This very night last year, Brenda and I came to an agreement that 2006 was going to be our year. We were going to make things happen. 2006 was going to be all about Stacey and Brenda finally getting the lives we thought we were entitled to. No more would either one of us have to feel like we were on the outside looking in.
We sat on opposite couches having this conversation while the men in our lives fell asleep watching football on the floor. And when the clock struck midnight, instead of either one of them being awake to kiss us and the New Year into being, all we had were the words between us and a conversation that was more a silent promise of the changes we wanted and in my case needed to make.
I'm not proud of myself when I think about the decision I made in the summer of 2005 to move in with Ed. When I made that decision, I knew I was making a mistake. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to get myself in over my head, but I jumped in with both feet anyway. I did it because I wanted. I rationalized it by believing that everything about life, my life to be exact, centered around my ability to take a chance.
Summer of 2005 gave way to the fall and then fall to winter. I spent most of it crying, calling Brenda on the phone each night just to get me through. I didn't want to tell my parents just how bad things were, didn't want to admit to it at all, but if my silence was any indication, I know they all knew.
Not even the worst moment of my life could compare to the months that I spent in that house feeling hopeless and alone. And it still haunts me to be confronted by my own weakness, my inability to stand up for myself in a situation I knew wasn't right. Instead I didn't feel as if there were any way out of living with the monster beneath my bed, the monster in the next room, the monster who inhabited the home we shared treating both myself and my daughter as unwelcome visitors, stepping stones to his own gain.
The blessing came in September, as I knew it would of its own accord when the final die was cast and the choice to change my life was taken out of my hands. Regardless of my unfounded fear to venture back out into the world once more on my own, I was moving back into the realm of independence at an alarming speed.
If I have anything to be thankful for, I will always consider the conversation that ended our charade to be the true blessing in disguise.
Through my tears I prayed to God that night. Prayed like I had never prayed before. Spilling out every fear as I knelt on the floor beside my bed, begging desperately for his help and guidance. Please, I remember praying, please help me, please tell me what I'm supposed to do. Please tell me where I'm supposed to go.
I fell asleep feeling hopeless and woke up the next morning to hope.
By the end of the next day, a Tuesday to be exact, my once lost faith in God became restored. I had a new home. A place to belong to. A place to belong to me. A place for KC and I both to feel secure and safe.
And I had friends.
Wonderful friends that came through when I asked for help. Friends like Brenda who helped me begin the process of secretly packing and moving just a little bit at a time.
Friends who loaned me money to put down a deposit on my new place. Friends who simply listened and let me air out my fears while encouraging me to be strong. To all of them, I owe my biggest and heartfelt thanks.
Though they could have, they didn't bother to tell me that I'd made a mistake. They didn't tell me that I should have known better. They didn't say how could I have let things happen the way they did or how they had. They simply held out their hands and asked me how they could help.
I could tell you that the last few weeks of sharing that house passed by quickly and easily, but by now I know you would know that not to be anything but the truth.
The truth was those weeks didn't get any easier knowing as I did that I finally had my out. Sadness, hopelessness and fear continued to haunt my steps, following me down the hall, following me to work every morning, and clinging to me when I tried to sleep each night. But in my head I was counting down. Only this many more days before this will be over forever...
I remember the last night I spent in that house, breathlessly waiting for him to leave, waiting for midnight to roll 'round like the magic hour Cinderella knew it to be. I waited like a prisoner hours before her parole, my stomach a bundle of knots, my daughter sleeping by my side behind a door we kept locked.
And I know he knew it too. Trying to hide it as I did, little things I could move without alerting him to the actual day of my departure, my things began to disappear left and right, leaving it only a simple matter of fact of when rather than where my time would come to its end.
He was loathe however to let us go without some fight. I was talking on my cellphone to Glenn, a man I'd met through work, trying to give my voice a sense of lightness and ease when the drilling started. Instantly I knew that whatever that sound was, it was one that didn't bode well for me. I told Glenn I would have to call him back, and then I waited, glad KC was already asleep and could not hear the whining of the drum.
After he'd gone to bed, I crawled out of mine, creeping slowly and silently down the hall, not that I thought he might hear me over the deafening volume of his TV which he slept with on each and every night.
The double door entry in the living room was locked as usual, nothing unusual there. But the next door, the one that led outside, proved the validity of my concerns. On that door was a newly installed dead bolt. One that I realized upon further inspection required the use of a key on either side of the door to gain entry in or access to the outside. I felt my heart drop into my chest, closed the door I was still allowed to close and took myself quickly back to bed where I once again waited for the sound of his alarm, and confirmation from his car lights fading in the distance that he was truly gone before bracing myself for more.
More was the padlock affixed to the door of our garage. The door that I would need to be able to open just to get the bulk of my things outside and into the U-Haul I had made arrangements to rent. Ed however was mistaken by thinking locks of any sort would keep me from leaving. Bolt cutters and the ability to unscrew screws had both doors swinging open mere hours after he had gone. Had I not been so freaked out by his behavior, I might have laughed but it was still too soon to find anything about his behavior anything other than over the top psychotic and scary.
I left that very morning while KC was at school with both my father, stepmother and older sister Amy by my side to lend a hand and help me out and then when it was deemed necessary two officers of the local law enforcement team as well. It was the first time in my entire life I've ever had to call 911 and be thankful for their swift response.
I didn't get out cleanly. I wanted no drama at all. I wanted the clean and swift break I didn't get. And I wanted all my things. But there were things that did get left behind. Small things, and big things. Things made impossible for me to get as I'd no room left in my truck and no intention of returning for them once I'd gone. Things that I now consider payment of any debt anyone thinks I should owe. Though truth be told, neither my washer nor dryer was worth having to see him or any of his family ever again. The whole lot of them certifiable and incapable of knowing what normal is.
But he can never pay me back for his behavior. He will never own the words that hurt me and made me doubt myself. He will never be able to apologize enough for the lies he told, and the promises he made early on and did not keep. And for this, I feel sorry.
Sorry that I stayed as long as I did. Sorry that I didn't believe in myself enough to know that neither KC or I deserved to live like that for one minute let alone just a few days shy of a year. Sorry that I have to live with this story for the rest of my life and call it part of my own, part of my past.
But what I've learned is now what I must share. If simply retelling all of this here can help to reach and pull someone else out from the darkness that has become their life, I will consider it a good start, but by no means an end...
2006 was not the year that all my wishes came true. I did not live happily ever after. I did not ride off into the sunset. Instead I rode off into a new dawn, a new day, into a life returned to me.
Most importantly I came home to God. And there is a story of how I came to be at the church that I now attend, but that story is only one half of the whole. It only tells of how I found of a church to go to, it has never told the true reason for why I'm there. Until now...
Stepping Stones
I don't really mind not having computer access at home. It's kind of nice not being so connected to the giant world or everything. It is however a bit of an inconvenience when I get in the mood to write something and then have to drag myself to the nearest library or take my laptop out to dinner just to get free wireless access. But here I am again. Day two at the library, sitting in front of a computer surrounded by a bunch of different people just typing away, and wondering every so often how many eyes slip my way to sneak a glance at my screen. So much for being incognito...
Bren and I supplied the church supper last night in what our final class termed a "love feast" and I continue to be amazed at just how many wonderful people we have met in such a short amount of time. God's network is truly amazing. How else could all of this have happened the way it did?
Bren and I had spoken on and on for the last couple of years of finding a church, a place we could both feel comfortable in, a place we could raise our children up in, but we never made the attempt to actually find one. Like Cinderella waiting for her one true love to come and rescue her, we were waiting for the engraved invitation from God to invite us into his love. Miracles I've since learned don't always have to be on the grand scheme to get the job done.
And this is how it happened that Brenda's sister Jen (who resides in Nebraska) decided it was time to light a fire under our church avoiding ways, and took it upon herself to go online and scout the local churches in our area. When her search landed on Trinity, it was God's hand and not the Google search engine that used her as his messenger to send the link that led us home. Of course, it did mean some work on our part. You can read your email, you can click on the link, but it all won't amount to much if you don't put forth the effort on your own to get yourself to the place you need to be.
For a couple of beginners, I'd have to say we're not doing so bad...
Bren and I supplied the church supper last night in what our final class termed a "love feast" and I continue to be amazed at just how many wonderful people we have met in such a short amount of time. God's network is truly amazing. How else could all of this have happened the way it did?
Bren and I had spoken on and on for the last couple of years of finding a church, a place we could both feel comfortable in, a place we could raise our children up in, but we never made the attempt to actually find one. Like Cinderella waiting for her one true love to come and rescue her, we were waiting for the engraved invitation from God to invite us into his love. Miracles I've since learned don't always have to be on the grand scheme to get the job done.
And this is how it happened that Brenda's sister Jen (who resides in Nebraska) decided it was time to light a fire under our church avoiding ways, and took it upon herself to go online and scout the local churches in our area. When her search landed on Trinity, it was God's hand and not the Google search engine that used her as his messenger to send the link that led us home. Of course, it did mean some work on our part. You can read your email, you can click on the link, but it all won't amount to much if you don't put forth the effort on your own to get yourself to the place you need to be.
For a couple of beginners, I'd have to say we're not doing so bad...
Everything But the Kitchen Sink
I promised myself that this was going to be a week of rest and relaxation. A week to spend some quality time with my daughter, a week to do little things around the house I've left undone, and a week to simply take a break from thinking too much about things that don't really matter much at all. And for the most part, I've done quite a good job at keeping my priorities straight, although as I am bound to do, I did slip a few times, checking my work email from home to keep tabs on the happenings at work. For the time being however, I have promptly put those thoughts back on the backburner where they belong.
So just what have I been doing with myself and all this free time?
Yesterday KC and I went to the movies (Eragon gets a 4 out of 4 stars rating) and ended up sitting with one of her girlfriends from school and her father. It was an odd sort of thing being that we didn't know each other from a bag of beans and our daughters had us looking like a happy extended family on an outing, but we managed to get through it. Or as I really should say, I managed to get through it without completely turning red and making a complete ass of myself. Though truth be told, he probably wondered if I was able to speak since the entirety of our conversation consisted of me saying thank you when he held the door open for me at the end of the movie. It was at this point that my initial shyness was finally overruled by politeness. Needless to say, Dad was cute, Mom was speechless, and the girls struck out with the fix up.
KC and I also took some time this week to do a little bit of shopping. Gift card spending to be exact, and I thank each and every one of you who remembered that the best gift cards are the ones that can buy me books... Altogether, I got three new reads, two books of poetry (Pable Neruda and Louise Gluck) and one by Bishop T D Jakes on being a Christian woman of faith. I also bought two new CD's, both by Mary Chapin Carpenter and two movies, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (most excellent movie for woman of all ages) and Something's Gotta Give (a movie I identify with for more than one reason and something I will probably write a whole lot more on later.)
Anyone who has tried to find a book of poetry at my local Barnes & Noble's knows that trying to find something there is like trying to find the mythical needle in the haystack... It seems to be that it's only within that section that the books are never in alphabetical order or any sort of order for that matter, so I have learned to look first in the most ridiculous spot in order to strike gold. The man next to me evidently wasn't in on that little secret as he stood in front of the bookcase desperately trying to make sense of something without any reason. Finally after what seemed like hours, he turned to me (being that I must have looked like I knew what I was doing since I found my items rather quickly) and said, "Is there any kind of order to this section?"
Now I don't normally have conversations with strangers (at least never ones that I start myself) but he seemed so genuinely confused that I couldn't help but find myself wanting to help him out finding his book. (Wallace Stevens to be exact.) And though it was a short conversation with my brainstorm that he should check with the helpdesk to make sure they had that book in stock before he spent too much time searching for it, it did light a little bit of a light bulb in my thoughts. (Especially after our paths crossed again in the parking lot as he smiled at me and waved goodbye.) Perhaps the message that has been trying its darndest to get across to me is that each end has its own beginning. In other words, I can either choose to nurse my broken heart and waste the next few months being sad, or I can choose to be thankful for the small amount of time I did get to spend knowing someone as I did.
This is the part where unless you're my Mother, Brenda (or an extension of Brenda such as a friend/co-worker who are frequently updated on the ever continuing (though not at all very exciting) saga of my personal life) or my friend Susan, you're not going to have a clue what or who it is I'm talking about... (Thankfully who I am not referring to is my former roommate, a man I am more than happy to say is completely out of my life and out of the picture forever more.)
But my point here is that sometimes the things you really want to work out, just don't and there's nothing you can do about it even though you really felt that your heart had finally found the right person, in the right place at the right time. Perhaps I gave my heart too soon, but I don't think so. I think for the first time in my life, I opened myself up to someone so completely that despite our outcome which at the moment is the kind of silence that beats like a drum in my ear, I'm thankful for having met him and for having him in my life for the time that he was there. He got to know me in a way I don't think I've let myself be known and I think he too was surprised at how much he gave back to me in very much the same way.
So it comes down to this, I guess we were both a little scared, and if I had to hazard a guess at what went wrong, I'd like to think that it's this fear which has stopped us in our tracks. This somehow makes me feel better than thinking that he just didn't want to choose me... Regardless, I could never think bad of him...(Not now, and not in a million years.) We were both adults, we took a chance together, we reached for the stars and both of us felt the fall that brought us back to earth. And it was one word.
Wonderful.
So just what have I been doing with myself and all this free time?
Yesterday KC and I went to the movies (Eragon gets a 4 out of 4 stars rating) and ended up sitting with one of her girlfriends from school and her father. It was an odd sort of thing being that we didn't know each other from a bag of beans and our daughters had us looking like a happy extended family on an outing, but we managed to get through it. Or as I really should say, I managed to get through it without completely turning red and making a complete ass of myself. Though truth be told, he probably wondered if I was able to speak since the entirety of our conversation consisted of me saying thank you when he held the door open for me at the end of the movie. It was at this point that my initial shyness was finally overruled by politeness. Needless to say, Dad was cute, Mom was speechless, and the girls struck out with the fix up.
KC and I also took some time this week to do a little bit of shopping. Gift card spending to be exact, and I thank each and every one of you who remembered that the best gift cards are the ones that can buy me books... Altogether, I got three new reads, two books of poetry (Pable Neruda and Louise Gluck) and one by Bishop T D Jakes on being a Christian woman of faith. I also bought two new CD's, both by Mary Chapin Carpenter and two movies, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (most excellent movie for woman of all ages) and Something's Gotta Give (a movie I identify with for more than one reason and something I will probably write a whole lot more on later.)
Anyone who has tried to find a book of poetry at my local Barnes & Noble's knows that trying to find something there is like trying to find the mythical needle in the haystack... It seems to be that it's only within that section that the books are never in alphabetical order or any sort of order for that matter, so I have learned to look first in the most ridiculous spot in order to strike gold. The man next to me evidently wasn't in on that little secret as he stood in front of the bookcase desperately trying to make sense of something without any reason. Finally after what seemed like hours, he turned to me (being that I must have looked like I knew what I was doing since I found my items rather quickly) and said, "Is there any kind of order to this section?"
Now I don't normally have conversations with strangers (at least never ones that I start myself) but he seemed so genuinely confused that I couldn't help but find myself wanting to help him out finding his book. (Wallace Stevens to be exact.) And though it was a short conversation with my brainstorm that he should check with the helpdesk to make sure they had that book in stock before he spent too much time searching for it, it did light a little bit of a light bulb in my thoughts. (Especially after our paths crossed again in the parking lot as he smiled at me and waved goodbye.) Perhaps the message that has been trying its darndest to get across to me is that each end has its own beginning. In other words, I can either choose to nurse my broken heart and waste the next few months being sad, or I can choose to be thankful for the small amount of time I did get to spend knowing someone as I did.
This is the part where unless you're my Mother, Brenda (or an extension of Brenda such as a friend/co-worker who are frequently updated on the ever continuing (though not at all very exciting) saga of my personal life) or my friend Susan, you're not going to have a clue what or who it is I'm talking about... (Thankfully who I am not referring to is my former roommate, a man I am more than happy to say is completely out of my life and out of the picture forever more.)
But my point here is that sometimes the things you really want to work out, just don't and there's nothing you can do about it even though you really felt that your heart had finally found the right person, in the right place at the right time. Perhaps I gave my heart too soon, but I don't think so. I think for the first time in my life, I opened myself up to someone so completely that despite our outcome which at the moment is the kind of silence that beats like a drum in my ear, I'm thankful for having met him and for having him in my life for the time that he was there. He got to know me in a way I don't think I've let myself be known and I think he too was surprised at how much he gave back to me in very much the same way.
So it comes down to this, I guess we were both a little scared, and if I had to hazard a guess at what went wrong, I'd like to think that it's this fear which has stopped us in our tracks. This somehow makes me feel better than thinking that he just didn't want to choose me... Regardless, I could never think bad of him...(Not now, and not in a million years.) We were both adults, we took a chance together, we reached for the stars and both of us felt the fall that brought us back to earth. And it was one word.
Wonderful.
Becoming Found
A year ago today, I wouldn't have been able to tell you when the last time I'd been to church was. But in the past two days, I've been twice. Once last night and once more this morning to watch KC along with the other Sunday school children perform a short skit on the true meaning of the twelve days of Christmas. And I think to myself how easy it has been to reestablish my relationship with God and to introduce my daughter into the Christian faith.
Everywhere I go now, I see traces of his word. In the books I read, the people I meet, in the way my life is slowly changing. And I think of how unhappy I've been for so long, and all the anger I've carried with me for so many years. So much anger and so much rage boiling inside for so long that I'd begun to believe that I was a bad person, not worthy of being loved, not worthy of being treated with compassion or respect, not worthy of being forgiven for sins that weren't even mine.
I needed healing but I refused it. I needed faith but I turned away from it. I needed forgiveness but I did not ask for it. I needed wholeness but I clung to being broken as if that were my true salvation. And I blamed God, blamed him for everything that broke my heart and crushed my spirit. Blamed him for my darkness and my depression, blamed him for the lack of light and happiness in my life until God was not something I believed existed anymore. God was for people who were not me.
But I sit here now telling you that I was wrong and that what I believe now is what I know to be true. We are all given choices to walk with God or to walk without him, to ask him for his company or to deny him a place in our lives. God gives us that right to choose, but even with that choice we are never truly without him. God never gives up or walks away, he simply waits. Waits and watches over us, always ready to guide us back to the path when we are lost. And when we are found, it's like we were never lost at all...
Everywhere I go now, I see traces of his word. In the books I read, the people I meet, in the way my life is slowly changing. And I think of how unhappy I've been for so long, and all the anger I've carried with me for so many years. So much anger and so much rage boiling inside for so long that I'd begun to believe that I was a bad person, not worthy of being loved, not worthy of being treated with compassion or respect, not worthy of being forgiven for sins that weren't even mine.
I needed healing but I refused it. I needed faith but I turned away from it. I needed forgiveness but I did not ask for it. I needed wholeness but I clung to being broken as if that were my true salvation. And I blamed God, blamed him for everything that broke my heart and crushed my spirit. Blamed him for my darkness and my depression, blamed him for the lack of light and happiness in my life until God was not something I believed existed anymore. God was for people who were not me.
But I sit here now telling you that I was wrong and that what I believe now is what I know to be true. We are all given choices to walk with God or to walk without him, to ask him for his company or to deny him a place in our lives. God gives us that right to choose, but even with that choice we are never truly without him. God never gives up or walks away, he simply waits. Waits and watches over us, always ready to guide us back to the path when we are lost. And when we are found, it's like we were never lost at all...
When and If I'll Be...
One would always think that one should know better, or in my case, that I should know better. But I am quite adept at stumbling and half falling down before I figure things out and set myself and my world back to rights. I've done a lot of that lately. Misstep after misstep, thinking as one foot is falling in front of the other that this time I'm doing the right thing; I'm making the right choice.
And just when I think maybe... Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for with my fingers crossed and my heart all tied up in knots, reality strikes back with a kicking blow, a not so gentle reminder that nothing - at least not for me - is ever easy, and the white picket fence remains as always, out of reach...
And yet I keep doing this to myself. Putting my heart out there time and time again, betting the odds even when they're not in my favor, waiting for my gamble to come through, to pay off. And each maybe is like a breathless pause, the sound of a first hello, warm and excited eagerly awaiting an answering hello, a return of the spirit like gifts at Christmas time, wrapped in brightly colored paper and filled with hope.
Love is like that... Simple and easy with no expectations other than exactly what you've always been. Just you... And that is more than enough. All it takes is one hello.
And just when I think maybe... Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for with my fingers crossed and my heart all tied up in knots, reality strikes back with a kicking blow, a not so gentle reminder that nothing - at least not for me - is ever easy, and the white picket fence remains as always, out of reach...
And yet I keep doing this to myself. Putting my heart out there time and time again, betting the odds even when they're not in my favor, waiting for my gamble to come through, to pay off. And each maybe is like a breathless pause, the sound of a first hello, warm and excited eagerly awaiting an answering hello, a return of the spirit like gifts at Christmas time, wrapped in brightly colored paper and filled with hope.
Love is like that... Simple and easy with no expectations other than exactly what you've always been. Just you... And that is more than enough. All it takes is one hello.
No More Settling...
Things here are different. Different in a mostly good way. Life changes. Sometimes in a quick burst of energy, sometimes slow, like an ember beneath the ashes, waiting for the right moment to burst back into flame.
And for the most part, I've come out of all of this unscathed. A little worse for wear (to be expected) but no irreparable damage, no permanent harm, but above all else, a healthy dose of reality and the irrefutable difference between right and wrong and the knowing of it.
My life isn't perfect right now. There are still plenty of things that need to be fixed, but at the same time, it's not completely wrong and I've got a lot of hope for my future. (Much more than I ever had for most of this year.) Perhaps it's just me hoping that it's so, but I've a feeling that fate has finally taken notice of me. And maybe I've finally taken notice of fate.
No matter where the road goes. No matter the distance traveled. I'm moving forward. One footstep, one moment at a time...
And for the most part, I've come out of all of this unscathed. A little worse for wear (to be expected) but no irreparable damage, no permanent harm, but above all else, a healthy dose of reality and the irrefutable difference between right and wrong and the knowing of it.
My life isn't perfect right now. There are still plenty of things that need to be fixed, but at the same time, it's not completely wrong and I've got a lot of hope for my future. (Much more than I ever had for most of this year.) Perhaps it's just me hoping that it's so, but I've a feeling that fate has finally taken notice of me. And maybe I've finally taken notice of fate.
No matter where the road goes. No matter the distance traveled. I'm moving forward. One footstep, one moment at a time...
October's Passing
The Evening Star
Tonight, for the first time in many years,
there appeared to me again
a vision of the earth's splendor:
in the evening sky
the first star seemed
to increase in brilliance
as the earth darkened
until at last it could grow no darker.
And the light, which was the light of death,
seemed to restore to earth
its power to console. There were
no other stars. Only the one
whose name I knew
as in my other life I did her
injury: Venus,
star of the early evening,
to you I dedicate
my vision, since on this blank surface
you have cast enough light
to make my thought
visible again.
~ Louise Gluck
For tonight, this is enough...
Awake At Such an Hour
I am awake because I cannot sleep which seems to speak volumes for itself, except there's no one else awake to hear a word of it. I woke up from a dream with a vague sense of uneasiness; an ugly thought that wouldn't leave my brain, so I've decided to write it out and get rid of it the only way I know how, by putting it on paper and away from me.
But the dream is hazy and what I barely remember doesn't make enough sense to plot it out like a diary entry. Instead I'm wasting time before returning to the couch that for tonight has become my bed even as I find I'm missing my own with something more than just a lost of familiarity and a soft side of a pillow that has gone unchecked. I guess I should be thankful I rated a blanket before I so unceremoniously fell asleep without so much as a by your leave. But as we all know, these things happen, and I could no more have kept myself from falling asleep than I could have told the moon to come down from the heavens.
Listen to me ramble on... And yet, it's always at this time of night, neither early on in the evening or too close to the breaking of dawns light when I am at my wordiest. And so yes, my mouth moves at a mile a minute and I could go on for one half of forever... These things are sometimes good to know, as other things here - snippets, as I like to call them - are good to know as well. But as always, that remains to be seen...
But the dream is hazy and what I barely remember doesn't make enough sense to plot it out like a diary entry. Instead I'm wasting time before returning to the couch that for tonight has become my bed even as I find I'm missing my own with something more than just a lost of familiarity and a soft side of a pillow that has gone unchecked. I guess I should be thankful I rated a blanket before I so unceremoniously fell asleep without so much as a by your leave. But as we all know, these things happen, and I could no more have kept myself from falling asleep than I could have told the moon to come down from the heavens.
Listen to me ramble on... And yet, it's always at this time of night, neither early on in the evening or too close to the breaking of dawns light when I am at my wordiest. And so yes, my mouth moves at a mile a minute and I could go on for one half of forever... These things are sometimes good to know, as other things here - snippets, as I like to call them - are good to know as well. But as always, that remains to be seen...
On the Mend...
Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves. When our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little. When we arrived safely because we sailed too close to shore. Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess we have lost our thirst for the waters of life; we have ceased to dream of eternity and in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of the new Heaven to dim. Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture on wider seas where storms will show your mastery; where losing sight of land we shall find stars. We ask you to push back the horizons of our hopes; and to push us in the future in strength, courage, hope and love.
-- Sir Francis Drake, 1577
When I asked for help, and prayed for your guidance, you opened your arms wide and welcomed me back into your love. Thank you for bringing me home...
From the Ashes
I cannot waste any more time crying. What's done is done. It's time to leave this bitter nest and move on to one that is all my own. Sure he didn't leave me much choice tonight when he walked in the door, and shoved the news down my throat.
One month he said, slamming doors and retreating down the hallway to lock himself inside his room. One month to move out, move on...
His name is on the mythical lease, not mine. And I'm no longer welcome here. What kind of man can kick a woman and her child out without batting an eye? Who can even call him a man?
When KC came out of her room, her eyes red with tears, I knew she must have heard the whole thing. She's as scared as I am. But she's ten and allowed to be scared. Me on the other hand, I'm almost thirty-two and my time to be scared has long since passed.
Am I broken? Hell no. I'm the strongest I've ever been.
One month he said, slamming doors and retreating down the hallway to lock himself inside his room. One month to move out, move on...
His name is on the mythical lease, not mine. And I'm no longer welcome here. What kind of man can kick a woman and her child out without batting an eye? Who can even call him a man?
When KC came out of her room, her eyes red with tears, I knew she must have heard the whole thing. She's as scared as I am. But she's ten and allowed to be scared. Me on the other hand, I'm almost thirty-two and my time to be scared has long since passed.
Am I broken? Hell no. I'm the strongest I've ever been.
My Life As a Natural Disaster
All I wanted was love and a chance at happily ever after. I should have known I was asking for far too much. From the very beginning, the exact moment when the question hung in the air waiting to be answered, I knew the biggest mistake I would ever make in my life was about to be put into motion.
I wish I could go back in time and answer that question again. How I would love to shout a resounding no into the air. No. I don't want to live with you without any solid form of commitment. No. You did me wrong the first time around, I have no desire to sign up for a repeat performance. No. I don't need you or anyone else for that matter to supply me with happiness. I have all I need right here.
How I wish I didn't give in to my weakness and my wants. How I wish I wasn't stuck here in this house living under a god damn microscope where my decisions are constantly overruled by outside influences who have absolutely no bearing on my life, and yet still manage to grip me in their iron fists. I've had enough...
Inside I am on fire, a liquid volcano to my core, fierce with anger ready to spill out and over.
I wish I could go back in time and answer that question again. How I would love to shout a resounding no into the air. No. I don't want to live with you without any solid form of commitment. No. You did me wrong the first time around, I have no desire to sign up for a repeat performance. No. I don't need you or anyone else for that matter to supply me with happiness. I have all I need right here.
How I wish I didn't give in to my weakness and my wants. How I wish I wasn't stuck here in this house living under a god damn microscope where my decisions are constantly overruled by outside influences who have absolutely no bearing on my life, and yet still manage to grip me in their iron fists. I've had enough...
Inside I am on fire, a liquid volcano to my core, fierce with anger ready to spill out and over.
Just a Stranger Passing Through
I'm not here all that often anymore. Somewhere along the way it stopped being a safe place for me to leave my thoughts and words. I disconnected. Disconnected heart from emotion, separating myself from disappointment and rejection, and what I could only see as my failure.
You give up more than just a little bit of yourself when you have to manipulate your own heart to stop feeling. Pulling in so completely shuts down more than just the negative emotions, it freezes the good ones as well. But you do what you have to do. You can't cry forever...
And so that is exactly what I've been doing. Learning as I go, moving forward one small step at a time, inch by inch, by inch. I've put on my brave face, shook my head in frustration more than a few hundred times, cried when I couldn't think of anything better to do, and reminded myself as my Mother is wont to do, that this too shall pass. Temporary setbacks are just that. Temporary.
People can lie to you. People can make promises they never intended to keep. And people can do more harm than good when their hearts and heads aren't in the right place. But they can't break you unless you let them. And they can't bring you down, unless you choose to stay there.
You give up more than just a little bit of yourself when you have to manipulate your own heart to stop feeling. Pulling in so completely shuts down more than just the negative emotions, it freezes the good ones as well. But you do what you have to do. You can't cry forever...
And so that is exactly what I've been doing. Learning as I go, moving forward one small step at a time, inch by inch, by inch. I've put on my brave face, shook my head in frustration more than a few hundred times, cried when I couldn't think of anything better to do, and reminded myself as my Mother is wont to do, that this too shall pass. Temporary setbacks are just that. Temporary.
People can lie to you. People can make promises they never intended to keep. And people can do more harm than good when their hearts and heads aren't in the right place. But they can't break you unless you let them. And they can't bring you down, unless you choose to stay there.
Almost... But Not Quite
I thought maybe I could come up with something of interest to write about tonight, but I've got nothing...
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow.
Slipping Into the Solitude
Went out tonight after work to do a little school shopping for KC, and ended up making an unexpected pit stop at Barnes & Nobles. I just can't seem to help myself when it comes to certain things lately. Maybe I can pass it off as a quest for knowledge or a thirst for words, either of which is a happy excuse to blame my most recent purchase of a book of poetry by Louise Gluck. Perhaps it's just the silent push of winter knocking at the door that has me lining my nest with small pockets of joy, golden nuggets of inspiration for a cold, dark day to come.
Mutable Earth
Are you healed or do you only think you're healed?
I told myself
from nothing
nothing can be taken away.
But can you love anyone yet?
When I feel safe, I can love.
But will you touch anyone?
I told myself
if I had nothing
the world couldn't touch me.
In the bathtub, I examine my body.
We're supposed to do that.
And your face too?
Your face in the mirror?
I was vigilant: when I touched myself
I didn't feel anything.
Were you safe then?
I was never safe, even when I was most hidden.
Even then I was waiting.
So you couldn't protect yourself?
The absolute
erodes; the boundary, the wall
around the self erodes.
If I was waiting I had been
invaded by time.
But do you think you're free?
I think I recognize the patterns of my nature.
But do you think you're free?
I had nothing
and I was still changed.
Like a costume, my numbness
was taken away. Then
hunger was added.
- Louise Gluck
Vita Nova
Mom & Daughter Fun Day
KC and I went to the Renaissance Festival today in Sterling and came back with much less money in our pockets than we started with. However this picture alone was well worth the drive, our time and the coins. (And it doesn't hurt that I don't look half bad, half naked. At least in cartoon form...)
More stories from today to come later. Or at least a few months down the road when I get my film developed...
Not So Distant Memory
Someday I'm going to get back in the swing of things and fill this blog full to bursting with the words I've kept concealed these past few months. I guess I just can't help myself. Too many words and I get in trouble, too little and it's like I never existed at all. To me it's felt like a weakness. A purveying of the truth in small doses; the only quantity I can handle. But inside my head there is so much more to be said as summer days begin to run together racing for the cold.
Tonight the house smells like warm licorice. A comforting smell that brings a thought and a smile to my face much like a conversation would with an old friend. My thoughts are filled with moments, both found and stolen. And I look at the clock above the stove and think about this time last week remembering where I was and who I was with and wishing I could find myself there once more...
Tonight the house smells like warm licorice. A comforting smell that brings a thought and a smile to my face much like a conversation would with an old friend. My thoughts are filled with moments, both found and stolen. And I look at the clock above the stove and think about this time last week remembering where I was and who I was with and wishing I could find myself there once more...
Jupiter in Motion
I am not an illusion, though truth be told, I thought I was. Me, the invisible girl I thought no one could see. But you pushed the envelope, moved me forward when I would have taken a step back until I found a valid reason to stop. Any excuse to put on the brakes and pull away, with no intention of beginning.
A Moment of Possibility
She cannot think of a single thing to say, so tied up is her tongue, now that they're alone on the porch. And she could kill her friend for leaving her out there with him to fend for herself. To sink. Or to swim.
She sits back in her chair, thinking for a moment of what she should or maybe shouldn't say. She is intrigued by him. By things he's already said out in the other room. His explanations, which to others might seem too long and impractical seem just right to her. She sneaks a peek at him from beneath her lashes, noting the strength of his jaw, the character of his face, the tall leanness of his body and hair she's already imagining running her fingers through.
His cell phone rings and saves her from having to start the conversation while he answers in a language she cannot understand. She could listen to the timbre of his voice for hours, heavily accented and yet fluid in his native tongue. He looks up at her and seems to really look at her, "I'm sorry honey," he says, offering her an apology for having answered his phone. And she finds herself smiling, telling him it's okay while he says a few syllable's more and then neatly ends his call. "Now where were we?" he asks, giving her a smile.
In the space of a few minutes she puts to him her questions, learning about the country from which he came, and how long he'd been here. He tells her that his family was originally from Europe, Bosnia to be exact. And she admits to having the world's worst geography skills, telling him she has no idea where to find it on a map. He asks her if she knows where Italy is. And she laughs, at his description of Italy, "You know the country of the boot with the too high heel," he says.
They continue talking, alone on the porch with only the moonlight for company. And she apologizes for not remembering his name. "Armie," he says, "Like an army of one." She rolls his name off her tongue, liking the sound of it on her lips. At some point, after they'd talk more about his job, and he said she should stop in to see him some time, they went inside. She shot her best friend a look across the room, a thank you but I'd like to kill you all the same sort of face, flushed with a dreamy smile.
All too soon the night came to a close, ending with a mass departure of voices drifting off into the night. And though theirs was an ordinary goodbye at best, she couldn't help but hope that he might entertain the thought of wanting to see her again.
She sits back in her chair, thinking for a moment of what she should or maybe shouldn't say. She is intrigued by him. By things he's already said out in the other room. His explanations, which to others might seem too long and impractical seem just right to her. She sneaks a peek at him from beneath her lashes, noting the strength of his jaw, the character of his face, the tall leanness of his body and hair she's already imagining running her fingers through.
His cell phone rings and saves her from having to start the conversation while he answers in a language she cannot understand. She could listen to the timbre of his voice for hours, heavily accented and yet fluid in his native tongue. He looks up at her and seems to really look at her, "I'm sorry honey," he says, offering her an apology for having answered his phone. And she finds herself smiling, telling him it's okay while he says a few syllable's more and then neatly ends his call. "Now where were we?" he asks, giving her a smile.
In the space of a few minutes she puts to him her questions, learning about the country from which he came, and how long he'd been here. He tells her that his family was originally from Europe, Bosnia to be exact. And she admits to having the world's worst geography skills, telling him she has no idea where to find it on a map. He asks her if she knows where Italy is. And she laughs, at his description of Italy, "You know the country of the boot with the too high heel," he says.
They continue talking, alone on the porch with only the moonlight for company. And she apologizes for not remembering his name. "Armie," he says, "Like an army of one." She rolls his name off her tongue, liking the sound of it on her lips. At some point, after they'd talk more about his job, and he said she should stop in to see him some time, they went inside. She shot her best friend a look across the room, a thank you but I'd like to kill you all the same sort of face, flushed with a dreamy smile.
All too soon the night came to a close, ending with a mass departure of voices drifting off into the night. And though theirs was an ordinary goodbye at best, she couldn't help but hope that he might entertain the thought of wanting to see her again.
Too Much of a Worry Wart
Very odd dreams last night featuring a full cast of characters, stairs without handrails or landings, gardens made completely of stone, and an overall theme that burdens should not be a solitary effort.
If I were to pick it apart, I know that one of those efforts is my daughter and this week we've spent apart. And though I know it's a good thing for her to get in some extra time with her father while the summer months allow, I can't help but miss her to distraction when she's gone. And of course, I worry...
Worry that her Dad doesn't always make the best choices when it comes to what she watches on TV, what time she goes to sleep, whether she eats a healthy breakfast, lunch and dinner or dines on a mountain load of empty calories, or if she's outside without supervision in the yard. My worries and the list of them are endless.
And yet I do know that she is safe there. That he takes care of her in his own way, and that she enjoys the temporary escape out from under her Mother's thumb. The ten year old wisdom that announces to the world that her Mother is much more than just a tad bit overprotective and that as far as trusting the world at large, her Mom doesn't subscribe to it. Not one little bit...
I laugh to myself thinking how much now I sound like my Grandma Angie. I can remember her fretting away each time my sister and I were on the loose. She had a way of saying "Ooooh," every time she caught site of us playing in the yard dangling from trees or sneaking into the forbidden broken down barn out back to look for buried treasures. "You girls," seemed to be the way she started every sentence, though it could finish in a number of different ways. One thing however always held true, Grams had constant agida over us.
If I were to pick it apart, I know that one of those efforts is my daughter and this week we've spent apart. And though I know it's a good thing for her to get in some extra time with her father while the summer months allow, I can't help but miss her to distraction when she's gone. And of course, I worry...
Worry that her Dad doesn't always make the best choices when it comes to what she watches on TV, what time she goes to sleep, whether she eats a healthy breakfast, lunch and dinner or dines on a mountain load of empty calories, or if she's outside without supervision in the yard. My worries and the list of them are endless.
And yet I do know that she is safe there. That he takes care of her in his own way, and that she enjoys the temporary escape out from under her Mother's thumb. The ten year old wisdom that announces to the world that her Mother is much more than just a tad bit overprotective and that as far as trusting the world at large, her Mom doesn't subscribe to it. Not one little bit...
I laugh to myself thinking how much now I sound like my Grandma Angie. I can remember her fretting away each time my sister and I were on the loose. She had a way of saying "Ooooh," every time she caught site of us playing in the yard dangling from trees or sneaking into the forbidden broken down barn out back to look for buried treasures. "You girls," seemed to be the way she started every sentence, though it could finish in a number of different ways. One thing however always held true, Grams had constant agida over us.
High Irritability Warning
I'm in a pissy mood tonight. Maybe because I've yet to eat dinner. Or because I miss my kid who's been at her Dad's since last Friday. Or it could be because I've worked late for the past three nights and I'm extremely ready for the four day weekend coming up. Or maybe it's because I'm just tired of all the bullshit, day in and day out. And all the things I'd love to change if I could. If there was a way, if there was enough money, if there was enough time. If, if, if, if, if...
And there's nothing I can do about it even though my brain keeps throwing out things like when, how, and where, as if it's expecting some easy answer to just float by and say, "Oh yeah. I know you've been waiting for me. Here's your solution."
It ain't that easy baby. Trust me on this. When you get yourself in a pickle, there is no such thing as quick and easy. It just doesn't happen that way, because the road out of hell is always a lot longer than the road in.
And with that jolly good thought, I'm off to eat dinner. Woo Hoo!
And there's nothing I can do about it even though my brain keeps throwing out things like when, how, and where, as if it's expecting some easy answer to just float by and say, "Oh yeah. I know you've been waiting for me. Here's your solution."
It ain't that easy baby. Trust me on this. When you get yourself in a pickle, there is no such thing as quick and easy. It just doesn't happen that way, because the road out of hell is always a lot longer than the road in.
And with that jolly good thought, I'm off to eat dinner. Woo Hoo!
Long Distance Letter
Hard to believe, but I was in Greece yesterday - it was beautiful. I swam in the Aegean Sea, ate a mid-morning snack in a tiny village of fresh tomatoes & cucumbers with feta cheese. Local wine and ouzo also served, but since I was driving a 4 wheel drive vehicle up a mountain, I only had a sip of each. The view from the top of the mountain was tremendous - 27 hairpin turns on the way up on a road only about one vehicle wide - even met a full size bus coming from the other direction on one of the turns, but we all managed to maneuver around each other without incident. I was up to see the sunrise over Greece yesterday and I cried both coming into Greece and leaving...I really could live there.
We have a sea day today and I am taking it very easy - this has been a very intensive trip - lots of walking and climbing and humid, Mediterranean summer heat. Tomorrow we will dock in a Citiavecchio (sp?) and take a shuttle into Rome; we will then do Rome on our own for the day - the Vatican, St.Peter's square, the Trevi Fountain, and whatever else comes up.
I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed seeing Europe - it goes without saying. I would like to return to both Italy and Greece - but I should tell you that Croatia was very beautiful. I saw a picture of Dubrovnick when it was bombed by Serbia in 1991 - to see it today, you would never know that it was a country at war 15 years ago. Just so you know, the Italians take things a lot slower; I saw buildings that had been damaged by bombs in WWII that were still not repaired.
I miss you both - it seems like ages since I've heard your voices. I love you both and treasure you both. See you soon.
All my love,
YM
PS - As much as I wanted to stay in Greece, I couldn't - I have to see you both again.
Awwww ... Isn't my Mom just the absolute best???
Perhaps Somebody is Home
I tried. I really did. But nothing came to mind when I thought to write. And this dry spell that started all those months ago just keeps taking its toll, leaving me with more of nothing much to say. And I wish I could say more and not the less I'm growing more and more familiar with. A growing silence that can't be recalled.
A Lodge Worth Leaving Home For
I think I might have mentioned something about Bren and I taking our kids on a mini-holiday a few weeks ago, and since I just got my film developed over the weekend, I thought I would share at least two of them. Above is the lodge we stayed at while in Queensbury, NY which is part of the Six Flags/Great Escape theme park. And below is a rather dark and dingy shot (that would have been far better if I had remembered to kick the flash on)of the upstairs tree house unit of the indoor water park.
To say that the kids had a great time would be putting it mildly, although if you ask the adults, they might be more prone to remember two of the little ones heaving over the toilet bowl getting sick in the middle of the night.
Awake at 2:45 AM
Writing this early in the morning, or this late at night, whichever one you consider it to be, is never a good sign when it comes to me. Few things pull me from my bed from a deep sleep. A loud noise in the middle of the night. A dream too real to continue on with. And now it seems it's the things I don't hear which seem loudest of all.
It would be in my best interest not to care, though try as I might there are moments when I don't do as well doing that as I should, momentarily allowing myself to plug back in and feel where I'd rather not feel at all. Detachment is the far better option that allows me the security to feel nothing. No hurt. No rejection. No expectations. No disappointment. But it takes a true master of control to remain so disaffected by everything around her, and I'm afraid that though I am quite good at it, it's not a skill at which I exceed at being my very best.
I miss what I would describe as passion in my life. Miss it like one would miss breathing if all of a sudden our lungs stopped working on their own leaving us to rely on forced air being pushed into our chests to make it rise and fall. Without passion, the promise of something more falters. And what we're left with is the feeling that we're living a half life, a life incomplete of itself. A life that lacks an element of joy.
And what I want is something more to come home to. To open up the door with a smile on my face with the same eagerness of a child waiting to hear the final bell on the last day of school, heralding the beginning of summer. I want the rush of euphoria, the tingle of happiness down my spine as I make my way home each night from a long day at work. I want the promise of companionship that offers the safety and security of love, and a friendship that would not falter even in the worst of storms.
They say good things come to those who wait, but it seems to me that I've been waiting all my life for nothing much to happen. If I were a gambler I'd be sitting before you with empty pockets, for my choices each time that they are made are never on the crowd favorite, or what some may call the sure thing. I can pick them, but seldom has it been where they've panned out.
I guess what it comes down to is that in order to cut ones losses, one must truly cut their losses. And one must be able to wake up the morning, present themselves with a new day, and give all their effort to making it a day worthy of the passing of time. Allowing youself to stagnate, to give in, or resign yourself to things being the way they are with no hope for change is not the answer. Sometimes it is the slightest change and effort on our part that makes all the difference, though these moves often require our bravest face to do so. LeAnn Rimes says it best with one line in a song, "Fear of leaving is no reason to stay."
It would be in my best interest not to care, though try as I might there are moments when I don't do as well doing that as I should, momentarily allowing myself to plug back in and feel where I'd rather not feel at all. Detachment is the far better option that allows me the security to feel nothing. No hurt. No rejection. No expectations. No disappointment. But it takes a true master of control to remain so disaffected by everything around her, and I'm afraid that though I am quite good at it, it's not a skill at which I exceed at being my very best.
I miss what I would describe as passion in my life. Miss it like one would miss breathing if all of a sudden our lungs stopped working on their own leaving us to rely on forced air being pushed into our chests to make it rise and fall. Without passion, the promise of something more falters. And what we're left with is the feeling that we're living a half life, a life incomplete of itself. A life that lacks an element of joy.
And what I want is something more to come home to. To open up the door with a smile on my face with the same eagerness of a child waiting to hear the final bell on the last day of school, heralding the beginning of summer. I want the rush of euphoria, the tingle of happiness down my spine as I make my way home each night from a long day at work. I want the promise of companionship that offers the safety and security of love, and a friendship that would not falter even in the worst of storms.
They say good things come to those who wait, but it seems to me that I've been waiting all my life for nothing much to happen. If I were a gambler I'd be sitting before you with empty pockets, for my choices each time that they are made are never on the crowd favorite, or what some may call the sure thing. I can pick them, but seldom has it been where they've panned out.
I guess what it comes down to is that in order to cut ones losses, one must truly cut their losses. And one must be able to wake up the morning, present themselves with a new day, and give all their effort to making it a day worthy of the passing of time. Allowing youself to stagnate, to give in, or resign yourself to things being the way they are with no hope for change is not the answer. Sometimes it is the slightest change and effort on our part that makes all the difference, though these moves often require our bravest face to do so. LeAnn Rimes says it best with one line in a song, "Fear of leaving is no reason to stay."
A Swan In Final Flight
There is nothing now of you that I can keep.
No memory, no train of thought, no lost letter
to call you back.
And my heart that thought it couldn't bleed,
beats one last time, a slow and steady staccato,
in memory to all those moments that we had shared.
You and I - we were temporary things.
And between us the future could only be measured by the minute.
But how I treasured each minute that we shared,
storing them away for the inevitable winter to come,
when your words alone would be enough to keep me warm.
One last swan song is enough to bear witness to the truth.
That love and life seldom walk one path in the same direction.
You must live as you see fit, even if that living leaves me far behind.
Once upon a time he wrote...
You excite me Stacey; you make me feel good about myself and about life. I don't know many people that can do that! Call me silly, but I still have some of the messages you left on my answering machine, regarding its rudeness. I never deleted them. I wish you could see the smile I get each time I listen to them. :) I think you and I have many of the same thoughts. I don't know where it will lead, but I am gonna enjoy the ride.
So many years in-between now and then. And I suppose I knew a long time ago that he'd gotten married. Still finding out for sure, I had that single moment when I let myself be saddened by the news, though in truth, I only wish him the best of everything...
Mazal Tov Michael.
Three Strikes and Mom's Out...
KC's softball game was interesting tonight. Interesting being defined as how long I managed to hold my temper and my mouth in check before finally giving way to my grievances in what could probably be described as a loud and obnoxious tone, if one were really so inclined to describe it at all that is.
And it is becoming painfully obvious that I'm turning into one of those parents who will eventually be ejected from their child's sporting event by some off the wall official with an overdeveloped propensity for whistle blowing. But in this, I blame my daughter's coach for being the absolute tool that he is. And a clueless one at that.
Now don't get me wrong as I'm sure he's a real swell guy off the field, but on it, he's a complete ass... God forbid he ever get quizzed on the names of the girls on his team, or actually have to tell them to play a spot that wasn't the same spot they played the inning before. Or teach them about the game of softball in more detail than just hit the ball, run around the bases and when the other team is up to bat, try to get them out. In other words, everything they already know.
Then again holding practices might count for something if he bothered to have any which technically he hasn't done and I refuse to call his half hour before the game warm up sessions worthy of such a word. But tonight absolutely beat the cake, hands down, as the worst almost non-practice prior to the big show.
Tonight two little boys, obviously related or closely associated with the coach, took the field with the girls and then proceeded to catch the ball, throw the ball, and basically make it so every little girl on the field either starting drawing diagrams in the dirt with their cleat clad feet or pretty much sat down in the grass as if they were bored spectators rather than up and at 'em participants in the sport.
And poor KC was livid.
I could see it in her face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, complete with the look of absolute disgust in her eyes and the movement of her mouth which was gearing up to tell them exactly what she thought of them. (This is a good point to mention that my daughter is the not so watered down smaller version of me, and really it is quite a scary sight to behold at times.) So being the wise and wonderful parent that I am - and not so politically correct at times - I yelled out as if to my daughter, "Hey KC. Why don't you just sit down exactly where you are until the boys finish with their softball practice!"
(Hey. I never said I was the poster child of parenting and good role modeling...)
Really though, I thought it was quite a charming way of saying. "Why are you letting the boys out on the field when it's the girls who are supposed to be practicing?" Needless to say, other than my daughter giving me the thumbs up sign from the pitchers mound, it went pretty much unnoticed and the game started about three minutes later. But don't ask me who won, because no one keeps score...
And it is becoming painfully obvious that I'm turning into one of those parents who will eventually be ejected from their child's sporting event by some off the wall official with an overdeveloped propensity for whistle blowing. But in this, I blame my daughter's coach for being the absolute tool that he is. And a clueless one at that.
Now don't get me wrong as I'm sure he's a real swell guy off the field, but on it, he's a complete ass... God forbid he ever get quizzed on the names of the girls on his team, or actually have to tell them to play a spot that wasn't the same spot they played the inning before. Or teach them about the game of softball in more detail than just hit the ball, run around the bases and when the other team is up to bat, try to get them out. In other words, everything they already know.
Then again holding practices might count for something if he bothered to have any which technically he hasn't done and I refuse to call his half hour before the game warm up sessions worthy of such a word. But tonight absolutely beat the cake, hands down, as the worst almost non-practice prior to the big show.
Tonight two little boys, obviously related or closely associated with the coach, took the field with the girls and then proceeded to catch the ball, throw the ball, and basically make it so every little girl on the field either starting drawing diagrams in the dirt with their cleat clad feet or pretty much sat down in the grass as if they were bored spectators rather than up and at 'em participants in the sport.
And poor KC was livid.
I could see it in her face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, complete with the look of absolute disgust in her eyes and the movement of her mouth which was gearing up to tell them exactly what she thought of them. (This is a good point to mention that my daughter is the not so watered down smaller version of me, and really it is quite a scary sight to behold at times.) So being the wise and wonderful parent that I am - and not so politically correct at times - I yelled out as if to my daughter, "Hey KC. Why don't you just sit down exactly where you are until the boys finish with their softball practice!"
(Hey. I never said I was the poster child of parenting and good role modeling...)
Really though, I thought it was quite a charming way of saying. "Why are you letting the boys out on the field when it's the girls who are supposed to be practicing?" Needless to say, other than my daughter giving me the thumbs up sign from the pitchers mound, it went pretty much unnoticed and the game started about three minutes later. But don't ask me who won, because no one keeps score...
Common Misconceptions
She sat on the other side of the table and I felt superior,
feeling so much smarter than she at her age as
I made a mental list in my head in order of importance,
checking them off.
Things that were non-negotiable,
things that no matter what I just wouldn't tolerate.
And I watched - listened too -
as he talked to her and shook my head.
Shook my head because I wished she knew that
he didn't really matter at all.
That what she really needed to do was to
take charge of her destiny,
and forget all about the little boy man who
threw fast balls at the heads of defenseless children,
taunting them to retaliate.
He's in Peter Pan world I would tell her.
Not ready to grow up.
And you deserve more than a man who treats you like dirt,
but calls you when there's no one else around,
and says come on over but I really don't want you here.
Men create women like her...
Women like me.
They tease us with false promises,
dangling precious pearls of hope,
pretending the one thing we want is just within our reach.
And we think we can make ourselves better.
We can win the prize if we just try harder,
if we change ourselves,
our expectations,
if we surrender our pride.
And after she left, he continued to complain.
I listened with one hand over my mouth not
wanting to create a stir
as he went through a littany of woe is me
and it's so hard to get rid of her.
And had I not been trying to be polite,
I might have clued him in.
Perhaps I might have said that
this is the cost of toying with a woman's heart.
The cost of manipulating her affections.
That it is his own actions which
have born the fruit of creating the woman who
sat silently by his side today.
She is not at fault.
Not for feeling the way she does.
Or for believing in his multitude of lies.
She is not at fault for wearing her heart out on her sleeve,
or holding it in her hands,
sitting at a table amongst a group of strangers thinking
pretty thoughts that being
there will make a difference.
(We both know that it won't.)
She is not at fault for the wanting of more
and the earning of less.
Nor should she look to him to validate her worth.
He is an empty pocketful of change,
and he could never afford such jewels.
feeling so much smarter than she at her age as
I made a mental list in my head in order of importance,
checking them off.
Things that were non-negotiable,
things that no matter what I just wouldn't tolerate.
And I watched - listened too -
as he talked to her and shook my head.
Shook my head because I wished she knew that
he didn't really matter at all.
That what she really needed to do was to
take charge of her destiny,
and forget all about the little boy man who
threw fast balls at the heads of defenseless children,
taunting them to retaliate.
He's in Peter Pan world I would tell her.
Not ready to grow up.
And you deserve more than a man who treats you like dirt,
but calls you when there's no one else around,
and says come on over but I really don't want you here.
Men create women like her...
Women like me.
They tease us with false promises,
dangling precious pearls of hope,
pretending the one thing we want is just within our reach.
And we think we can make ourselves better.
We can win the prize if we just try harder,
if we change ourselves,
our expectations,
if we surrender our pride.
And after she left, he continued to complain.
I listened with one hand over my mouth not
wanting to create a stir
as he went through a littany of woe is me
and it's so hard to get rid of her.
And had I not been trying to be polite,
I might have clued him in.
Perhaps I might have said that
this is the cost of toying with a woman's heart.
The cost of manipulating her affections.
That it is his own actions which
have born the fruit of creating the woman who
sat silently by his side today.
She is not at fault.
Not for feeling the way she does.
Or for believing in his multitude of lies.
She is not at fault for wearing her heart out on her sleeve,
or holding it in her hands,
sitting at a table amongst a group of strangers thinking
pretty thoughts that being
there will make a difference.
(We both know that it won't.)
She is not at fault for the wanting of more
and the earning of less.
Nor should she look to him to validate her worth.
He is an empty pocketful of change,
and he could never afford such jewels.
The Trouble With Being Ill
Lucky me. I've a three day weekend and here I am just a hacking and coughing away with a vicious early summer cold. It's just not right. And believe me when I tell you, I know exactly who I should blame. Two people in fact. The very two who sounded much like I do now except much worse and who despite being afflicted with the bubonic plague kept coming into the office, day after day, for the sole purpose of passing their contagion around. I mean really, why use a sick day when you're actually sick?
So here I sit, mug of hot chocolate to the right of me and an open door to the basement to the left of me. And I think that perhaps I should be doing more than I am, like finishing the laundry I took downstairs yesterday, or cleaning up the dishes I left behind last night in favor of sleep. And while decisions will have to be made, at the moment I've decided upon not making them. Not a single one. I'm sick after all and as far as I'm concerned that is a good enough excuse to last me until early afternoon if not later.
So here I sit, mug of hot chocolate to the right of me and an open door to the basement to the left of me. And I think that perhaps I should be doing more than I am, like finishing the laundry I took downstairs yesterday, or cleaning up the dishes I left behind last night in favor of sleep. And while decisions will have to be made, at the moment I've decided upon not making them. Not a single one. I'm sick after all and as far as I'm concerned that is a good enough excuse to last me until early afternoon if not later.
In My Dreams
I woke up this morning with leftovers of a strange dream still lingering on the fringes of my mind and I thought to myself, "It's funny sometimes, the things you think in your sleep. The bits and pieces you're left to wake up with. Sort of like a puzzle where you have to figure them out, and put them together to make a coherent statement. The things that don't make sense, and the things that do and how in dreams they always manage to combine themselves all into one continuous story."
For months I haven't been remembering my dreams. I'm not sure I've even been having any. But this past week, it's as if someone has turned my dream faucet back on, and every morning I wake up with new technicolor images in my head, foggy images, and memories of conversations I've had but have never had. It's like they've been gone so long they're trying now to make up for lost time. So many of them crammed inside my head, bursting at the seams to get their story out, or educate me with their images. And I'm convinced that my dreams are manifestations of my internal dialogue at work. Things I need to approach head on, deal with, or keep holding out for hope for. It's all there when I close my eyes, like a sigh of relief of finally being able to say all the things that need to be said.
For months I haven't been remembering my dreams. I'm not sure I've even been having any. But this past week, it's as if someone has turned my dream faucet back on, and every morning I wake up with new technicolor images in my head, foggy images, and memories of conversations I've had but have never had. It's like they've been gone so long they're trying now to make up for lost time. So many of them crammed inside my head, bursting at the seams to get their story out, or educate me with their images. And I'm convinced that my dreams are manifestations of my internal dialogue at work. Things I need to approach head on, deal with, or keep holding out for hope for. It's all there when I close my eyes, like a sigh of relief of finally being able to say all the things that need to be said.
Happy Mother's Day...
I may be a bit prejudiced in my thinking, but as far as I'm concerned, I've got the best Mom in the entire world.
I guess I just must have been born lucky...
Sliding Into Home
My daughter is going to play ball for the minors... And even though I'll be fresh out of whatever it is you're supposed to snack on at a softball game, I'll be up in the stands just a hooting and a hollering away, and if necessary heckling the other team and the ref all at once. There are refs in softball, right?
Tonight is KC's very first game for the little league I signed her up for way back at the tail end of March. And even though they've never even had one single stinking practice and can't possibly even know the names of all the members on their team, I'm sure this game is going to be top notch. Especially since the coach has such faith that practice does not make perfect and that somehow a group of ten year old girls will pull forth their psychic connections and automatically know that Jill Jones is on first, and Jane Doe is playing centerfield instead of being forced to scream, "Hey! Girl on second! Catch this!"
Yes, you heard it hear folks. The smell of sarcasm rising up high early in the morning. As far as coaches go, KC's coach is less than impressive with a questionable commitment level to the game in serious question. In fact, the general buzz of all the other parents would lead me to believe that Sir Coach is going to have his ears set aflame tonight if he doesn't get things a bit more pulled together before this season is out. I mean really... We all shelled out fifty dollars per kid to have them play softball, I believe we all need to see some bang for our bucks!
Batter up y'all.
Tonight is KC's very first game for the little league I signed her up for way back at the tail end of March. And even though they've never even had one single stinking practice and can't possibly even know the names of all the members on their team, I'm sure this game is going to be top notch. Especially since the coach has such faith that practice does not make perfect and that somehow a group of ten year old girls will pull forth their psychic connections and automatically know that Jill Jones is on first, and Jane Doe is playing centerfield instead of being forced to scream, "Hey! Girl on second! Catch this!"
Yes, you heard it hear folks. The smell of sarcasm rising up high early in the morning. As far as coaches go, KC's coach is less than impressive with a questionable commitment level to the game in serious question. In fact, the general buzz of all the other parents would lead me to believe that Sir Coach is going to have his ears set aflame tonight if he doesn't get things a bit more pulled together before this season is out. I mean really... We all shelled out fifty dollars per kid to have them play softball, I believe we all need to see some bang for our bucks!
Batter up y'all.
Salt In Open Wounds
My heart bleeds and breaks and makes wishes for things it cannot have. My anger is my sorrow, my sorrow, my pain. I don’t know how to disconnect one feeling from the other. I am a river that rages lost and out of control, hoping always to return to you.
I wish I could paint you a picture to make you understand, or make sense of these things myself. The way the pain can overtake me as suddenly as a violent summer storm, living here with you, but not with you, scared of the loneliness that refuses to leave my side, scared of my own future now so uncertain.
How can you live with someone you love and know that they don’t feel the same? How can you live with someone who breaks your heart every time he picks up the phone and you know it’s not you he’s talking to? How can anyone even begin to imagine that kind of pain unless they themselves have felt it?
I thought that I could put this all behind me, moving on from here without really moving on from here. Opening myself to what I thought could be new options, new dreams to make come true. But at the end of the day, my need to displace the emptiness I feel inside is as tenuous as the connections I pretend to make. And nothing and no one can stop my tears once they begin to fall. Not even you…
And I know that it would be best to listen to those that have counseled me, my family and my friends. And I feel bad for what I’ve put them through. Days and nights when they have listened patiently when I could barely speak between my tears or keened my sorrow loudly like a lost child in the woods. They have seen me at my worst; a pitiful broken thing as helpless to make a decision as a newborn lamb and they have implored me to change.
But still I wait. Wondering if someday soon you might remember who I am, and the reasons why you chose to find me when I was lost to you. You came back to me of your own accord, opening doors I thought I’d shut. You made me a believer in fate and perhaps it was foolish of me to think that we should be destined to be together when truth seems to be saying that we are destined to be apart.
The way you love leaves me little doubt that somewhere in your heart there is a space for me. Some corner I’ve already claimed. But even I can see that you’re nowhere near ready to allow anyone any closer than where you want them to be. Love is a dangerous weapon. Give your heart away, and there is a strong possibility that you will never get it back. And despite what we think, we cannot live without our hearts.
And so I’m taking mine back and asking you to understand that my pride, my passion, and self-preservation has made this the only move that I can make. I cannot love you and allow myself to fall apart. I cannot love you and surrender my pride. I will not love you and ignore my passion. And I will not put my entire life on hold hoping and waiting for you to figure out that your next move should be with me, beside me... Together.
Eventually I will leave, and be not like the wife of Lot, who in her need to look back on all she left behind, was left to stand a pillar of salt.
Following the Road ...
It's been a few days again in-between posting and I'm afraid that this is now the norm on how life goes on here at NWTLO. I'm not sad about this though because it means I am taking the right steps to getting back on track with actually having a life and so, I'm okay with letting my writing life slide back a bit into every so often rather than each and every day.
One of the best things on my agenda is that I'm taking a few days off from work this week to spend time with my Mom who is coming up from North Carolina. I am beyond excited about this as talking to her on the phone is just not the same as being able to spend time with each other in the same room, talking and laughing over every little thing.
I also went out after work Friday night with some of the guys and had a most excellent time. Granted it was short, but it was nice not to be going straight home. Although next time I listen to "Jake" and follow him on a supposed short cut to our destination, I'm going to seriously consider how not short his last short cut turned out to be. The minute I decided to follow him, I just knew I'd made a colossal mistake ... No offense there Jake darling, but you know all of this is true.
Anyhoo, I wrote a very interesting email last night to someone I don't really know but might like to, and I thought I'd share it here since it's been a long time since I've posted anything that might actually be considered funny, or at the least minimally entertaining ...
One of the best things on my agenda is that I'm taking a few days off from work this week to spend time with my Mom who is coming up from North Carolina. I am beyond excited about this as talking to her on the phone is just not the same as being able to spend time with each other in the same room, talking and laughing over every little thing.
I also went out after work Friday night with some of the guys and had a most excellent time. Granted it was short, but it was nice not to be going straight home. Although next time I listen to "Jake" and follow him on a supposed short cut to our destination, I'm going to seriously consider how not short his last short cut turned out to be. The minute I decided to follow him, I just knew I'd made a colossal mistake ... No offense there Jake darling, but you know all of this is true.
Anyhoo, I wrote a very interesting email last night to someone I don't really know but might like to, and I thought I'd share it here since it's been a long time since I've posted anything that might actually be considered funny, or at the least minimally entertaining ...
Dear Mr 80%,
I would have gotten back to you sooner, but I was carried away by a nomadic group of conga line dancers and well, there was no stopping them once they got started ... Actually that's no where near the truth - they weren't actually nomadic. It was however an interesting way to start off an email when simply saying, "Hi. My name is Stacey," was a bit too run of the mill for me ...
So if you're still with me, and not running around your house making sure there's no chance that the rhythm is going to get you, I'll tell you just a bit about myself.
Like you, I put a high value on my friends and family. And considering how long I've known them, it's also a testament to how well I deal with dysfunction. Lord love them, but my family seems to think that any and all gatherings are open mike night at some comedy club, and with three other siblings, my Dad takes full advantage of having a captive audience. Luckily he hasn't yet gotten around to making us pay a cover charge at the door ...
While I do like to go out on the town, I'm more homebody than not. To me, the best way to spend an evening would be deep in conversation, or simply sitting next to each other enjoying a movie, or mocking it beyond all recognition.
I like to have fun. And I like to be around other people who enjoy spending their time laughing, talking, and simply being in the moment. Life shouldn't be treated as one big stress test, when it's true value is finding the things that make you happy, making this world we all share a much better place to call home.
A few other quick facts before I turn this email into a short novel - give or take a few hundred pages - I am a single Mom of one child (10), and work full time professionally. And like you, I agree that any relationship needs to start off with the basic foundation of friendship in order to build and grow. I appreciate a good sense of humor but also know when to turn it off and let my serious side take over. I'm the kind of woman who once committed to something or someone, believes in the value of a true team effort.
I would definitely like to hear more about your wild side or whatever else you'd like to share.
Hope to hear from you.
Stacey
Backlash of a Verbal Assault
We're back to living with the petulant child. Rules being do as I say but not as I do. Nagging little threats to make sure we tow the line. Expectations that often exceed reality as well as integrity. How easy was it to say in the beginning that we would agree on how to disagree and then veer completely off that path. How easy was it to say everything I wanted to hear while knowing the value of follow through would never honestly follow through. This is all water under the bridge now. Been there, done that, except here we are still running around ourselves in circles, chasing our tails the way some people chase demons away.
There's got to be a way to stop. There's got to be a solution somewhere in my head to cash in my chips and quit this game. You have opened my eyes and for the first time I see clearly the things I don't want are the things I don't need. And I can live without you. For a day. A month. A year. A lifetime. There will be nothing that I will miss. A nothing so pure that the thought of you will never invade my mind once I am gone. And there will be no return to this season we have shared, allocated to the darkest winter of my mind.
I have no pity. No feeling that I should share to make this seem less harsh than what it is. You killed off that last little piece of innocence in me. The part of me that could have seen your side and felt sorry for your shame. But you have made your bed with the consciousness of your decisions, and the deceptiveness of your actions and the petulance that seems to invade all aspects of your character.
I can do no more than bide my time. The end draws near of its own accord.
There's got to be a way to stop. There's got to be a solution somewhere in my head to cash in my chips and quit this game. You have opened my eyes and for the first time I see clearly the things I don't want are the things I don't need. And I can live without you. For a day. A month. A year. A lifetime. There will be nothing that I will miss. A nothing so pure that the thought of you will never invade my mind once I am gone. And there will be no return to this season we have shared, allocated to the darkest winter of my mind.
I have no pity. No feeling that I should share to make this seem less harsh than what it is. You killed off that last little piece of innocence in me. The part of me that could have seen your side and felt sorry for your shame. But you have made your bed with the consciousness of your decisions, and the deceptiveness of your actions and the petulance that seems to invade all aspects of your character.
I can do no more than bide my time. The end draws near of its own accord.
Taking It Down in My Little Black Book
Praise the Lord people ... This girl has finally had her light bulb, earth shaking, oh my God I can't believe it took me so long to catch on moment! And damn, if it wasn't just in the nick of time. I'm talking the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded and one out left at bat ...
It seems to me that what I haven't been doing these past few months - okay, let's be honest - these past ten years is taking charge of my own future. I've been cheating my own destiny by being too uninvolved in my own life. And I've been content to sit back and take what comes to me without ever really being proactive about getting out there and getting what I want.
But no more ... I'm about to take charge in a big, bad way and I'm about to take names ... Names, numbers, you name it. I'm taking it all down, and getting myself a little black book to call my own. And that's not just Dr. Phil talking ...
It seems to me that what I haven't been doing these past few months - okay, let's be honest - these past ten years is taking charge of my own future. I've been cheating my own destiny by being too uninvolved in my own life. And I've been content to sit back and take what comes to me without ever really being proactive about getting out there and getting what I want.
But no more ... I'm about to take charge in a big, bad way and I'm about to take names ... Names, numbers, you name it. I'm taking it all down, and getting myself a little black book to call my own. And that's not just Dr. Phil talking ...
A Million and One ...
The Untrustworthy Speaker
Don't listen to me; my heart's been broken.
I don't see anything objectively.
I know myself; I've learned to hear like a psychiatrist.
When I speak passionately,
That's when I'm least to be trusted.
It's very sad, really: all my life I've been praised
For my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight-
In the end they're wasted-
I never see myself.
Standing on the front steps. Holding my sisters hand.
That's why I can't account
For the bruises on her arm where the sleeve ends . . .
In my own mind, I'm invisible: that's why I'm dangerous.
People like me, who seem selfless.
We're the cripples, the liars:
We're the ones who should be factored out
In the interest of truth.
When I'm quiet, that's when the truth emerges.
A clear sky, the clouds like white fibers.
Underneath, a little gray house. The azaleas
Red and bright pink.
If you want the truth, you have to close yourself
To the older sister, block her out:
When a living thing is hurt like that
In its deepest workings,
All function is altered.
That's why I'm not to be trusted.
Because a wound to the heart
Is also a wound to the mind.
Louise Gluck
I'm sure a million other people have blogged this very same poem for various reasons of their own. Truth - even that which is seen with the borrowed words of another - still retains its authenticity among kindred spirits. In some ways, we are all the walking wounded, carrying around old hurts and broken dreams. And haven't I too felt the weight of my own invisibility, the words that course through me like molten lava at my core and listened to the sound of my own voice betray me as if it were not mine to own.
And me, I have been much like a tightly wound cord, wrapping myself and all my hurts in a binding so tight that I gloried in my control. But these past few months I've been unraveling - years and years of hurt I always knew I had but wasn't ready to admit to or deal with.
Perhaps it is an explanation as to why the winter seemed eternal here, as if the cold had somehow seeped into my bones, and frozen me in place to shiver with its contempt. I thought to myself that this was what dying must feel like, the absence of everything. And for a short time, there were moments when I felt like giving up and letting go just to be done with the pain. But those thoughts - even as they crossed my mind - were quickly discarded. I have walked away from many things, but God spared me from having to walk away from myself.
Even now as the first Spring flowers show their faces above the ground, I am rebuilding my foundation, digging deep into the core of who I am and what I want. There are some things that I will not accept less than what I should be offered. And for these things, I am non-negotiable. And even if I am the only one who values me, I am still worth every choice I make to solidify my future.
I will find the light. I will feel it on my face. And I will go on ...
Talking Outside Ourselves
As human beings we are quite complex. Who we are and what we become is a process learned from the very moment we take our first breath of air. Memories from childhood are time stamped on our hearts and minds, and sometimes without even knowing the reactions they illicit from us as adults, the reasons for why we feel the way we do don't always seem that clear.
Sometimes it takes talking to an outsider. A third person. Someone who knows you not by whose daughter you are, of whose mother you are, or whose sister you are, but by the pictures you paint and the stories you choose to share. And you can tell them anything. Say whatever you want and you know that whatever you say won't leave the room you've told it in.
It is a trust. A trust to tell your most secret thoughts, or cry your most secret fears and know that your words are protected and safe. And it is a Godsend to let the things you've been holding onto go. Or feel confident enough to believe in yourself again and trust once more that the choices you make are solid and won't turn to quicksand beneath your feet.
It takes learning about yourself from the inside out to understand how your life has been shaped. And it is this same learning that allows you room to grow, and the ability to change.
I have learned many things these past few months.
Some demons need to be chased down, and looked at dead center before they'll abandon their post beneath your bed. Some fears need to be faced before they can fade away into the oblivion they belong in. Some beliefs need to be challenged in a way that the truth of what is will never be confused with the truth of what was. And sometimes it's okay to be the one who needs a hand to hold, and a shoulder to cry on. Because true strength is as strong as your greatest weakness. And true weakness is not asking for help when it's the one thing that you need.
Life as enjoyable as it can be, often has its rough patches, places and times when nothing seems to come very easy at all. But if you make it through that cold and lonely winter to the thaw, the Spring brings blooms as bountiful as they are bold.
Sometimes it takes talking to an outsider. A third person. Someone who knows you not by whose daughter you are, of whose mother you are, or whose sister you are, but by the pictures you paint and the stories you choose to share. And you can tell them anything. Say whatever you want and you know that whatever you say won't leave the room you've told it in.
It is a trust. A trust to tell your most secret thoughts, or cry your most secret fears and know that your words are protected and safe. And it is a Godsend to let the things you've been holding onto go. Or feel confident enough to believe in yourself again and trust once more that the choices you make are solid and won't turn to quicksand beneath your feet.
It takes learning about yourself from the inside out to understand how your life has been shaped. And it is this same learning that allows you room to grow, and the ability to change.
I have learned many things these past few months.
Some demons need to be chased down, and looked at dead center before they'll abandon their post beneath your bed. Some fears need to be faced before they can fade away into the oblivion they belong in. Some beliefs need to be challenged in a way that the truth of what is will never be confused with the truth of what was. And sometimes it's okay to be the one who needs a hand to hold, and a shoulder to cry on. Because true strength is as strong as your greatest weakness. And true weakness is not asking for help when it's the one thing that you need.
Life as enjoyable as it can be, often has its rough patches, places and times when nothing seems to come very easy at all. But if you make it through that cold and lonely winter to the thaw, the Spring brings blooms as bountiful as they are bold.
Better Days
Silence is not overrated. Ask any busy Mom that and she'll tell you that there are moments at the end of her day, when she craves nothing more than the sound of nothing itself. When all she'd really like to do, is come home, throw her keys and her purse on the table and slouch down in an easy chair, while giving absolutely no thought to dinner or whether or not there's homework to be checked on, laundry in need of folding, or dishes needing to be done.
Sometimes I leave the dishes in the sink to sit overnight, or wait until the weekends before I'm really desperate for a load of whites, or opt to eat out rather than go through the trouble of eating in. In moments like these, I act as if I'm a one woman revolution, drawing my line in the sand and daring someone - anyone really - to cross it.
I'm done with trying to be perfect or attempting to maintain a persona of someone who has got it altogether. Sometimes I crave a little bit of chaos to keep me on my toes like two weeks worth of dust on a dresser. Living isn't about how clean my house is, or whether or not I've had the oil checked in my car every 3000 miles. Living is about laughing out loud, long and as often as you like for the sheer pleasure that it brings.
So get out there, do some living. Forget about the things you think need to be done, and do the things you've been wanting and waiting to do ... I promise you, you'll feel better about a lot of things in the morning, and if not, you've just got to keep pushing ahead until you make yourself a better day.
Sometimes I leave the dishes in the sink to sit overnight, or wait until the weekends before I'm really desperate for a load of whites, or opt to eat out rather than go through the trouble of eating in. In moments like these, I act as if I'm a one woman revolution, drawing my line in the sand and daring someone - anyone really - to cross it.
I'm done with trying to be perfect or attempting to maintain a persona of someone who has got it altogether. Sometimes I crave a little bit of chaos to keep me on my toes like two weeks worth of dust on a dresser. Living isn't about how clean my house is, or whether or not I've had the oil checked in my car every 3000 miles. Living is about laughing out loud, long and as often as you like for the sheer pleasure that it brings.
So get out there, do some living. Forget about the things you think need to be done, and do the things you've been wanting and waiting to do ... I promise you, you'll feel better about a lot of things in the morning, and if not, you've just got to keep pushing ahead until you make yourself a better day.
Sweet Sunday
I am posting from my local library and don't I just feel as if I am the thing. Somehow typing in a room full or people, feels more like a secret spy mission, as I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure that no one is attempting to read what I'm writing, and then wondering if they would be bored to tears is they were. This I suppose is neither here nor there.
Brenda and I took all the kids (along with a friend of KC's) to the movies earlier this afternoon to see Ice Age 2 ... It was an interesting enough movie, and I have to admit, I did shed a tear (or two) at the end. Not that it necessitated tears, but hey, I know what I'm good at.
Meanwhile - back at the library at which I am currently sitting - I have two books to tide me over for the week and a CD of piano solos by Samuel Barber. This whole library kick I'm on just may put Barnes and Nobles out of business. I love free books!
Anyhoo, time for me to get moving along as I'm sure the kids are getting bored over in the kid section and honestly, they're not to be trusted alone for too long.
Brenda and I took all the kids (along with a friend of KC's) to the movies earlier this afternoon to see Ice Age 2 ... It was an interesting enough movie, and I have to admit, I did shed a tear (or two) at the end. Not that it necessitated tears, but hey, I know what I'm good at.
Meanwhile - back at the library at which I am currently sitting - I have two books to tide me over for the week and a CD of piano solos by Samuel Barber. This whole library kick I'm on just may put Barnes and Nobles out of business. I love free books!
Anyhoo, time for me to get moving along as I'm sure the kids are getting bored over in the kid section and honestly, they're not to be trusted alone for too long.
Helloooooooooooo ...
In respect to my own self interest, the hoochie koochie post is on hold until further notice, or at least until I know someone other than my Mother and my best friend are reading this blog again ...
Sad, isn't it? You go away for a little while and suddenly realize you've been abandoned. Not that I can blame any of you who went away. A blog without its writer is a pointless read indeed.
But that I suppose is the awful and honest truth. Life has its own agenda, and sometimes it goes in a different direction than we would have it go.
Anyhoo, my daughter is waiting on me to turn off this contraption and get to the business of movie watching. So I must be off ... Life for me is more often than not beyond this world with a limitless amount of windows.
Sad, isn't it? You go away for a little while and suddenly realize you've been abandoned. Not that I can blame any of you who went away. A blog without its writer is a pointless read indeed.
But that I suppose is the awful and honest truth. Life has its own agenda, and sometimes it goes in a different direction than we would have it go.
Anyhoo, my daughter is waiting on me to turn off this contraption and get to the business of movie watching. So I must be off ... Life for me is more often than not beyond this world with a limitless amount of windows.
Calling It a Day
Now I know you all want to know just how my appointment went today at the doctor's, but I promise, that's one story you want me to share when I have more time to do it justice.
But for now, my head is pounding with a furious headache, and since I am quite alone, I am going to go put on a pair of comfy pajamas, slip under the covers of my wonderful, warm bed and call it a night.
Until sooner ...
But for now, my head is pounding with a furious headache, and since I am quite alone, I am going to go put on a pair of comfy pajamas, slip under the covers of my wonderful, warm bed and call it a night.
Until sooner ...
On With the Scooching
Tomorrow is the dreaded Doctor appointment and I need to go to bed in the next few minutes so as to mentally prepare for it all. I can't believe that Bren and I made these appointments all the way back in January and now here we are, a mere hours away from having to scooch down ... And I don't really want to scooch down! Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not a week from next Friday.
Thankfully however, we've got ourselves some motivation. Knowing just how dreaded these appointments were going to be, we decided to take a full blown vacation day and live it up large, with plans to meet our friend Robin for lunch, followed by a mad spending spree. Okay maybe not so mad, and not such a spree, but a little shopping can help soothe any flustered soul, or at least soothe our egos ...
Thankfully however, we've got ourselves some motivation. Knowing just how dreaded these appointments were going to be, we decided to take a full blown vacation day and live it up large, with plans to meet our friend Robin for lunch, followed by a mad spending spree. Okay maybe not so mad, and not such a spree, but a little shopping can help soothe any flustered soul, or at least soothe our egos ...
Creatively Writing
A friend asked me to write him a story today, and it's been so long since I've really put my mind around anything, that it took me a minute to come up with the right thing to write about. But write I did, and 2000 wonderful words later, I felt blessed to remember how it felt to write without any care or consideration for anyone other than myself and the story that wanted to be told.
Welcome back muse, you've been gone far too long ...
Welcome back muse, you've been gone far too long ...
Inside I'm Butterflies
I'm sitting here with a strange little smile on my face. The kind of smile that has trouble written all over it. I can't explain the why just yet. And in fact, the why is rather irrelevent when it's the feeling that matters most.
I've got butterflies in my stomach and I feel like flying away ...
Be Blessed
It never fails to amaze me how it is my Mom can come through in a pinch. Sometimes it's just a few short sentences in an email, a card she sends snail mail, advice she gives me over the phone, or a song she knows will strengthen my resolve and encourage me through moments of difficulty.
If I could figure out a way to clip the song she sent me last night to this post, I would, but as far as my computer knowledge goes, I'm still in the learning to turn it on stage ...
So even though you won't be able to hear the music, an R & B Gospel sound, the words alone can speak for themselves.
If I could figure out a way to clip the song she sent me last night to this post, I would, but as far as my computer knowledge goes, I'm still in the learning to turn it on stage ...
So even though you won't be able to hear the music, an R & B Gospel sound, the words alone can speak for themselves.
Be Blessed - Yolanda Adams
Verse1:
Too many storms have passed your way
And you’re all washed out cause it rained on your parade
Seems nobody cares about you anyway
Now you’re living your life like a castaway
Searched for strength inside was it all in vain
Cause the deeper you dig you find more and more pain
Don’t let your tomorrow be like yesterday
Cause I spoke to God, I called out your name
And on your behalf, I just asked if He would be there for you
I want you to
Chorus:
Be Blessed, Don’t live life in distress (Be Blessed)
Just let go, let God, He’ll work it out for you (Don't stress out)
I pray that your soul will be blessed
Forever in his rest, Cause you deserve his best no less
Verse2:
Enter a place where you never have to cry
Never have to live a lie, never have to wonder why
Never want for nothing you’re always satisfied
In the peace that his arms will provide
He will erase any guilt or shame, any bad habits you’ve got
You won’t wanna do em again, Yes we all can change, I can testify
See I spoke to God, I called out your name
And on your behalf, I just asked, If he would be there for you
I want you to
Repeat Chorus
My prayer for you today, Is that you trust and always obey
On this day keep calling
On this day keep calling
He’ll keep you from falling
He’ll keep you from falling
He’ll supply the answers
Yes He will, if you stand in faith and trust Him to make a way out of no way
Repeat Chorus
Be blessed from the bottom of your feet to the crown of your head
Your life be blessed
Your family be blessed
Your finances be blessed
Everything about you
Give it to Jesus, give it to Jesus,
Let go, let go, let go and let God do the work in you
Be blessed
Whatever your'e going through, just know I'm praying for you
Be Blessed
He can change your situation in a minute
Just be blessed
Don't do anything that God would not have you to do
Be blessed
I know it ain't what you want right now but it sure could be a lot worse
Just Be Blessed
Let him do his work in you
Be blessed
The Queen of All Fools
Relief is saying what you know to be true out loud. This - whatever it was - didn't work. Not for me. Not for him. Not for anyone. I lived for months trying to be someone and something I wasn't. Trying to please and failing at every turn. Giving more and getting less, killing my joy with each bitter disappointment.
I was a woman in love with the idea of being in love. I couldn't say no to the opportunity he offered. And I knew even as I made my decision to leave my home last October, and the only life I've known for the past ten years, that to do so would be a horrible mistake. One I've regretted from the very moment I made it.
Inside my head I tried to rationalize my decision, telling myself that life is about taking chances and exposing myself to new experiences. But what I really think, is that I was so scared of trying to continue on alone that I told myself what I wanted to hear. But life is also about listening to that little voice inside your head that never lies or tries to steer you in the wrong direction. Only fools ignore their own voice of warning. And I cannot be gentle with myself and say that I haven't acted the fool.
And I'm so scared to death over what needs to happen now. The prospect of leaving this house, the house that could have been my home had there been love to fill its rooms rather than the cold indifference that flourished here. And it's no wonder that I feel sick to my stomach, and my head feels as if it's caving in. I had so much riding on hope. But hope isn't enough to make a relationship work when one person wants more than the other is willing to give. I wanted more and I'm not ashamed to say it. I wanted love. Perhaps I wanted the one thing he was incapable of.
And I think that maybe he doesn't know how to love. (And maybe just by saying this, it somehow makes it easier for me to explain why he didn't want me.) Just as he doesn't know how to listen. I think of everything I've said tonight and know that there are words I'm sure he didn't hear. But what good are words to me when they don't make a difference anyway? Words will not change what needs to happen next. Words will not make him suddenly realize that losing me - this time - is a permanent situation that won't be undone. His second chance has been and gone and I have no more left to give.
But the most painful part of this mess for me is knowing that I've caused my daughter unnecessary heartache of her own. I know it hasn't been easy for her to see her Mother turn into an emotional car wreck on two feet and that despite my attempts to shield her from my tears, she saw them all the same. And for this she worried. And spent those night worrying, tossing and turning in her own bed until it got too much for her and she with blanket in hand came stealing into mine.
Heartbreak is when your ten year old daughter climbs into bed with you at two in the morning so she can whisper into your ear that she wishes that we could go back home, to our cozy little house out in the country, with the big flat field outside our front door and the smell of farm fresh in the air with Grandpa right down the road. I'm ashamed to think what my daughter has learned about her Mother in such a short time. Instead of the strong and confident woman I wanted to portray, I've shown her the definition of weak and spineless. And no matter how I fix this situation, she will always carry a piece of it with her. Her Mother's folly. My greatest mistake.
I was a woman in love with the idea of being in love. I couldn't say no to the opportunity he offered. And I knew even as I made my decision to leave my home last October, and the only life I've known for the past ten years, that to do so would be a horrible mistake. One I've regretted from the very moment I made it.
Inside my head I tried to rationalize my decision, telling myself that life is about taking chances and exposing myself to new experiences. But what I really think, is that I was so scared of trying to continue on alone that I told myself what I wanted to hear. But life is also about listening to that little voice inside your head that never lies or tries to steer you in the wrong direction. Only fools ignore their own voice of warning. And I cannot be gentle with myself and say that I haven't acted the fool.
And I'm so scared to death over what needs to happen now. The prospect of leaving this house, the house that could have been my home had there been love to fill its rooms rather than the cold indifference that flourished here. And it's no wonder that I feel sick to my stomach, and my head feels as if it's caving in. I had so much riding on hope. But hope isn't enough to make a relationship work when one person wants more than the other is willing to give. I wanted more and I'm not ashamed to say it. I wanted love. Perhaps I wanted the one thing he was incapable of.
And I think that maybe he doesn't know how to love. (And maybe just by saying this, it somehow makes it easier for me to explain why he didn't want me.) Just as he doesn't know how to listen. I think of everything I've said tonight and know that there are words I'm sure he didn't hear. But what good are words to me when they don't make a difference anyway? Words will not change what needs to happen next. Words will not make him suddenly realize that losing me - this time - is a permanent situation that won't be undone. His second chance has been and gone and I have no more left to give.
But the most painful part of this mess for me is knowing that I've caused my daughter unnecessary heartache of her own. I know it hasn't been easy for her to see her Mother turn into an emotional car wreck on two feet and that despite my attempts to shield her from my tears, she saw them all the same. And for this she worried. And spent those night worrying, tossing and turning in her own bed until it got too much for her and she with blanket in hand came stealing into mine.
Heartbreak is when your ten year old daughter climbs into bed with you at two in the morning so she can whisper into your ear that she wishes that we could go back home, to our cozy little house out in the country, with the big flat field outside our front door and the smell of farm fresh in the air with Grandpa right down the road. I'm ashamed to think what my daughter has learned about her Mother in such a short time. Instead of the strong and confident woman I wanted to portray, I've shown her the definition of weak and spineless. And no matter how I fix this situation, she will always carry a piece of it with her. Her Mother's folly. My greatest mistake.
A Woman With Chances
Inside she knows that it's inevitable. Time could stand still, and yet there would still be a conclusion waiting in the wings. Fate is fickle that way. One day it seems like it's on your side, and the next it never had your best interests at heart.
She often wonders why it seems that fate is always against her. Things that work out for other people, never work out for her. And like the cheese, she stands alone. Always watching from the sidelines, always wishing for something more.
She wonders where the last ten years have gone, and worries that she'll lose the next ten in the exact same way. Waiting for something that doesn't exist except in the pages of all the books she's read. Imaginary people with imaginary lives that are so much more fulfilling than hers.
She knows that in every woman, there is a weakness in the wanting to be saved. She's quite familiar with that small kernel of hope; the light that shines despite the darkness. She tries to warm herself with that glow. With thoughts that someday she'll look behind her with the wisdom of a different age and know that the cost of a little while was worth the price of the bigger picture. But right now she feels the loss like a tear to her soul, and everything inside her bleeds out to run red across her world.
It doesn't make living in this moment any easier. It doesn't make the pain go away to know that eventually it will pass. She gets up each day hoping to make it through just one more day. To find that conclusion she's so ready to make. To say goodbye for what will be the very last time to all of her mistakes, both big and small. And because she's always believed in second chances, she'll give herself one more.
She often wonders why it seems that fate is always against her. Things that work out for other people, never work out for her. And like the cheese, she stands alone. Always watching from the sidelines, always wishing for something more.
She wonders where the last ten years have gone, and worries that she'll lose the next ten in the exact same way. Waiting for something that doesn't exist except in the pages of all the books she's read. Imaginary people with imaginary lives that are so much more fulfilling than hers.
She knows that in every woman, there is a weakness in the wanting to be saved. She's quite familiar with that small kernel of hope; the light that shines despite the darkness. She tries to warm herself with that glow. With thoughts that someday she'll look behind her with the wisdom of a different age and know that the cost of a little while was worth the price of the bigger picture. But right now she feels the loss like a tear to her soul, and everything inside her bleeds out to run red across her world.
It doesn't make living in this moment any easier. It doesn't make the pain go away to know that eventually it will pass. She gets up each day hoping to make it through just one more day. To find that conclusion she's so ready to make. To say goodbye for what will be the very last time to all of her mistakes, both big and small. And because she's always believed in second chances, she'll give herself one more.
In a New York Minute
I have absolutely nothing to write about. Or at least I actually do, but just don't have the wherewithal to constructively put it down for all of you tonight.
However in my attempt to re-commit myself to NWTLO, I'm here. Because darn it, I do remember how to do this blog thing. I really, really do ...
Now if only I had something more spectacular to write about other than my spaghetti measuring tool find, signing KC up for little league and that unfortunate incident with the, at the, when I was ... Well, let's just say that that one will keep.
(Oh and yeah ... I am incredibly jealous that my father and my nephew both got to see the fabulous Billy Joel concert (that I was supposed to go to) last night! From all accounts, it was one hell of a show!)
However in my attempt to re-commit myself to NWTLO, I'm here. Because darn it, I do remember how to do this blog thing. I really, really do ...
Now if only I had something more spectacular to write about other than my spaghetti measuring tool find, signing KC up for little league and that unfortunate incident with the, at the, when I was ... Well, let's just say that that one will keep.
(Oh and yeah ... I am incredibly jealous that my father and my nephew both got to see the fabulous Billy Joel concert (that I was supposed to go to) last night! From all accounts, it was one hell of a show!)
From the Free Throw Line
Considering what time I have to get up in the morning to go walking with Bren, I should be a smart girl and go to bed. Only problem is, I'm not tired. Not in the least. Instead I think I'm still on a laughing high from having had so much fun tonight. And it was good medicine, along with a good learning experience ...
I learned that I should never make any comments out loud about basketball - a sport that I know absolutely nothing about except for the fact that there's a ball, a net and aside from the Harlem Globetrotter's not much call for spinning the ball on your fingertip - because when it comes to basketball, I know even less than I know about football. And the only thing I really know about football is to occasionally shout obscenities at the TV screen, suggest that now would be a good time for a little play action, and mock the refs with some of my own handcrafted hand gestures.
So I guess the most important thing I learned about basketball is that the people behind the tables on the sidelines are NOT judges. Unlike the Olympics or other sports where the judges ALWAYS sit behind a little table off to the side, these people who sit there during a basketball game are in no way contributing to the scoring of said game. I mean like, who knew?
Okay ... I'm kidding just a little bit. I really knew that they weren't judges but was just saying so to amuse those around me. And I think it worked ... I mean really, if you could have seen the looks on their faces, only one word would have described it ... Absolutely priceless.
I learned that I should never make any comments out loud about basketball - a sport that I know absolutely nothing about except for the fact that there's a ball, a net and aside from the Harlem Globetrotter's not much call for spinning the ball on your fingertip - because when it comes to basketball, I know even less than I know about football. And the only thing I really know about football is to occasionally shout obscenities at the TV screen, suggest that now would be a good time for a little play action, and mock the refs with some of my own handcrafted hand gestures.
So I guess the most important thing I learned about basketball is that the people behind the tables on the sidelines are NOT judges. Unlike the Olympics or other sports where the judges ALWAYS sit behind a little table off to the side, these people who sit there during a basketball game are in no way contributing to the scoring of said game. I mean like, who knew?
Okay ... I'm kidding just a little bit. I really knew that they weren't judges but was just saying so to amuse those around me. And I think it worked ... I mean really, if you could have seen the looks on their faces, only one word would have described it ... Absolutely priceless.
Remembering Blue Mountain
In the half light, the trees stand like silent white ghosts. Arms extended, reaching across the distance from one lawn to another. Inside it seems all that much brighter, sitting beneath a fluorescent light as darkness descends outside, hiding the gentle sway of the wind through barren branches.
If I could close my eyes and be anywhere else in this moment, I'd be sitting on the edge of a cold mountain lake, my feet half buried by sand and water as a lemon moon rose slowly in the sky. I'd lean back, my hands digging deep into the softness of the sand and fill my eyes with an ocean of stars, content to be alone with only the sound of the lapping water beside me and the distant crackling of a fire that waits with both my family and my friends for my return.
If I could close my eyes and be anywhere else in this moment, I'd be sitting on the edge of a cold mountain lake, my feet half buried by sand and water as a lemon moon rose slowly in the sky. I'd lean back, my hands digging deep into the softness of the sand and fill my eyes with an ocean of stars, content to be alone with only the sound of the lapping water beside me and the distant crackling of a fire that waits with both my family and my friends for my return.
The Story of Stacey
Decisions are made everyday in the realm of realistic possibilities. But some decisions are made, not with practicality in mind, but rather with the intense longing of our hearts. Sometimes the things we choose are chosen just for their "What if" factor ...
But what if's can also morph into shouldn't have dones. The things we realize later on that had we given it just a bit more thought, we would have known that the decision we made, wasn't the right decision at the time. And that's when the trouble begins. That persistent nagging voice that bleats like a lost lamb in the background, begging to know how it is we plan to fix whatever it is that we have done.
And the horrible truth is that once done, easy to fix isn't even easy to say. The real world doesn't stop to give you time to deal with a new dilemma. No matter the status of your heart, there will always be bills to pay, jobs to go to, and people who seem to trip you up more often than offer to lend a hand. Can it be any wonder that so many of us succumb when introduced to such sadness?
At first you don't even notice that you're laughing less or that something that you used to enjoy doing on a daily basis (blogging, for example) is something you haven't done in weeks. Or in months.
You can't sleep. You sleep too much. You cry. And you don't just cry some of the time. You cry all of the time. And you wonder while you're crying why it is you can't seem to figure out where the shut off valve is.
And everything seems hopeless, because it is hopeless. And you care so much that somewhere deep inside you, you just don't care at all.
Depression is the constant pulling down, the pulling in, the giving up, the letting go of everything. It is easing into pain, and foregoing all pleasure. It is living a life you were never meant to lead, and abandoning the future. And it is a choice.
A choice to go willingly into the blackness of despair. To sink to the bottom and make no attempts to swim for the top. To drown with the sorrow of knowing that things did not go as you planned, that life tossed you a few curve balls, that you were struck out before you even had a chance at bat.
It is allowing other people to make you feel that you are insignificant and small. That despite how hard you try to be your very best, you will never be good enough in their eyes. That you are unworthy of being loved. That you are nothing more than nothing. That you are the problem that makes everything too difficult to solve.
And when you feel that kind of pain, it's hard to pull yourself out and not keep taking it all back in. You forgot that true strength is not being able to withstand the break, but being able to live through the bending.
And this is what I know. I know that things aren't going to get any easier over night. I know that right now, I have to be open for change and new possibilities and willing to let go of the odds and ends that don't fit into my story line. Because this is my life, and only I can be its author ...
"What if I did this and it could all work out?"
But what if's can also morph into shouldn't have dones. The things we realize later on that had we given it just a bit more thought, we would have known that the decision we made, wasn't the right decision at the time. And that's when the trouble begins. That persistent nagging voice that bleats like a lost lamb in the background, begging to know how it is we plan to fix whatever it is that we have done.
And the horrible truth is that once done, easy to fix isn't even easy to say. The real world doesn't stop to give you time to deal with a new dilemma. No matter the status of your heart, there will always be bills to pay, jobs to go to, and people who seem to trip you up more often than offer to lend a hand. Can it be any wonder that so many of us succumb when introduced to such sadness?
At first you don't even notice that you're laughing less or that something that you used to enjoy doing on a daily basis (blogging, for example) is something you haven't done in weeks. Or in months.
You can't sleep. You sleep too much. You cry. And you don't just cry some of the time. You cry all of the time. And you wonder while you're crying why it is you can't seem to figure out where the shut off valve is.
And everything seems hopeless, because it is hopeless. And you care so much that somewhere deep inside you, you just don't care at all.
Depression is the constant pulling down, the pulling in, the giving up, the letting go of everything. It is easing into pain, and foregoing all pleasure. It is living a life you were never meant to lead, and abandoning the future. And it is a choice.
A choice to go willingly into the blackness of despair. To sink to the bottom and make no attempts to swim for the top. To drown with the sorrow of knowing that things did not go as you planned, that life tossed you a few curve balls, that you were struck out before you even had a chance at bat.
It is allowing other people to make you feel that you are insignificant and small. That despite how hard you try to be your very best, you will never be good enough in their eyes. That you are unworthy of being loved. That you are nothing more than nothing. That you are the problem that makes everything too difficult to solve.
And when you feel that kind of pain, it's hard to pull yourself out and not keep taking it all back in. You forgot that true strength is not being able to withstand the break, but being able to live through the bending.
And this is what I know. I know that things aren't going to get any easier over night. I know that right now, I have to be open for change and new possibilities and willing to let go of the odds and ends that don't fit into my story line. Because this is my life, and only I can be its author ...
Speaking the Truth
I am writing but not to post anything of consequence, though I have succeeded in doing just that tonight. Four months of words on paper whose ink has yet to dry. And I sit here slightly dazed of what I've had to say. Truth, even coming from my own mouth is hard to swallow. Truth like light diminished, still capable of shining with the smallest of refractions.
And I am speaking to my own truths now. Speaking in order to hear myself. The voice I've ignored because I thought it would be easier not to hear. But the truth is I never stopped listening.
And I am speaking to my own truths now. Speaking in order to hear myself. The voice I've ignored because I thought it would be easier not to hear. But the truth is I never stopped listening.
Lies, like water can evaporate, but both eventually return in another form. In the punishment of rain; in the silence of snow.
- The Language of Good-Bye
Maribeth Fischer
Trying to Survive
She feels the shivers down her back in the straightness of her spine. Bending by degrees she refuses to give in to the break. She keeps thinking that if she could just find some magical new way of looking at things, she'll be able to abide.
Four Winds In Different Directions
I went for a walk tonight to clear my head. But my head wouldn't clear and my face felt as if Jack Frost himself were pressing his hands against my cheeks. Cold and angry I spurred myself onward, listening to the sound of my feet moving against the pavement with a steady stride. And I thought to myself that I remembered doing this before. Walking in the darkness to get away from something, or someone, just long enough to give myself time to think or room to breathe.
And now sitting in this cold kitchen, the only thought I have to think at this very moment is about how tired I am, and not just exhausted in a way that requires sleep. But sleep is what I need right now ...
And now sitting in this cold kitchen, the only thought I have to think at this very moment is about how tired I am, and not just exhausted in a way that requires sleep. But sleep is what I need right now ...
In the Absence of Sleep
My head touches the pillow and I close my eyes and pretend that I might sleep. And I try to think warm, comforting thoughts to encourage the soft pull of dreams to give rest to my racing mind. But as tired as I am, I am wide eyed awake sitting at the kitchen table with my bare feet pressed against the cold laminate floor and an icy shawl wrapped around my shoulders.
Some days I just don't know what to do with myself. Either I'm going too far in one direction or I'm giving up on the other entirely, spinning myself around in circles to get nowhere very fast.
I wish to God that things could be different. I wish that if anything could be in overabundance it would be laughter and not the anger and tears that seem to fill my days. I guess I just painted myself a rose colored picture of the reality I wanted, and didn't realize how hard all of this would really be.
And it's not that I'm afraid of things not being easy. God knows I am no stranger to hardship. But I feel so out of control that there are mornings I get up and look in the mirror and wonder if it's me, if it's him or if it's just us combined that makes this so much harder than it has to be.
I don't mean to sound as if I'm trying to place blame. It doesn't make much sense to even bother with those kind of thoughts. Instead I wish that I could think of a thousand and one solutions. Anything to make things better for everyone involved. Anything to allow joy back into this world we've created.
And maybe my sorry's don't count. But they are heartfelt and sincere.
Some days I just don't know what to do with myself. Either I'm going too far in one direction or I'm giving up on the other entirely, spinning myself around in circles to get nowhere very fast.
I wish to God that things could be different. I wish that if anything could be in overabundance it would be laughter and not the anger and tears that seem to fill my days. I guess I just painted myself a rose colored picture of the reality I wanted, and didn't realize how hard all of this would really be.
And it's not that I'm afraid of things not being easy. God knows I am no stranger to hardship. But I feel so out of control that there are mornings I get up and look in the mirror and wonder if it's me, if it's him or if it's just us combined that makes this so much harder than it has to be.
I don't mean to sound as if I'm trying to place blame. It doesn't make much sense to even bother with those kind of thoughts. Instead I wish that I could think of a thousand and one solutions. Anything to make things better for everyone involved. Anything to allow joy back into this world we've created.
And maybe my sorry's don't count. But they are heartfelt and sincere.
Reconstruction
The beauty of being human is to know the power of our own hearts and to own all that we feel inside. We are the key to open any and every door.
The Whispering of Wishes
The wind is howling something fierce tonight. Pushing against the house causing it to creak and moan while I sit here warm to my toes inside. Earlier thoughts of a summer breeze and the memory of a lush green field that once grew outside my bedroom window, had me wondering whether or not the crickets would sound the same here as they did at home.
I always found them a comfort. The gentle serenade that often lulled me to sleep, interrupted at times by the throaty call of a bullfrog adding his voice to the tune. And sometimes when I couldn't sleep, I'd slip quietly outside and watch the stars with my back pressed up against the porch, listening as if there were something more I was meant to hear.
Thoughts like these remind me of Ms. Manchester, my creative writing teacher. Perhaps it is true of all those who dabble in the world of written art that we live between two worlds. The world that is, and the one we dream. During our last class, I can remember how she took out a piece of paper and as she stood in front of her desk with the olive green chalkboard empty at last behind her, she read what she believed her hopes and dreams for the future of each one of us would be. I have never forgotten what she said.
"Stacey will change our lives with words."
And from the moment it was said, I felt an odd prickling at the back of my neck. An odd fluttering in my heart. And I knew without a doubt that she believed the truth of her words, just as I believed from that very moment, my life found the course of its true direction.
My goal in life is simple ... To say something in a way that everyone can understand. To show us all that we are not alone in what we feel. And if I touch even one life with words that seem to come so easy to me, it will be enough. More than enough.
I always found them a comfort. The gentle serenade that often lulled me to sleep, interrupted at times by the throaty call of a bullfrog adding his voice to the tune. And sometimes when I couldn't sleep, I'd slip quietly outside and watch the stars with my back pressed up against the porch, listening as if there were something more I was meant to hear.
Thoughts like these remind me of Ms. Manchester, my creative writing teacher. Perhaps it is true of all those who dabble in the world of written art that we live between two worlds. The world that is, and the one we dream. During our last class, I can remember how she took out a piece of paper and as she stood in front of her desk with the olive green chalkboard empty at last behind her, she read what she believed her hopes and dreams for the future of each one of us would be. I have never forgotten what she said.
"Stacey will change our lives with words."
And from the moment it was said, I felt an odd prickling at the back of my neck. An odd fluttering in my heart. And I knew without a doubt that she believed the truth of her words, just as I believed from that very moment, my life found the course of its true direction.
My goal in life is simple ... To say something in a way that everyone can understand. To show us all that we are not alone in what we feel. And if I touch even one life with words that seem to come so easy to me, it will be enough. More than enough.
Leading With My Best Foot
Sometimes I take too much on myself. Other times I don't take nearly enough. Lately I've been thinking that there are some things I need to change about my life and the way I'm living it.
I've made a ton of errors. Quick fixes I thought would hold. I thought if I could just control everything around me, it would be enough. I could live by just getting by, and make peace with being stuck in middle ground. I thought I could make do.
But I can't. And I'm beginning to understand that there will always be a part of me that won't be happy with second best or second place. My dreams have to come first.
And if I give up on me, then who will be left to have faith in me?
And I know me too well to know that I have never been a quitter. And I'm not the sort of person who runs from anything without a fight. There are some things I can't change, there are some things I can't undo, but there is a future that is decided with every second of the day and every minute that passes and what I do right now - in this moment - counts.
We only fail when we don't try. And I'm not ready to give up that easy.
I've made a ton of errors. Quick fixes I thought would hold. I thought if I could just control everything around me, it would be enough. I could live by just getting by, and make peace with being stuck in middle ground. I thought I could make do.
But I can't. And I'm beginning to understand that there will always be a part of me that won't be happy with second best or second place. My dreams have to come first.
And if I give up on me, then who will be left to have faith in me?
And I know me too well to know that I have never been a quitter. And I'm not the sort of person who runs from anything without a fight. There are some things I can't change, there are some things I can't undo, but there is a future that is decided with every second of the day and every minute that passes and what I do right now - in this moment - counts.
We only fail when we don't try. And I'm not ready to give up that easy.
A Well Earned Night Out
Maybe it's been quite a while since I've had enough fun to remember what fun is, but going out to dinner tonight - even if a little work was on the table - was a good time. I laughed, made silly faces, and enjoyed being in the company of my friends. Many thanks to Jake, Sean'O and Jim for a pleasant evening out on the town and for picking up the tab ... You guys rock!
Opposing Forces
I am not the enemy. But I am ill equipped with the necessary armor to engage in battle. Rest assured your arrows have found their marks, and what feelings I thought I might have had, have fled in the light of your cold indifference.
Sedimentary anger knots me up inside, stealing my breath until I am doubled over with pain radiating out from my soul on fire. And in this silence, everything goes unsaid, even as I try to tiptoe around the truth of what I already know. That I cannot sustain this high level of hyper vigilance; a pent up prisoner in this shifting house. I cannot rock this boat should it tip over. I cannot rock this boat I no longer want to be on.
It is enough to measure the return of sadness without having to counter measure the weight of my fear. In the early hours of this morning, a man's shadow crossed the lawn, walking steadily towards my window, a purpose in his gait. I measured his steps with the breathlessness of my fear and stood immobile within my own darkness, helpless to move, rooted as I was to the floor. My mind - stumbled - prepared - swarmed with the adrenaline of flight or fight. But all I heard was the weakness of my, "How?" Forgotten was the baseball bat in the corner of my room, the phone beside my bed. Remembered was my inability to move.
I gave into my fears, even as his ride pulled up and drove him away and found myself cowering in my room, though he had never even crossed the road. This is what toxic energy has fueled. And as the discord grows, my insecurities reach full bloom, leaving me a walking touchstone to soak up your anger and irritation. The small hurts you direct my way as if to remind me that I am nothing. I have no place. That I have not come in from the cold. And I mustn’t forget that.
And in this I forget myself.
