nestled in-between the smallest of your two toes, you were secretly proud.
Standing up on your bed, sheet wrapped around your neck like a cape, you puffed out your chest, proclaiming your victory to the world.
But like everything else, it was a short lived moment. Especially when a rock solid cast flying in your direction, had made other plans for you.
When I was 10, I could run around half naked in a thunderstorm, wearing nothing but yellow terry cloth bottoms and an Indian Chief headdress, and nobody would have glanced twice. (Other than my mother who always managed to capture that kind of Kodak moment on film. And let me assure you, that there is indeed, a picture of the aforementioned, somewhere in some treasure box buried away.)
But nothing ever compared to my underoos.
They were all the rage back then. You weren't somebody, unless you had them and for me, my Wonder Woman roos said it all.
Beneath my clothes, I was a superhero waiting for danger to strike, complete with magic lasso and invisible plane. A card carrying member for the forces of good, I was always willing to fight the good fight.
Unfortunately for me, the evil foe I usually fought, turned out to be my older sister.
Not such a good thing, considering she wasn't inclined to be of the loving and adoring persuasion of older sisterhood. A personality defect that was apparent by her choice of Darth Vader underoos, that pledged her alliance to the dark side.
And what is one to do, when your sister turns out to be Darth Vador? Invite her over for tea and cakes?
Nah ... It was much smarter to opt for the magic lasso, the light saber or whatever other sort of handy object happened to be lying around. In the right hands, even a simple little smurf mug could easily become a weapon.
Of course, when your mug ended up being among the casualties of such an episode, things could get a little depressing. So could the fact that you'd been grounded for an indefinite amount of time for breaking your sisters wrist.
However, despite the grounding and the very small twinge of guilt that nestled in-between the smallest of your two toes, you were secretly proud.
Standing up on your bed, sheet wrapped around your neck like a cape, you puffed out your chest, proclaiming your victory to the world.
But like everything else, it was a short lived moment. Especially when a rock solid cast flying in your direction, had made other plans for you.
What is it with me and Sunday mornings? Just a few weeks ago, I was able to sleep until noon, if I had so choosed. Now I am up at the crack of dawn, awake with the birds and reveling in the silent moments when everything is still.
Still, I'd rather be sleeping.
This morning however, I was glad for the sun shining into my window, waking me up from a dream I'd not want to repeat. I'm not sure what it was that set this one in motion but the gist of it was I was trying to save these kids from being blown into smithereens.
Enter Dream Mode
We'd been caught stealing. Sure, we were just trying to survive. But, we should have known that we could never have gotten away with the snowblower. It was big, shiny and red. Not a small thing you could tuck back inside your bookbag without looking extremely obvious.
We lived in a hovel. A small run down apartment where even the fleas had fleas and rats were considered pets. Still, it was a place to call home, Ikea furnishings and all.
The day was hot, so we decided to go down to the river for a swim. How refreshing it was to ride the gentle waves on a big black inner tube, in water that was both cool, clean and free of fish, frogs, snakes and any other nasty creature known to hang out in water.
We were having a good time, when out of the blue we heard them. The deep voices of men hidden in the forest along the banks, hatching their sinister plan. My ears perked to attention, recognizing the names of their intended victims. I turned to look at my water raft partner, a good looking man whose name I did not know, but one I evidently knew.
"We've got to do something!" I said, paddling as quickly and as quietly as I could back to shore.
"But how?" he asked, looking at me as if I were certifiable. "They have bombs. They have guns. We're dripping wet holding an inner tube."
"We've got to get to those kids. We've got to get there first. Get them out of that house without alerting the bad guys, so they'll think there nefarious plan succeeded."
We scrambled out of the water, running down the bank at full speed back to the house.
"Get the keys to the truck!" I yelled, climbing inside the big, black cab.
"Here you go!" He shouted back, throwing the keys in a perfect arc, as I reached out to grab them with my hands.
I fired the engine up, waiting long enough for him to get one foot in the door, before taking off and sending a spray of gravel up as the tires took a mad spin to the end of the driveway.
In a few brief moments we were there.
"Park the truck in the garage. I'll go get the kids." I told him, sprinting up the stairs and into the house.
I found them in their bedroom. A boy and a girl, both redheaded with freckles.
"Come with me." I told them. "I've got to get you out now."
"But where are we going?" they cried together in unison.
"Bad people are on their way here, I don't have time to explain. Just come on."
I took a quick glance outside the window, watching in terror as an unfamiliar vehicle slowed down in front of the house, two men grinning shark like smiles in the front seat.
"Hurry. We've got to get out of here. Leave everything else behind, there's no time! Get down to the garage!"
I hustled the children back down the stairs, taking care so that no one tripped over the other.
He stood there waiting by the open door of the truck.
"Get inside." he said to the kids, taking their hands to help them up.
Through the frosted windows, I could see the men moving closer to the garage, a liquid filled bottle held carefully in their hands. I knew in a moment, it was some sort of explosive, meant to take out the house and whatever was in it.
"We don't have time," I whispered, "to make it out of the front of the house. We'll have to go through the back."
I knew we would only have mere seconds of an advantage as I fired up the old truck engine was more.
"Everyone hang onto your hats!" I cried, pressing my foot down on the accelerator. Watching as the back wall of the garage crumbled under the force of our impact, giving way to safety on the other side.
"Everything's going to be fine." I said, watching as the house behind me blew up in flames. My timing perfect with the explosion, so the bag guys weren't aware that they had failed.
I breathed a sigh of relief and then ...
I awoke.
End dream sequence.
I have the oddest dreams, I know. And the silly thing is, I remember most of them.
Which leaves me with one question.
Where is good old Freud, when you need him?
Still, I'd rather be sleeping.
This morning however, I was glad for the sun shining into my window, waking me up from a dream I'd not want to repeat. I'm not sure what it was that set this one in motion but the gist of it was I was trying to save these kids from being blown into smithereens.
Enter Dream Mode
We'd been caught stealing. Sure, we were just trying to survive. But, we should have known that we could never have gotten away with the snowblower. It was big, shiny and red. Not a small thing you could tuck back inside your bookbag without looking extremely obvious.
We lived in a hovel. A small run down apartment where even the fleas had fleas and rats were considered pets. Still, it was a place to call home, Ikea furnishings and all.
The day was hot, so we decided to go down to the river for a swim. How refreshing it was to ride the gentle waves on a big black inner tube, in water that was both cool, clean and free of fish, frogs, snakes and any other nasty creature known to hang out in water.
We were having a good time, when out of the blue we heard them. The deep voices of men hidden in the forest along the banks, hatching their sinister plan. My ears perked to attention, recognizing the names of their intended victims. I turned to look at my water raft partner, a good looking man whose name I did not know, but one I evidently knew.
"We've got to do something!" I said, paddling as quickly and as quietly as I could back to shore.
"But how?" he asked, looking at me as if I were certifiable. "They have bombs. They have guns. We're dripping wet holding an inner tube."
"We've got to get to those kids. We've got to get there first. Get them out of that house without alerting the bad guys, so they'll think there nefarious plan succeeded."
We scrambled out of the water, running down the bank at full speed back to the house.
"Get the keys to the truck!" I yelled, climbing inside the big, black cab.
"Here you go!" He shouted back, throwing the keys in a perfect arc, as I reached out to grab them with my hands.
I fired the engine up, waiting long enough for him to get one foot in the door, before taking off and sending a spray of gravel up as the tires took a mad spin to the end of the driveway.
In a few brief moments we were there.
"Park the truck in the garage. I'll go get the kids." I told him, sprinting up the stairs and into the house.
I found them in their bedroom. A boy and a girl, both redheaded with freckles.
"Come with me." I told them. "I've got to get you out now."
"But where are we going?" they cried together in unison.
"Bad people are on their way here, I don't have time to explain. Just come on."
I took a quick glance outside the window, watching in terror as an unfamiliar vehicle slowed down in front of the house, two men grinning shark like smiles in the front seat.
"Hurry. We've got to get out of here. Leave everything else behind, there's no time! Get down to the garage!"
I hustled the children back down the stairs, taking care so that no one tripped over the other.
He stood there waiting by the open door of the truck.
"Get inside." he said to the kids, taking their hands to help them up.
Through the frosted windows, I could see the men moving closer to the garage, a liquid filled bottle held carefully in their hands. I knew in a moment, it was some sort of explosive, meant to take out the house and whatever was in it.
"We don't have time," I whispered, "to make it out of the front of the house. We'll have to go through the back."
I knew we would only have mere seconds of an advantage as I fired up the old truck engine was more.
"Everyone hang onto your hats!" I cried, pressing my foot down on the accelerator. Watching as the back wall of the garage crumbled under the force of our impact, giving way to safety on the other side.
"Everything's going to be fine." I said, watching as the house behind me blew up in flames. My timing perfect with the explosion, so the bag guys weren't aware that they had failed.
I breathed a sigh of relief and then ...
I awoke.
End dream sequence.
I have the oddest dreams, I know. And the silly thing is, I remember most of them.
Which leaves me with one question.
Where is good old Freud, when you need him?
Brenda is none too pleased with me (once again) and I, for one, can't blame her a bit.
I wonder why it is, that maintaining a friendship, now that I'm an adult, seems such a difficult thing to do?
High school was easy.
Other than the occasional disagreement, being friends never demanded more than you could give. You never had to slot out specific time on a calendar, to find time together.
It was spontaneous and in the moment.
Back then, there wasn't much that stood in your way of being best friends. Sure there were boys and moments of utter stupidity, but you always stuck it out together like two peas in a pod.
Expectations were easier to live up to, certain things like talking on the phone each night were taken for granted, as well as spending time away from each other, when family duties required you to be gone.
But growing up, changed the way those expectations could be met. Duties away from friendship, now required more from you, than they had ever had before and inside you were torn.
Torn.
Because you weren't ready to let a day go by, without a single phone call to your friend, to find out, all about the nothing special she did that day, or just share the common bond from being from the same place, time and understanding of having grown up together.
Soon, even the smallest distance can feel like 10,000 miles.
You don't realize it at first, the day when you start losing touch. The day when something other than your friend becomes more important in your life. You trade off outings with your new family, over your friend of old, as boyfriends become husbands and bundles of joy the focus of your attention.
You begin to promise each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will call her to see is she is alright, to make sure everything is well, to talk to her and see what news she has to share. Tomorrow we will make a date, spend time together, talk like we did when we were kids sharing secrets in the dark.
Tomorrow we will promise that we'll pick up that phone, make that call, drive ourselves over to that house only a small distance away, to spend time with our friend. We make the promise expecting to keep it to ourselves, but always fall victim to constraints and obligations, that make our friend seem far less important than breaking the routine of our daily lives.
So you stop calling.
Stop making plans.
Guilt festering, over having dodged her just the week before. Feeling bad because deep down you miss your time together, but aren't as certain that you can ever get it back, the way it used to be. Realizing that it can never be, just you and her against the world, because children never disappear, though sometimes husbands do.
You forget what is was like to be irresponsible friends going out for a night on the town, for a drive to the middle of nowhere.
You forget what is was like to talk on the phone for hours about absoutely nothing and everything all at once.
You forget how much that one person reminds you of everywhere you've been, everything you've done and everything you still have left to do.
You forget how much she knows about you and how much you know about her. Forget the promise that you made to grow old together, to be the two nosey gray haired neighbor women, rocking in their chairs, watching all the young people go by.
You forget who you are, because there is no one there to remind you of how you used to be.
And so you're sorry.
Because no day without your friend, ever seems complete.
I wonder why it is, that maintaining a friendship, now that I'm an adult, seems such a difficult thing to do?
High school was easy.
Other than the occasional disagreement, being friends never demanded more than you could give. You never had to slot out specific time on a calendar, to find time together.
It was spontaneous and in the moment.
Back then, there wasn't much that stood in your way of being best friends. Sure there were boys and moments of utter stupidity, but you always stuck it out together like two peas in a pod.
Expectations were easier to live up to, certain things like talking on the phone each night were taken for granted, as well as spending time away from each other, when family duties required you to be gone.
But growing up, changed the way those expectations could be met. Duties away from friendship, now required more from you, than they had ever had before and inside you were torn.
Torn.
Because you weren't ready to let a day go by, without a single phone call to your friend, to find out, all about the nothing special she did that day, or just share the common bond from being from the same place, time and understanding of having grown up together.
Soon, even the smallest distance can feel like 10,000 miles.
You don't realize it at first, the day when you start losing touch. The day when something other than your friend becomes more important in your life. You trade off outings with your new family, over your friend of old, as boyfriends become husbands and bundles of joy the focus of your attention.
You begin to promise each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will call her to see is she is alright, to make sure everything is well, to talk to her and see what news she has to share. Tomorrow we will make a date, spend time together, talk like we did when we were kids sharing secrets in the dark.
Tomorrow we will promise that we'll pick up that phone, make that call, drive ourselves over to that house only a small distance away, to spend time with our friend. We make the promise expecting to keep it to ourselves, but always fall victim to constraints and obligations, that make our friend seem far less important than breaking the routine of our daily lives.
So you stop calling.
Stop making plans.
Guilt festering, over having dodged her just the week before. Feeling bad because deep down you miss your time together, but aren't as certain that you can ever get it back, the way it used to be. Realizing that it can never be, just you and her against the world, because children never disappear, though sometimes husbands do.
You forget what is was like to be irresponsible friends going out for a night on the town, for a drive to the middle of nowhere.
You forget what is was like to talk on the phone for hours about absoutely nothing and everything all at once.
You forget how much that one person reminds you of everywhere you've been, everything you've done and everything you still have left to do.
You forget how much she knows about you and how much you know about her. Forget the promise that you made to grow old together, to be the two nosey gray haired neighbor women, rocking in their chairs, watching all the young people go by.
You forget who you are, because there is no one there to remind you of how you used to be.
And so you're sorry.
Because no day without your friend, ever seems complete.
The howling of the coyotes last night, kept me from getting a good nights sleep. They were so close to the house, I was neurotic and tired enough to believe, that somehow they would sense me shutting my window and take the opportunity to attack. Being so late or early, depending on how you look at it, it never occurred to me that I was on the second floor and therefore the likelihood of attack was severely limited.
Still, neither Emma, nor I could get back to sleep right away, watching the clock tick time slowly away.
3:01 ... 3:03 .... 3:07 ...
Outside the howls got louder followed by quick short barks. As I peered out into the darkness, I imagined that they had made their kill and were celebrating their victory by calling to the moon, sending shivers down my spine.
Emma, meanwhile, sat still as a stone, never moving, though her eyes cut through the night and into the fields. Emiting a slow, low growl, the hair standing straight up on her back, I was sure she could see everything, as my own eyes struggled to distinquish objects in the dark.
Sleep finally came, the last of my fears giving way to restless dreams, haunting me until dawn. Awake again, my eyes sought to see in the daylight, any signs of disturbance left behind. But there was nothing, save for a damp rolling fog spreading out over the fields.
Still, neither Emma, nor I could get back to sleep right away, watching the clock tick time slowly away.
3:01 ... 3:03 .... 3:07 ...
Outside the howls got louder followed by quick short barks. As I peered out into the darkness, I imagined that they had made their kill and were celebrating their victory by calling to the moon, sending shivers down my spine.
Emma, meanwhile, sat still as a stone, never moving, though her eyes cut through the night and into the fields. Emiting a slow, low growl, the hair standing straight up on her back, I was sure she could see everything, as my own eyes struggled to distinquish objects in the dark.
Sleep finally came, the last of my fears giving way to restless dreams, haunting me until dawn. Awake again, my eyes sought to see in the daylight, any signs of disturbance left behind. But there was nothing, save for a damp rolling fog spreading out over the fields.
Just got back from signing KC up for dance class. I fear what harm those feet will do ...
I should have been a dance instructor, it's clear from the tuition fees, those people make oodles of cash from parents willing to pay the money to turn their girls into prissy prima donnas.
I'm guessing it's become apparent that the whole dance class thing wasn't my idea. I was more inclined to sign the girl up for karate and teach her a little kung fu kick ass. A skill that could come in useful, rather than its toe point, pretty frills opposite.
I mean, how often do you ever hear a story about some ballet dancer saving the day ... Uh, never ...
But if ballet is what she really wants, I am willing to concede. Concede to the fact, that my daughter isn't as much of a tomboy as I always hoped she'd be. Where, oh where, did I go wrong?
Something to think about much later, since now I am off to market.
I should have been a dance instructor, it's clear from the tuition fees, those people make oodles of cash from parents willing to pay the money to turn their girls into prissy prima donnas.
I'm guessing it's become apparent that the whole dance class thing wasn't my idea. I was more inclined to sign the girl up for karate and teach her a little kung fu kick ass. A skill that could come in useful, rather than its toe point, pretty frills opposite.
I mean, how often do you ever hear a story about some ballet dancer saving the day ... Uh, never ...
But if ballet is what she really wants, I am willing to concede. Concede to the fact, that my daughter isn't as much of a tomboy as I always hoped she'd be. Where, oh where, did I go wrong?
Something to think about much later, since now I am off to market.
Why do people have to clip their toe nails right outside my doorstep. To me, that is the sort of thing someone should be doing in the privacy of their own home, preferably over a garbage can in their bathroom.
I mean the last thing, the absolute last thing, I want to do, is walk outside and step on someone's abandoned toe clippings. It's just too gross for words and yet I can still hear them clip, clip, clipping away.
I wonder how rude it would be for me to shout "Get a room!"
Since we're yapping about the things that irritate me, let me add mosquitos to my list. The nasty little buggers tried to have me for dinner last night, as I was outside commiserating with Sheila about the current situation involving a certain townhouse neighbor and an adorably cute, warm and fuzzy, little yellow kitten.
Simba, who in this case is the kitten and not the neighbor, has been left like a baby on a church step in the middle of winter. Sure, I know I may be exaggerating a tad bit but according to reliable sources and my very own ears, the owner/neighbor in question is adamant that the little furball of happiness is and will continue to be, an outside cat.
I, of course, completely disagree.
Sure, I know that there are millions of cats who live their entire lives outside and are none worse off for it. But, I guess I just don't understand how someone could bring a kitten home, and then not care enough about it, to keep it inside where it will be safe from all the evils of the world.
It's a known fact, that our road, is not exactly reputed to be an animal haven and the giant German Shepherd next door certainly isn't open to the idea of a new, much smaller playmate when his stomach is growling for lunch. It's more like "Feed me Seymour" from the Little Shop of Horrors
and this dog is just drooling for a snack.
And what about kittens. Not Simba the kitten now, but Simba the wandering tom out on the prowl for a little ... well you know what I mean. What if this neighbor of mine doesn't get him fixed? What if, rather than one small kitten out on his own in the world, it multiplies into many and then more, and them even more, until our small village becomes completely overrun with homeless cats!
I don't have the room to take them all in and lord knows, I am a sensitive soul. Last night, I had to talk myself out of bringing the baby inside, mostly because I know I should respect my neighbors decision, but also because Emma has an extremely jealous nature, and I didn't want the poor kitten to be caught in the crossfire.
So I don't know what to do, other than peer out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot a fast moving yellow ball of fluff, to know that at least for another day, he's safe.
I mean the last thing, the absolute last thing, I want to do, is walk outside and step on someone's abandoned toe clippings. It's just too gross for words and yet I can still hear them clip, clip, clipping away.
I wonder how rude it would be for me to shout "Get a room!"
Since we're yapping about the things that irritate me, let me add mosquitos to my list. The nasty little buggers tried to have me for dinner last night, as I was outside commiserating with Sheila about the current situation involving a certain townhouse neighbor and an adorably cute, warm and fuzzy, little yellow kitten.
Simba, who in this case is the kitten and not the neighbor, has been left like a baby on a church step in the middle of winter. Sure, I know I may be exaggerating a tad bit but according to reliable sources and my very own ears, the owner/neighbor in question is adamant that the little furball of happiness is and will continue to be, an outside cat.
I, of course, completely disagree.
Sure, I know that there are millions of cats who live their entire lives outside and are none worse off for it. But, I guess I just don't understand how someone could bring a kitten home, and then not care enough about it, to keep it inside where it will be safe from all the evils of the world.
It's a known fact, that our road, is not exactly reputed to be an animal haven and the giant German Shepherd next door certainly isn't open to the idea of a new, much smaller playmate when his stomach is growling for lunch. It's more like "Feed me Seymour" from the Little Shop of Horrors
and this dog is just drooling for a snack.
And what about kittens. Not Simba the kitten now, but Simba the wandering tom out on the prowl for a little ... well you know what I mean. What if this neighbor of mine doesn't get him fixed? What if, rather than one small kitten out on his own in the world, it multiplies into many and then more, and them even more, until our small village becomes completely overrun with homeless cats!
I don't have the room to take them all in and lord knows, I am a sensitive soul. Last night, I had to talk myself out of bringing the baby inside, mostly because I know I should respect my neighbors decision, but also because Emma has an extremely jealous nature, and I didn't want the poor kitten to be caught in the crossfire.
So I don't know what to do, other than peer out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot a fast moving yellow ball of fluff, to know that at least for another day, he's safe.
Growling at the door, Emma woke me up this morning, before the sun had even begun to crest the sky. Half asleep, I glanced at the clock.
Odd, I thought. Since when did I start setting my alarm to wake me up on a Sunday morning?
Nearly falling out of my bed, I stretched my arm across the great divide, switching off the alarm, with plans to sleep undisturbed at least until noon.
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Morning sun streaming in through my open windows unfortunately, had made other plans for me.
Wake up sleepy head it seemed to say. Don't be lazy, rise and shine.
Go away I mumbled into my pillow, drawing the blankets over my head, yawning once for good measure. Can't you see I'm tired?
Get up, get up, get up, said the sun, you must not delay.
I promise, I'll get up in just a little while, I groaned. Let me sleep these last few minutes in peace.
No, no, no, yelled the sun. There's no more time to waste! It's not Sunday you foolish girl! It's Monday and you have places you need to go!
Monday? I thought, letting the sound of it sink into my brain, realizing all at once my mistake.
Monday! Well, why didn't you say so, I exclaimed, accusingly to the sun, jumping up from my bed.
He simply shook his head and said not a word.
Odd, I thought. Since when did I start setting my alarm to wake me up on a Sunday morning?
Nearly falling out of my bed, I stretched my arm across the great divide, switching off the alarm, with plans to sleep undisturbed at least until noon.
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Morning sun streaming in through my open windows unfortunately, had made other plans for me.
Wake up sleepy head it seemed to say. Don't be lazy, rise and shine.
Go away I mumbled into my pillow, drawing the blankets over my head, yawning once for good measure. Can't you see I'm tired?
Get up, get up, get up, said the sun, you must not delay.
I promise, I'll get up in just a little while, I groaned. Let me sleep these last few minutes in peace.
No, no, no, yelled the sun. There's no more time to waste! It's not Sunday you foolish girl! It's Monday and you have places you need to go!
Monday? I thought, letting the sound of it sink into my brain, realizing all at once my mistake.
Monday! Well, why didn't you say so, I exclaimed, accusingly to the sun, jumping up from my bed.
He simply shook his head and said not a word.
As far as long car rides go, yesterday's wasn't so bad. I spent a lot of time thinking in between short conversations.
It all came down to a single conclusion.
You've just got to grow where you're planted. There's no sense in wasting your time with the could of, should have beens, if you're not living in the moment as it comes.
Sure, I thought to myself, I would have done a lot of things differently, if I could have seen the results prior to the decision. Maybe I wouldn't have been so naive to the arrogance of youth. Maybe I would have thought more of my future.
Sometimes though, it's hard to keep yourself from living in the past. In your head, you can change the things you said, open the door you shouldn't have shut, or leave the place you never should have been.
It's easy to trick yourself, that you can change things, just by wishing them so. Recreating your steps, making your life a shadow image of what it was before, just to convince yourself that nothing has changed, when everything has changed.
You hold yourself accountable for all the disappointments you've met up with in your life. Failing to forgive yourself, because you cannot forgive others who have let you down.
On the outside you're a rational thinking person, but on the inside your all messed up, an emotional cripple, scared of letting your guard down for a single second. Scared that the people you've been pushing away, will finally realize how much you've really needed them all along.
You dream that one hug could undo it all, one I'm sorry and the world would change. You wish that that is all it would take to be forgiven.
You wish that life could be as easy for you, as it is for the tree, growing precariously on an outcropping of rocks, roots penetrating deep into the soil, growing upwards and on, because it doesn't know, that it should fall.
It all came down to a single conclusion.
You've just got to grow where you're planted. There's no sense in wasting your time with the could of, should have beens, if you're not living in the moment as it comes.
Sure, I thought to myself, I would have done a lot of things differently, if I could have seen the results prior to the decision. Maybe I wouldn't have been so naive to the arrogance of youth. Maybe I would have thought more of my future.
Sometimes though, it's hard to keep yourself from living in the past. In your head, you can change the things you said, open the door you shouldn't have shut, or leave the place you never should have been.
It's easy to trick yourself, that you can change things, just by wishing them so. Recreating your steps, making your life a shadow image of what it was before, just to convince yourself that nothing has changed, when everything has changed.
You hold yourself accountable for all the disappointments you've met up with in your life. Failing to forgive yourself, because you cannot forgive others who have let you down.
On the outside you're a rational thinking person, but on the inside your all messed up, an emotional cripple, scared of letting your guard down for a single second. Scared that the people you've been pushing away, will finally realize how much you've really needed them all along.
You dream that one hug could undo it all, one I'm sorry and the world would change. You wish that that is all it would take to be forgiven.
You wish that life could be as easy for you, as it is for the tree, growing precariously on an outcropping of rocks, roots penetrating deep into the soil, growing upwards and on, because it doesn't know, that it should fall.
I am off to New Jersey ... Well, just as soon as my clothes come out of the dryer. Yes, you heard me right. I said dryer. I don't do that line dry thing, black out or no black out. You can call me selfish, call me greedy but don't even try to call me stiff jean girl, cause that's the one thing I just won't do.
So many stories to tell, so little time. I have to run into town and grab some quick cash from my account, bottled water and sun screen, so I can be ready to leave at 8.
Maybe I'll actually get a little tan on our road trip, since we are taking the convertable. Two birds, one stone.
I'll have to fill in all the details upon my return.
Until then, I am girl on the run.
So many stories to tell, so little time. I have to run into town and grab some quick cash from my account, bottled water and sun screen, so I can be ready to leave at 8.
Maybe I'll actually get a little tan on our road trip, since we are taking the convertable. Two birds, one stone.
I'll have to fill in all the details upon my return.
Until then, I am girl on the run.
Well, it's a done deal.
My living room is bare. The furniture I've hated for the past 7 years, gone ... And I couldn't be any happier.
KC will be surprised when she comes home. I can already see her standing there with hands on hips, a shocked expression.
"Mom! Where is our furniture?", she will shout, looking frantically about the room.
"Gone." I'll say. "I gave it away."
For a moment she will be mute, until the realization hits her.
"Gave it away! How could you give all our furniture away?"
Laughing and smiling, I'll grab her hands in mine and twirl her about the empty living room, until we're both breathless and about to fall down.
I've never liked it, I'll tell her without explaining my real reason why.
She doesn't need to know, that it was the very last object left in our house that reminded me of her father. The couch and love seat he couldn't wait to have, the one he picked out himself, the one I ended up paying for when he walked out.
She doesn't need to know, how happy it makes me feel to have seen the last of that green and tan albatross, or that I would gladly sit on the floor for a million years to be rid of it.
I'll tell her that we've done a good deed, giving our furniture away to someone who really needed a helping hand and the look of joy on their faces as they drove off, furniture secured snugly to the back of their pick up truck. I'll tell her how good it felt to know that they really appreciated the gift, as much as I did the giving.
She's probably too young to understand. She'll think she has a crazy person for a mother, one who gives furniture away at random without having an immediate replacement for it. Maybe she'll be right, I can barely explain it myself.
I feel free and at home, for the first time, in a long time.
My living room is bare. The furniture I've hated for the past 7 years, gone ... And I couldn't be any happier.
KC will be surprised when she comes home. I can already see her standing there with hands on hips, a shocked expression.
"Mom! Where is our furniture?", she will shout, looking frantically about the room.
"Gone." I'll say. "I gave it away."
For a moment she will be mute, until the realization hits her.
"Gave it away! How could you give all our furniture away?"
Laughing and smiling, I'll grab her hands in mine and twirl her about the empty living room, until we're both breathless and about to fall down.
I've never liked it, I'll tell her without explaining my real reason why.
She doesn't need to know, that it was the very last object left in our house that reminded me of her father. The couch and love seat he couldn't wait to have, the one he picked out himself, the one I ended up paying for when he walked out.
She doesn't need to know, how happy it makes me feel to have seen the last of that green and tan albatross, or that I would gladly sit on the floor for a million years to be rid of it.
I'll tell her that we've done a good deed, giving our furniture away to someone who really needed a helping hand and the look of joy on their faces as they drove off, furniture secured snugly to the back of their pick up truck. I'll tell her how good it felt to know that they really appreciated the gift, as much as I did the giving.
She's probably too young to understand. She'll think she has a crazy person for a mother, one who gives furniture away at random without having an immediate replacement for it. Maybe she'll be right, I can barely explain it myself.
I feel free and at home, for the first time, in a long time.
"You'll never be on a magazine cover." He says, his voice dry with truth.
I shake my head in agreement, "I know." I reply, "I never claimed it was a possibility."
He begins to speak. I press my fingers to his lips.
"Shhhh ... Not yet. I need to tell you something. Now, before I lose my nerve and never have a chance to tell you again ... I just wanted you to know, I'll always love you."
His eyes leave mine to stare at the floor. Uncomfortable with the words he's being made to hear. He doesn't feel the same, I know this, still he doesn't wish me pain.
"It's not enough, is it?" I ask.
"No." he says. "I don't ..."
I try to smile through my tears. "I know." I say, cutting him off before he can explain.
Between us there is only silence. A quiet end to a story with no beginning.
"I've missed you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"I've missed you too."
He pulls me in for a last embrace, I can feel the stubble of his beard against my cheek. I can feel my heart breaking.
He walks me out to my car and closes the door once I am safely inside. Hands trembling, I put the key into the ignition, and wait for the motor to come to life.
I take one last peek in the side view mirror.
Objects may appear closer then they are. Is the caption that reads above your image.
I half laugh at the absurdity of it all.
You've never been farther away.
I shake my head in agreement, "I know." I reply, "I never claimed it was a possibility."
He begins to speak. I press my fingers to his lips.
"Shhhh ... Not yet. I need to tell you something. Now, before I lose my nerve and never have a chance to tell you again ... I just wanted you to know, I'll always love you."
His eyes leave mine to stare at the floor. Uncomfortable with the words he's being made to hear. He doesn't feel the same, I know this, still he doesn't wish me pain.
"It's not enough, is it?" I ask.
"No." he says. "I don't ..."
I try to smile through my tears. "I know." I say, cutting him off before he can explain.
Between us there is only silence. A quiet end to a story with no beginning.
"I've missed you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"I've missed you too."
He pulls me in for a last embrace, I can feel the stubble of his beard against my cheek. I can feel my heart breaking.
He walks me out to my car and closes the door once I am safely inside. Hands trembling, I put the key into the ignition, and wait for the motor to come to life.
I take one last peek in the side view mirror.
Objects may appear closer then they are. Is the caption that reads above your image.
I half laugh at the absurdity of it all.
You've never been farther away.
Ugh. I should be a whole lot more motivated than I am at this moment, but I'd rather just sit here and ignore the ticking of the clock. It's like a mosquito in my ear, pronouncing that it's almost time to get to work.
Buzz, buzz, buzz ...
Work. A place I really do not want to go today. Attitudes yesterday were flying and I was so not in the mood to put up with any of them, least of all my own. Yet today, I get to go back for more.
Oh happy, oh joy.
Someday when I win the lottery, I am going to be so out of there, sending my notice in via postcard from Tahiti, crossing out the wish you were here part and changing it to don't bother waiting for me to come back.
That would be nice. Sipping ice cold beverages on sandy beaches with a well built, handsome cabana boy to wait on me hand and foot.
A girl has got to have dreams to survive out there in the real world. It's the only way I get through each day ...
Buzz, buzz, buzz ...
Work. A place I really do not want to go today. Attitudes yesterday were flying and I was so not in the mood to put up with any of them, least of all my own. Yet today, I get to go back for more.
Oh happy, oh joy.
Someday when I win the lottery, I am going to be so out of there, sending my notice in via postcard from Tahiti, crossing out the wish you were here part and changing it to don't bother waiting for me to come back.
That would be nice. Sipping ice cold beverages on sandy beaches with a well built, handsome cabana boy to wait on me hand and foot.
A girl has got to have dreams to survive out there in the real world. It's the only way I get through each day ...
I felt like the paparazzi tonight, skulking behind the back of my couch, as I aimed my camera towards the field across the road, attempting to get on film, my neighbors, herding their cows back into pasture.
It was a full blown prison escape, with brave bovines scattered in every direction. KC was first to catch on to the excitement.
"Mom ... The cows are loose again!" she yelled. "I think Bradley's Dad is chasing them."
Sure enough, the kid was right. Outside in the field I could make out two male forms, beating their hats against their legs as they whistled and yahhed the cows in the direction of the fence.
I stifled a laugh and grabbed my always nearby camera, to capture the kodak moment. Although, as moments go, cows on the lamb are a familiar sight in our neighborhood.
"Fencing ... it's not just for children anymore ..." I whispered to myself, as the wrangling proceeded. "Get on little doggies ..."
*Pictures to come if Blogger ever finishes retooling Blogger Pro! I'm not bitching or anything (ok so I am) but the little note about checking back next week has been up for a straight 3 weeks now. My patience can't hold out much longer!!!
It was a full blown prison escape, with brave bovines scattered in every direction. KC was first to catch on to the excitement.
"Mom ... The cows are loose again!" she yelled. "I think Bradley's Dad is chasing them."
Sure enough, the kid was right. Outside in the field I could make out two male forms, beating their hats against their legs as they whistled and yahhed the cows in the direction of the fence.
I stifled a laugh and grabbed my always nearby camera, to capture the kodak moment. Although, as moments go, cows on the lamb are a familiar sight in our neighborhood.
"Fencing ... it's not just for children anymore ..." I whispered to myself, as the wrangling proceeded. "Get on little doggies ..."
*Pictures to come if Blogger ever finishes retooling Blogger Pro! I'm not bitching or anything (ok so I am) but the little note about checking back next week has been up for a straight 3 weeks now. My patience can't hold out much longer!!!
It's nice to have the morning to myself. KC is still upstairs sleeping, her small body hidden beneath the covers, while Emma has made her perch in the front window, watching delicious little birds sing back and forth.
As for me, I am barely awake, taking moments to sip my hot chocolate and wrap my hands around its warm mug.
Summer is almost over. A definite chill in the air this morning, I can feel it coming to an end. Leaves outside are beginning to change to rustic golds and crimson reds, the first showing of the hibernation to come.
Soon brittle stalks of corn will stand in the fields as the pumpkin patches burst to life. The sweet smell of hot apple cider that rides the wind will speak of fall and the big yellow school bus that finds itself lumbering down our road once again, will be filled with the eager faces of little children, excited to see the friends that summer had tucked away.
Autumn has always seemed to me, more of a beginning than an end. A time when wheelbarrows were filled with wood to bring inside and the garden plucked of its hidden treasures. A time when the slow, lazy days of summer were left behind, as each family prepared for the coming of the first snowflake to fall.
In the hills and in the valley, Autumn calls to me, like the voice of home.
Welcome back.
As for me, I am barely awake, taking moments to sip my hot chocolate and wrap my hands around its warm mug.
Summer is almost over. A definite chill in the air this morning, I can feel it coming to an end. Leaves outside are beginning to change to rustic golds and crimson reds, the first showing of the hibernation to come.
Soon brittle stalks of corn will stand in the fields as the pumpkin patches burst to life. The sweet smell of hot apple cider that rides the wind will speak of fall and the big yellow school bus that finds itself lumbering down our road once again, will be filled with the eager faces of little children, excited to see the friends that summer had tucked away.
Autumn has always seemed to me, more of a beginning than an end. A time when wheelbarrows were filled with wood to bring inside and the garden plucked of its hidden treasures. A time when the slow, lazy days of summer were left behind, as each family prepared for the coming of the first snowflake to fall.
In the hills and in the valley, Autumn calls to me, like the voice of home.
Welcome back.
When it comes to shopping, I shouldn't be allowed in any store. Money runs like water through my hands and before I know it, it's whoops, I've spent more than I planned to spend.
Where, oh where was Nancy Reagan with her Just Say No spiel when I needed her the most?
Regrettably absent I'm afraid, which would explain why I came home tonight with the new bed ensemble that I've been drooling over, even though my current coverlet is less than 3 months old.
I just couldn't say NO!
Yes, yes, yes were the only words running through my mind as I handed over the cash to make my purchase. The lady behind the counter simply smiled at me, complimenting me on my expensive tastes.
"This is beautiful." she said, stroking the bag, "and such a good price."
I nodded eagerly, happy to have someone agree with me that two hundred dollars was convenient chump change to throw around when desperate decorator fashion was needed.
Oh, I am so sad ...
But I am so happy too. I think I'll go upstairs and make my bed.
Where, oh where was Nancy Reagan with her Just Say No spiel when I needed her the most?
Regrettably absent I'm afraid, which would explain why I came home tonight with the new bed ensemble that I've been drooling over, even though my current coverlet is less than 3 months old.
I just couldn't say NO!
Yes, yes, yes were the only words running through my mind as I handed over the cash to make my purchase. The lady behind the counter simply smiled at me, complimenting me on my expensive tastes.
"This is beautiful." she said, stroking the bag, "and such a good price."
I nodded eagerly, happy to have someone agree with me that two hundred dollars was convenient chump change to throw around when desperate decorator fashion was needed.
Oh, I am so sad ...
But I am so happy too. I think I'll go upstairs and make my bed.
You represent... hope.
You're quite a daydreamer and can be a hopeless
romantic. You enjoy being creative and don't
mind being alone at times. You have goals, and
know what you want in life... even if they are
a little far fetched.
What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla
OK ... Enough with the quiz thing, I know.
Useless Stacey fact:
Flute player since 4th grade.
Once sat second chair, first row during my "hs" career. Drum major of the marching band senior year. (Can we say nice ictus?)
Currently (extremely) out of practice. Flute now being used as decoration on table top.
And how you thought you had problems ...
Bad me didn't post yesterday. I wanted to, I meant to ... But when it came to turning the computer on, sitting down and thinking of some sort of relevant thought to blather on about, I just didn't have it in me.
Tonight is random cleaning night, so further posting will have to wait until later. For now, I am off to chase dust bunnies.
Tonight is random cleaning night, so further posting will have to wait until later. For now, I am off to chase dust bunnies.
I'm trying to write, but I'm thinking about everyone else. Trying to place my commas in the appropriate spots, trying to find the words that fit, trying to make sense when all I want to do is go to sleep.
I have to blog. I have to have an entry. I have to make you feel something. I don't care if you laugh or if you cry, as long as you feel something.
But I've got nothing. I keep backspacing myself, deleting myself, silencing words before they're even spoken.
Editing.
I'm not supposed to do that. I'm just supposed to write, to let the thoughts come to me one by one, or in a rush. But I can't let go, can't relax. I want this to be something special.
But it's not.
It's just a story of why I can't write anything profound. A way to blame the editor in my head for my lack of originality.
A way to post without having to think too hard.
"My thought are like waffles - the first few don't look too good." ~ Marilyn von Savant, in Parade (1992)
I have to blog. I have to have an entry. I have to make you feel something. I don't care if you laugh or if you cry, as long as you feel something.
But I've got nothing. I keep backspacing myself, deleting myself, silencing words before they're even spoken.
Editing.
I'm not supposed to do that. I'm just supposed to write, to let the thoughts come to me one by one, or in a rush. But I can't let go, can't relax. I want this to be something special.
But it's not.
It's just a story of why I can't write anything profound. A way to blame the editor in my head for my lack of originality.
A way to post without having to think too hard.
"My thought are like waffles - the first few don't look too good." ~ Marilyn von Savant, in Parade (1992)
How does it happen, that somehow, when you weren't looking, 25 turned to 29 and then WHAM, you're only a year shy of the big three oh my God I can't really be almost thirty!!!
Your thoughts start turning to marriage, commitment, children, mini-vans and 401K retirement plans. You start saving for your daughter's college tuition fund, investing your money into sure things that will grow slow and steady.
You stop taking chances.
Friends who have yet to reach the same maturity level as you, are considered irresponsible and immature. You find you don't call them anymore. There's nothing you have in common except the fact, that once, you were friends.
You think fondly back to the days when all you had to be was you.
When laser tag after dark seemed a good idea and twisting your ankle was the least of your concerns. When going to a party meant getting drunk off your ass and singing We Are the World at the top of your lungs in front of everyone at the bonfire or going for a swim in the creek because someone dared you to.
It was waking at the crack of dawn, to sneak out of the boy's dorm, so as not to advertise where or with whom you'd spent the night. Yet getting caught was inevitable. Shoes in hand and face beat red, trying to maintain some sort of dignity as you padded your way to the exit amid catcalls.
A rite of passage.
But it was with pride, that you walked the few steps back to your own dorm room, savoring the quiet taste of victory to yourself, as your roommates welcomed you back with sleepy high five's.
It was living in the moment, deciding whether or not you'd go to government class or stay home to watch an episode of Jeopardy with your friends.
It was movie nights with half the dorm packed like sardines inside your room and trying to remain silent when the quiet hours were in full effect. It was knowing the rules and every way around them to break them, never fearful of the consequences.
It was both good times and bad times, sad times and happy times, a time to live, a time to learn and a time to leave behind, as we journeyed onward towards a greater purpose.
To the girls of Penfield Hall, floor 1.
Brenda, Tracy, Robin, Carrie and me ...
Your thoughts start turning to marriage, commitment, children, mini-vans and 401K retirement plans. You start saving for your daughter's college tuition fund, investing your money into sure things that will grow slow and steady.
You stop taking chances.
Friends who have yet to reach the same maturity level as you, are considered irresponsible and immature. You find you don't call them anymore. There's nothing you have in common except the fact, that once, you were friends.
You think fondly back to the days when all you had to be was you.
When laser tag after dark seemed a good idea and twisting your ankle was the least of your concerns. When going to a party meant getting drunk off your ass and singing We Are the World at the top of your lungs in front of everyone at the bonfire or going for a swim in the creek because someone dared you to.
It was waking at the crack of dawn, to sneak out of the boy's dorm, so as not to advertise where or with whom you'd spent the night. Yet getting caught was inevitable. Shoes in hand and face beat red, trying to maintain some sort of dignity as you padded your way to the exit amid catcalls.
A rite of passage.
But it was with pride, that you walked the few steps back to your own dorm room, savoring the quiet taste of victory to yourself, as your roommates welcomed you back with sleepy high five's.
It was living in the moment, deciding whether or not you'd go to government class or stay home to watch an episode of Jeopardy with your friends.
It was movie nights with half the dorm packed like sardines inside your room and trying to remain silent when the quiet hours were in full effect. It was knowing the rules and every way around them to break them, never fearful of the consequences.
It was both good times and bad times, sad times and happy times, a time to live, a time to learn and a time to leave behind, as we journeyed onward towards a greater purpose.
To the girls of Penfield Hall, floor 1.
Brenda, Tracy, Robin, Carrie and me ...
To Blog or Not to Blog (As if that could be a question ...)
Everything I do lately revolves around my blog, it doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with. Everything I do, every event in my day, is now broken down into two categories.
Blogworthy and Blognot.
Some days, everything seems to be blogworthy. Stories fight to the finish to see which one, is most worthy to find itself posted on NWTLO. Other days, I am a girl without words, ashamed when nothing of interest pops out from the ordinary, to claim blogworthy status.
Breaking out into a cold sweat, I stare at my computer screen, praying to the muse of original thoughts to guide my hands over the keyboard.
Sometimes work becomes another obstacle, stealing away 8 hours, every day, that could be better spent out there, walking among the people, as an unobtrusive observer.
Cataloging the way a woman looks when her child is wreaking havoc in the grocery store, or how the little old men stoop over their coffees with their crisp Sunday hats, discussing the weather. Detailing the way a young boy looks racing across the playground, towards a squirrel scurrying up and into the safety of a tree. Or how the light of a streetlight reminds me of a warm embrace, standing there beneath its golden glow.
These are the things that are important to me. To the little girl who didn't go to sleep at night, too busy sneaking into the mystical realms of other worlds, with help from her flashlight and the sweet smell of words in print. The child who was quite convinced with each turning of the page that one day, no matter how far away, she was going to be a writer.
And so I am ...
Everything I do lately revolves around my blog, it doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with. Everything I do, every event in my day, is now broken down into two categories.
Blogworthy and Blognot.
Some days, everything seems to be blogworthy. Stories fight to the finish to see which one, is most worthy to find itself posted on NWTLO. Other days, I am a girl without words, ashamed when nothing of interest pops out from the ordinary, to claim blogworthy status.
Breaking out into a cold sweat, I stare at my computer screen, praying to the muse of original thoughts to guide my hands over the keyboard.
Sometimes work becomes another obstacle, stealing away 8 hours, every day, that could be better spent out there, walking among the people, as an unobtrusive observer.
Cataloging the way a woman looks when her child is wreaking havoc in the grocery store, or how the little old men stoop over their coffees with their crisp Sunday hats, discussing the weather. Detailing the way a young boy looks racing across the playground, towards a squirrel scurrying up and into the safety of a tree. Or how the light of a streetlight reminds me of a warm embrace, standing there beneath its golden glow.
These are the things that are important to me. To the little girl who didn't go to sleep at night, too busy sneaking into the mystical realms of other worlds, with help from her flashlight and the sweet smell of words in print. The child who was quite convinced with each turning of the page that one day, no matter how far away, she was going to be a writer.
And so I am ...
