The main reason I've stopped writing is because people worry too much. You can't have a bad day on a blog without someone thinking, "Oh no... This could be a cry for help." And while I do admit to crying and being stressed out over the small stuff more often than not as of late, there should be absolutely no worries of me offing myself anytime soon. Mostly because (a) that's not the kind of person that I am or ever will be and (b) there isn't a man alive worth that sort of cost. So please, when I write something that maybe sets your censors to buzzing and maybe even has you grinding your teeth remember that what you're reading is not necessarily about entertaining you dear reader. Sometimes it's merely my own form of talk therapy because unfortunately in this recession that no one wants to admit we're still in, I just can't afford to do anything more than write down my thoughts and hope that by doing so I'm helping myself in my own unique way.
It really is quite simple... Writing makes me feel better. But if I've nowhere to write where I feel I can be myself without any censors than my only option is not to write at all.
I love you Mom... Stop worrying. When I really need someone to listen to what I've got to say, you're always my first phone call.
Putting the Damage On
It's easier to think of things not to say. Not to write. And I think I miss being anonymous. Conspicuously invisible. I stop writing. Instead I keep a pocket journal and jot down thoughts. Sometimes just a word or sometimes some small phrase. Sometimes something more to get it out of my head. In these small bursts of speed, the things I write are for myself and there is no thought of sharing. No censor to fall across my lips or cross a page. And it feels wrong to write where it can't be read and yet it seems I can't write anymore where the world can see.
It's hard to stay honest. With yourself. With your family. With your friends. With a world you just don't know. You worry your words might start an avalanche or make it seem that someone has got to ask you questions about yourself.
All you want is peace. To let certain things go so you can walk away feeling like you've dropped some small burden from your back. All you want is closure. The feeling that something is done and you can let it go. And then you realize that you've never learned how to shut a door. These things that affected you years ago have yet to lose their power.
You try to stop feeling. To pretend you've stopped feeling. You think sometimes you have truly stopped feeling. Slapping your own hand across your mouth to shush the words, quieting the need inside you that constantly seeks the good in people, quieting the cry inside you when they reveal themselves to be at their worst. And it doesn't matter what you say because the people who need to hear are the same people who never listen. They can't get past listening to themselves...
You write their names upon a wall and list your grievances and are not surprised to find that the longest list you write is the one you write about yourself. Because in your heart you do not forgive. Somewhere in a place that cannot be touched there is an anger that burns as hot as molten lava in your core. It is the steel that carries up your spine and steals your breath when you've been hurt. It is the fire that dries your tears and quiets your sobs, leaving you vulnerable only for a moment before it hardens you even more than you'd been before. There is no forgiveness, there is only self-preservation in its place.
Damaged is a word you've secretly used to describe yourself. This hard line across your face and you try to remember how you were as a child... Because you want to take her back and adopt her in to steal back the sunshine in her eyes. You don't know any other way to take it back. There is no magic potion you can drink and you know you've never liked the taste of beer. There is no healing touch to make you whole when every touch just seems to tear you farther apart. There is no finding a new way when every path you choose to walk takes you down the exact same road. And you write about wanting change but are so damn scared of finding it you don't know if you'll ever have the courage to start and stay the course.
All you know is just how tired you really are for having to fight for absolutely everything that you have. And how emotionally exhausted you are of not fighting for everything you've lost.
And that is why when you wake in the middle of the night with far too many thoughts in your head it's never easy to get back to sleep...
It's hard to stay honest. With yourself. With your family. With your friends. With a world you just don't know. You worry your words might start an avalanche or make it seem that someone has got to ask you questions about yourself.
All you want is peace. To let certain things go so you can walk away feeling like you've dropped some small burden from your back. All you want is closure. The feeling that something is done and you can let it go. And then you realize that you've never learned how to shut a door. These things that affected you years ago have yet to lose their power.
You try to stop feeling. To pretend you've stopped feeling. You think sometimes you have truly stopped feeling. Slapping your own hand across your mouth to shush the words, quieting the need inside you that constantly seeks the good in people, quieting the cry inside you when they reveal themselves to be at their worst. And it doesn't matter what you say because the people who need to hear are the same people who never listen. They can't get past listening to themselves...
You write their names upon a wall and list your grievances and are not surprised to find that the longest list you write is the one you write about yourself. Because in your heart you do not forgive. Somewhere in a place that cannot be touched there is an anger that burns as hot as molten lava in your core. It is the steel that carries up your spine and steals your breath when you've been hurt. It is the fire that dries your tears and quiets your sobs, leaving you vulnerable only for a moment before it hardens you even more than you'd been before. There is no forgiveness, there is only self-preservation in its place.
Damaged is a word you've secretly used to describe yourself. This hard line across your face and you try to remember how you were as a child... Because you want to take her back and adopt her in to steal back the sunshine in her eyes. You don't know any other way to take it back. There is no magic potion you can drink and you know you've never liked the taste of beer. There is no healing touch to make you whole when every touch just seems to tear you farther apart. There is no finding a new way when every path you choose to walk takes you down the exact same road. And you write about wanting change but are so damn scared of finding it you don't know if you'll ever have the courage to start and stay the course.
All you know is just how tired you really are for having to fight for absolutely everything that you have. And how emotionally exhausted you are of not fighting for everything you've lost.
And that is why when you wake in the middle of the night with far too many thoughts in your head it's never easy to get back to sleep...
Impending Nuptials
So Dad is getting married... Again.
And I'm happy for him. I couldn't be anything other than happy for him. And we want him happy. Of course we want him happy. A miserable Dad is not a fun Dad to be around and Dad has had his share of misery for too long.
When he lost my stepmother two years ago he was devastated. He was lost. And we - his daughters - became his life raft to help him through what was the worst of times. And those times, I'm sure they were probably much harder for him than he ever let any of us know...
My father loved his wife. I have no doubt that had cancer not made the choice for him he would have been married to her forever. But life and the loss of it oftentimes doesn't give us a say in how our forevers play out.
My sisters too have had a tough time. Are still having a tough time. There is no getting over a loss of a Mother. You simply can't. I'm sure they wake up everyday and miss her more than the day before. Time doesn't heal as much as it reminds you of what you've lost and what you'll never have back again. And yet the world doesn't stop when you lose someone you love. It moves forward with you in it, and you learn how to deal with your sorrow, even if you never really learn how to stop wishing to somehow hear their voice again, or feel their arms encase you in a hug.
So Dad's news is difficult for them. Of course it is. But in their hearts I know that they want only what makes Dad happy. And so they'll step back and take a moment. They'll cry because it's what they'll need to do. But they'll be happy because they'll know Dad is too sweet a guy to not have someone to love.
And I'm happy for him. I couldn't be anything other than happy for him. And we want him happy. Of course we want him happy. A miserable Dad is not a fun Dad to be around and Dad has had his share of misery for too long.
When he lost my stepmother two years ago he was devastated. He was lost. And we - his daughters - became his life raft to help him through what was the worst of times. And those times, I'm sure they were probably much harder for him than he ever let any of us know...
My father loved his wife. I have no doubt that had cancer not made the choice for him he would have been married to her forever. But life and the loss of it oftentimes doesn't give us a say in how our forevers play out.
My sisters too have had a tough time. Are still having a tough time. There is no getting over a loss of a Mother. You simply can't. I'm sure they wake up everyday and miss her more than the day before. Time doesn't heal as much as it reminds you of what you've lost and what you'll never have back again. And yet the world doesn't stop when you lose someone you love. It moves forward with you in it, and you learn how to deal with your sorrow, even if you never really learn how to stop wishing to somehow hear their voice again, or feel their arms encase you in a hug.
So Dad's news is difficult for them. Of course it is. But in their hearts I know that they want only what makes Dad happy. And so they'll step back and take a moment. They'll cry because it's what they'll need to do. But they'll be happy because they'll know Dad is too sweet a guy to not have someone to love.
Washed Ashore
Sick again. Sitting here trying to type while ignoring what seems to be a need to throw up. And I'm difficult. Refusing to schedule a visit to the doctor because I keep thinking it's going to go away. And yet, for the last two weeks it's been constant, leaving me fine for a few hours and then hitting me hard for all the rest. At first I thought that I had caught the stomach bug like everyone else in my office had but now I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't something more severe I should be worrying about.
Perhaps this is just a manifestation of my stress. And I am stressed. Clinically stressed. Stressed beyond any reasonable limit. Stressed beyond my abilities to handle it well. But I've handled stress before and I don't recall wanting to vomit every three seconds. And wanting to puke is stressing me out because there's nothing worse than feeling sick all of the time.
And I'm tired… Did I mention I'm tired? I'm so tired that I can't sleep and had it not been for Tylenol PM these past two nights, I doubt I would have slept a wink.
What to do… What to do?
Maybe I should stop stamping my feet like a child and call the doctor.
Then again it's hard for me to part with my cash… I have so little of it these days.
I need to make a decision.
But for now, I'll take to my bed, stare at my ceiling and think on it until I fall asleep.
Something Is Better Than Nothing
I can't say that I haven't been writing because I have. I simply haven't been writing here. My apologies on that and maybe even a half hearted promise that I will change my antisocial journal writing soon...
For now I am simply content to sit here drinking my tea and mulling over lesser stress causing thoughts. Not that every thought I've had around here lately hasn't been stressful but more so because I'm done being stressed out about every little thing. Life happens and there comes a time when you simply must buckle down and handle it without pitching a fit or posting a poor me post. Not that those don't at times have their place but honestly I get just as tired of reading them as I get tired of writing them.
So I'm enjoying my tea, watching a little NCIS repeat bullshit and then taking myself off to bed.
Tomorrow is another day and sooner or later I will be back.
For now I am simply content to sit here drinking my tea and mulling over lesser stress causing thoughts. Not that every thought I've had around here lately hasn't been stressful but more so because I'm done being stressed out about every little thing. Life happens and there comes a time when you simply must buckle down and handle it without pitching a fit or posting a poor me post. Not that those don't at times have their place but honestly I get just as tired of reading them as I get tired of writing them.
So I'm enjoying my tea, watching a little NCIS repeat bullshit and then taking myself off to bed.
Tomorrow is another day and sooner or later I will be back.
Barren
She wraps her arms around herself when supply cannot meet the demand for comfort and holds herself in.
Buckets deep, my little red shovel and matching pail,
Bailing.
Leaving a bread crumb trail.
How I've been so easily
Lured.
Once again the scene of the crime.
The big bad wolves ask for me by name.
Take
Take
Taking their share.
Slicing and shredding.
Taking and getting.
Forgetting my name.
A Bout of the Swine
When you're sick, the last thing you want to hear is a co-worker of one of your exes share with you, "You must have been hanging around *name omitted to protect the guilty*. He's been sick too, they think his girlfriend has the swine flu and he's been told to stay home until he's over it."
Of course the guy telling you has absolutely no clue that you and swine flu's boyfriend ever had a thing going so he doesn't realize that the dagger he just brandished and placed in your heart didn't make you feel (a) better (b) sympathetic to swine girl's plight or (c) thankful for the reminder that jackass has moved on while you're still wondering how it is that the guy who seemed the most right for you is obviously still Mr. Wrong.
You murmur some sort of comment in reply not even knowing what you're saying and then you pause. Convenient, you think. Deer season just opened and the boy you know best who likes to hide out in tree stands and stake out Bambi is suddenly down with an illness that could keep him out of work and out of the woods for an extended period of time.
Plausible? Yes.
Possible? Absolutely.
Bloody likely? Not a chance.
Honestly though I am over him. For the most part anyway. It's just that when he calls, and yes, he still occasionally calls, it's like an instant connection to my heart when he says, "Hi," and I can't help myself but to say "Hi," right back.
I'm going to have to work on this. Moving forward is hard enough to do when you keep opening doors to the past and one cannot waste time on things that if they were going to be would have already been. So I'll chalk this one down to useless information. However if swine flu is in season, I cannot help but to say I hope she's got it.
Just Before Bed
The fact that I've managed to drive past my own driveway at least four times that I can remember counting since KC and I moved in should not be held against me. In fact, it shouldn't even be mentioned because for the most part the only real reason I missed it was because I was too distracted noticing everything else. One night it was garbage cans, the next it was a parked car, and goodness only knows what reasons I had for the third and fourth.
My new neighborhood is cozy. One by one my neighbors have come over to introduce themselves. Some to be nosey to be sure and some just to say hello and offer a welcome to the neighborhood. Unfortunately none of them have come over with cookies or a casserole dish filled with something yummy. Evidently my new neighbors are not the welcome to the neighborhood here is some food kind. Sad really since up until today, I've spent the past three weeks learning how to be Julia Child's with a microwave as the gas line to my new stove wasn't hooked up. And after three weeks of being microwave dependent, nothing could have been better than coming home tonight and making my very first hot from the stove meal in my new home.
As for naming my house, I still haven't come up with a name. Maybe once everything is put away, and the walls are painted something other than the stark white they're painted now, maybe then a name will come. Like most things, I've just got to practice patience and wait for the name to come to me. After all my grandmother had her West Wing, my mother has her Culver's Cove, and who am I to break the chain?
My new neighborhood is cozy. One by one my neighbors have come over to introduce themselves. Some to be nosey to be sure and some just to say hello and offer a welcome to the neighborhood. Unfortunately none of them have come over with cookies or a casserole dish filled with something yummy. Evidently my new neighbors are not the welcome to the neighborhood here is some food kind. Sad really since up until today, I've spent the past three weeks learning how to be Julia Child's with a microwave as the gas line to my new stove wasn't hooked up. And after three weeks of being microwave dependent, nothing could have been better than coming home tonight and making my very first hot from the stove meal in my new home.
As for naming my house, I still haven't come up with a name. Maybe once everything is put away, and the walls are painted something other than the stark white they're painted now, maybe then a name will come. Like most things, I've just got to practice patience and wait for the name to come to me. After all my grandmother had her West Wing, my mother has her Culver's Cove, and who am I to break the chain?
Fall
One by one they fall. Sailing. Gliding. Reaching for the ground as some would still reach for the sky landing softly, the still green of the grass a backdrop to their beauty. And a story I once read as a child comes to life before me...
Freddie the leaf, so scared of falling from his precarious perch in the tree that he held on long after his time to fall had come and gone, scared of letting go and what it would mean. It is a beautiful story celebrating the wonderment of life and the eventuality of death and it did so in a way that even now years and years later, I recall his story and smile as I watch each Freddie after Freddie and Freddie gracefully descend from the limbs that were their summer homes.
Settling In
Surrounded by boxes one would think that I would feel a bit more motivation than I do to unpack them. Three months however of constant stress, both waiting on the house to close and waiting on the hours at my job to return to normal have made this anything but a productive day. For the first time in weeks, I am sitting down without a thought, without a care, and without any desire at all but to enjoy doing only what I choose to do and only when I choose to do it. And at the moment, I am all about doing nothing.
I shouldn't say nothing however. I did after all drag the old carpet out to the curb, a microwave I've had since before the beginning of time and more or less scraped up any other junk I could come up with to take advantage of free take your crap to the curb today for pickup tomorrow morning. Let it not be said that I would ever allow the opportunity to unload go by without searching high and low for the ever elusive throw out now or silently keep your items in storage for another goodness knows how many months peace go by.
Sadly I did not make as much of a dent in the pile as I would have preferred, but at least the rug - the rug that I had loved and dragged up two flights of stairs and had up until Kate flooded the living room of the apartment one month before our move still been in livable conditions - is gone. No amount of steam cleaning could clear the scent of mildew once mildew had sent in and with a summer like ours filled with nothing but black clouds and rain, drying out was not an option no matter how many fans I set about the room to try to set things right.
I am however about to return to my state of nothingness. My couch misses me and as a newly made homeowner in charge of the thermostat, it's time to go wrap myself in a blanket and prepare to freeze.
I shouldn't say nothing however. I did after all drag the old carpet out to the curb, a microwave I've had since before the beginning of time and more or less scraped up any other junk I could come up with to take advantage of free take your crap to the curb today for pickup tomorrow morning. Let it not be said that I would ever allow the opportunity to unload go by without searching high and low for the ever elusive throw out now or silently keep your items in storage for another goodness knows how many months peace go by.
Sadly I did not make as much of a dent in the pile as I would have preferred, but at least the rug - the rug that I had loved and dragged up two flights of stairs and had up until Kate flooded the living room of the apartment one month before our move still been in livable conditions - is gone. No amount of steam cleaning could clear the scent of mildew once mildew had sent in and with a summer like ours filled with nothing but black clouds and rain, drying out was not an option no matter how many fans I set about the room to try to set things right.
I am however about to return to my state of nothingness. My couch misses me and as a newly made homeowner in charge of the thermostat, it's time to go wrap myself in a blanket and prepare to freeze.
This Would Be Easier in Third Person
I thought it was something that I wanted. Something that I was due for a long time spent waiting. Weeks later I know far more than I ever thought I'd want to know about myself and the way my heart works. Or in this case, doesn't work. And it turns out that it had nothing at all to do with him and everything in fact to do with me.
The truth is I spend an awful lot of time hiding. Not saying what I'd really like to say, not being the person I really want to be, and doing all the things I know are only going to come back around to bite me in the ass before I can bat an eyelash or two.
When it comes to men, I'm a natural disaster. And I keep thinking that maybe eventually something will change despite the fact that I keep running myself around the same circles and ending up with the same old worn out results. For a smart woman, I am optimistically dumb. I say that and smile. Somehow being naive in this fashion makes me entertaining to myself...
But not everything is a made for TV movie funny. Interaction between two people can destroy you. Rip you to ribbons. Tear you from the inside out and leave you weak, praying for mercy and finding none.
You have to remind yourself that no one can make you feel less unless you let them. No one can make you feel nameless or faceless unless you give them the ability to make you invisible. And I am not a second hand replacement. A means to an end. A night or two of peace and sanctuary.
So I made two mistakes. One right on top of the other and both with very identical results. One that was more of an I waited this long and by George I'm going to try it out to see if it was worth the wait and one on a whim because for just a moment I wasn't thinking very clearly at all. Neither brought me any closer to having happy as a result.
These life lessons are hard to learn. Because to pick apart the bones, I had to tear the seams to show myself just how far I'd unraveled. I'm nowhere close to being who I'm meant to be. I get sidetracked far too easily. I make mistakes more often than not. And my best of intentions can be forgotten on the fly. But I'm awake and trying and considering how long I've been asleep, things can only get better from here.
The truth is I spend an awful lot of time hiding. Not saying what I'd really like to say, not being the person I really want to be, and doing all the things I know are only going to come back around to bite me in the ass before I can bat an eyelash or two.
When it comes to men, I'm a natural disaster. And I keep thinking that maybe eventually something will change despite the fact that I keep running myself around the same circles and ending up with the same old worn out results. For a smart woman, I am optimistically dumb. I say that and smile. Somehow being naive in this fashion makes me entertaining to myself...
But not everything is a made for TV movie funny. Interaction between two people can destroy you. Rip you to ribbons. Tear you from the inside out and leave you weak, praying for mercy and finding none.
You have to remind yourself that no one can make you feel less unless you let them. No one can make you feel nameless or faceless unless you give them the ability to make you invisible. And I am not a second hand replacement. A means to an end. A night or two of peace and sanctuary.
So I made two mistakes. One right on top of the other and both with very identical results. One that was more of an I waited this long and by George I'm going to try it out to see if it was worth the wait and one on a whim because for just a moment I wasn't thinking very clearly at all. Neither brought me any closer to having happy as a result.
These life lessons are hard to learn. Because to pick apart the bones, I had to tear the seams to show myself just how far I'd unraveled. I'm nowhere close to being who I'm meant to be. I get sidetracked far too easily. I make mistakes more often than not. And my best of intentions can be forgotten on the fly. But I'm awake and trying and considering how long I've been asleep, things can only get better from here.
Hearth Fires
Houses have feelings. I believe that as much as I believe that calling a place home doesn't always make it feel like home. Places like people either accept you or reject you from the start, welcoming you in or making you feel uncomfortable enough to make you want to leave sooner rather than later.
I have lived, if sometimes you could call it living, in both of these places... Homes I've left that I've had no desire to leave and those I've ran from as if I couldn't flee fast enough from the hounds of hell. Uprooting time and time again searching for something a little more permanent, someplace to stay just a little bit longer, a home to call mine and mine alone.
I sit in my reading room typing away this morning in quiet while my daughter, the dogs and even the cats remain fast asleep. Around me there are empty boxes waiting to be packed, labeled and put by the door in their readiness to go. But I think to myself that it's not quite real yet, this leaving. And it just may be that I won't believe that some other house is going to be my home until I'm crossing its threshold with that first box of whatever magic it is inside that helps to make a house a home.
I dread the thought of taking my pictures down from their walls, rolling the carpets up to carry them down the stairs, and emptying each room until the only part left of me to leave behind is the color I chose to paint them. Golden yellow, coffee and cream, oatmeal with a cinnamon raisin accent wall, sage green for comfort and for KC bright hues of celeron greens and turquoise blues.
This apartment has been a blessing. From the moment I first saw it, I saw past all of the problems both big and small. To me it was like a fairy tale castle high above and away from the rest of the world, safe from the dragons below. I hid here until I learned how to live here and the living has been good.
I am not the woman I was when I landed here with broken wings and broken spirit. And I have learned to let go of the lesson that I was so cruelly and needlessly taught, forced to endure rather than live. The fear I used to feel, the tears I used to cry, the feeling of always needing to look over my shoulder to make sure that no one was there, all of that is gone...
A good home does that for you.
Rebuilding as it repairs.
Protecting as it provides.
I have lived, if sometimes you could call it living, in both of these places... Homes I've left that I've had no desire to leave and those I've ran from as if I couldn't flee fast enough from the hounds of hell. Uprooting time and time again searching for something a little more permanent, someplace to stay just a little bit longer, a home to call mine and mine alone.
I sit in my reading room typing away this morning in quiet while my daughter, the dogs and even the cats remain fast asleep. Around me there are empty boxes waiting to be packed, labeled and put by the door in their readiness to go. But I think to myself that it's not quite real yet, this leaving. And it just may be that I won't believe that some other house is going to be my home until I'm crossing its threshold with that first box of whatever magic it is inside that helps to make a house a home.
I dread the thought of taking my pictures down from their walls, rolling the carpets up to carry them down the stairs, and emptying each room until the only part left of me to leave behind is the color I chose to paint them. Golden yellow, coffee and cream, oatmeal with a cinnamon raisin accent wall, sage green for comfort and for KC bright hues of celeron greens and turquoise blues.
This apartment has been a blessing. From the moment I first saw it, I saw past all of the problems both big and small. To me it was like a fairy tale castle high above and away from the rest of the world, safe from the dragons below. I hid here until I learned how to live here and the living has been good.
I am not the woman I was when I landed here with broken wings and broken spirit. And I have learned to let go of the lesson that I was so cruelly and needlessly taught, forced to endure rather than live. The fear I used to feel, the tears I used to cry, the feeling of always needing to look over my shoulder to make sure that no one was there, all of that is gone...
A good home does that for you.
Rebuilding as it repairs.
Protecting as it provides.
Holding the Dream
It hasn't hit me yet. Or at least it doesn't seem quite real. At least not now. Not even with a few half packed boxes scattered through the rooms, half started, hanging open, waiting to be taped shut and labeled with a description of whatever it is inside.
It doesn't feel real at all. I've been waiting so, so long... I'd almost given up. Discouraged by what I wanted, where I needed it to be and what I believed was an impossible wish list of wants that wouldn't be answered.
And yet, miracles... A touch of faith and fate that led me one night to walk by a house that even before I knew it was for sale caused me to stop in my tracks and admire what I saw. Tucked away like a fairy tale cottage, quiet as if it were contemplating great things in the smallest of ways, looking every bit as if it were waiting for something wonderful to happen by. And there I stood, dreaming...
But a girl like me knows a lot of things, namely that dreams seldom become reality. They linger on your mind, tempt you with longing and slowly fade like morning mist rising from a lake.
And I still don't trust myself that it's all for real. I hold back the bulk of my excitement, wanting now the security of my signature across a page, and a firm final handshake that says the deal is done, made and impossible to break. Then and only then, when the keys are in my hand and I'm carrying that first box through the door for the very first time will I believe that this house is finally mine and that I've succeeded in doing what I haven't been able to do for so long...
For the first time ever, I'll be able to give my daughter a place that she can really call home.
Pipe Dreams?
Libraries make me cry. Or to be more specific, my library makes me cry. Or maybe, just maybe I was feeling a bit weepy today and just happened to be at the library when the tears threatened to start rolling down my face. Then again it seems that whenever I go to the library, which mind you this is me we're talking about so the word often does come into play, I always seem to be fighting to keep myself together.
I think it has something to do with walking down the aisles, searching for that ever elusive book and knowing that the one I'm searching for is the one I've been wanting to write and just haven't gotten around to yet. And every time this feeling comes over me, it reminds me of something that Toni Morrison once said, "If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."
So what am I waiting for?
Freezing On the 4th
For a fourth of July it's freezing. And while I know it's cold, cold enough to throw a little heat around the room by burning a few flames in the fireplace, it still hasn't occurred to me to get up and close the windows. Instead a cool damp breeze blows in through the curtains while I sit wrapped up in my daughter's zerba blanket throw writing down these words and ignoring my cell phone as it rings.
Ignoring it because I know it's my Dad and I know he can only be calling for one thing, to let me know that he's going to the gym and that he expects to see me there. And I've got to admit, for the last month or so I've let myself off of the strict regimen I've been holding myself to for over the past year. Tired may be as tired does, but not going is not going to get me any further from where I am. So I suppose I should motivate and do something besides shiver.
Leave of Absence
Alligators are surrounding my bed and getting back to sleep now is not an option. Imaginary or not, they're there and I'm here safely out of harms way at least for another night. Evidently animal planet is not the way to go before bed though truth be told I turned it off during a show about cats so I'm not really sure how it is that alligators came into play... It must be my subconscious mind letting go of something too big for it to handle.
This is my few free minutes of downtime for today. Sooner rather than later, I am about to start pulling myself together to get things ready and organized for my trip to Iowa.
Iowa, you ask?
I could answer that I've joined some bizarre dating club hence my venture into foreign fields to go and find myself a corn fed boy, but the truth is, I'm going for work and at this point a corn fed boy doesn't appear to be on the menu.
That being said, I'm seriously done with boys wanting to be men and men acting like they're still little boys. In the past few weeks, I think I've heard everything that a woman can hear. And can I just say that no, I'm not buying into a word of it. Not a stinking one.
And since there's really nothing to stick my neck out for, at least not from my angle of viewing, it's time to simply walk away and chalk this one up to lack of common sense, years of wondering well maybe and a neediness in me to hold out for something that week after week after another same old really whatever happened to the word progression week stayed as stagnant as two people in the same room, sharing the same breath can be for months at a time with no resolution other than for me to decide now is the time to draw the line and say done.
So done.
The good news however is that I feel neither sadness nor remorse. My heart did not get broken this go round, although the friendship I once had with this man has suffered irrefutable harm. There is no going back from this to whatever we were before. Too many things have both been said and done to forget that when it mattered most, he proved that I didn't matter. He took all that he could take, gave nothing back in return, and turned the tables to say that it was all my fault when called out on his bad behavior. And that my friends, is no friend in my book. No friend in my life.
So maybe I'll cool my heels for a while - the field days from two weeks before notwithstanding. Funny that. I got more out of one night with --- (and who would have guessed that?) than I ever did these past eight months with Jake. A woman was due! But now this woman goes back to playing it straight and narrow, keeping her cards close to hand until something more comes passing by to say hello.
Garden 2009 Pictures
Early yet in the season but in a month from now this is going to look fantastic!
Life On the Run
I don't miss the days of being idle, but I do miss not having the time to simply take my time...
Today was over almost as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning. I was in the shower, dressed to go, putting the pups in their harnesses and out the door to take them for their walk before most people were even awake. And when I returned from my two mile trek around the block it was have something quick for breakfast, answer my phone to say yes I was ready to trade in my street clothes for gym clothes and off again to spend an hour at the gym.
From the gym to home to get KC to go to Panera's to have our Sunday ritual brunch, a cup of coffee and read the paper. To the store to pick up KC's finally fixed computer, to the mall to buy a few things the paper said was on sale. Home to throw laundry in the wash, laundry in the dryer and fold laundry to be put away. Back out the door to hit the garden center to spend another few hours making my garden look all nicey nice and then upstairs to make dinner, clean up from making yet another mess to now... Ready to call it a night and head off to bed.
It's no wonder I'm tired...
Today was over almost as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning. I was in the shower, dressed to go, putting the pups in their harnesses and out the door to take them for their walk before most people were even awake. And when I returned from my two mile trek around the block it was have something quick for breakfast, answer my phone to say yes I was ready to trade in my street clothes for gym clothes and off again to spend an hour at the gym.
From the gym to home to get KC to go to Panera's to have our Sunday ritual brunch, a cup of coffee and read the paper. To the store to pick up KC's finally fixed computer, to the mall to buy a few things the paper said was on sale. Home to throw laundry in the wash, laundry in the dryer and fold laundry to be put away. Back out the door to hit the garden center to spend another few hours making my garden look all nicey nice and then upstairs to make dinner, clean up from making yet another mess to now... Ready to call it a night and head off to bed.
It's no wonder I'm tired...
Up For Discussion
A night out with friends is just what a girl needs when everything around her seems to be crisscrossed with lines of confusion. And last night was the perfect way to end a long and endless week. Dinner with friends, glasses of wine all the way around, with stories to tell and inadvertently share with the man sitting at the table beside us.
I'm quite convinced that opportunity having presented itself he would have slid his chair over to hang onto every word in detail rather than the few he managed to eavesdrop on. Then again mention the word blow job in polite society and there's hardly a man in the world capable of resisting not wanting to know what it is you're going to say when your conversation is clearly so much better than his own.
I'm quite convinced that opportunity having presented itself he would have slid his chair over to hang onto every word in detail rather than the few he managed to eavesdrop on. Then again mention the word blow job in polite society and there's hardly a man in the world capable of resisting not wanting to know what it is you're going to say when your conversation is clearly so much better than his own.
