I've spent the last 20 minutes trying to figure out what I was going to write about tonight, and I have come to one conclusion, I'm all storied out.
So it's blog break for me.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have something worthy of words. Until then, get on out of here, there's nothing to see.
I don't know why I'm awake and thinking, when I really should be heading upstairs for bed.
Instead, I'm sitting here staring at this screen, listening to a symphony playing into my ears, feeling in one way relaxed, and in another, totally tense.
I feel like a comet streaking across the heavens, illuminating the dark night sky, blazing into some unknown future. I feel like a thousand twinkling stars, held up by invisible threads, looking down at a world to whisper goodnight.
Such poetic thoughts. A sure sign I'm meant for bed.
Adieu, adieu, until the morning when we will meet again.
Instead, I'm sitting here staring at this screen, listening to a symphony playing into my ears, feeling in one way relaxed, and in another, totally tense.
I feel like a comet streaking across the heavens, illuminating the dark night sky, blazing into some unknown future. I feel like a thousand twinkling stars, held up by invisible threads, looking down at a world to whisper goodnight.
Such poetic thoughts. A sure sign I'm meant for bed.
Adieu, adieu, until the morning when we will meet again.
Talk about disappointing, according to an article taken right from the internet headlines this morning, thanks to my vertically challenged status, I'm working for peanuts.
[SNIP]
MIAMI (Reuters) - Tall people earn considerably more money throughout their lives than their shorter co-workers, with each inch adding about $789 a year in pay, according to a new study.
"Height matters for career success," said Timothy Judge, a University of Florida management professor whose research will appear in the spring issue of the Journal of Applied Psychology.
"These findings are troubling in that, with a few exceptions such as professional basketball, no one could argue that height is an essential ability required for job performance nor a bona fide occupational qualification.
[END SNIP]
It seems the speeches given by the tall and powerful people of the world, weren't just full of hot air after all. After reading this article, it's become apparently clear to see why they always stop to say "Thank you to all the little people who made this possible".
They've been stealing our money for years!
[SNIP]
MIAMI (Reuters) - Tall people earn considerably more money throughout their lives than their shorter co-workers, with each inch adding about $789 a year in pay, according to a new study.
"Height matters for career success," said Timothy Judge, a University of Florida management professor whose research will appear in the spring issue of the Journal of Applied Psychology.
"These findings are troubling in that, with a few exceptions such as professional basketball, no one could argue that height is an essential ability required for job performance nor a bona fide occupational qualification.
[END SNIP]
It seems the speeches given by the tall and powerful people of the world, weren't just full of hot air after all. After reading this article, it's become apparently clear to see why they always stop to say "Thank you to all the little people who made this possible".
They've been stealing our money for years!
i am running into a new year
and the old years blow back
like a wind
that i catch in my hair
like strong fingers like
all my old promises and
it will be hard to let go
of what i said to myself
about myself
when i was sixteen and
twentysix and thirtysix
even thirtysix but
i am running into a new year
and i beg what i love and
i leave to forgive me
~ Lucille Clifton
Somewhere on St. Vincent Street, there is a house that holds a memory of me.
I dream at night, she walks its halls, trailing her hand along the smooth wooden banister, pushing open the doors that lead into dusty rooms to stand in front of windows and stare outside, hands pressed against the glass as if she were waiting for me, waiting for a rescue that will never come.
Sometimes I dream I am standing outside her window, simply watching silently, as tears slip down her face like silken petals from a rose, after its bloom has begun to fade.
I raise my hand to touch the glass, feeling only the cold beneath my palm. She curves her mouth into a small wistful smile, and steps away.
"You can't change the past." her voice whispers from inside the house. And I know that she knows, that she can never leave. I know, that this house has become her home, the place where body and soul disconnected, leaving one part of the whole behind like a ghostly haunting.
And always in my dream, I just walk away, weaving a silent trail under the tender glow of streetlights towards home, wishing there was something more that I could do, while the word nothing echoes inside my mind.
Every year, I make a promise to bring her flowers. To lay them on the lawn in light of day, yellow roses to bring her the sunshine she cannot feel inside. But only once have I ever gone back again, slowing my car to stand before the house, holding my breath to see who or what might come from inside. Leaving before I can answer my own question. This is what I fear.
And I'm sorry, for the picture of a girl I've never forgotten, who didn't have a chance to become the woman she might have been. The girl who believed she was invincible. The girl who for just one moment in time, was caught in the camera's lens, smiling and posing for a picture. A picture she didn't know would be the last time she'd ever recognize her face.
And so I mark this 8th anniversary, not by flowers but with words, to set this spirit free to soar the night.
Reckless
with Pride,
I walked with confidence
city streets after dark.
Cutting short paths
behind empty buildings,
where even shadows never dared to linger long.
Houses lined up in neat little rows
on a silent street,
where shades were drawn down tight
and doors locked twice against intruders.
Feeling I had reached a place of safety,
no hesitation as I found myself knocking on the door
never noting the darkness of the house.
Admitted and drawn in,
urged to sit and be comfortable.
Placed like a trophy on a shelf,
catered to like a queen
as he urged me to drink
refilling my glass before even I knew it was empty.
Watching me from across the room, he sat silent
studying my movements,
perceiving me as a predator would his prey,
Waiting.
Smoke swirled thick around me,
Distorting the things I thought I knew.
I failed to recognize the deliberateness of his movements,
the web of control he spun about the room.
Ignoring the chills of warning shivering down my spine.
Shifting between sleep and awake,
as he manipulated me into his room,
pressing his body tight against mine
Holding me up against a wall, before
the back of his bed hit me cold.
Taken.
Lying there, silent and still, with no pride left to speak of.
~ Stacey
and the old years blow back
like a wind
that i catch in my hair
like strong fingers like
all my old promises and
it will be hard to let go
of what i said to myself
about myself
when i was sixteen and
twentysix and thirtysix
even thirtysix but
i am running into a new year
and i beg what i love and
i leave to forgive me
~ Lucille Clifton
Somewhere on St. Vincent Street, there is a house that holds a memory of me.
I dream at night, she walks its halls, trailing her hand along the smooth wooden banister, pushing open the doors that lead into dusty rooms to stand in front of windows and stare outside, hands pressed against the glass as if she were waiting for me, waiting for a rescue that will never come.
Sometimes I dream I am standing outside her window, simply watching silently, as tears slip down her face like silken petals from a rose, after its bloom has begun to fade.
I raise my hand to touch the glass, feeling only the cold beneath my palm. She curves her mouth into a small wistful smile, and steps away.
"You can't change the past." her voice whispers from inside the house. And I know that she knows, that she can never leave. I know, that this house has become her home, the place where body and soul disconnected, leaving one part of the whole behind like a ghostly haunting.
And always in my dream, I just walk away, weaving a silent trail under the tender glow of streetlights towards home, wishing there was something more that I could do, while the word nothing echoes inside my mind.
Every year, I make a promise to bring her flowers. To lay them on the lawn in light of day, yellow roses to bring her the sunshine she cannot feel inside. But only once have I ever gone back again, slowing my car to stand before the house, holding my breath to see who or what might come from inside. Leaving before I can answer my own question. This is what I fear.
And I'm sorry, for the picture of a girl I've never forgotten, who didn't have a chance to become the woman she might have been. The girl who believed she was invincible. The girl who for just one moment in time, was caught in the camera's lens, smiling and posing for a picture. A picture she didn't know would be the last time she'd ever recognize her face.
And so I mark this 8th anniversary, not by flowers but with words, to set this spirit free to soar the night.
Reckless
with Pride,
I walked with confidence
city streets after dark.
Cutting short paths
behind empty buildings,
where even shadows never dared to linger long.
Houses lined up in neat little rows
on a silent street,
where shades were drawn down tight
and doors locked twice against intruders.
Feeling I had reached a place of safety,
no hesitation as I found myself knocking on the door
never noting the darkness of the house.
Admitted and drawn in,
urged to sit and be comfortable.
Placed like a trophy on a shelf,
catered to like a queen
as he urged me to drink
refilling my glass before even I knew it was empty.
Watching me from across the room, he sat silent
studying my movements,
perceiving me as a predator would his prey,
Waiting.
Smoke swirled thick around me,
Distorting the things I thought I knew.
I failed to recognize the deliberateness of his movements,
the web of control he spun about the room.
Ignoring the chills of warning shivering down my spine.
Shifting between sleep and awake,
as he manipulated me into his room,
pressing his body tight against mine
Holding me up against a wall, before
the back of his bed hit me cold.
Taken.
Lying there, silent and still, with no pride left to speak of.
~ Stacey
Rain, rain go away ...
It's cold, it's wet and outside it's miserable. Throughout the night, listening to the rain tap against the window, I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind immersed in strange dreams featuring kittens, hospitals, and people I didn't even know.
I feel like I didn't sleep at all.
When my alarm went off at 5 this morning, I was already awake. Eyes open, I watched the numbers change one by one on the clock, but was adamant in my refusal to leave the warm, encloaking comfort of my cacoon. I closed my eyes, and waited, but sleep did not return.
So I'm awake, running late as usual, with only a small amount of time to get myself, and then KC up and ready to go. Which means this post must come to a close.
Happy Two for Tuesday. Have yourself a wonderful day.
It's cold, it's wet and outside it's miserable. Throughout the night, listening to the rain tap against the window, I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind immersed in strange dreams featuring kittens, hospitals, and people I didn't even know.
I feel like I didn't sleep at all.
When my alarm went off at 5 this morning, I was already awake. Eyes open, I watched the numbers change one by one on the clock, but was adamant in my refusal to leave the warm, encloaking comfort of my cacoon. I closed my eyes, and waited, but sleep did not return.
So I'm awake, running late as usual, with only a small amount of time to get myself, and then KC up and ready to go. Which means this post must come to a close.
Happy Two for Tuesday. Have yourself a wonderful day.
I feel like I've just been slimed.
KC and I, have spent the last hour carving the giant orange pumpkins, that are now sitting outside our door, casting eerie shadows into the night.
Despite a close call with the pumpkin safe knife when KC got a little overzealous with her cutting, I am happy to report that I have survived yet another year of mad cap carving.
This year, we didn't even bother with the intricate stencil designs, opting instead to free hand faces onto the pumpkins by using a magic marker.
Together we made big triangle eyes, ghoulish skeleton noses, and wide scary smiles, filled with long razor sharp teeth.
KC could hardly keep still in her excitement, eager to see the finished faces of our goblin gourd friends.
"Light the candle Mom!" she urged, hopping back and forth of one leg. "It's cold out here."
"I'm going ... I'm ... Dammit!" I dropped the candle.
"Mom ... You dropped it!" KC sighed in exasperation, looking at me with impatience and disgust.
"Thanks for the update, K." I said in a droll voice, as I raised my hand to examine it for scorch marks. "OK Stace. What do you say we try that again, this time without all the painful flame action."
I lit the candle, taking care to ease it down slowly into the center of the pumpkin, until it landed on the soft fleshly bottom with just the slightest kerplunk.
"OK. It's all you KC, put the lid on, and we're good to go."
We stepped back to admire our work.
"Oooooh Mom. They look scary don't they?" KC said with awe.
"Not to bad, my dear. Not to bad." I said, patting her shoulder, and pushing her towards the door. "Now it's inside with you, to clean up and get ready for bed."
"Ahhh Mom ... Do I have to? It's still early." she whined.
I smiled.
"Yes, you do."
KC and I, have spent the last hour carving the giant orange pumpkins, that are now sitting outside our door, casting eerie shadows into the night.
Despite a close call with the pumpkin safe knife when KC got a little overzealous with her cutting, I am happy to report that I have survived yet another year of mad cap carving.
This year, we didn't even bother with the intricate stencil designs, opting instead to free hand faces onto the pumpkins by using a magic marker.
Together we made big triangle eyes, ghoulish skeleton noses, and wide scary smiles, filled with long razor sharp teeth.
KC could hardly keep still in her excitement, eager to see the finished faces of our goblin gourd friends.
"Light the candle Mom!" she urged, hopping back and forth of one leg. "It's cold out here."
"I'm going ... I'm ... Dammit!" I dropped the candle.
"Mom ... You dropped it!" KC sighed in exasperation, looking at me with impatience and disgust.
"Thanks for the update, K." I said in a droll voice, as I raised my hand to examine it for scorch marks. "OK Stace. What do you say we try that again, this time without all the painful flame action."
I lit the candle, taking care to ease it down slowly into the center of the pumpkin, until it landed on the soft fleshly bottom with just the slightest kerplunk.
"OK. It's all you KC, put the lid on, and we're good to go."
We stepped back to admire our work.
"Oooooh Mom. They look scary don't they?" KC said with awe.
"Not to bad, my dear. Not to bad." I said, patting her shoulder, and pushing her towards the door. "Now it's inside with you, to clean up and get ready for bed."
"Ahhh Mom ... Do I have to? It's still early." she whined.
I smiled.
"Yes, you do."
Some people, like my sister Amy, tend to take things the wrong way when something is said, automatically assuming that the message they are receiving, is to back off and keep away from subjects that may be sensitive. When the only thing I really meant to say was, that if you leave a comment, don't hide what is was you wanted to say behind a clever pseudonym. If you're honest enough to say what you feel, you have to be honest enough to be yourself, even if it means finding out you're sister doesn't always appreciate your comments.
I'm in a mood tonight, and so far I think it's a good one.
As I write this, I'm listening to Tori Amos, Scarlets Walk, currently playing track 6, Crazy.
So I let crazy take a spin
and then I let crazy settle in
Kicked off my shoes
shut reason out
he said first let's just unzip your religion down
Heard that you were once temptations girl.
Last night was a fun time. Mike, Doug and I, went down for happy hour after work, and ended up staying for most of the evening.
It's amazing the way we always seem to attract all the yahoos over to our little corner. After playing a round of tunes on the jukebox, none much to the liking of the other patrons, since I had a hankering to hear 50 Cent, a good old boy came sauntering up to our table, complaining over the lack of country music.
Mike seemed to find him incredibly entertaining, mocking him ever so slightly, so as not to be noticeable, that I had to keep kicking him under the table, in the attempt to shut him up.
"What?" he said, turning towards me, an evil grin on his face.
"Knock it off," I hissed between clenched teeth. "before your buddy thinks he's made a new friend and comes to join us for the rest of the evening."
"Oh, he's harmless." Mike laughed. "Relax. Besides don't you see those girls over there? I feel bad for the poor bastard. Their only flirting with him to get free drinks, but by the end of the night, he'll be broke and still going home alone."
"Better him than us." I laughed. "Now go get me a drink."
I'm in a mood tonight, and so far I think it's a good one.
As I write this, I'm listening to Tori Amos, Scarlets Walk, currently playing track 6, Crazy.
So I let crazy take a spin
and then I let crazy settle in
Kicked off my shoes
shut reason out
he said first let's just unzip your religion down
Heard that you were once temptations girl.
Last night was a fun time. Mike, Doug and I, went down for happy hour after work, and ended up staying for most of the evening.
It's amazing the way we always seem to attract all the yahoos over to our little corner. After playing a round of tunes on the jukebox, none much to the liking of the other patrons, since I had a hankering to hear 50 Cent, a good old boy came sauntering up to our table, complaining over the lack of country music.
Mike seemed to find him incredibly entertaining, mocking him ever so slightly, so as not to be noticeable, that I had to keep kicking him under the table, in the attempt to shut him up.
"What?" he said, turning towards me, an evil grin on his face.
"Knock it off," I hissed between clenched teeth. "before your buddy thinks he's made a new friend and comes to join us for the rest of the evening."
"Oh, he's harmless." Mike laughed. "Relax. Besides don't you see those girls over there? I feel bad for the poor bastard. Their only flirting with him to get free drinks, but by the end of the night, he'll be broke and still going home alone."
"Better him than us." I laughed. "Now go get me a drink."
Darth Vadar didn't turn out to be Brenda, as "HP" was neither Hewlett Packard and/or Harry Potter. The culprit behind both really obnoxious pranks was none other than my sister Amy, who giggled hysterically on the phone when I called her bluff last night.
Anticipating another let me just burst your bubble reply from "HP", I spent yesterday morning thinking in-between calls of more names starting with those two letters, when suddenly it came to me.
HP ... High Priestess! Which was followed by a four letter word rhyming with duck ...
Shaking my head, I couldn't believe that the obvious wasn't at first obvious at all, although the negative undertones should have given my sister away.
Yes, Amy. I said negative.
Whether or not you want to admit it, you enjoy being the little black rain cloud hanging out over my parade, and while sometimes I find it mildly amusing, there are more times when I find it not.
But mocking me on my own blog is just plain rude and not very funny at all. This I think you know.
So give me a break, Miss Center Stage, and make your comments under your own recognizable name, where you can be held accountable for them. You may be my sister, and I may love you, but even love has its limits.
And just a word to the wise ... If I see any comments left by someone with the initials MCS on this blog, I'm going to toilet paper your house, front and back, both sides, up and down, on Halloween until your house looks like a giant wet cotton ball.
And I'm not just saying that.
Anticipating another let me just burst your bubble reply from "HP", I spent yesterday morning thinking in-between calls of more names starting with those two letters, when suddenly it came to me.
HP ... High Priestess! Which was followed by a four letter word rhyming with duck ...
Shaking my head, I couldn't believe that the obvious wasn't at first obvious at all, although the negative undertones should have given my sister away.
Yes, Amy. I said negative.
Whether or not you want to admit it, you enjoy being the little black rain cloud hanging out over my parade, and while sometimes I find it mildly amusing, there are more times when I find it not.
But mocking me on my own blog is just plain rude and not very funny at all. This I think you know.
So give me a break, Miss Center Stage, and make your comments under your own recognizable name, where you can be held accountable for them. You may be my sister, and I may love you, but even love has its limits.
And just a word to the wise ... If I see any comments left by someone with the initials MCS on this blog, I'm going to toilet paper your house, front and back, both sides, up and down, on Halloween until your house looks like a giant wet cotton ball.
And I'm not just saying that.
If I'm not sick, I soon will be.
I feel like hell this morning, and if it were possible I'd call into work and tell them I wouldn't be coming in, just so I could spend the day trying to sleep whatever this is off.
It's snowing outside, and according to the weatherguy, it's going to be snowing straight into tomorrow. This could be a good thing. Maybe if we get it out of the way now, by Halloween we'll get a one day reprieve, so the kids can trick or treat without having to wear their snowsuits.
My best friend left me a very off message on my machine last night. It started something like this, "Luke I am your father ..." But she sounded more blitzed than Darth Vadar-ish when she said that. Maybe I'll try her cell phone on my way to work this morning and see what's up.
But for now, I think I'll go try to rustle up some echanacea, as I am going out on the town tomorrow night, and there's no way I'm going to let a little cold interfere with my plans.
Happy Thursday!
I feel like hell this morning, and if it were possible I'd call into work and tell them I wouldn't be coming in, just so I could spend the day trying to sleep whatever this is off.
It's snowing outside, and according to the weatherguy, it's going to be snowing straight into tomorrow. This could be a good thing. Maybe if we get it out of the way now, by Halloween we'll get a one day reprieve, so the kids can trick or treat without having to wear their snowsuits.
My best friend left me a very off message on my machine last night. It started something like this, "Luke I am your father ..." But she sounded more blitzed than Darth Vadar-ish when she said that. Maybe I'll try her cell phone on my way to work this morning and see what's up.
But for now, I think I'll go try to rustle up some echanacea, as I am going out on the town tomorrow night, and there's no way I'm going to let a little cold interfere with my plans.
Happy Thursday!
I shouldn't be on here blogging tonight, when I know my Mom may be trying to call.
Actually, she called me earlier today on my cell phone, about 5 minutes into my trip home from work, to inquire if everything was ok, since my last few entries on NWTLO have been, for lack of a better word, depressing.
Had I not been driving, and needing to focus all my attention on the road, I might have broken down into tears, just by the sound of my mother's voice. Though I love my sisters dearly, there is no replacement for the comfort only a mother can give.
So I gave her the facts and spared no details, letting my anger and my hurt simmer along the airwaves to North Carolina, until I began to feel better. That was, until the connection snapped and I found myself talking to dead air, holding the phone out in front of me to try to figure what went wrong.
Figuring she'd call back, I threw my phone to the side, opting to re-adjust the volume level of the CD I had been listening to right before she called, Coldplay's Scientist.
My friend Mike, says that listening to that CD for an extended amount of time, is enough to make you want to throw yourself into a blender. But I disagree ... I don't think a blender would be able to do the job. (Oh bad joke, I know.)
But, thanks to my mother, and thanks to Coldplay, I gave my situation some thought, all the way home ... Deciding to write to Josh, one last time.
That email will not find its way here on NWTLO. Some things just aren't meant to be shared.
I will say that I am glad I wrote it, despite the fact that I wish it wouldn't have been necessary. I guess, it's always a little depressing whenever you have to shut a door and say goodbye, when you'd rather much say hello and ask them how they are.
Actually, she called me earlier today on my cell phone, about 5 minutes into my trip home from work, to inquire if everything was ok, since my last few entries on NWTLO have been, for lack of a better word, depressing.
Had I not been driving, and needing to focus all my attention on the road, I might have broken down into tears, just by the sound of my mother's voice. Though I love my sisters dearly, there is no replacement for the comfort only a mother can give.
So I gave her the facts and spared no details, letting my anger and my hurt simmer along the airwaves to North Carolina, until I began to feel better. That was, until the connection snapped and I found myself talking to dead air, holding the phone out in front of me to try to figure what went wrong.
Figuring she'd call back, I threw my phone to the side, opting to re-adjust the volume level of the CD I had been listening to right before she called, Coldplay's Scientist.
My friend Mike, says that listening to that CD for an extended amount of time, is enough to make you want to throw yourself into a blender. But I disagree ... I don't think a blender would be able to do the job. (Oh bad joke, I know.)
But, thanks to my mother, and thanks to Coldplay, I gave my situation some thought, all the way home ... Deciding to write to Josh, one last time.
That email will not find its way here on NWTLO. Some things just aren't meant to be shared.
I will say that I am glad I wrote it, despite the fact that I wish it wouldn't have been necessary. I guess, it's always a little depressing whenever you have to shut a door and say goodbye, when you'd rather much say hello and ask them how they are.
From a sound sleep to wide eyed awake, the storm outside rages on.
Since I was up, I thought I'd take advantage of the night, and check out the meteor showers. But, thunder and lightning are keeping me safely ensconced inside.
Oh well ... No sense in risking becoming a lightning rod.
So I'm up for a moment and back to bed, before my alarm can wake me up all over again.
Sweet Dreams all.
Since I was up, I thought I'd take advantage of the night, and check out the meteor showers. But, thunder and lightning are keeping me safely ensconced inside.
Oh well ... No sense in risking becoming a lightning rod.
So I'm up for a moment and back to bed, before my alarm can wake me up all over again.
Sweet Dreams all.
Just a quick post to say, that I am taking the night off from thinking, and/or writing.
I think after a day like today, I've more than earned it.
So until tomorrow my pretties, NWTLO is signing off, over and out.
Make a difference! Save A duck!
I think after a day like today, I've more than earned it.
So until tomorrow my pretties, NWTLO is signing off, over and out.
Make a difference! Save A duck!
I didn't trust, and I was right not to trust.
One would think that I would have learned my lesson by now, but in reality, I haven't.
I keep thinking that somewhere, someone or something is going to change. But nothing and no one ever does. In this, they are predictable.
But I won't break, despite how fragile I feel inside. And I won't be angry, even though everything inside me tells me I have a right to be.
I'll simply smile through tears, and remind myself that a risk worth taking, can have numerous outcomes. You can win, you can lose and you can leave, never knowing what you missed.
I am your everything minus one.
An almost all, that leaves you with nothing but a
vague association of feelings.
A jumble of emotions,
without name or cause or reason.
I am a jigsaw puzzle,
the piece that will not fit, and yet
my background is the same,
so easily could I blend into your picture.
But I am faded now from disappointment.
Turned away for lack of color.
Your words trip lightly over pale parchment
and I read between the lines,
to the things you do not say.
To a tomorrow forgotten,
and the words that once held your brightness,
dim now in comparison
to this dark text placed before me.
You who dreams to be everything minus nothing.
But from you,
I would not take away a single element of your being.
Nor pick apart your person, like a
vulture feasting on old bones.
Perfect in your non-perfection.
Real.
And that is you,
the you that held me enthralled and captivated
within moments of conversation,
connecting, never missing a step.
But how we falter now with lack of promise.
The hand of judgement hard upon the gavel,
we are dismissed,
thrown out like yesterdays news
quickly read.
I am old now,
ancient in my wisdom once again learned too late.
Left with reflections that
no longer ripple on your surface,
Washed away from your tide sinking back to sea,
polished smooth at the bottom of your ocean.
~ Stacey
One would think that I would have learned my lesson by now, but in reality, I haven't.
I keep thinking that somewhere, someone or something is going to change. But nothing and no one ever does. In this, they are predictable.
But I won't break, despite how fragile I feel inside. And I won't be angry, even though everything inside me tells me I have a right to be.
I'll simply smile through tears, and remind myself that a risk worth taking, can have numerous outcomes. You can win, you can lose and you can leave, never knowing what you missed.
I am your everything minus one.
An almost all, that leaves you with nothing but a
vague association of feelings.
A jumble of emotions,
without name or cause or reason.
I am a jigsaw puzzle,
the piece that will not fit, and yet
my background is the same,
so easily could I blend into your picture.
But I am faded now from disappointment.
Turned away for lack of color.
Your words trip lightly over pale parchment
and I read between the lines,
to the things you do not say.
To a tomorrow forgotten,
and the words that once held your brightness,
dim now in comparison
to this dark text placed before me.
You who dreams to be everything minus nothing.
But from you,
I would not take away a single element of your being.
Nor pick apart your person, like a
vulture feasting on old bones.
Perfect in your non-perfection.
Real.
And that is you,
the you that held me enthralled and captivated
within moments of conversation,
connecting, never missing a step.
But how we falter now with lack of promise.
The hand of judgement hard upon the gavel,
we are dismissed,
thrown out like yesterdays news
quickly read.
I am old now,
ancient in my wisdom once again learned too late.
Left with reflections that
no longer ripple on your surface,
Washed away from your tide sinking back to sea,
polished smooth at the bottom of your ocean.
~ Stacey
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that's amore ...
Or more accurately, a lawsuit.
I had that song in my head this morning, and now being very glad to have gotten rid of it, can go on with the morning post.
So last night was uneventful.
KC and I stayed in, after coming home from family dinner, watched a movie and then went to bed. I watched some cheesy flick about a Scottish hairdresser, competing to win, oh what was it again, something with a p, ah yes, platnum scissors, in a hair styling competition.
At first, I thought it was going to be really horrid, but to my amazement, it didn't suck as bad as I thought. I even laughed a few times, which made staying up late worth the yawning I am still going about doing. Of course, had I slept longer maybe I wouldn't be so tired.
In addition to that, I feel sick this morning. It's either because it's Sunday and tomorrow will be Monday, or I'm just not feeling good.
And I suppose I should admit that there is a slim chance, family dinner was rigger in order to set me up for food poisoning ... Doubtful, since no one seemed overly suspicious ... But still!
Mom is coming up for a visit in November when I take my vacation and I am very excited. Hopefully, the weather won't be too bad by that time, since she's driving up and we'll be able to do things near and far rather than be stuck at home.
I have to think of activities ...
Anyhoo, I think I'm going to go fix myself something hot and steaming to drink, and then go watch the sun rise.
Or more accurately, a lawsuit.
I had that song in my head this morning, and now being very glad to have gotten rid of it, can go on with the morning post.
So last night was uneventful.
KC and I stayed in, after coming home from family dinner, watched a movie and then went to bed. I watched some cheesy flick about a Scottish hairdresser, competing to win, oh what was it again, something with a p, ah yes, platnum scissors, in a hair styling competition.
At first, I thought it was going to be really horrid, but to my amazement, it didn't suck as bad as I thought. I even laughed a few times, which made staying up late worth the yawning I am still going about doing. Of course, had I slept longer maybe I wouldn't be so tired.
In addition to that, I feel sick this morning. It's either because it's Sunday and tomorrow will be Monday, or I'm just not feeling good.
And I suppose I should admit that there is a slim chance, family dinner was rigger in order to set me up for food poisoning ... Doubtful, since no one seemed overly suspicious ... But still!
Mom is coming up for a visit in November when I take my vacation and I am very excited. Hopefully, the weather won't be too bad by that time, since she's driving up and we'll be able to do things near and far rather than be stuck at home.
I have to think of activities ...
Anyhoo, I think I'm going to go fix myself something hot and steaming to drink, and then go watch the sun rise.
What I've learned today ...
1.
When maintaining a blog, keep it family free, as family members who read it, tend to focus more on the critical things you say, rather than the positive ones you've made.
2.
When in between a rock and hard place, do not make deals with your family. They will steal your money, leave you with nothing, and abuse you at the dinner table after having read your blog that you should have never given them the address to.
3.
Know when to leave. Know when to push back your chair, grab your child, and make for the door, before the angry mob can carry you away, and offer you up for sacrifice.
4.
Convince your sister that when you called her the "High Preistess" in a past blog, you were really paying her a compliment.
5.
And when all else fails, join the witness protection program. Change your name, color your hair, learn to speak another language and leave the country as fast as you can, all without never having looked back.
But what I've learned most today, other than the fact my sister is quite sure I now need therapy in the worst way, is to remember that other people sometimes see things differently.
What appears clear to you, is often very murky for some.
So in the case that you are offended in some small or maybe even some very big way by what you've read, remember that I still love you despite all the trials you've put me through in my relatively short life and know that I've addressed my therapist bill to you.
Thank you ... And goodnight.
1.
When maintaining a blog, keep it family free, as family members who read it, tend to focus more on the critical things you say, rather than the positive ones you've made.
2.
When in between a rock and hard place, do not make deals with your family. They will steal your money, leave you with nothing, and abuse you at the dinner table after having read your blog that you should have never given them the address to.
3.
Know when to leave. Know when to push back your chair, grab your child, and make for the door, before the angry mob can carry you away, and offer you up for sacrifice.
4.
Convince your sister that when you called her the "High Preistess" in a past blog, you were really paying her a compliment.
5.
And when all else fails, join the witness protection program. Change your name, color your hair, learn to speak another language and leave the country as fast as you can, all without never having looked back.
But what I've learned most today, other than the fact my sister is quite sure I now need therapy in the worst way, is to remember that other people sometimes see things differently.
What appears clear to you, is often very murky for some.
So in the case that you are offended in some small or maybe even some very big way by what you've read, remember that I still love you despite all the trials you've put me through in my relatively short life and know that I've addressed my therapist bill to you.
Thank you ... And goodnight.
Despite KC's best attempts to wake me before the sun had officially rose in the sky, I did manage to sleep in, until about 8:30 this morning.
A feat in my eyes, since it pratically never happens that way. Whether it's Emma (the cat) knocking my angel collection of its shelf, KC causing chaos and mayhem downstairs where she can't be seen or the blasted duck hunters shooting their bazooka guns in the backyard, somebody or something always gets in my way of getting a full 12 hours.
I almost feel rested.
So the docket is full today. Between running into town for banking and grocery shopping, to coming home and finishing the chores I meant to do, but didn't get to doing last night. And then, I just don't know.
This time of year, there is actually more to do around here. Every little town hosting its own little Octoberfest, decorating tiny trees with a multitude of tiny tea lights shining like beacons in the darkness, while crafters sell their wares on a closed off street corner.
And who could forget the beer tents.
Though I must admit, I'm not a beer drinking kind of girl. But one more apt to drink a sissy wine cooler followed by a shot of tequila every now and then.
But I'm not big on drinking, despite having had my fair share in college.
I'm not the kind of girl, who feels the need to tie one on, just to have a good time. Too often, the experiences I remember of hanging out with a bunch of drunks, aren't that of the harmless, comical kind.
I grew up in a bar.
Not because we owned it, or lived above it, but because my parents at one point in their lives had drinking problems, and back then, when you wanted to go out and have a beer, you brought your kids.
So Amy and I had our very own barstools, and we played Pac-Man and the bowling game to pass the time away. When we got tired, we'd often retreat to a little red booth in the corner, that had soft vinyl seats. Soft enough to close your eyes and fall asleep if you were tired enough.
We were Charlie and Nancy's girls, affectionately termed the rugrats by the regulars in the bar, and sometimes given free quarters to slip inside the juke box to play our favorite country songs.
We grew up on Willie Nelson's, On the Road Again, and Patsy Cline's, Stand By Your Man, and on the way home, jostling in the old pickup truck, Alabama's tunes would be cranking from the speakers.
And it was at home, when things really began to get ugly.
Drinking has a way of changing a person. When my stepfather was sober, he was the kindest of all men. Solid and firm, he was a hard worker, willing to help anyone in need of a hand. He liked to build things, spending hours away in a dusty old basement, until you could run your hand over a piece of fine crafted furniture, and never catch a snag.
He even built me my own log cabin. A fort that didn't need a tree, when it could stand all by itself on the ground. He taught me how to hunt and fish, though neither one appealed to me all that much, and he took us camping, where my love for the wilderness began to grow.
And he showed me how to ride a bike. The kind you really ride, without the peddles. And when I accidentally steered myself into a tree, he picked me up, dusted me off and told me to try again.
He helped me bury my beloved animals. Waking in the morning to find a splattering or red over winter white snow, evidence that the dobermans from next door had broken free of their pens to decimate my small flock of ducks. He cleared the bodies away, so that it only seemed as if someone had decorated the snow with food coloring, with little splotches of pink around the yard.
And the morning when Butterscotch, my jersey calf, had died, his words were comfort, reassuring me that it wasn't from lack of care that she was gone. "Sometimes these things happen Stacey." he said. "That's the way life goes."
We buried her out in the field, in a shady path of trees and when he left me there, alone to say my goodbyes, I covered her grave with the wildflowers I had collected, yellow buttercups far outnumbering any other flower in my bouquet.
But moments like these, get lost when there's a drink in your hands, and when he had a drink in his hand, he was a person we didn't know, and to be truthful, one we didn't want to know.
Too many nights, the sound of screaming destroyed the tranquility of the darkness. It was loud, it was mean, and to a child, it was scary.
I was scared to sleep in my bed alone, monsters had a way of coming out of my closets and shadows on the walls were sent to torment me. Fearful of the darkness, I'd scamper to my sister's room, quietly opening the door, with favorite blanket in hand, making the climb it took to join her in her bed.
Sometimes she'd already be awake, and knew to expect me. Other times, she'd just move over in her sleep, to simply make room for the additional body in her bed.
But as the drinking increased, the nights grew worse, and soon even putting a pillow over your head, wasn't enough to drown them out.
Sometimes the fights were about us girls, Chick always telling my Mother how much she babied us, and how when it came time for dinner, despite how many tears would fall from our eyes, he'd make sure we'd sit there until everything on our plates was gone.
There were nights I sat there for hours, crying over a heaping dinner plate filled with venison, and brussel sprouts, my feet too short to touch the floor, with the fire from the wood stove burning my back, it was so hot.
I hated sitting in that kitchen. I hated those chairs, with their straight backs and their hard seats. Hated everything about being in that kitchen, until I even began to hate the man who made me sit in there.
They say that in your life, you become the sum of everything you remember. I've always subscribed to the belief, that one moment in your life doesn't have to be the entire definition of who you are, but rather an event that has the power to shape your life, in the person that you become. My childhood was full of these moment, extreme happiness followed by extreme sorrow, and the icy cold fingers of fear.
When I think back, key moments come back to haunt me.
I remember one night, standing in the shadows, behind a half closed door watching as my mother writhed on the floor in pain, crying for my stepfather to take her to the hospital. And I remember him refusing at first, telling her to toughen up because it was nothing, as he walked away leaving her on the floor, until her cries were something that even he could not ignore.
And I remember waiting at home, all alone in my bed, waiting for word of my Mother, thinking that she was going to die. With no one there to comfort me and tell me everything would be ok, my fears seemed justified.
Thinking back, I find it funny that I don't remember whether or not anyone ever came home to tell me that she was fine, though lucky to have survived having her gallbladder removed after it had ruptured. All I remember is being alone.
But it's the image of a child, brown hair blowing in the wind, standing outside barefoot in September, with a rifle pressed against her shoulder, that has burned itself into my memory.
One small girl standing, the ribbons on her nightgown whipping with fury against the wind as everything else stood still, holding her ground, chin raised in stubborn determination.
Drunk again, the fun and games had long been over, leaving in its wake a temper that could not be deterred despite the lateness of the hour.
When the screaming began, I was already in Amy's bed, needing the comfort that only a big sister can provide. Together we waited for the night to settle down, holding our breaths as dishes went flying across the room, and sounds of a scuffle ensued outside in the hall.
I remember a door banging loudly, and then another. A sure sign the arguement had found its way outside.
Amy and I peeked out the window. In the moonlight, we could see the shadows of our parents, whispering across the driveway, weaving in and about the cars.
But tonight, something was different. Some unseen evil feeding from the terror in our home, had made this fight a dangerous one, and we were scared.
I remembered thinking that this time, he was going to kill her.
I begged my sister to do something, watched as she in her matching night gown, pulled back from the curtains and jumped down from her bed, landing on the floor with a light thud.
"Go get Jimmy." I whispered.
To a child, getting an adult from next door seemed like a wise idea to stop the fight, and like lightning, Amy was gone,braving the darkness and the spread of lawn that separated our two houses to find someone who could help.
But I couldn't sit there quietly, it was my job to protect my Mother, and I did the one thing I knew better than to do ...
I retrieved the BB gun from the forbidden closet, and I slipped outside, where under the light of the moon, I saw my mother down on her knees, my stepfather twisting her arm behind her back, and I was enraged.
I could feel it burning a hole into me, raw anger bubbling up from a source I never knew I had locked deep inside, until I shattered from its intensity.
I raised the gun.
One small move, and the safety was off, I was a good enough shot that had I wanted to, I would not have missed. But I stood there, still and silent like a tiger creeping up from behind, readying itself to pounce.
"Let go of my Mother." my small voice quivered, my arms locked on keeping the rifle in its place as I waited.
They both looked up at me, and for just one moment, clarity seemed to come alive in their eyes. Maybe the sight of their youngest child, aiming a rifle at their head, was enough to sober them up, though it was doubtful.
In the distance, I could hear running, the sound of footfalls rustling against the grass and the leaves that had fallen down to make their winter home. Voices called out into the night.
I held my ground, one small soldier against an army of demons.
"Let my Mother go." I said again, my voice issuing a clear warning. I sighted the weapon, aimed it directly at the center of his forehead and waited again.
My Mother looked up at me with imploring eyes that quickly turned to anger.
"Put it down Stacey!" she yelled. "Put the gun down!"
But I couldn't, and in this, I did not listen. I didn't trust my Mother enough to know that what I was doing, was meant to help her, was meant to keep him from hurting her any further. It didn't matter to me, how angry she got at me, just as long as she was safe. I chose to ignore her.
I never fired that weapon. Amy and Jimmy appearing from the darkness, with a voice of reason that our two parents could not deny.
Somehow we all managed to get back inside, back into the house where tempers calmed and sleep gently lulled the last little bit of anger to nothing, leaving it to die like an ember seperated from its flame, until its bright shiny center turned red with cold.
All these years, and I don't remember much more of how it ended, though a fair guess would say that I was duly punished for having raised a weapon against my parents.
Still the memory is mine to own and claim, a testament to a time better left, but unable to be forgotten, like the feel of cold pavement beneath your feet.
A feat in my eyes, since it pratically never happens that way. Whether it's Emma (the cat) knocking my angel collection of its shelf, KC causing chaos and mayhem downstairs where she can't be seen or the blasted duck hunters shooting their bazooka guns in the backyard, somebody or something always gets in my way of getting a full 12 hours.
I almost feel rested.
So the docket is full today. Between running into town for banking and grocery shopping, to coming home and finishing the chores I meant to do, but didn't get to doing last night. And then, I just don't know.
This time of year, there is actually more to do around here. Every little town hosting its own little Octoberfest, decorating tiny trees with a multitude of tiny tea lights shining like beacons in the darkness, while crafters sell their wares on a closed off street corner.
And who could forget the beer tents.
Though I must admit, I'm not a beer drinking kind of girl. But one more apt to drink a sissy wine cooler followed by a shot of tequila every now and then.
But I'm not big on drinking, despite having had my fair share in college.
I'm not the kind of girl, who feels the need to tie one on, just to have a good time. Too often, the experiences I remember of hanging out with a bunch of drunks, aren't that of the harmless, comical kind.
I grew up in a bar.
Not because we owned it, or lived above it, but because my parents at one point in their lives had drinking problems, and back then, when you wanted to go out and have a beer, you brought your kids.
So Amy and I had our very own barstools, and we played Pac-Man and the bowling game to pass the time away. When we got tired, we'd often retreat to a little red booth in the corner, that had soft vinyl seats. Soft enough to close your eyes and fall asleep if you were tired enough.
We were Charlie and Nancy's girls, affectionately termed the rugrats by the regulars in the bar, and sometimes given free quarters to slip inside the juke box to play our favorite country songs.
We grew up on Willie Nelson's, On the Road Again, and Patsy Cline's, Stand By Your Man, and on the way home, jostling in the old pickup truck, Alabama's tunes would be cranking from the speakers.
And it was at home, when things really began to get ugly.
Drinking has a way of changing a person. When my stepfather was sober, he was the kindest of all men. Solid and firm, he was a hard worker, willing to help anyone in need of a hand. He liked to build things, spending hours away in a dusty old basement, until you could run your hand over a piece of fine crafted furniture, and never catch a snag.
He even built me my own log cabin. A fort that didn't need a tree, when it could stand all by itself on the ground. He taught me how to hunt and fish, though neither one appealed to me all that much, and he took us camping, where my love for the wilderness began to grow.
And he showed me how to ride a bike. The kind you really ride, without the peddles. And when I accidentally steered myself into a tree, he picked me up, dusted me off and told me to try again.
He helped me bury my beloved animals. Waking in the morning to find a splattering or red over winter white snow, evidence that the dobermans from next door had broken free of their pens to decimate my small flock of ducks. He cleared the bodies away, so that it only seemed as if someone had decorated the snow with food coloring, with little splotches of pink around the yard.
And the morning when Butterscotch, my jersey calf, had died, his words were comfort, reassuring me that it wasn't from lack of care that she was gone. "Sometimes these things happen Stacey." he said. "That's the way life goes."
We buried her out in the field, in a shady path of trees and when he left me there, alone to say my goodbyes, I covered her grave with the wildflowers I had collected, yellow buttercups far outnumbering any other flower in my bouquet.
But moments like these, get lost when there's a drink in your hands, and when he had a drink in his hand, he was a person we didn't know, and to be truthful, one we didn't want to know.
Too many nights, the sound of screaming destroyed the tranquility of the darkness. It was loud, it was mean, and to a child, it was scary.
I was scared to sleep in my bed alone, monsters had a way of coming out of my closets and shadows on the walls were sent to torment me. Fearful of the darkness, I'd scamper to my sister's room, quietly opening the door, with favorite blanket in hand, making the climb it took to join her in her bed.
Sometimes she'd already be awake, and knew to expect me. Other times, she'd just move over in her sleep, to simply make room for the additional body in her bed.
But as the drinking increased, the nights grew worse, and soon even putting a pillow over your head, wasn't enough to drown them out.
Sometimes the fights were about us girls, Chick always telling my Mother how much she babied us, and how when it came time for dinner, despite how many tears would fall from our eyes, he'd make sure we'd sit there until everything on our plates was gone.
There were nights I sat there for hours, crying over a heaping dinner plate filled with venison, and brussel sprouts, my feet too short to touch the floor, with the fire from the wood stove burning my back, it was so hot.
I hated sitting in that kitchen. I hated those chairs, with their straight backs and their hard seats. Hated everything about being in that kitchen, until I even began to hate the man who made me sit in there.
They say that in your life, you become the sum of everything you remember. I've always subscribed to the belief, that one moment in your life doesn't have to be the entire definition of who you are, but rather an event that has the power to shape your life, in the person that you become. My childhood was full of these moment, extreme happiness followed by extreme sorrow, and the icy cold fingers of fear.
When I think back, key moments come back to haunt me.
I remember one night, standing in the shadows, behind a half closed door watching as my mother writhed on the floor in pain, crying for my stepfather to take her to the hospital. And I remember him refusing at first, telling her to toughen up because it was nothing, as he walked away leaving her on the floor, until her cries were something that even he could not ignore.
And I remember waiting at home, all alone in my bed, waiting for word of my Mother, thinking that she was going to die. With no one there to comfort me and tell me everything would be ok, my fears seemed justified.
Thinking back, I find it funny that I don't remember whether or not anyone ever came home to tell me that she was fine, though lucky to have survived having her gallbladder removed after it had ruptured. All I remember is being alone.
But it's the image of a child, brown hair blowing in the wind, standing outside barefoot in September, with a rifle pressed against her shoulder, that has burned itself into my memory.
One small girl standing, the ribbons on her nightgown whipping with fury against the wind as everything else stood still, holding her ground, chin raised in stubborn determination.
Drunk again, the fun and games had long been over, leaving in its wake a temper that could not be deterred despite the lateness of the hour.
When the screaming began, I was already in Amy's bed, needing the comfort that only a big sister can provide. Together we waited for the night to settle down, holding our breaths as dishes went flying across the room, and sounds of a scuffle ensued outside in the hall.
I remember a door banging loudly, and then another. A sure sign the arguement had found its way outside.
Amy and I peeked out the window. In the moonlight, we could see the shadows of our parents, whispering across the driveway, weaving in and about the cars.
But tonight, something was different. Some unseen evil feeding from the terror in our home, had made this fight a dangerous one, and we were scared.
I remembered thinking that this time, he was going to kill her.
I begged my sister to do something, watched as she in her matching night gown, pulled back from the curtains and jumped down from her bed, landing on the floor with a light thud.
"Go get Jimmy." I whispered.
To a child, getting an adult from next door seemed like a wise idea to stop the fight, and like lightning, Amy was gone,braving the darkness and the spread of lawn that separated our two houses to find someone who could help.
But I couldn't sit there quietly, it was my job to protect my Mother, and I did the one thing I knew better than to do ...
I retrieved the BB gun from the forbidden closet, and I slipped outside, where under the light of the moon, I saw my mother down on her knees, my stepfather twisting her arm behind her back, and I was enraged.
I could feel it burning a hole into me, raw anger bubbling up from a source I never knew I had locked deep inside, until I shattered from its intensity.
I raised the gun.
One small move, and the safety was off, I was a good enough shot that had I wanted to, I would not have missed. But I stood there, still and silent like a tiger creeping up from behind, readying itself to pounce.
"Let go of my Mother." my small voice quivered, my arms locked on keeping the rifle in its place as I waited.
They both looked up at me, and for just one moment, clarity seemed to come alive in their eyes. Maybe the sight of their youngest child, aiming a rifle at their head, was enough to sober them up, though it was doubtful.
In the distance, I could hear running, the sound of footfalls rustling against the grass and the leaves that had fallen down to make their winter home. Voices called out into the night.
I held my ground, one small soldier against an army of demons.
"Let my Mother go." I said again, my voice issuing a clear warning. I sighted the weapon, aimed it directly at the center of his forehead and waited again.
My Mother looked up at me with imploring eyes that quickly turned to anger.
"Put it down Stacey!" she yelled. "Put the gun down!"
But I couldn't, and in this, I did not listen. I didn't trust my Mother enough to know that what I was doing, was meant to help her, was meant to keep him from hurting her any further. It didn't matter to me, how angry she got at me, just as long as she was safe. I chose to ignore her.
I never fired that weapon. Amy and Jimmy appearing from the darkness, with a voice of reason that our two parents could not deny.
Somehow we all managed to get back inside, back into the house where tempers calmed and sleep gently lulled the last little bit of anger to nothing, leaving it to die like an ember seperated from its flame, until its bright shiny center turned red with cold.
All these years, and I don't remember much more of how it ended, though a fair guess would say that I was duly punished for having raised a weapon against my parents.
Still the memory is mine to own and claim, a testament to a time better left, but unable to be forgotten, like the feel of cold pavement beneath your feet.
A breath, a sigh, a sound of relief.
An answer to my message, floating back to me in the same bottle it was sent.
I couldn't sleep last night, in and out of dreams floating like an ethereal being, a ghost, a shadow pressing tight against the wall.
I tossed and turned.
But this morning, maybe is an answer, as no response would have been a no. Am I safe to think a little spark of hope has been ignited? Am I reading too much in words I've read?
So I'm slowing down, taking a moment to draw one deep breath into my lungs, slowing yes, but stopping no.
Like Robert Frost, I have come to these yellow woods ...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both.
And be one traveler, long I stood,
And looked down one as far as I could,
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim.
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I, I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.
An answer to my message, floating back to me in the same bottle it was sent.
I couldn't sleep last night, in and out of dreams floating like an ethereal being, a ghost, a shadow pressing tight against the wall.
I tossed and turned.
But this morning, maybe is an answer, as no response would have been a no. Am I safe to think a little spark of hope has been ignited? Am I reading too much in words I've read?
So I'm slowing down, taking a moment to draw one deep breath into my lungs, slowing yes, but stopping no.
Like Robert Frost, I have come to these yellow woods ...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both.
And be one traveler, long I stood,
And looked down one as far as I could,
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim.
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I, I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.
Last night, before heading upstairs to bed, I decided to go outside and check on my adopted cat.
Having gotten home late, I wasn't around at the usual time when I normally set out his supper, a time when I try to assure him that while his owner isn't exactly the pet friendliest man I have ever met, that people in general are good.
But he wasn't around last night, despite the fact that his warm little cat house stood empty and I dished him out a heaping bowl of fresh food and clear water.
Outside, October winds were blowing, rustling the leaves down from their trees, shaking the branches with a mighty force. Raising my face to the sky, I stood against the wind, listening to the fading cries of geese overhead, and a trains whistle announcing its arrival, as it carried over the darkened fields.
I used to like October, I thought, and cautiously admitted to myself that somewhere deep down inside, I guess I still do. But October is like all things, it passes with time.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a slight movement caught my eye. Nestled in the lattice work that surrounds my porch, was a little grey field mouse, pink nose, big ears, and the longest whiskers I have ever seen on something so small.
She held herself still, trying not to be noticed. Her fear evident in the fact, that she did not flee. We've much in common, I thought to myself, moving slowly towards her, reaching out my hand, except I won't hurt you.
And so she let me pet her, if only for a moment, before she quickly scurried away back into the night, returning to where it was from whence she came.
Having gotten home late, I wasn't around at the usual time when I normally set out his supper, a time when I try to assure him that while his owner isn't exactly the pet friendliest man I have ever met, that people in general are good.
But he wasn't around last night, despite the fact that his warm little cat house stood empty and I dished him out a heaping bowl of fresh food and clear water.
Outside, October winds were blowing, rustling the leaves down from their trees, shaking the branches with a mighty force. Raising my face to the sky, I stood against the wind, listening to the fading cries of geese overhead, and a trains whistle announcing its arrival, as it carried over the darkened fields.
I used to like October, I thought, and cautiously admitted to myself that somewhere deep down inside, I guess I still do. But October is like all things, it passes with time.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a slight movement caught my eye. Nestled in the lattice work that surrounds my porch, was a little grey field mouse, pink nose, big ears, and the longest whiskers I have ever seen on something so small.
She held herself still, trying not to be noticed. Her fear evident in the fact, that she did not flee. We've much in common, I thought to myself, moving slowly towards her, reaching out my hand, except I won't hurt you.
And so she let me pet her, if only for a moment, before she quickly scurried away back into the night, returning to where it was from whence she came.
I'm not going to talk about work, other than to say it was another long day on the phones, trying to figure out where everybody's order were, and how it was that things have gone from being under control, to out of control.
But they don't like to take me seriously out in the plant. They seem to think I get my knickers in a twist for absolutely no reason, when in reality, all I'm trying to do is service the customer in the best way I know how, which means when he's missing an order he should have gotten two weeks ago, I'm going to make sure he gets it the next day, no matter who has a problem with that.
So it was, that I went from one person to the next, trying to make amends, only to be turned away, again and again and told to talk to someone else to get the answer I needed to hear. The guys in the plant, are under the impression that if ignored long enough, I will simply just go away.
Which only goes to show, how much they don't really know me at all.
I'm like a little bulldog, with very sharp teeth. Tenacious, and willing to wait anyone out. Back in high school, I was the girl elected least likely to be ignored, a title which has proven true right to this very day.
So I dumped the smile, and threw a little attitude and got done exactly what I set out to do, despite the fact, that one of the guys told me, I am far too "sensitive", when it comes to taking things personally on the job.
He might just as well have told me I was a bitch, because anyone worth their salt, could have read that little comment he meant to slip between the lines.
Oh well ... This wasn't supposed to be a post about work. Lord knows, I have enough of that place in the day, I certainly don't want to bring it home with me at night.
But they don't like to take me seriously out in the plant. They seem to think I get my knickers in a twist for absolutely no reason, when in reality, all I'm trying to do is service the customer in the best way I know how, which means when he's missing an order he should have gotten two weeks ago, I'm going to make sure he gets it the next day, no matter who has a problem with that.
So it was, that I went from one person to the next, trying to make amends, only to be turned away, again and again and told to talk to someone else to get the answer I needed to hear. The guys in the plant, are under the impression that if ignored long enough, I will simply just go away.
Which only goes to show, how much they don't really know me at all.
I'm like a little bulldog, with very sharp teeth. Tenacious, and willing to wait anyone out. Back in high school, I was the girl elected least likely to be ignored, a title which has proven true right to this very day.
So I dumped the smile, and threw a little attitude and got done exactly what I set out to do, despite the fact, that one of the guys told me, I am far too "sensitive", when it comes to taking things personally on the job.
He might just as well have told me I was a bitch, because anyone worth their salt, could have read that little comment he meant to slip between the lines.
Oh well ... This wasn't supposed to be a post about work. Lord knows, I have enough of that place in the day, I certainly don't want to bring it home with me at night.
And so another day begins ...
I sit here watching the morning news, listening as the local weatherman tells us that we can expect snow showers sometime before this week is over.
Do I really need to say, that I am completely disgusted?
We've had some really nice days lately, and everyone around here was hoping they'd last through the end of October, just because it's a pain in the ass, to take the kids trick or treating when you're trudging through 3 feet of snow.
Another night of bad dreams. But, for a change, none of them lingered around long enough this morning to be remembered, although they did wake me up around 4, just to make sure they got to interrupt my sleep. Cheeky bastards!
Emma is giving me a dirty look.
Evidently she's on to me, and my plans to give her a bath later on this week. You'd think she'd be grateful that I keep her smelling fresh and clean, but a cat's opinion on soap and water is never good. But I'm the boss, so a bath she'll get, though I am sure I'll be rewarded for my services with long scratches of protest.
Before I head out the door this morning, (trumpet fanfare) I think a Top Five List of Things You Never Wanted To Know About Stacey is in order ...
5. Stacey really hopes the "DO NOT CALL" list goes into effect soon, as Stacey had a very hard time saying no and feels bad when hanging up on telemarketers.
4. Stacey, when complaining, constantly (though I don't constantly complain) threatens to write her congressman when things go wrong, even if the problem has nothing to do with any government issue.
3. Stacey won the company 50/50 raffle last week, and gave all the money back to help out a fellow employee, who is in the hospital with cancer. Stacey asked for that information to be kept private, but they still announced it to everybody. Stacey's sister and father thought it was a very stupid move ... Stacey thought it was the right thing to do.
2. Stacey likes to go outside on the back porch in the morning and soak up the silence of the day, before things start to get hectic, so she can have a moment to reflect and think. Stacey does not appreciate morning hunters interrupting her reverie with rifle shots.
1. Stacey is now a published photographer in a local paper, even though she got absolutely no credit for taking the shot. (Another chance for fame and glory, down the drain ...)
And now, hi ho, it's off to work I go.
I sit here watching the morning news, listening as the local weatherman tells us that we can expect snow showers sometime before this week is over.
Do I really need to say, that I am completely disgusted?
We've had some really nice days lately, and everyone around here was hoping they'd last through the end of October, just because it's a pain in the ass, to take the kids trick or treating when you're trudging through 3 feet of snow.
Another night of bad dreams. But, for a change, none of them lingered around long enough this morning to be remembered, although they did wake me up around 4, just to make sure they got to interrupt my sleep. Cheeky bastards!
Emma is giving me a dirty look.
Evidently she's on to me, and my plans to give her a bath later on this week. You'd think she'd be grateful that I keep her smelling fresh and clean, but a cat's opinion on soap and water is never good. But I'm the boss, so a bath she'll get, though I am sure I'll be rewarded for my services with long scratches of protest.
Before I head out the door this morning, (trumpet fanfare) I think a Top Five List of Things You Never Wanted To Know About Stacey is in order ...
5. Stacey really hopes the "DO NOT CALL" list goes into effect soon, as Stacey had a very hard time saying no and feels bad when hanging up on telemarketers.
4. Stacey, when complaining, constantly (though I don't constantly complain) threatens to write her congressman when things go wrong, even if the problem has nothing to do with any government issue.
3. Stacey won the company 50/50 raffle last week, and gave all the money back to help out a fellow employee, who is in the hospital with cancer. Stacey asked for that information to be kept private, but they still announced it to everybody. Stacey's sister and father thought it was a very stupid move ... Stacey thought it was the right thing to do.
2. Stacey likes to go outside on the back porch in the morning and soak up the silence of the day, before things start to get hectic, so she can have a moment to reflect and think. Stacey does not appreciate morning hunters interrupting her reverie with rifle shots.
1. Stacey is now a published photographer in a local paper, even though she got absolutely no credit for taking the shot. (Another chance for fame and glory, down the drain ...)
And now, hi ho, it's off to work I go.
One moment shouldn't be able to bring you down.
But after a long day at work, the last thing I wanted to come home to, was a lecture from my ex, on what was, and wasn't appropriate for KC to have drawn in school.
Like a deer in the headlights, I tried to imagine what it was that she could have drawn that would get her Father all up in a twist, but it was to no avail.
His answer wasn't what I expected.
According to the assignment they were given in class, the children were instructed to draw a picture of their family. KC's picture consisted of herself, her father, her cousin Jordan, and me.
And because of this, my ex has determined that I am still evidently pining away for him, even though it's been more than 7 years.
My jaw dropped.
How does one take such a ridiculous statement seriously, when the other person really believes that what they are saying is true?
So I told him, nicely of course, to get serious and kept the part about him needing to get over himself to myself. Trust me, being single is a much better alternative then having to be with him.
But he wasn't quite done yet ... (His conscious finally deciding to make a showing, 7 years after the fact.)
He had the audacity, to tell me that he'd understand if I still felt bitter towards his current wife (who at the time we were together was the "Other Woman") ...
I resisted the urge to tell him, "Gee thanks for your permision." But the shock had made me speechless, and unable to tell him that instead of bitterness there was just a contented feeling of nothing at all.
So now I am left wondering, what it is about me, that gives off the impression that I am not over what had to have beem the worst relationship of my entire life.
It makes no sense ... and another thing that makes no sense, is my sister.
Amy has just spent the past 15 minutes, IMing me to death, to share with me her opinion on why I should listen to what she has to say.
First she bitches at me because I never take a chance and now that I've finally took her advice, she thinkgs I'm making a big mistake.
But, I'm tired of being the girl that always plays it safe, waiting for everyone else to make their move, before even beginning to plan mine.
I don't want to wait anymore.
Life is about taking chances, taking risks. It's about saying this is me, this is who I am and you can either take it or leave it, just as long as you've acknowledged that I'm here.
Only fools live their lives, wondering about the what might have beens ...
But after a long day at work, the last thing I wanted to come home to, was a lecture from my ex, on what was, and wasn't appropriate for KC to have drawn in school.
Like a deer in the headlights, I tried to imagine what it was that she could have drawn that would get her Father all up in a twist, but it was to no avail.
His answer wasn't what I expected.
According to the assignment they were given in class, the children were instructed to draw a picture of their family. KC's picture consisted of herself, her father, her cousin Jordan, and me.
And because of this, my ex has determined that I am still evidently pining away for him, even though it's been more than 7 years.
My jaw dropped.
How does one take such a ridiculous statement seriously, when the other person really believes that what they are saying is true?
So I told him, nicely of course, to get serious and kept the part about him needing to get over himself to myself. Trust me, being single is a much better alternative then having to be with him.
But he wasn't quite done yet ... (His conscious finally deciding to make a showing, 7 years after the fact.)
He had the audacity, to tell me that he'd understand if I still felt bitter towards his current wife (who at the time we were together was the "Other Woman") ...
I resisted the urge to tell him, "Gee thanks for your permision." But the shock had made me speechless, and unable to tell him that instead of bitterness there was just a contented feeling of nothing at all.
So now I am left wondering, what it is about me, that gives off the impression that I am not over what had to have beem the worst relationship of my entire life.
It makes no sense ... and another thing that makes no sense, is my sister.
Amy has just spent the past 15 minutes, IMing me to death, to share with me her opinion on why I should listen to what she has to say.
First she bitches at me because I never take a chance and now that I've finally took her advice, she thinkgs I'm making a big mistake.
But, I'm tired of being the girl that always plays it safe, waiting for everyone else to make their move, before even beginning to plan mine.
I don't want to wait anymore.
Life is about taking chances, taking risks. It's about saying this is me, this is who I am and you can either take it or leave it, just as long as you've acknowledged that I'm here.
Only fools live their lives, wondering about the what might have beens ...
Happy I accidentally found America day! And what an exciting day it has already started out to be.
For starters, I woke up late. This despite the fact that I did go to bed early last night and made sure to set my alarm for a decent, if still not somewhat early time to wake.
I blame my neighbors.
For the past three nights, I have had to suffer through their preparations to move into a new home. And here I thought packing boxes didn't require taking a sledgehammer to the walls ...
Tired and cranky, I really considered going over and begging on my knees for them to respect some sort of quiet time after a certain hour, but decided my bed was just too damn comfy to leave. Drawing the blankets up over my head, I tried to ignore the big bumps in the night, close my eyes and go to sleep.
But when sleep finally came, it was not the restful, fitful sleep I had been dreaming of.
So of course, when the alarm went off this morning, me in all my wisdom decided to ignore it and go back to sleep. Of course, had I hit the snooze rather than turning it off, I might not be running as late as I am. Writing this blog right now, doesn't help my case much either.
But I don't feel like going to work. Joe left yesterday for some company how to meeting, so it will be just Toni, Doug and I, manning the phones today. There's no doubt in my mind, that it's going to be ugly. Monday's in general usually are ...
And KC didn't come home last night either, which has me feeling a little off. Her Dad asked to keep her longer, since school was closed today and he was off from work. There wasn't much point for me to be saying no, so I said yes.
Hopefully she'll be in a good mood when she comes home tonight, and not too tired from all the fun and excitement she's had over the weekend.
But that remains to be seen.
As for me, consider me gone to work.
For starters, I woke up late. This despite the fact that I did go to bed early last night and made sure to set my alarm for a decent, if still not somewhat early time to wake.
I blame my neighbors.
For the past three nights, I have had to suffer through their preparations to move into a new home. And here I thought packing boxes didn't require taking a sledgehammer to the walls ...
Tired and cranky, I really considered going over and begging on my knees for them to respect some sort of quiet time after a certain hour, but decided my bed was just too damn comfy to leave. Drawing the blankets up over my head, I tried to ignore the big bumps in the night, close my eyes and go to sleep.
But when sleep finally came, it was not the restful, fitful sleep I had been dreaming of.
So of course, when the alarm went off this morning, me in all my wisdom decided to ignore it and go back to sleep. Of course, had I hit the snooze rather than turning it off, I might not be running as late as I am. Writing this blog right now, doesn't help my case much either.
But I don't feel like going to work. Joe left yesterday for some company how to meeting, so it will be just Toni, Doug and I, manning the phones today. There's no doubt in my mind, that it's going to be ugly. Monday's in general usually are ...
And KC didn't come home last night either, which has me feeling a little off. Her Dad asked to keep her longer, since school was closed today and he was off from work. There wasn't much point for me to be saying no, so I said yes.
Hopefully she'll be in a good mood when she comes home tonight, and not too tired from all the fun and excitement she's had over the weekend.
But that remains to be seen.
As for me, consider me gone to work.
And it's a double header ... or is it hitter?
Well, I don't really know exactly what the sports related phrase is, but I do know, that it is two posts in one day, just because I have to share with you what happened on my little grocery shopping adventure.
So there I was, walking down the baking supplies aisle, not that I was intending on baking anything, it was just the wrong aisle, when I noticed this guy rocking back and forth on his heels, as if he was thinking.
One big giant whiff of him, and I realized exactly what he was thinking about ...
Munchies. And the overabundant choices of sweets set like a tempting plate before him. He reeked so bad, I am quite sure, that had I stood there much longer beside him, I would have gotten a contact high.
So I couldn't help myself. I started laughing so bad, I had to have been freaking him out in a major big way.
The situation seemed so comical. I mean, there is this guy, totally in awe of the cookie aisle, and all he can do is stand there and stare while holding a disposable roaster tray. What he was going to do with the tray I didn't even want to imagine.
Maybe he had a hankering for turkey ...
Well, I don't really know exactly what the sports related phrase is, but I do know, that it is two posts in one day, just because I have to share with you what happened on my little grocery shopping adventure.
So there I was, walking down the baking supplies aisle, not that I was intending on baking anything, it was just the wrong aisle, when I noticed this guy rocking back and forth on his heels, as if he was thinking.
One big giant whiff of him, and I realized exactly what he was thinking about ...
Munchies. And the overabundant choices of sweets set like a tempting plate before him. He reeked so bad, I am quite sure, that had I stood there much longer beside him, I would have gotten a contact high.
So I couldn't help myself. I started laughing so bad, I had to have been freaking him out in a major big way.
The situation seemed so comical. I mean, there is this guy, totally in awe of the cookie aisle, and all he can do is stand there and stare while holding a disposable roaster tray. What he was going to do with the tray I didn't even want to imagine.
Maybe he had a hankering for turkey ...
I've been away so long that somebody should have sent the search party by now ... I just hope they bring their own DJ ...
Hello all and welcome back to yet another Sunday afternoon at NWTLO, where I attempt to amuse you and keep you all from sustaining serious head injuries by falling asleep face down at your computer.
Not that I'm promising anything, of course ... Around here, there are no guaranties.
Today, there is a whole list of things I should be doing, and things I should be getting done, but so far, I haven't felt like doing much other than typing my brains out. Why do you ask?
Because correspondence is a much preferable way to spend a day, writing little tidbits to make someone you're just beginning to know laugh, and laughing yourself when their sense of humor so closely matches your own.
If I had to choose between folding laundry and/or laughing, would there be any question as to which would win.
But I suppose I should do something.
Like maybe run to the grocery store and buy a gallon of milk and other items needed to fill the larder. But then again, there is always tomorrow ...
Procrastination be damned!
Hello all and welcome back to yet another Sunday afternoon at NWTLO, where I attempt to amuse you and keep you all from sustaining serious head injuries by falling asleep face down at your computer.
Not that I'm promising anything, of course ... Around here, there are no guaranties.
Today, there is a whole list of things I should be doing, and things I should be getting done, but so far, I haven't felt like doing much other than typing my brains out. Why do you ask?
Because correspondence is a much preferable way to spend a day, writing little tidbits to make someone you're just beginning to know laugh, and laughing yourself when their sense of humor so closely matches your own.
If I had to choose between folding laundry and/or laughing, would there be any question as to which would win.
But I suppose I should do something.
Like maybe run to the grocery store and buy a gallon of milk and other items needed to fill the larder. But then again, there is always tomorrow ...
Procrastination be damned!
And it's a quick one tonight, since I've waited half my time trying to get my damn computer just to turn on without coming up with some bizarre error message.
The only error it's going to need to concern itself with now, is just how long it will take for me to throw it out the window, before I beat it senseless.
Computers are annoying, and especially so to those of us who have absolutely no knowledge beyond turning the damn thing on. These error messages are driving me insane, like I'm supposed to understand what the hell they mean. I suppose I could just find the manual and do a little research but I don't have that kind of time, nor the patience. In fact, I'm just about to buy new.
And though I know it won't help matters any, I slapped the shit out of the side of the modem earlier when it really pissed me off. Chances are I made whatever problem it has now worse, but you know, for that split second before my hand really started hurting, I felt pretty damn good.
And now I'm to bed, because I'm annoyed and tired and need some sleep before tomorrow becomes another day.
The only error it's going to need to concern itself with now, is just how long it will take for me to throw it out the window, before I beat it senseless.
Computers are annoying, and especially so to those of us who have absolutely no knowledge beyond turning the damn thing on. These error messages are driving me insane, like I'm supposed to understand what the hell they mean. I suppose I could just find the manual and do a little research but I don't have that kind of time, nor the patience. In fact, I'm just about to buy new.
And though I know it won't help matters any, I slapped the shit out of the side of the modem earlier when it really pissed me off. Chances are I made whatever problem it has now worse, but you know, for that split second before my hand really started hurting, I felt pretty damn good.
And now I'm to bed, because I'm annoyed and tired and need some sleep before tomorrow becomes another day.
God it feels so good to be out of the office. Away from telephones that never stop ringing, away from people who only get more irritating as the day goes by and away from my desk where there is a pile of work waiting to be done.
I feel so much more relaxed than I normally do this time of day, I might have to consider coming home everyday for lunch. It's very cathartic ... If I have the meaning of that word correct.
Anyhoo ... I better get in gear so I can get back in time. I wouldn't want to be late getting back from lunch now would I ...
Happy Tuesday!
I feel so much more relaxed than I normally do this time of day, I might have to consider coming home everyday for lunch. It's very cathartic ... If I have the meaning of that word correct.
Anyhoo ... I better get in gear so I can get back in time. I wouldn't want to be late getting back from lunch now would I ...
Happy Tuesday!
Growing up, it never felt like my Dad and I were close.
I was the daughter who didn't live with him, the one who came on weekends to visit, while the rest of my sisters had rooms of their own. I always felt out of place.
I was the daughter that was difficult.
I could never express myself in words, the cat always had my tongue when it came to talking about how I felt. Unable to speak, I'd lash out in anger to anyone who'd cross my path.
I was jealous of my sisters.
They knew what it was like to live with my Father full time, they were the ones who got taken on family vacations, and they were the ones who seemed to nab all his attention.
To me, I was the beggar waiting for scraps. The daughter who came last in his love. The one who could be forgotten Monday through Thursday as if I didn't exist.
For most of my formative years, I never felt like I had a Father. At least not the kind of Father I dreamed of. The kind of guy who would drop everything just for me and always be there whenever I needed him. The kind of man who coud look at me as something more than an obligation and a child support check needing to be paid.
I wanted to be important to someone. But it always seemed I took backstage to someone or something else. Instead, I always felt abandoned, like a tiny kitten left along a roadside to fend for itself.
Growing up was hard, it was hard to catch the limelight in the shadows, and no matter how I tried, I could never shake the feeling that I would always be second best.
But as I've grown, I've come to realize that my Father has also suffered doubts of his own. I was the daughter he approached on eggshells, ever cautious of what he said, because he never knew the way in which his words would be taken.
I was my Mother's daughter. And perhaps he was threatened by that, thinking that my love for him, could never measure up to the love I had for my Mother. And maybe I let him believe that were true.
After KC was born, our relationship began to change. My Dad finally became the Father I had wanted to have all along. He took us in and gave us a home when things started falling apart, and because he didn't know what he should say, he didn't say anything at all, he simply opened the doors and let us in.
That single moment was a turning point, from there everything began to change.
Though it was clear to me, that my Father wasn't a perfect man, I no longer expected him to be. Rather, he became someone whom I could turn to and count on to be there, even if he wasn't very good at offering words of comfort.
But yesterday, I finally got to hold a piece of my dream. It seems quite silly now, but it's a moment I've waited almost all my life to have.
Yesterday, I was bound and determined to build a shelter for the neighbors cat who lives outside. Nothing much more than a ball of fur, I've been concerned that without a warm, cozy home, little Simba has little to no chance of making it through the winter. More than once, I've even given thought to bringing him inside. But Emma's not having it. Queen of the roost, she's bound and determined that our household remain a one cat household.
Still I feel obliglated to do something.
So I asked my Father if he had any scraps and after gaining an affirmative, began drawing plans inside my mind.
Collecting the wood from the barn, I took my plunder to the garage where I began measuring it, as if I had a clue of what I was doing. Smiling, I remembered a comment my friend Donna used to say, "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."
After going through my "I am woman hear me roar" mantra, I began looking about my Father's cluttered work area for a good place to begin. My eyes, of course, fell on the circular saw.
Now let me say right here and now, that I am no stranger to a workshop, having spent many unhappy hours there as a child. So to me, power tools aren't really a big deal. Although if you were to listen to my Mother, she'd tell you that the only power tool I ever came in contact with, was sanding by hand the good old fashioned way. Evidently, she's forgotten that I was a master with a jigsaw. But I digress ...
Fortunately for me, (and the power tools) my Dad came out to the garage just as I was gearing up my Norm Abrams imitation and decided that leaving me alone in his workshop was a whole hell of a lot riskier than lending a helping hand on my cat project.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked, as I was still measuring every angle possible on the board I had chosen.
"Absolutely." I answered, swaggering over to the saw. "How you turn this baby on? I'm ready to go."
He gave me the you can't be serious, you can't even find the on switch Father look, trying his best not to laugh at me.
"I can handle this." I tried to assure him. But he wasn't buying it.
"Alright." he sighed wearily. "Show me what you want to do and I'll help you."
A beam of light flashed cross my face, and I could have sworn an angels choir struck up a chord.
"Really?" I asked, with all the excitement of a two year old let loose in a candy store.
"Really." my Father said.
"Really, really?" I asked grinning, quoting my favorite line from Shrek.
"Stacey, just give me the gosh darn wood and stop being a pain in the ass!"
Aww ... the sound of love.
28 years old, and I'm grinning like the village idiot for finally having built a project with my Dad and I'm not ashamed that I went in to work today, and told everyone about it. I finally got my show and tell.
I was the daughter who didn't live with him, the one who came on weekends to visit, while the rest of my sisters had rooms of their own. I always felt out of place.
I was the daughter that was difficult.
I could never express myself in words, the cat always had my tongue when it came to talking about how I felt. Unable to speak, I'd lash out in anger to anyone who'd cross my path.
I was jealous of my sisters.
They knew what it was like to live with my Father full time, they were the ones who got taken on family vacations, and they were the ones who seemed to nab all his attention.
To me, I was the beggar waiting for scraps. The daughter who came last in his love. The one who could be forgotten Monday through Thursday as if I didn't exist.
For most of my formative years, I never felt like I had a Father. At least not the kind of Father I dreamed of. The kind of guy who would drop everything just for me and always be there whenever I needed him. The kind of man who coud look at me as something more than an obligation and a child support check needing to be paid.
I wanted to be important to someone. But it always seemed I took backstage to someone or something else. Instead, I always felt abandoned, like a tiny kitten left along a roadside to fend for itself.
Growing up was hard, it was hard to catch the limelight in the shadows, and no matter how I tried, I could never shake the feeling that I would always be second best.
But as I've grown, I've come to realize that my Father has also suffered doubts of his own. I was the daughter he approached on eggshells, ever cautious of what he said, because he never knew the way in which his words would be taken.
I was my Mother's daughter. And perhaps he was threatened by that, thinking that my love for him, could never measure up to the love I had for my Mother. And maybe I let him believe that were true.
After KC was born, our relationship began to change. My Dad finally became the Father I had wanted to have all along. He took us in and gave us a home when things started falling apart, and because he didn't know what he should say, he didn't say anything at all, he simply opened the doors and let us in.
That single moment was a turning point, from there everything began to change.
Though it was clear to me, that my Father wasn't a perfect man, I no longer expected him to be. Rather, he became someone whom I could turn to and count on to be there, even if he wasn't very good at offering words of comfort.
But yesterday, I finally got to hold a piece of my dream. It seems quite silly now, but it's a moment I've waited almost all my life to have.
Yesterday, I was bound and determined to build a shelter for the neighbors cat who lives outside. Nothing much more than a ball of fur, I've been concerned that without a warm, cozy home, little Simba has little to no chance of making it through the winter. More than once, I've even given thought to bringing him inside. But Emma's not having it. Queen of the roost, she's bound and determined that our household remain a one cat household.
Still I feel obliglated to do something.
So I asked my Father if he had any scraps and after gaining an affirmative, began drawing plans inside my mind.
Collecting the wood from the barn, I took my plunder to the garage where I began measuring it, as if I had a clue of what I was doing. Smiling, I remembered a comment my friend Donna used to say, "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."
After going through my "I am woman hear me roar" mantra, I began looking about my Father's cluttered work area for a good place to begin. My eyes, of course, fell on the circular saw.
Now let me say right here and now, that I am no stranger to a workshop, having spent many unhappy hours there as a child. So to me, power tools aren't really a big deal. Although if you were to listen to my Mother, she'd tell you that the only power tool I ever came in contact with, was sanding by hand the good old fashioned way. Evidently, she's forgotten that I was a master with a jigsaw. But I digress ...
Fortunately for me, (and the power tools) my Dad came out to the garage just as I was gearing up my Norm Abrams imitation and decided that leaving me alone in his workshop was a whole hell of a lot riskier than lending a helping hand on my cat project.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked, as I was still measuring every angle possible on the board I had chosen.
"Absolutely." I answered, swaggering over to the saw. "How you turn this baby on? I'm ready to go."
He gave me the you can't be serious, you can't even find the on switch Father look, trying his best not to laugh at me.
"I can handle this." I tried to assure him. But he wasn't buying it.
"Alright." he sighed wearily. "Show me what you want to do and I'll help you."
A beam of light flashed cross my face, and I could have sworn an angels choir struck up a chord.
"Really?" I asked, with all the excitement of a two year old let loose in a candy store.
"Really." my Father said.
"Really, really?" I asked grinning, quoting my favorite line from Shrek.
"Stacey, just give me the gosh darn wood and stop being a pain in the ass!"
Aww ... the sound of love.
28 years old, and I'm grinning like the village idiot for finally having built a project with my Dad and I'm not ashamed that I went in to work today, and told everyone about it. I finally got my show and tell.
Just a quick hello before I get to starting off yet another Monday morning ...
I wanted to tell you about the neighbor's cat situation last night but as you know, the Ramon Noodle story took center stage. (An all true story, I will remind you, and not one I am necessarily too proud of, considering the fact that even though it was a drunken stupor in which it happened, I did indeed believe that water could start a fire.)
But there's no time this morning. It's already half past the hour and I have yet to (a) put on my make-up, (b) blow dry my hair, (c) don the work clothes, and (d) wake Oscar and get her ready for school.
So I'm outta here, me and a little memory ribbon to remind me to tell you later.
I wanted to tell you about the neighbor's cat situation last night but as you know, the Ramon Noodle story took center stage. (An all true story, I will remind you, and not one I am necessarily too proud of, considering the fact that even though it was a drunken stupor in which it happened, I did indeed believe that water could start a fire.)
But there's no time this morning. It's already half past the hour and I have yet to (a) put on my make-up, (b) blow dry my hair, (c) don the work clothes, and (d) wake Oscar and get her ready for school.
So I'm outta here, me and a little memory ribbon to remind me to tell you later.
We're having Ramon Noodles for dinner. A dish I said would never see the light of day ever again, after living on them for two years during college.
Just the thought of Ramon Noodles reminds me of a drunken night coming home from the bar.
We'd been starving and as usual, the cash flow was running at zero dollars, making pizza delivery out of the question. To make matters worse, the RA on duty, was passed out in her room snoring, so getting the keys to the padlocked basement kitchen was a non-option. Lucky for us, we had an illegal hot pot stashed away, along with a lifetime supply of Ramon Noodles.
Now drunk people cooking is really never a good idea, but drunk people trying to operate a hot pot in the girls bathroom suite, even worse. The small confined space only served to amplify our drunken echos down the hall. And of the three of us, none of us should have been trying to operate any sort of machinery.
"Don't get any noodles down the drain." Robin reminded us, sticking her head inside the bathroom door. "We don't need to get yelled at again for clogging up the sinks."
"We got it ... Don't worry." Carrie drawled, waving a utensil in the air. "We can handle it. Can't we girls?"
Tracy and I looked at each other, nodded our agreement and proceeded to dump the noodles into the cooker, as Carrie went back to the room for bowls.
"Give me the spork." I said. "I got to twirl the noodles around and then we can add the powder stuff."
"No," said Tracy, shaking her head. "We gotta dump the water first, strain in, then do the seasoning."
"Oh ... ok." I paused, thinking. "But where we gonna dump it?" I asked, completely perplexed. "Remember what Dennis said ... No more dumping stuff down the drains."
Tracy thought for a moment.
"I know." she said. "We'll dump it into the garbage can ... take that messy clean up."
Giving herself an imaginary high five, she began to pour.
To the two of us, it seemed like the perfect solution, until a thick cloud of steam began to rise from the plastic lined garbage can. Tracy looked at me, a shocked expression on her face.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "The garbage cans on fire!"
"Aw shit, man!" I panicked. "Dennis is gonna fuckin kill us! He had a hard on about the drains, he's gonna fuckin blow when the whole building goes?"
"Do something!" yelled Tracy, attempting to fan the cloud of hot steam with her hands.
The door opened.
"What the hell are you two idiots doing in here?" Carrie said, walking back into the bathroom. "Jesus. I could hear you from the lobby. You wake up Michelle and we'll really be screwed."
Tracy and I looked at each other.
"The bathrooms on fire," we said in unison.
Carrie looked at us, at the garbage can and back to us again. "Robin! Get in here!" she yelled.
The bathroom door opened as Robin stumbled in, attempting to don her mucklucks. "Noodles ready?"
Carrie shook her head and laughed. "Nope. These two morons seem to think they've set the bathroom on fire."
Robins shoulders shook with laughter. "With what?"
"Water." Carrie answered.
Just the thought of Ramon Noodles reminds me of a drunken night coming home from the bar.
We'd been starving and as usual, the cash flow was running at zero dollars, making pizza delivery out of the question. To make matters worse, the RA on duty, was passed out in her room snoring, so getting the keys to the padlocked basement kitchen was a non-option. Lucky for us, we had an illegal hot pot stashed away, along with a lifetime supply of Ramon Noodles.
Now drunk people cooking is really never a good idea, but drunk people trying to operate a hot pot in the girls bathroom suite, even worse. The small confined space only served to amplify our drunken echos down the hall. And of the three of us, none of us should have been trying to operate any sort of machinery.
"Don't get any noodles down the drain." Robin reminded us, sticking her head inside the bathroom door. "We don't need to get yelled at again for clogging up the sinks."
"We got it ... Don't worry." Carrie drawled, waving a utensil in the air. "We can handle it. Can't we girls?"
Tracy and I looked at each other, nodded our agreement and proceeded to dump the noodles into the cooker, as Carrie went back to the room for bowls.
"Give me the spork." I said. "I got to twirl the noodles around and then we can add the powder stuff."
"No," said Tracy, shaking her head. "We gotta dump the water first, strain in, then do the seasoning."
"Oh ... ok." I paused, thinking. "But where we gonna dump it?" I asked, completely perplexed. "Remember what Dennis said ... No more dumping stuff down the drains."
Tracy thought for a moment.
"I know." she said. "We'll dump it into the garbage can ... take that messy clean up."
Giving herself an imaginary high five, she began to pour.
To the two of us, it seemed like the perfect solution, until a thick cloud of steam began to rise from the plastic lined garbage can. Tracy looked at me, a shocked expression on her face.
"Oh my God!" she screamed. "The garbage cans on fire!"
"Aw shit, man!" I panicked. "Dennis is gonna fuckin kill us! He had a hard on about the drains, he's gonna fuckin blow when the whole building goes?"
"Do something!" yelled Tracy, attempting to fan the cloud of hot steam with her hands.
The door opened.
"What the hell are you two idiots doing in here?" Carrie said, walking back into the bathroom. "Jesus. I could hear you from the lobby. You wake up Michelle and we'll really be screwed."
Tracy and I looked at each other.
"The bathrooms on fire," we said in unison.
Carrie looked at us, at the garbage can and back to us again. "Robin! Get in here!" she yelled.
The bathroom door opened as Robin stumbled in, attempting to don her mucklucks. "Noodles ready?"
Carrie shook her head and laughed. "Nope. These two morons seem to think they've set the bathroom on fire."
Robins shoulders shook with laughter. "With what?"
"Water." Carrie answered.
That's it!
Knee deep into a new post, I lost it all once again, thanks to AOL's shitty dial up service!
I'll be back later, just as soon as I've done some research into DSL services.
Maybe AOL should consider giving annoyance refunds ... In that case, I'm entitled to free service from now til eternity.
Knee deep into a new post, I lost it all once again, thanks to AOL's shitty dial up service!
I'll be back later, just as soon as I've done some research into DSL services.
Maybe AOL should consider giving annoyance refunds ... In that case, I'm entitled to free service from now til eternity.
It seems everybody has issues.
KC and I, on a quick weekend jaunt to the sale at Penny's, couldn't help but overhear a conversation between a woman and her mother, as they were perusing the sale racks.
The woman was visibly upset, grabbing random garments of assorted colors and tossing them at her mother.
"These are the kind of clothes I want to buy my daughter!" she shouted. "But I can't! I can't afford to!"
Her mother grabbed her arm, whispering for her to hush, as she embarrassedly watched everyone else watching them.
"No! I won't hush! It's because of HIM that my daughter can't have nice clothes. It's because of HIM that I can't provide my daughter with the things she needs!"
It was like watching a train wreck, with all eyes drawn to the commotion. Silent, we could only watch.
So I stood there, not meaning to stare, but unable to turn away, as familiar emotions flashed across her face. I felt guilty, as if she were eyeing me, cataloging the items I held in my hands, the pretty chenille sweaters, the new denim jeans we were about to purchase. But I couldn't move, almost as if I were rooted to the spot.
I'd been there once.
Been the angry young girl standing in the middle of a store, not caring whether or not I was causing a scene. Felt the same raw pain, frustration and anger. The injustice over a situation beyond my control, dealing with the hand that only fate could give.
I didn't envy the position she found herself in, the new hurt that had yet to heal, the dream she was slowly realizing was shattering around her.
It's a scary thing when you realize that you're about to go it alone. I remembered dreading the nights, when all there was, was time to think. A child myself, I'd look at the sleeping baby in my arms and wonder how it was I was going to take care of her, when I was barely making it through the day taking care of me.
I thought I failed my daughter.
But there was nothing I could have done to stop her father from abandoning us, his faithlessness paved the way for his departure. But instead of blaming him, I blamed myself. Looking inside to find the things that were wrong with me as the reason why he couldn't stay. Back then, it never occurred to me that he was the one who failed us both. He was the one who made the choice to leave and not look back.
I was simply left holding the baby.
Hearing her outburst in the store brought it all back, and I was tempted to reach out to her and tell her that it wasn't as hopeless as it seemed. I wanted to tell her that though the tunnel was long, there would indeed be light at the end of it.
But it wasn't my place.
Some things are meant to be learned on your own. And it takes reaching that point in your life when you say I'm going to do what I have to do, simply because it needs to be done, for you to make it through the hard parts.
Though she didn't know it, I wished her well on her journey, as I took KC's hand in mine.
Some things are worth the struggle.
KC and I, on a quick weekend jaunt to the sale at Penny's, couldn't help but overhear a conversation between a woman and her mother, as they were perusing the sale racks.
The woman was visibly upset, grabbing random garments of assorted colors and tossing them at her mother.
"These are the kind of clothes I want to buy my daughter!" she shouted. "But I can't! I can't afford to!"
Her mother grabbed her arm, whispering for her to hush, as she embarrassedly watched everyone else watching them.
"No! I won't hush! It's because of HIM that my daughter can't have nice clothes. It's because of HIM that I can't provide my daughter with the things she needs!"
It was like watching a train wreck, with all eyes drawn to the commotion. Silent, we could only watch.
So I stood there, not meaning to stare, but unable to turn away, as familiar emotions flashed across her face. I felt guilty, as if she were eyeing me, cataloging the items I held in my hands, the pretty chenille sweaters, the new denim jeans we were about to purchase. But I couldn't move, almost as if I were rooted to the spot.
I'd been there once.
Been the angry young girl standing in the middle of a store, not caring whether or not I was causing a scene. Felt the same raw pain, frustration and anger. The injustice over a situation beyond my control, dealing with the hand that only fate could give.
I didn't envy the position she found herself in, the new hurt that had yet to heal, the dream she was slowly realizing was shattering around her.
It's a scary thing when you realize that you're about to go it alone. I remembered dreading the nights, when all there was, was time to think. A child myself, I'd look at the sleeping baby in my arms and wonder how it was I was going to take care of her, when I was barely making it through the day taking care of me.
I thought I failed my daughter.
But there was nothing I could have done to stop her father from abandoning us, his faithlessness paved the way for his departure. But instead of blaming him, I blamed myself. Looking inside to find the things that were wrong with me as the reason why he couldn't stay. Back then, it never occurred to me that he was the one who failed us both. He was the one who made the choice to leave and not look back.
I was simply left holding the baby.
Hearing her outburst in the store brought it all back, and I was tempted to reach out to her and tell her that it wasn't as hopeless as it seemed. I wanted to tell her that though the tunnel was long, there would indeed be light at the end of it.
But it wasn't my place.
Some things are meant to be learned on your own. And it takes reaching that point in your life when you say I'm going to do what I have to do, simply because it needs to be done, for you to make it through the hard parts.
Though she didn't know it, I wished her well on her journey, as I took KC's hand in mine.
Some things are worth the struggle.
It's a gloomy raindrops against the windows Saturday morning. The kind of day that makes you want to hibernate inside and wait for spring.
Outside you can tell it's cold, watching as the trees twist around themselves in this early winter wind. Leaves scatter across the yard, away from the piles where they were raked, as if to say we're gone, we're free, we got away, only to be scooped up by the wind and carried off to destinations unknown.
Fall is officially over, having barely begun, giving way to the hand of winter moving over the land. If I were handy in the kitchen, I might be tempted to bake some apple pies. The kind of smell that can make any house feel like home, a welcome scent that greets you at the front door and bids you stay.
Or maybe it's the kind of day for warm from the oven, melt in your mouth chocolate chip cookies. Measuring the ingredients into the mixing bowl, flour clinging to the side of your cheeks, as small hands struggle to stir the dough to shape.
This is a good way to spend a day, I think, laughing with the little ones in the kitchen, making winter treats to warm the soul, sharing mugs of hot chocolate, like secrets not meant to be told.
Precious moments made more often in this time of year, when the weather pushes you gently inside, into the bosom of your home and reminds you what being a family is all about.
Outside you can tell it's cold, watching as the trees twist around themselves in this early winter wind. Leaves scatter across the yard, away from the piles where they were raked, as if to say we're gone, we're free, we got away, only to be scooped up by the wind and carried off to destinations unknown.
Fall is officially over, having barely begun, giving way to the hand of winter moving over the land. If I were handy in the kitchen, I might be tempted to bake some apple pies. The kind of smell that can make any house feel like home, a welcome scent that greets you at the front door and bids you stay.
Or maybe it's the kind of day for warm from the oven, melt in your mouth chocolate chip cookies. Measuring the ingredients into the mixing bowl, flour clinging to the side of your cheeks, as small hands struggle to stir the dough to shape.
This is a good way to spend a day, I think, laughing with the little ones in the kitchen, making winter treats to warm the soul, sharing mugs of hot chocolate, like secrets not meant to be told.
Precious moments made more often in this time of year, when the weather pushes you gently inside, into the bosom of your home and reminds you what being a family is all about.
The Heat IS On ...
Well, I may talk tough every now and then, but I cracked today, and broke my cardinal rule, turning on the heat before the first of November.
I guess I needed an excuse.
If it were just me here alone, I could have survived without heat until Novemeber, wearing my winter parka and huddling myself with a massive amount of blankets just to keep warm. But KC said in her wise seven year old wisdom last night, as she sat coloring in the middle of the living room floor, "Mom! Will you just turn on the heat!"
I thought about it for a moment, nickel and dimes rolling about in my head and I couldn't figure out what satisfaction I got out of being an electricity miser. Coming home to a cold, cold, home was more like an incentive to stay longer at work, just to use them for their heat.
Which is not to mention the fact that up until this year, that is the very thing that we have done. Coming home later at night so that we can heat our frozen bodies up somewhere else before nosediving beneath layer upon layer of blankets, just to stay warm.
But KC broke it down for me last night, in a get the picture and stop being cheap Mom sort of way.
Yeah. I suppose seeing your breath indoors should be incentive enough to kick on the heat but sometimes it takes just a little common sense.
And now that I have mine, the heat is staying on ... (Albeit nothing above 65 degrees just yet. There's still a couple of pennies needing to be pinched.)
Well, I may talk tough every now and then, but I cracked today, and broke my cardinal rule, turning on the heat before the first of November.
I guess I needed an excuse.
If it were just me here alone, I could have survived without heat until Novemeber, wearing my winter parka and huddling myself with a massive amount of blankets just to keep warm. But KC said in her wise seven year old wisdom last night, as she sat coloring in the middle of the living room floor, "Mom! Will you just turn on the heat!"
I thought about it for a moment, nickel and dimes rolling about in my head and I couldn't figure out what satisfaction I got out of being an electricity miser. Coming home to a cold, cold, home was more like an incentive to stay longer at work, just to use them for their heat.
Which is not to mention the fact that up until this year, that is the very thing that we have done. Coming home later at night so that we can heat our frozen bodies up somewhere else before nosediving beneath layer upon layer of blankets, just to stay warm.
But KC broke it down for me last night, in a get the picture and stop being cheap Mom sort of way.
Yeah. I suppose seeing your breath indoors should be incentive enough to kick on the heat but sometimes it takes just a little common sense.
And now that I have mine, the heat is staying on ... (Albeit nothing above 65 degrees just yet. There's still a couple of pennies needing to be pinched.)
It's going to be short and sweet tonight.
Just like me ...
OK ... Well more so the short part, than the sweet part ... but still, short and sweet is my middle name tonight, because I am FREEZING!
Someone needs to explain to me, why I saw snow today!
Yeah ... you heard me right ... I said snow. You know the flaky white stuff that falls from the sky and lands on your tongue when you've got your mouth open just like this ...
This, being what you can't see, me with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. Trust me, it's a disturbing visual.
Anyhoo ... my fingers are going numb from the cold and no, I am not turning on the heat. Not just yet anyway ... it's way too soon. (I can't see my breath quite yet ...)
So I'm off to make some hot cocoa and then get all comfy reading a book somewhere with lots of blankets.
I added a new commenting feature on NWTLO. Go ahead and try it out, inquiring minds want to know what you're thinking.
Just like me ...
OK ... Well more so the short part, than the sweet part ... but still, short and sweet is my middle name tonight, because I am FREEZING!
Someone needs to explain to me, why I saw snow today!
Yeah ... you heard me right ... I said snow. You know the flaky white stuff that falls from the sky and lands on your tongue when you've got your mouth open just like this ...
This, being what you can't see, me with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. Trust me, it's a disturbing visual.
Anyhoo ... my fingers are going numb from the cold and no, I am not turning on the heat. Not just yet anyway ... it's way too soon. (I can't see my breath quite yet ...)
So I'm off to make some hot cocoa and then get all comfy reading a book somewhere with lots of blankets.
I added a new commenting feature on NWTLO. Go ahead and try it out, inquiring minds want to know what you're thinking.
It was a good night for bad dreams.
I should know, I've been up since 4 a.m., unable to get back to sleep.
I kept watching the clock, wondering as I did, why the time seemed to crawl by, all these minutes I was awake when I should have been sleeping.
I thought about it, finally coming to the conclusion that just as watched pots don't boil, watched clocks don't move.
It made sense.
But then again, at 4 in the morning, most anything will make sense even if you don't try hard to think about it.
I wonder how tired I will be later. I've already got these huge black circles under my eyes, that no amount of concealer can hope to cover.
I feel like a raccoon on a midnight mission to raid the garbage can.
Can you see me now?
Someone should do a commercial with a raccoon. Their little masked faces make them seem cute, despite the fact that they can be card carrying members of the rabies club.
It's Wednesday today. Middle of the week wish it were Friday day.
Thank goodness.
We're halfway there. Halfway to the weekend. Halfway to sleeping in, relaxing and kicking back in our comfy clothes. Halfway to sipping OJ as we take a bite out of buttered toast, watching Saturday morning cartoons, and the birds outside the window clamoring about the feeder, until the squirrel comes to chase them all away.
Emma has just come to join me, sitting next to the keyboard as I type this in.
She likes to watch my hands. I think she likes the clicking of the keys. It amazes her. Sometimes she likes to claw me as I go, just to keep things interesting, but mostly she sits up here when she wants attention.
It's like having a second child.
Now if only I could teach her how to fetch a paper and go wake KC up for school, instead of watching her as she gives me the get a life lady, I'm a cat not a dog look and I'm not about to let you know that I could really do it all if I tried.
Cats are not stupid.
I should know, I've been up since 4 a.m., unable to get back to sleep.
I kept watching the clock, wondering as I did, why the time seemed to crawl by, all these minutes I was awake when I should have been sleeping.
I thought about it, finally coming to the conclusion that just as watched pots don't boil, watched clocks don't move.
It made sense.
But then again, at 4 in the morning, most anything will make sense even if you don't try hard to think about it.
I wonder how tired I will be later. I've already got these huge black circles under my eyes, that no amount of concealer can hope to cover.
I feel like a raccoon on a midnight mission to raid the garbage can.
Can you see me now?
Someone should do a commercial with a raccoon. Their little masked faces make them seem cute, despite the fact that they can be card carrying members of the rabies club.
It's Wednesday today. Middle of the week wish it were Friday day.
Thank goodness.
We're halfway there. Halfway to the weekend. Halfway to sleeping in, relaxing and kicking back in our comfy clothes. Halfway to sipping OJ as we take a bite out of buttered toast, watching Saturday morning cartoons, and the birds outside the window clamoring about the feeder, until the squirrel comes to chase them all away.
Emma has just come to join me, sitting next to the keyboard as I type this in.
She likes to watch my hands. I think she likes the clicking of the keys. It amazes her. Sometimes she likes to claw me as I go, just to keep things interesting, but mostly she sits up here when she wants attention.
It's like having a second child.
Now if only I could teach her how to fetch a paper and go wake KC up for school, instead of watching her as she gives me the get a life lady, I'm a cat not a dog look and I'm not about to let you know that I could really do it all if I tried.
Cats are not stupid.
