November is difficult. On the 20th, we would have been married for 12 years. We never really celebrated our anniversary. We had been together about 3 years prior to the wedding and we just considered the date a mile marker of sorts. It was something to make note of; a point of reference.
I remember our 10th anniversary. That morning, my husband and I had gone over to my Mom's house to help her out with a couple of things. My phone rang.
Me: "Hello?"
Daughter: "Happy Anniversary!"
Me: "Anniversary of what?"
Daughter: *sighs* "You're wedding?"
Me: "Oh...thanks."
Daughter: *rolls eyes* (I can hear that through the phone, being that I'm a mom) "Whatever. I'll see you when you get home."
Me: "Okay, bye sweetie."
*Husband walks into room*
Me: "Guess what? B______ just called to say happy anniversary."
Husband: "Anniversary of what?"
The memory of that conversation always leaves me with a smile. I find myself clinging to each and every memory but this memory, ironically a memory of forgetfulness, this one I store safely at the center of my heart.
Why? Because I suspect I won't ever forget that date again.
Maximillion
I DEFINITELY SMELL SOMETHING
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Kindred
I sit at a little cafe table with my notebook, sipping on a cup of tea. There are similar tables around me, occupied by people performing actions similar to my own, as would be expected within the assumed confines of this little outdoor cafe. I take another sip of my mostly hot tea, containing the absolute perfect amount of milk within its depths. As I swallow, I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth slide across my tongue and coat my throat in a soothing sense of rightness, eventually settling in my stomach and wrapping around my soul. With a sigh, I settle the cup within its saucer and pick up my notebook and pen.
Diligently, I write. Pondering my decision to use a pen and paper for my work rather than typing on a laptop or even just transferring my thoughts to a recorder. I shrug, not really caring. After all, we are who we are, are we not? My pen glides along the lines of the paper and I can hear it's point scratching the surface and I watch the ink form all of its curls and turns and angles, the sound broken occasionally for punctuation or for a thoughtful pause on my part. I can feel my eyes adjusting to the pinpoint focus of the page, my ears closing at the same rate that my mind is opening. This is it. This is how I work.
There are a couple of larger groups at the cafe. One of which has pushed a couple of the tiny tables together so they may all sit more comfortably while the other group has decided to just crowd around one teeny table, standing close and holding their cups. There are mostly twosomes and threesomes here, which is not surprising based on the cafe's offerings when it comes to furniture. Single tables, such as my own, are also common, with people working, reading or just observing. I understand them best since we share that particular preference. People walk by, some not really noticing the cafe at all, some glancing over, longing to stop for a moment, maybe for a much needed dose of caffeine. As this little corner of the world rotates, I observe and I write.
I notice a young woman entering the courtyard, in search of a free table. I look around and realize all of the tables are occupied. As I prepare to wave her over to share mine, the woman is approached by a handsome young man carrying a table and chair. With a flourish, he arranges the table and chair before her and motions for her to sit. Even from my vantage point, I can see the pink tinging her cheeks as she smiles shyly and gestures for him to join her. He quickly grabs a chair from the group he was previously with, the large group with the pushed together tables, and returns to the pretty girl. I watch and I write, smiling even though the whole encounter has little potential. They have no kindred threads at all.
Luckily for them, with no kindred threads there are no opposing ones either. They were free to explore each other without harm coming to either. Regardless, I could not interfere but at least I knew it was all harmless and for them, the mystery and discovery would be fun, brief as it would be. A little memory that may someday combine with other moments so that upon reflection, down the road, a transformation may occur, like the growing of a new thread. I knew that was wishful thinking, having still found no proof for my theory. Ah well, back to work then.
My work focuses on the young since there is no other way to document the proof I require other than to witness the growth of a new thread. I, myself, am still young. Not to all of you but amongst my own kind, I am still within the realm of my educational years. And I am enjoying my education immensely. My youthful ego constantly wondering, if my discovery proves true, how will it affect the future? Does it even truly matter anywhere else but here, in this moment, in this world?
Within this unique place, where relationships begin blindly, not knowing when one might find a friend, a lover, even an enemy, I realize anything seems possible. With my restless mind, I can certainly understand the allure of mystery and self discovery and find myself wondering if their way isn't better. I tuck my pen into my notebook, leaving my teacup at the table, still partially full of cold tea and milk. As I open the gate to take my leave, I happen to glance back at my table and my teacup, the vessel of such warmth and comfort less than an hour earlier. A busboy approaches and I turn away as he quickly clears my table of the little cup and saucer, giving access to someone new in the continual stream of early morning patrons.
As I approach the building in which I currently reside, I see the older gentleman at his hot dog cart. He smiles and nods his head slightly. I respond with a tiny smile of my own as I feel the slight weight pulling at my heart. I have spoken with him before. I knew he was lonely, as unlucky in love as he is. As I was turning towards my building, a gray haired lady rushes by the cart, coming very close to colliding with it . In such a hurry, she didn't even look up. Neither did the man as he busily stocks drinks in the cart's side compartment. I bite down on my tongue, pressing my lips into a flat line. Oh, how I want to say something but I can not interfere here.
As I set down my pen and notebook on the little desk in my room, I laugh at my foolish whimsy back at the cafe. Mystery and adventure may be a fun notion, briefly, but is it worth the risk of a life untethered, a love or friendship never experienced? To me, there is nothing worse. I think back to that old man and woman, so oblivious, so separate. If only they knew...they are kindred.
I got the idea for this story from this picture that a Facebook friend posted on her wall. Thanks Amber for the inspiration!
Diligently, I write. Pondering my decision to use a pen and paper for my work rather than typing on a laptop or even just transferring my thoughts to a recorder. I shrug, not really caring. After all, we are who we are, are we not? My pen glides along the lines of the paper and I can hear it's point scratching the surface and I watch the ink form all of its curls and turns and angles, the sound broken occasionally for punctuation or for a thoughtful pause on my part. I can feel my eyes adjusting to the pinpoint focus of the page, my ears closing at the same rate that my mind is opening. This is it. This is how I work.
There are a couple of larger groups at the cafe. One of which has pushed a couple of the tiny tables together so they may all sit more comfortably while the other group has decided to just crowd around one teeny table, standing close and holding their cups. There are mostly twosomes and threesomes here, which is not surprising based on the cafe's offerings when it comes to furniture. Single tables, such as my own, are also common, with people working, reading or just observing. I understand them best since we share that particular preference. People walk by, some not really noticing the cafe at all, some glancing over, longing to stop for a moment, maybe for a much needed dose of caffeine. As this little corner of the world rotates, I observe and I write.
I notice a young woman entering the courtyard, in search of a free table. I look around and realize all of the tables are occupied. As I prepare to wave her over to share mine, the woman is approached by a handsome young man carrying a table and chair. With a flourish, he arranges the table and chair before her and motions for her to sit. Even from my vantage point, I can see the pink tinging her cheeks as she smiles shyly and gestures for him to join her. He quickly grabs a chair from the group he was previously with, the large group with the pushed together tables, and returns to the pretty girl. I watch and I write, smiling even though the whole encounter has little potential. They have no kindred threads at all.
Luckily for them, with no kindred threads there are no opposing ones either. They were free to explore each other without harm coming to either. Regardless, I could not interfere but at least I knew it was all harmless and for them, the mystery and discovery would be fun, brief as it would be. A little memory that may someday combine with other moments so that upon reflection, down the road, a transformation may occur, like the growing of a new thread. I knew that was wishful thinking, having still found no proof for my theory. Ah well, back to work then.
My work focuses on the young since there is no other way to document the proof I require other than to witness the growth of a new thread. I, myself, am still young. Not to all of you but amongst my own kind, I am still within the realm of my educational years. And I am enjoying my education immensely. My youthful ego constantly wondering, if my discovery proves true, how will it affect the future? Does it even truly matter anywhere else but here, in this moment, in this world?
Within this unique place, where relationships begin blindly, not knowing when one might find a friend, a lover, even an enemy, I realize anything seems possible. With my restless mind, I can certainly understand the allure of mystery and self discovery and find myself wondering if their way isn't better. I tuck my pen into my notebook, leaving my teacup at the table, still partially full of cold tea and milk. As I open the gate to take my leave, I happen to glance back at my table and my teacup, the vessel of such warmth and comfort less than an hour earlier. A busboy approaches and I turn away as he quickly clears my table of the little cup and saucer, giving access to someone new in the continual stream of early morning patrons.
As I approach the building in which I currently reside, I see the older gentleman at his hot dog cart. He smiles and nods his head slightly. I respond with a tiny smile of my own as I feel the slight weight pulling at my heart. I have spoken with him before. I knew he was lonely, as unlucky in love as he is. As I was turning towards my building, a gray haired lady rushes by the cart, coming very close to colliding with it . In such a hurry, she didn't even look up. Neither did the man as he busily stocks drinks in the cart's side compartment. I bite down on my tongue, pressing my lips into a flat line. Oh, how I want to say something but I can not interfere here.
As I set down my pen and notebook on the little desk in my room, I laugh at my foolish whimsy back at the cafe. Mystery and adventure may be a fun notion, briefly, but is it worth the risk of a life untethered, a love or friendship never experienced? To me, there is nothing worse. I think back to that old man and woman, so oblivious, so separate. If only they knew...they are kindred.
 |
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Notes of Nostalgia
A certain talented blogger has decided to start posting about memories she has been transported to via the vehicle of songs from her past. You can read about it here. She asked her readers to share their own tales of music and memory with her and although I admire her writing and would love to do nothing more than impress her with a wonderfully endearing or clever memory linked to some poignant song, I confess that I can not.
Therefore to pacify my shrunken ego, I will share the types of things my odd little brain is able to conjure from the music of my past. I don't have memories in my life that I connect with through specific songs. Instead I connect to stages of my life in which certain styles of music have played a role. Because of this, what I actually recall when hearing past songs are the sounds, smells and emotions evoked during that time.
My teen years were spent in a heavy metal world, with a little punk and new wave, even a small sprinkle of rap (mostly in the form of funny satire). When I hear an old eighties metal song, I can feel high school. I find myself walking the halls, my nose kind of sticky from inhaling all the hairspray (my generation, with their big hair and aerosol cans may carry the sole responsibility for the condition of the ozone) and of course, the underlying scent of tobacco that seeped out of our lockers and our purses and clung to our clothing. After all, our school had a quad between the cafeteria and the gym so we could have a smoke between classes.
The dazed sleepiness of school with its fluorescent lights, windowless rooms and constantly blowing air conditioning surrounds me. I can even hear the occasional buzz of a pager going off and thinking it must be a drug dealer because who else would have a pager? The sound of my pumps (worn with lacy bobby socks, of course) clicking across the linoleum floor. The feel of my plastic geometric earrings, swinging back and forth, tickling the sides of my neck, my eyelids heavy with the weight of the blue mascara caked onto my lashes.
If the song happens to be just right, school thoughts vanish like smoke and are replaced by summer vacation. Living in Vegas, the nights were never very dark due to the ever present glow of the strip. Summer nights were always hot, the air dry and stifling. There would be loud music, cigarettes, wine coolers and an occasional joint. The alcohol would always be too warm and we would always be a little sick to our stomachs.
I remember feeling my own potential, possibilities laid out at my feet stretching to infinity, and I remember feeling free. Those feelings were so rare. As a matter of fact, as a teenager, I recall feeling caged in and powerless most of the time. But...just in those moments, during random hot summer nights, surrounded by friends I thought I would know forever, I felt free and fearless. It was a freedom that came with youth, with the safety net of parents, and the financial independence that comes from having no job but also having no bills. Feeling powerful, beautiful, unattainable.
This isn't a memory but a feeling. Something that happened when the night was hot enough that even a hot breeze felt like a blessing, and the amount of alcohol consumed was just enough to feel slightly removed from reality but not enough to feel sick. During those moments, when just the right song would play...it was freedom.
And even now, if I hear the right song at the right moment, I'm there once again. I am free.
Therefore to pacify my shrunken ego, I will share the types of things my odd little brain is able to conjure from the music of my past. I don't have memories in my life that I connect with through specific songs. Instead I connect to stages of my life in which certain styles of music have played a role. Because of this, what I actually recall when hearing past songs are the sounds, smells and emotions evoked during that time.
My teen years were spent in a heavy metal world, with a little punk and new wave, even a small sprinkle of rap (mostly in the form of funny satire). When I hear an old eighties metal song, I can feel high school. I find myself walking the halls, my nose kind of sticky from inhaling all the hairspray (my generation, with their big hair and aerosol cans may carry the sole responsibility for the condition of the ozone) and of course, the underlying scent of tobacco that seeped out of our lockers and our purses and clung to our clothing. After all, our school had a quad between the cafeteria and the gym so we could have a smoke between classes.
The dazed sleepiness of school with its fluorescent lights, windowless rooms and constantly blowing air conditioning surrounds me. I can even hear the occasional buzz of a pager going off and thinking it must be a drug dealer because who else would have a pager? The sound of my pumps (worn with lacy bobby socks, of course) clicking across the linoleum floor. The feel of my plastic geometric earrings, swinging back and forth, tickling the sides of my neck, my eyelids heavy with the weight of the blue mascara caked onto my lashes.
If the song happens to be just right, school thoughts vanish like smoke and are replaced by summer vacation. Living in Vegas, the nights were never very dark due to the ever present glow of the strip. Summer nights were always hot, the air dry and stifling. There would be loud music, cigarettes, wine coolers and an occasional joint. The alcohol would always be too warm and we would always be a little sick to our stomachs.
I remember feeling my own potential, possibilities laid out at my feet stretching to infinity, and I remember feeling free. Those feelings were so rare. As a matter of fact, as a teenager, I recall feeling caged in and powerless most of the time. But...just in those moments, during random hot summer nights, surrounded by friends I thought I would know forever, I felt free and fearless. It was a freedom that came with youth, with the safety net of parents, and the financial independence that comes from having no job but also having no bills. Feeling powerful, beautiful, unattainable.
This isn't a memory but a feeling. Something that happened when the night was hot enough that even a hot breeze felt like a blessing, and the amount of alcohol consumed was just enough to feel slightly removed from reality but not enough to feel sick. During those moments, when just the right song would play...it was freedom.
And even now, if I hear the right song at the right moment, I'm there once again. I am free.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Dating in 2011: a third party observation
I didn't know what to write about but thought I should post something today, so while speaking with some of my friends, I came up with the idea to write down some of my observations on the current dating climate. As the title states, this is a third party observation as I have not been on a date since the last millennium.
A lot of today's relationships, whether platonic or romantic, tend to be electronic. I'm sure most of us can relate to that. Without a social network, would you really have 659 friends right now? Really? In case you're confused, the answer to that question is...NO. Still, I'll bet there are people on that list, people you've never even met, that you consider some of your dearest friends.
Our definition of friendship has definitely changed so...what about romantic relationships? Can you fall in love and maintain a relationship with someone you've never met? I know people who do just that but I can't seem to grasp the concept.
If your, hmmm...E-lover?, gets a computer virus (STD) or his Internet connection keeps failing (erectile dysfunction), could this put a strain on the relationship? Can you get counseling for that? Is someone with a faster Internet connection, better typing skills and a bigger hard drive more appealing?
Will romance novels change in the future...?
What would constitute, well...you know...relations? I've been told men have to do it regularly or they'll die...
Sorry, my mind tends to wander. Let's get back to Dating 2011.
According to my single friends, other than changes in mode and method, dating is still similar in a lot of ways. There's still that search going on for Mr. or Ms. Right. Looking for that spark, that connection...
Unfortunately, it's kind of difficult to differentiate between one spark and another. Which has left a lot of people suspicious (thus, the invention of the pre-nup) or jaded...
Some of us have been lucky, finding the right kind of spark. A true love story set in real life. Some haven't had that luck yet but someday they will. I know it for a fact because since the dawn of time, there have been men searching with their brains and their libidos and women searching with their faith and their hearts.
Eventually, they will find each other...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I'm Okay
My family and friends are concerned about me. I understand why but I don't know what to do to reassure them. When asked, "How are you doing?" I answer as honestly as I can, "I'm doing okay." It doesn't seem to be enough and everyone seems to feel as though I'm either brushing over things for their benefit or for my own.
The truth is, I'm okay. I'm not good, I'm not fine, I'm just okay.
Am I sad? You bet I'm sad. I'm lonely and I mourn the loss of my Hubby every single day. I find myself having a hard time catching my breath. I take a lot of deep breaths but I don't seem to ever get enough air. After work, I rush home as fast as I can. I feel a mild flutter of panic as I drive and as soon as I open the door and come inside, I am overcome with a huge sense of emptiness that falls over me like a thick blanket that was left out in the rain overnight. I shiver and I can't breathe.
Am I functioning? I am. I go to work. I go shopping. I spend time with my Girls. I visit my mother. I occasionally go out with friends. I pay my bills. I eat. I sleep. I read. I cry. I even laugh. I think I'm functioning quite well.
There are times when I am so overcome with grief that I feel as though I'll crumble to dust under the weight. There are times when I am so angry at the senselessness of it all that my nerves practically hum with the tension of my fury. There are times when I encounter a scent or a sound that surrounds me with a sense of peace or happiness so beautiful that I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
I don't think about my future but I do still look forward to my children's futures. I've lost a lot of my inspiration and desire to write but I still love to read anything and everything I can get my hands on. I am having a hard time adjusting to not being able to share the mundane moments of each day with my best friend but I still enjoy catching up with my girlfriends when we find the time to get together.
I miss him but I was lucky to have loved him. His death has given me a lot of tears but his life gave me a lot of laughter.
Well, that's enough of that. I just wanted to let everyone know that when I say, "I'm okay", this is what I'm saying.
Thank you for caring and checking in on me.
The truth is, I'm okay. I'm not good, I'm not fine, I'm just okay.
Am I sad? You bet I'm sad. I'm lonely and I mourn the loss of my Hubby every single day. I find myself having a hard time catching my breath. I take a lot of deep breaths but I don't seem to ever get enough air. After work, I rush home as fast as I can. I feel a mild flutter of panic as I drive and as soon as I open the door and come inside, I am overcome with a huge sense of emptiness that falls over me like a thick blanket that was left out in the rain overnight. I shiver and I can't breathe.
Am I functioning? I am. I go to work. I go shopping. I spend time with my Girls. I visit my mother. I occasionally go out with friends. I pay my bills. I eat. I sleep. I read. I cry. I even laugh. I think I'm functioning quite well.
There are times when I am so overcome with grief that I feel as though I'll crumble to dust under the weight. There are times when I am so angry at the senselessness of it all that my nerves practically hum with the tension of my fury. There are times when I encounter a scent or a sound that surrounds me with a sense of peace or happiness so beautiful that I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
I don't think about my future but I do still look forward to my children's futures. I've lost a lot of my inspiration and desire to write but I still love to read anything and everything I can get my hands on. I am having a hard time adjusting to not being able to share the mundane moments of each day with my best friend but I still enjoy catching up with my girlfriends when we find the time to get together.
I miss him but I was lucky to have loved him. His death has given me a lot of tears but his life gave me a lot of laughter.
Well, that's enough of that. I just wanted to let everyone know that when I say, "I'm okay", this is what I'm saying.
Thank you for caring and checking in on me.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Protector
As he sits there pretending to watch whatever incessant show is streaming across the TV, he keeps his ears open to any unusual sounds and his eyes are constantly moving, assessing the room. He purposely relaxes his broad shoulders and lowers his eyelids slightly. His demeanor giving off a lazy, relaxed appearance.
His looks at his family as they watch TV, occasionally commenting on one thing or another, and is overwhelmed with the love he has for them. There is nothing he won't do to keep them safe. He would die for them and if it comes down to it, he would kill for them. Mentally, he shakes himself. Stretching, using the opportunity to look around, he falls back into his reclining position. His face reflecting nothing but mild boredom as he again faces the TV. In his peripheral vision he glances at his family again. They continue to go about their business, acting as though they believe his facade.
They don't.
They know he's alert, aware. They know he's always on the job. He knows they love him for it, even though he also knows it can become tiresome, having someone around who is always on guard. But, tiresome or not, things have to be done and he's here to do them.
Sighing, he reclines and closes his eyes...almost completely...almost. Ever vigilant, he keeps his senses attuned to everything and notices a slight change in the atmosphere. There's a whisper of a sound and he readies himself. His mind working overtime, his muscles practically vibrating with anticipation...
Stay calm.
Not yet.
...almost...
...NOW!
"Max, leave the cat alone!"
His looks at his family as they watch TV, occasionally commenting on one thing or another, and is overwhelmed with the love he has for them. There is nothing he won't do to keep them safe. He would die for them and if it comes down to it, he would kill for them. Mentally, he shakes himself. Stretching, using the opportunity to look around, he falls back into his reclining position. His face reflecting nothing but mild boredom as he again faces the TV. In his peripheral vision he glances at his family again. They continue to go about their business, acting as though they believe his facade.
They don't.
They know he's alert, aware. They know he's always on the job. He knows they love him for it, even though he also knows it can become tiresome, having someone around who is always on guard. But, tiresome or not, things have to be done and he's here to do them.
Sighing, he reclines and closes his eyes...almost completely...almost. Ever vigilant, he keeps his senses attuned to everything and notices a slight change in the atmosphere. There's a whisper of a sound and he readies himself. His mind working overtime, his muscles practically vibrating with anticipation...
Stay calm.
Not yet.
...almost...
...NOW!
"Max, leave the cat alone!"
 |
| "MAN, I CAN'T DO NOTHING!" |
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, Tuesday...W T F?
It's Tuesday. How can it only be Tuesday?
Panicked, I ran to the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and glazed over from a string of eight hour days staring at a computer screen. I had my Friday hairstyle which I think of as my "I did my hair all damn week so f**k them if they don't like it" look. I was dressed in my end of the week outfit which basically consisted of whatever was left in my closet that marginally matched (at least by braille if not actual sight). My back ached, my legs felt restless and my head hurt. I even had a sore right ear which I like to refer to as "customer service ear".
I ran back to my desk to double check my calendar. It definitely said Tuesday.
...But how could that be? All signs pointed to Friday. I tried to think back on my work week and I got nothing. My whole week was a blank. Just like every Friday.
I checked with my friends. I double-checked with my Mom. It was definitely Tuesday. Which could only mean one thing...
...I need a vacation!
Panicked, I ran to the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and glazed over from a string of eight hour days staring at a computer screen. I had my Friday hairstyle which I think of as my "I did my hair all damn week so f**k them if they don't like it" look. I was dressed in my end of the week outfit which basically consisted of whatever was left in my closet that marginally matched (at least by braille if not actual sight). My back ached, my legs felt restless and my head hurt. I even had a sore right ear which I like to refer to as "customer service ear".
I ran back to my desk to double check my calendar. It definitely said Tuesday.
...But how could that be? All signs pointed to Friday. I tried to think back on my work week and I got nothing. My whole week was a blank. Just like every Friday.
I checked with my friends. I double-checked with my Mom. It was definitely Tuesday. Which could only mean one thing...
...I need a vacation!
Friday, September 23, 2011
And Then There Was Light
In the darkness, she awoke...and wished she hadn't. She felt as though her body was moving against her will. Everything was shifting, breaking apart around her. Disoriented, trembling with fear, she viciously clamped down on her own panic. This was her home and there was no way she was going to let anything happen to it. She loved it here. She was warm and safe here. Until now anyway. Not knowing who or what was causing this, she did the only thing she could do. She closed her eyes and held on for dear life.
Everything stopped. It got quiet and she waited there in the dark, holding on. The dark didn't bother her. It was always dark here. Time passed. Occasionally, there was a feeling of being pushed or tugged but mostly, there was nothing.
She was tired and felt herself being lulled back into a sense of calm. She loved it here. It was so warm and cozy. She could hear the rhythmic, liquid sounds that were a constant in this place. It soothed her rattled nerves and she felt her eyelids lowering, heavy with fatigue. She could feel Her there and as always, wished she could touch Her but at least She was near. Finally, she slept.
She woke instantly and for the first time in her life, she was freezing. She screamed out her frustration. While she slept, someone had taken hold of her and pulled her from her home. It was cold and awful. Strange sounds surrounded her and she trembled feeling helpless and so alone.
She opened her eyes. It was bright here and she couldn't focus. She was being moved again and was shocked to find herself in Her arms. She could actually feel Her arms holding her tightly. She could hear Her voice and she was once again warm and safe. She couldn't seem to speak but had always known Her name and she spoke it with her heart as she had always done..."Mom".
As she lay nestled in her mother's arms, happier than she had ever been, she heard Her whisper, "Imogen", and her heart was suddenly full of an indescribable love which had overflowed from Her heart. And she slept, happier than she had ever been because now, she was truly home.
...and then there was light...Welcome home Imogen!
(for Vanessa and JJ...Congratulations!)
Everything stopped. It got quiet and she waited there in the dark, holding on. The dark didn't bother her. It was always dark here. Time passed. Occasionally, there was a feeling of being pushed or tugged but mostly, there was nothing.
She was tired and felt herself being lulled back into a sense of calm. She loved it here. It was so warm and cozy. She could hear the rhythmic, liquid sounds that were a constant in this place. It soothed her rattled nerves and she felt her eyelids lowering, heavy with fatigue. She could feel Her there and as always, wished she could touch Her but at least She was near. Finally, she slept.
She woke instantly and for the first time in her life, she was freezing. She screamed out her frustration. While she slept, someone had taken hold of her and pulled her from her home. It was cold and awful. Strange sounds surrounded her and she trembled feeling helpless and so alone.
She opened her eyes. It was bright here and she couldn't focus. She was being moved again and was shocked to find herself in Her arms. She could actually feel Her arms holding her tightly. She could hear Her voice and she was once again warm and safe. She couldn't seem to speak but had always known Her name and she spoke it with her heart as she had always done..."Mom".
As she lay nestled in her mother's arms, happier than she had ever been, she heard Her whisper, "Imogen", and her heart was suddenly full of an indescribable love which had overflowed from Her heart. And she slept, happier than she had ever been because now, she was truly home.
...and then there was light...Welcome home Imogen!
(for Vanessa and JJ...Congratulations!)
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I'll Be Back
I have been avoiding all blogging for quite a while but all of your kindness and concern for me has swayed me.
As you may know, my Hubby went into the hospital on April 2nd of this year. On April 30th, he passed away. I am still in shock.
So, with a broken heart and absolutely no ability to properly communicate at the moment, I thank you all for your concern and I promise to return soon.
At the moment, I am trying to regain some sort of routine and sense of normalcy in my life and it's taking everything I have left of myself just to attempt to do that.
Thanks again...I truly miss you all and think of you often.
As you may know, my Hubby went into the hospital on April 2nd of this year. On April 30th, he passed away. I am still in shock.
So, with a broken heart and absolutely no ability to properly communicate at the moment, I thank you all for your concern and I promise to return soon.
At the moment, I am trying to regain some sort of routine and sense of normalcy in my life and it's taking everything I have left of myself just to attempt to do that.
Thanks again...I truly miss you all and think of you often.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The reason for my absence
Hello to everyone. I will be absent from my blog for a while. My Hubby is currently in critical condition at the hospital and no one is sure of the outcome. This was an unexpected tragedy and right now, my heart, my mind, my everything is in that hospital room...waiting and hoping and praying.
Please forgive my absence and send your prayers and positive thoughts our way, whenever possible.
Thanks.
Please forgive my absence and send your prayers and positive thoughts our way, whenever possible.
Thanks.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Quicksand
I can't seem to get anything accomplished lately. My life appears to be a series of abrupt starts derived from good intentions that fizzle out more quickly than a cheap sparkler on the 4th of July. I'm even terrified to create a "to do" list because I'm just not strong enough to deal with that kind of disappointment right now.
I'm completely unmotivated and worn out but there are things that MUST be done. Things with deadlines attached to them. Things that, if left unfinished, will have serious repercussions.
Yet, here I remain. I sit and I think. I plan and I plot. I try to generate some energy, determination, something, ANYthing that will pull me up off my ass. I'm so slow molasses could lap me in a race. Congress would laugh at my work ethic. But I remain here in my quicksand without the slightest desire to pull myself out.
In the event you are unable to comprehend my current state of lethargy, here's a little song. Want to hear it? Here it goes:
Lazy Bones
I'm completely unmotivated and worn out but there are things that MUST be done. Things with deadlines attached to them. Things that, if left unfinished, will have serious repercussions.
Yet, here I remain. I sit and I think. I plan and I plot. I try to generate some energy, determination, something, ANYthing that will pull me up off my ass. I'm so slow molasses could lap me in a race. Congress would laugh at my work ethic. But I remain here in my quicksand without the slightest desire to pull myself out.
In the event you are unable to comprehend my current state of lethargy, here's a little song. Want to hear it? Here it goes:
Lazy Bones
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Today is March 24th
She distractedly tears off pages on her daily calendar, something she hasn't even glanced at in at least two weeks. Through the foggy vision of fatigue, she glances at today's date: March 24th. A slight intake of breath makes its way through her raw throat and into her aching lungs. Is it really March 24th? How could it have arrived so quickly?
But it doesn't matter at what speed time has chosen to travel, it only matters that it is now March 24th and no matter how she is feeling, this date can not be ignored or brushed aside. She knows she has little ability in her current physical state to properly honor this dearly loved day but honor it she must. Her body groans in protest at the thought of any action, having been grossly overworked by the slavedriver better known as Sickness. She pays no attention.
Her brain, heavy with medication, stutters to life as her heart whispers softly to it, "Hurry, today is March 24th. It is an important day."
She thinks back to other special days and smiles. She has not always done everything in its proper order but somehow things find a way of working themselves out.
She smiles as she feels her heart flutter in excitement. There is just no way this day could pass without being acknowledged.
What is March 24th?
It is not the day she found the other half of her heart. The half that filled an emptiness that she was unaware even existed until she felt the fullness within her. No, it isn't that day...
March 24th is the day that other half of her heart was born.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUBBY...sorry I got you sick.
But it doesn't matter at what speed time has chosen to travel, it only matters that it is now March 24th and no matter how she is feeling, this date can not be ignored or brushed aside. She knows she has little ability in her current physical state to properly honor this dearly loved day but honor it she must. Her body groans in protest at the thought of any action, having been grossly overworked by the slavedriver better known as Sickness. She pays no attention.
Her brain, heavy with medication, stutters to life as her heart whispers softly to it, "Hurry, today is March 24th. It is an important day."
She thinks back to other special days and smiles. She has not always done everything in its proper order but somehow things find a way of working themselves out.
She smiles as she feels her heart flutter in excitement. There is just no way this day could pass without being acknowledged.
What is March 24th?
It is not the day she found the other half of her heart. The half that filled an emptiness that she was unaware even existed until she felt the fullness within her. No, it isn't that day...
March 24th is the day that other half of her heart was born.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUBBY...sorry I got you sick.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A Cure for What Ails Me!
I received an award from a great Blogger. Who, you ask? The award comes from Nubian whose blog consists of the type of humor and wit I strive for but rarely accomplish with the same skill. Check it out HERE.
It comes with rules of course but I must beg off since I am just too damned sick to abide by anyone's rules at the moment. Here are seven random things about me from a prior award HERE.
I am supposed to forward this to 15 bloggers but I just can't handle that right now so here's 1:
1) The most versatile Blogger/ Human Being I know is Nikki. She worked the race car syndicate, she lives on a boat (a boat!), she is a roller derby girl, she blogs, she vlogs, she does it all. I'm sure you already know her, she's much better known than I but if not, check her out.
No one else fits the bill as well as she does so...here's to you Nikki, the most versatile Blogger in the blogosphere.
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| http://nubian66.blogspot.com/ |
I am supposed to forward this to 15 bloggers but I just can't handle that right now so here's 1:
1) The most versatile Blogger/ Human Being I know is Nikki. She worked the race car syndicate, she lives on a boat (a boat!), she is a roller derby girl, she blogs, she vlogs, she does it all. I'm sure you already know her, she's much better known than I but if not, check her out.
No one else fits the bill as well as she does so...here's to you Nikki, the most versatile Blogger in the blogosphere.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Please, some water?
The young woman rides along in a flashy convertible that leads the motorcade through the crowded streets. She sees her fans as they surge forward, trying to get a glimpse of her. She waves and smiles and thinks, "I am famous."
______________________________________
_____________________________________
She steps out of a limousine onto the red carpet. Cameras flash all around her and people shout her name, hoping to get her attention. Her peers applaud as she makes her way into the theatre. She smiles and poses and thinks, "I am adored."
The giant doors open at her arrival and she enters the palace. Royalty and heads of state are there to greet her. Servants scurry about to take her wrap and hand her a champagne flute. The room is full of some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world and they are here in her honor. She smiles and nods and thinks, "I am respected."
______________________________________
The explosion hit as she was leaving her home. It blew her into the street. She wakes up to flashing cameras and people crowding around her. She smiles for them and tries to speak but her throat is full of smoke and ash. She lifts up a little and beckons one of the photographers closer, steadying herself on his arm and manages to whisper hoarsely, "Please, some water?" The photographer shakes her hand off, straightens and continues to take pictures. She looks around her, at the hungry faces of the photographers and the eagerness of the crowd as they clamour for a closer look at her. She rests her head on the sidewalk, closes her eyes and realizes, "I am alone."
Thursday, March 10, 2011
It's happening again. Thieving Bastards!
I am trying my best to be understanding and flexible about this. Really. I swear.
Okay...not really.
Every single year this happens. Those bastards steal what's rightfully mine and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can't fight the government. Well, I could but I would most likely lose and I'd much rather bitch to all of you.
This is a very short post because, well, I simply can't afford a longer one. I'm sure you're all fully aware of the problem as most of you are fellow victims:
I can prove it's a conspiracy. If it were to our benefit in some way, wouldn't this time change occur at around three or four pm on a Friday so we could enjoy leaving work an hour early? Nope, this is done over the weekend. They come like thieves in the night. Stealing precious moments from our lives. An hour from each of us.
How much total time do they collect and what do they use it for? When they return it in the Fall, it's not the same. We give them a brand new hour and they return a used one. Shouldn't we get two hours back, for depreciation alone? How about an hour and a half?
Okay, I'm done now, seeing as how my time allotment has already been exceeded by at least five minutes. Sorry about that.
Okay...not really.
Every single year this happens. Those bastards steal what's rightfully mine and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can't fight the government. Well, I could but I would most likely lose and I'd much rather bitch to all of you.
This is a very short post because, well, I simply can't afford a longer one. I'm sure you're all fully aware of the problem as most of you are fellow victims:
That's right folks...DST starts this weekend. An hour of our lives will be stolen from us. We'll be older, delirious from lack of sleep, and for the next few days, we won't be sure if the clock we're looking at is correct or not. (Did I change the clock over the stove? What about in my car?) All in all, there will be mayhem and confusion for all as we try to figure out time zone adjustments even with the knowledge that we are an hour closer to death:
How much total time do they collect and what do they use it for? When they return it in the Fall, it's not the same. We give them a brand new hour and they return a used one. Shouldn't we get two hours back, for depreciation alone? How about an hour and a half?
Okay, I'm done now, seeing as how my time allotment has already been exceeded by at least five minutes. Sorry about that.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Loved but Lazy!
Guess what? I have discovered that my style is greatly admired throughout the blogosphere. How do I know this? Well, I'll tell you. The Style Diva better known as Vicki at Glitter Frog has presented me with my second, that's right SECOND, stylish blogger award:
Very fitting, don't you think? Since I received this just recently, here's a link meeting all the rules: My First Stylie.
I guess I can forward it now but there is no way I can come up with 15 bloggers so I give this award to someone who isn't new but who I have recently come to enjoy reading quite a bit: Trooper Thorn. He actually has four blogs which I find absolutely bewildering but I enjoy this one in particular. Go read him, he's hilarious.
Very fitting, don't you think? Since I received this just recently, here's a link meeting all the rules: My First Stylie.
I guess I can forward it now but there is no way I can come up with 15 bloggers so I give this award to someone who isn't new but who I have recently come to enjoy reading quite a bit: Trooper Thorn. He actually has four blogs which I find absolutely bewildering but I enjoy this one in particular. Go read him, he's hilarious.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
A Guide to Lent: Fat Tuesday, Ash Wednesday and Fasting
Happy Fat Tuesday everyone! For those of you that weren't aware of this, Fat Tuesday is the day before the Lenten Season starts.
Lent is the time of year when we are supposed to prepare ourselves for Holy Week, which of course includes the celebration of Easter. We are supposed to prepare our souls through prayer, alms giving, penitence, fasting, and self-denial. It's a very religious time for most Christians...
...so, guess what we do the day before all of that starts? That's right, Fat Tuesday! A day of pure decadence. We're supposed to eat food high in fat, drink heavily, flash our boobs, make out with and/or fight with random strangers in the street. It's kind of like the last chance to get some sins in before we have to behave ourselves (at least for the next 40 days or so). For those of you that don't practice Lent, you don't know how long 40 days is when you're behavior is restricted. I don't know about the rest of you but I usually flash my boobs at least once a week!
Anyway, a friend of mine has decided to help me with a Public Service Announcement to help you from over-indulging this Fat Tuesday:
The end result on my face wouldn't be quite as cute as it is on his face and I try to be considerate of my readers.
So, as Fat Tuesday burns out and Ash Wednesday rises, Lent has begun. It will be a time to give up my wanton ways (at least temporarily) and it is also a time to fast. Since I am a connoisseur of junk food, this is the hard part for me. I am more likely to shove a burger in my mouth and then, with my mouth still full, say, "Oh wait, is this Friday?" (Tip: During Lent, we don't eat meat on Fridays. Fish, but not meat. Why do you think McDonald's came up with the Fillet O Fish?)
So for me, the dilemma is, To Fast or Not To Fast. Either way, Lent comes upon me way Too Fast and so I will try my best and hope to get through it this year with flying colors...hopefully, it goes by quickly:
It's going to be a bumpy ride, folks. (This picture came compliments of my Hubby and one of my favorite E-friends ever, Ms. Whine.)
Lent is the time of year when we are supposed to prepare ourselves for Holy Week, which of course includes the celebration of Easter. We are supposed to prepare our souls through prayer, alms giving, penitence, fasting, and self-denial. It's a very religious time for most Christians...
...so, guess what we do the day before all of that starts? That's right, Fat Tuesday! A day of pure decadence. We're supposed to eat food high in fat, drink heavily, flash our boobs, make out with and/or fight with random strangers in the street. It's kind of like the last chance to get some sins in before we have to behave ourselves (at least for the next 40 days or so). For those of you that don't practice Lent, you don't know how long 40 days is when you're behavior is restricted. I don't know about the rest of you but I usually flash my boobs at least once a week!
Anyway, a friend of mine has decided to help me with a Public Service Announcement to help you from over-indulging this Fat Tuesday:
Thanks Tuesday! I owe you one.
Once you've made it through Fat Tuesday with some measure of decorum (You can thank me later), it is then time for Ash Wednesday. On Ash Wednesday, as a sign of our repentance, we go to church and receive ashes on our foreheads in the sign of the cross and we leave the ashes on all day, without washing them off. Since I attended a Catholic school through most of my childhood, this didn't really affect me a whole lot. Everyone had dirty smudgy foreheads and everyone knew why.
That is not the case when you're out and about in the real world. I discovered that although many people love to celebrate Fat Tuesday; Ash Wednesday is not quite as well known, nor is it as well received. Because of this, I found it a lot easier to go to evening mass on Ash Wednesday so I didn't have to explain my dirty forehead to every person I encountered that day.
Now that I'm not as easily influenced by the opinion of others, I prefer to use Ash Wednesday as a "dirty day". What's a "dirty day", you ask? It's a day when I purposefully allow my face to get as dirty and smudgy as possible, without washing, rinsing or wiping away any of the residue. That way, when I'm asked what's on my face, I have a whole array of items to choose from depending upon my mood at the time. The effect looks similar to this:
The end result on my face wouldn't be quite as cute as it is on his face and I try to be considerate of my readers.
So, as Fat Tuesday burns out and Ash Wednesday rises, Lent has begun. It will be a time to give up my wanton ways (at least temporarily) and it is also a time to fast. Since I am a connoisseur of junk food, this is the hard part for me. I am more likely to shove a burger in my mouth and then, with my mouth still full, say, "Oh wait, is this Friday?" (Tip: During Lent, we don't eat meat on Fridays. Fish, but not meat. Why do you think McDonald's came up with the Fillet O Fish?)
So for me, the dilemma is, To Fast or Not To Fast. Either way, Lent comes upon me way Too Fast and so I will try my best and hope to get through it this year with flying colors...hopefully, it goes by quickly:
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Frozen
You don't know me. My tears fall silently, in the dark. As they run down my face, I can feel their warmth and I try to take some comfort from it. I fail.
Those warm tears can't help me. They are insignificant as either a comfort or a symbol of my grief. They are just an overflow of my pain. They work as a release valve when the feelings move too close to the surface. They are just a means to relieve some of the pressure and weight of unpleasant emotions. They gather in my tear ducts until they come bubbling up and spill over. It's really nothing more than a bodily function. Meaningless.
But there are other tears. The ones that fall from my heart. Unseen tears. Cold tears. Those are the ones with power over me. They fall within me, a constant and steady drip of ice cold water, running down my heart, leaving frozen trails on its journey to my soul.
I used to fight it. Refusing to accept my fate. Seeking out any little piece of happiness I could find to try to warm myself. There had to be something I could do to change things. What had I done to deserve this suffering? Surely there had to be a way. I tried to seek out what was missing within me. I failed.
I can't fight it. The icy crystals formed from my own cold tears will not melt. I can barely move much less fight. I am tired.
You don't know me. But during a time of need in your life, if you look into my eyes, you may recognize me. You may recognize my pain, my grief as a reflection of your own but don't reach out to me. I can't help you. Turn away. Run. Don't let me pass this affliction on to you. I won't chase you. I can't. I am frozen.
Those warm tears can't help me. They are insignificant as either a comfort or a symbol of my grief. They are just an overflow of my pain. They work as a release valve when the feelings move too close to the surface. They are just a means to relieve some of the pressure and weight of unpleasant emotions. They gather in my tear ducts until they come bubbling up and spill over. It's really nothing more than a bodily function. Meaningless.
But there are other tears. The ones that fall from my heart. Unseen tears. Cold tears. Those are the ones with power over me. They fall within me, a constant and steady drip of ice cold water, running down my heart, leaving frozen trails on its journey to my soul.
I used to fight it. Refusing to accept my fate. Seeking out any little piece of happiness I could find to try to warm myself. There had to be something I could do to change things. What had I done to deserve this suffering? Surely there had to be a way. I tried to seek out what was missing within me. I failed.
I can't fight it. The icy crystals formed from my own cold tears will not melt. I can barely move much less fight. I am tired.
You don't know me. But during a time of need in your life, if you look into my eyes, you may recognize me. You may recognize my pain, my grief as a reflection of your own but don't reach out to me. I can't help you. Turn away. Run. Don't let me pass this affliction on to you. I won't chase you. I can't. I am frozen.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
This sign was placed at the beginning of this post as a warning to the stupid. Note the word WARNING strategically placed at the top of the sign and presented to all in the accepted color of caution signs everywhere. (Hint: If you just looked at this and said, "huh"? Go away, these aren't the droids you're looking for.)
Okay, for everyone else, please proceed.
I work in a pretty quiet office environment, with the occasional spurt of busy occurring at predictable moments throughout. Rarely does anything happen that would be worthy of mention to anyone. Today was no different, except for one thing:
It's true. The stupid were out in full force today. It was alarming. I have no idea how this happened. I'm pretty sure there's some kind of regulation that prevents this from happening. I think someone must be organizing them. But how? (Personally, I suspect Google.) Did they all receive I don't mean to come off as unfeeling but I'm talking about stupidity: the absence of any common sense whatsoever. I was severely traumatized by my experiences today. I may have to go to counseling. What are the signs of PTSD? If you've ever tried to argue with a fool than you have an inkling as to what I endured. Just picture the verbal juggling that surely must have accompanied that experience and multiply it by a room full of fools; a fool room so to speak.
It's an exercise in futility. The problem for me being that this wasn't an exercise, this was my job. I had to get this endless parade of mental midgets to understand me and I had to do it in a professional and courteous manner. This task was becoming more and more difficult as the day moved on. I wanted to scream at each one individually:
I wonder if I can wear that shirt to work tomorrow. After all, it is casual Friday.
I leave you with this final point. The foolish need not waste their time attending college. A moron with a college degree is like a work of art on a piece of toilet paper, though it's something you can put on display, I can still wipe my ass with it.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Mrs. Beckham aka Stylie Spice, Lady Gaga aka Sir Gaga...Eat It!
Guess what? I got another award! I know they're kind of like chain mails, what with all the forwarding going on but that is not the spirit in which they are given. At least, it's not the spirit in which I give them and I happen to respect and value this particular blogger a great deal. You probably already know her but if not, well, then you're probably new so...hurry up and go check her out right here -> Caterpillar!! (oh and by the way, for all of you Doubting Thomas' out there...if you read my previous blog: I plan to follow Charlie, then you would realize why I received this award because...uh, winner!)
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| http://musingsnconfessions.blogspot.com/ |
As with all good things, this award comes with strings although they are very stylish ones...I must write seven random things about myself and then forward this to fifteen other bloggers, that's right...15!
Here are the seven random things about me:
1) I can hula dance. (not the really fast Tahitian stuff but the slow, hip tilting, hand flowing Hawaiian way) I grew up in Hawaii and you just pick that kind of thing up or else how would you participate in May Day at school? I miss it there. What other place is there where muumuus and flip flops are formal wear...oh-oh, am I going to lose my "stylish" award now?
2) I'm double jointed. I am not, however, double jointed anywhere that would allow me to become one of Mr. Sheen's "goddesses" though. (You can relax Hubby. I'm not going anywhere.) I am only double jointed in my fingers and elbows which is not very useful at all, except to gross out the overly squeamish. I mean, try pressing a sticky button, when you're finger is about as strong as a wet noodle.
3) I sell insurance...zzzzzzz.
4) I used to have the best 80's hair ever! I mean it. I will post the picture someday so you can all bow down to the Heavy Metal Video Vixen Awesomeness that was my hair.
5) Great "man hands" turn me on. That was the first thing I noticed about my Hubby. (I am talking about hands belonging to men-I do not enjoy large masculine hands on women. In fact, that really freaks me out.) I can't explain to you what I mean but I'm hoping you'll just know.
6) I am incredibly lazy. It's actually pretty bizarre and when I was a teenager, I was convinced I had some sort of Laziness Disease. (I capitalize the term because I'm believe one day I will be diagnosed with this particular ailment...maybe they will name it after me! Hmmm, hopefully that won't require any effort on my part.) I am so lazy that I dream of how nice it would be to live in a nursing home. Seriously. I dream about it. *sigh* If only.
7) I'm lactose intolerant but I'm in the denial stage and spend a lot of time eating and drinking dairy products. I spend the rest of the time complaining about gas pains and upset stomachs. (This is how I know my Hubby loves me. Although he's the one who ends up taking care of me, he never stops me. He just deals with it...maybe he's just scared of me.) Either way, Yay Me!!
Okay, I'm done...oh wait, fifteen bloggers? I can't do it. You understand, don't you? I just told you how lazy I am. I will forward this to Bella because it's a stylish blogger award and I love the profile picture she uses and if you want to see it, go over there. I also thought it was really great when she posted messages from a friend of hers living in Egypt at the beginning of all that turmoil. This is the first one in the series Musing is being taken over.
That's it. One forward...Ha! I'm tired already...zzzzzzzz.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
I plan to follow Charlie because I plan to win
Do you remember this face?
This was the face of many of my young fantasies. This clean cut boy with the devil's glint in his eye. But now...
EEEEEEEWWWWWW! He looks like he's turning into an old lady. A spooky creepy one. When I heard CBS had canceled his show, I wasn't really shocked. The bad, often criminal behavior was one thing, it fit in with his character but...when his face started to deteriorate, well, no one wants to see a wealthy partying playboy who looks like crap. That's no fun at all. We don't want to see the consequences of extreme alcohol and drug abuse.
But then things changed for me.
Charlie was all over the morning show circuit. He announced that he only needed us to trust him and if we did, we would win because he's a winner. Ah! Why hadn't I realized that? It could have saved me so much time and so much trouble all these years.
But alas, my new leader helped me with this as well...his brain is "not from this terrestrial realm". He explained that he "probably took more drugs than anyone could survive" but he DID survive so...you do the math. I mean, how can you not acknowledge the "bitchin' rock star life" that is Charlie. Who else do you know of that can "make Sinatra, Flynn, Jagger, Richards all of 'em just look like droopy-eyed armless children"? That is quite an accomplishment. He has chosen to embrace his life, "Wrap both arms around it and love it violently. And defend it violently, through violent hatred."
*sigh*
What a guy. Um, I mean warlock. (is the "w" suppose to be capitalized?) What with all that Tiger's Blood running through his veins, (I wonder if that's anything like Tiger's Milk. I love those energy bars.) it's no wonder he's the only one able to do the drug that is 'Charlie Sheen', not even making it available to the public: "cuz if you try it once you will die. Your face will melt off (huh, refer back to the second picture on this post... just sayin') and children will weep over your exploded body."
He's certainly reached out to the masses, per his own words, "I exposed people to magic. I exposed them to something that they otherwise would not see in their boring normal lives. And I gave that to them!"
So, I'm sure you can see why I have chosen the Guru Sheen to lead me through life but in case you need any more convincing, in Guru Sheen's own words..."Uh, Winner!" ...'nuff said.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Weak Ends
When I was young but old enough, my weekends usually began on a Thursday and lingered into Monday afternoon. The work week, though admittedly much shorter for me per my previous statement, always seemed unbearably long and excruciatingly boring. I yearned for the excitement and freedom that was synonymous with weekends.
Looking back on those times, my weekdays consisted of making plans, arranging transportation and picking out clothes for the coming weekend. The work week would be a blur of tediousness and the thought of it would leave me with an ache in the pit of my stomach, wondering if this monotony would forever be my lot in life. The weekends being my only solace, the only sustenance in my life. (I was quite fatalistic back then)
I would stay out until dawn, drinking and dancing and when the sun broke into the fun, it was time to head home, change into daytime wear and go to the lake or the mountains or the desert for the day. At sunset, we would head home and change once again for another round of the debauchery which comes when youthful desires and the first tastes of freedom are combined in a cocktail more potent than anything available at any club or bar. This went on nonstop until the work week returned. There was no recovery day, no need for rest, just a never ending cycle of sensation.
I had lost the dreams of childhood, both for a successful career and for making a difference in the world. My goals had become much easier to obtain. A good buzz, a good dance club, and good friends to enjoy it with. I had good intentions initially but my first night out blew those intentions right out of the water, leaving them lying on the shore, not even twitching unless you watched them very, very closely. You know what they say, "Opportunity may knock only once, but temptation leans on the doorbell."
I wonder how my Girls will meet the world. That time is approaching rapidly, causing night sweats and sudden panic whenever that reality decides to come bubbling to the surface of my consciousness. I have tried to teach them as much as I can but the fear for their futures paralyzes me. When I tell my Mom how I'm feeling, she reminds me that all a parent can do is give their children the tools they need to succeed, hope for the best and make sure to lay out a safety net, just in case.
Upon reflection, I realize they will probably do a better job of it then I did. I'm pretty sure I survived by sheer luck or a very diligent guardian angel. I'm certainly not the same person I was in my twenties and though I can look upon my former self with fondness, I don't want that life back and I don't imagine she would much care for mine.
These days, my weekends are much more tame and my biggest desire is to try to work in a nap at some point in the next couple of days. Strangely, this doesn't bother me in the least. My life contains a rhythm, a melody composed by myself and the people I love. It's not the life I dreamed of in my childhood, my teens or even into my twenties but it's my song and I sing it with gratitude.
Enjoy your weekend.
Looking back on those times, my weekdays consisted of making plans, arranging transportation and picking out clothes for the coming weekend. The work week would be a blur of tediousness and the thought of it would leave me with an ache in the pit of my stomach, wondering if this monotony would forever be my lot in life. The weekends being my only solace, the only sustenance in my life. (I was quite fatalistic back then)
I would stay out until dawn, drinking and dancing and when the sun broke into the fun, it was time to head home, change into daytime wear and go to the lake or the mountains or the desert for the day. At sunset, we would head home and change once again for another round of the debauchery which comes when youthful desires and the first tastes of freedom are combined in a cocktail more potent than anything available at any club or bar. This went on nonstop until the work week returned. There was no recovery day, no need for rest, just a never ending cycle of sensation.
I had lost the dreams of childhood, both for a successful career and for making a difference in the world. My goals had become much easier to obtain. A good buzz, a good dance club, and good friends to enjoy it with. I had good intentions initially but my first night out blew those intentions right out of the water, leaving them lying on the shore, not even twitching unless you watched them very, very closely. You know what they say, "Opportunity may knock only once, but temptation leans on the doorbell."
I wonder how my Girls will meet the world. That time is approaching rapidly, causing night sweats and sudden panic whenever that reality decides to come bubbling to the surface of my consciousness. I have tried to teach them as much as I can but the fear for their futures paralyzes me. When I tell my Mom how I'm feeling, she reminds me that all a parent can do is give their children the tools they need to succeed, hope for the best and make sure to lay out a safety net, just in case.
Upon reflection, I realize they will probably do a better job of it then I did. I'm pretty sure I survived by sheer luck or a very diligent guardian angel. I'm certainly not the same person I was in my twenties and though I can look upon my former self with fondness, I don't want that life back and I don't imagine she would much care for mine.
These days, my weekends are much more tame and my biggest desire is to try to work in a nap at some point in the next couple of days. Strangely, this doesn't bother me in the least. My life contains a rhythm, a melody composed by myself and the people I love. It's not the life I dreamed of in my childhood, my teens or even into my twenties but it's my song and I sing it with gratitude.
Enjoy your weekend.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sounds
drip...drip...drip
She lays in bed, eyes closed and listens to the leaky faucet in the bathroom. It's a familiar sound that has been going on for years. Every morning for around ten to fifteen minutes, that faucet will slowly drip and then suddenly, it will just stop. She's never bothered to fix it.
drip...drip...drip
It's early and the sun is beginning to peek though the bedroom window. It's rays gingerly reaching across the dresser, over the carpet and climbing up to her bed. She can feel the gentle warming of her blankets and eventually, her face. She closes her eyes tighter knowing the light will shine too brightly once it reaches her line of sight. She meant to get a black out shade for that window but just never got around to it.
drip...drip...drip
Later in the day, the sun will stretch its beams fully into the room, causing the temperature to rise and making the air too stuffy for comfort. She thinks once again about having a ceiling fan installed but that's all it is, just a thought.
drip...drip...
She opens her eyes. The sound of that leaky faucet has been her wake up call for as long as she can remember, whispering dawn's arrival in her ear each day. Once the dripping stops, she knows it's time to rise. She squints as the sunlight flashes in her eyes and quickly sits up to place herself back in the shadows and allow her sight to adjust. I really should do something about that window.
creak creak.
creak creak.
The floorboards sound their protest as she walks across them. In her mind, she likes to think the sounds are an echo of her own reluctance to greet the day, rather than a reflection of their age and condition. Not likely to fix those anyway.
pop pop pop pop
Her joints make their opinions known as well as she bends to pick up her robe which has slid off the foot of the bed and onto the floor. They appear to be even more reluctant to greet this day than she is. The pain, a screaming reminder that she should make that appointment to see the rheumotologist. She will...later.
squuueeeaaak
Her bedroom door slowly swings open on hinges badly in need of oil. One more thing she hasn't managed to get to yet. At the edge of the partially open door, just below the doorknob, a small hand has curled into view. Following that hand, a round face appears, with chubby cheeks and big brown eyes that peer at her from under a tangled mass of long dark hair. She holds out her arms to her daughter.
thump thump thump thump thump
The child runs into the room and leaps into her mother's arms. Their embrace contains everything they are for just a brief moment and then they tumble to the bed, accompanied by kisses and giggles. Now, she is ready to face the day.
sigh
Not a true sound, just a release of pent up air. The source of the sound is unclear but if someone were to be looking at the house from the street at that exact moment, they might have noticed that the sagging awning seemed a little straighter and the dingy paint seemed a little brighter, if just for a brief moment.
She lays in bed, eyes closed and listens to the leaky faucet in the bathroom. It's a familiar sound that has been going on for years. Every morning for around ten to fifteen minutes, that faucet will slowly drip and then suddenly, it will just stop. She's never bothered to fix it.
drip...drip...drip
It's early and the sun is beginning to peek though the bedroom window. It's rays gingerly reaching across the dresser, over the carpet and climbing up to her bed. She can feel the gentle warming of her blankets and eventually, her face. She closes her eyes tighter knowing the light will shine too brightly once it reaches her line of sight. She meant to get a black out shade for that window but just never got around to it.
drip...drip...drip
Later in the day, the sun will stretch its beams fully into the room, causing the temperature to rise and making the air too stuffy for comfort. She thinks once again about having a ceiling fan installed but that's all it is, just a thought.
drip...drip...
She opens her eyes. The sound of that leaky faucet has been her wake up call for as long as she can remember, whispering dawn's arrival in her ear each day. Once the dripping stops, she knows it's time to rise. She squints as the sunlight flashes in her eyes and quickly sits up to place herself back in the shadows and allow her sight to adjust. I really should do something about that window.
creak creak.
creak creak.
The floorboards sound their protest as she walks across them. In her mind, she likes to think the sounds are an echo of her own reluctance to greet the day, rather than a reflection of their age and condition. Not likely to fix those anyway.
pop pop pop pop
Her joints make their opinions known as well as she bends to pick up her robe which has slid off the foot of the bed and onto the floor. They appear to be even more reluctant to greet this day than she is. The pain, a screaming reminder that she should make that appointment to see the rheumotologist. She will...later.
squuueeeaaak
Her bedroom door slowly swings open on hinges badly in need of oil. One more thing she hasn't managed to get to yet. At the edge of the partially open door, just below the doorknob, a small hand has curled into view. Following that hand, a round face appears, with chubby cheeks and big brown eyes that peer at her from under a tangled mass of long dark hair. She holds out her arms to her daughter.
thump thump thump thump thump
The child runs into the room and leaps into her mother's arms. Their embrace contains everything they are for just a brief moment and then they tumble to the bed, accompanied by kisses and giggles. Now, she is ready to face the day.
sigh
Not a true sound, just a release of pent up air. The source of the sound is unclear but if someone were to be looking at the house from the street at that exact moment, they might have noticed that the sagging awning seemed a little straighter and the dingy paint seemed a little brighter, if just for a brief moment.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Remember how I told you I was writing a Guest Post?
This is the first time anyone has asked me to do anything like that so please go read it.
Laughing My Abs Off - Family Food Fondness
I really hope you enjoy it and check out sherilin's blog.
It's the post I wrote that got me thinking of my last post Camping: Doggy Style.
More stuff soon...but not today.
Laughing My Abs Off - Family Food Fondness
I really hope you enjoy it and check out sherilin's blog.
It's the post I wrote that got me thinking of my last post Camping: Doggy Style.
More stuff soon...but not today.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Camping: Doggy Style
A long long time ago, I was nine years old. I lived in Lake Havasu City, AZ and I was a brand new member of my local Girls Scout troop. I was a Brownie for a minute when I lived in Florida but that was even further back in time and I'm not sure they had even invented memories yet - this little reference is for my Girls who consider my 40 years to be absolutely ancient.
We came to the States from Thailand when I was around three years old and there were many things we had to learn the hard way or the embarrassing way. I will be guest posting at another blog soon with an example of the hard way but this particular incident falls into the latter category.
My troop leader sent us all home one day with information on a two week camping trip in northern California and a few of my friends were planning to go. I begged my mom to let me go and she finally said yes. I was so excited when I got to our Scout meeting the following week, my hands clenching the permission forms and a check for the trip.
By the time I found out that none of my friends were going to be able to go, I had already turned everything in to the troop leader. I was extremely shy and didn't say anything at the meeting and by the time I got home, I had decided to go on the trip anyway. It was definitely better than admitting to my mom that I had no interest in camping and had only wanted to go to be with my friends. I just kept my mouth shut and things moved forward.
About three weeks before camp, I was sent home with a list of mandatory items to pack as well as some additional items suggested by the camp counselors. Needless to say, my mom immediately discarded the suggested items list as a scheme to make her spend extra money. This was a notion my mom apparently adopted regarding America's capitalist society back when she was growing up in Thailand. Either that, or she was just very verycheap fiscally conscientious.
We were left with a basic list of necessities which were pretty easy to acquire until we came to an item that left us at a complete loss: a mess kit. A. Mess. Kit. No matter how many times we tried the words on our lips, the meaning eluded us. We were thinking it must have had something to do with personal grooming but we couldn't figure out what. Shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, towel, washcloth...those items were already on the list.
Finally, my mom contacted the parent of another scout and discovered that a mess kit was "for eating with while camping". This is how my mom explained it to me when she ended the call. I suspect that since the call lasted about ten minutes that there was a more detailed description provided but this is what my mom got out of the conversation.
That weekend, we headed out to our local Kmart (no Walmarts or Targets back in medieval times) to go pick up this elusive mess kit. My mom found a store clerk who advised her that they didn't sell mess kits. The clerk suggested we try a cafeteria style tray and my mom put it in the shopping cart and continued to look around the store.
She stopped in an aisle with deep plastic bowls in a multitude of colors. I stood there quietly and unhappily since I really wanted to have a mess kit like the other kids would even though I still really had no idea what it was. My mom showed me a bright yellow bowl (yellow was one of my favorite colors at the time) and told me she thought this would be much prettier than the ugly tin cafeteria tray we had in the cart. Plus it only cost a dollar and the cafeteria tray was five dollars.
Even at nine, I knew there was no point in trying to debate my mom when an 80% savings was thrown into the mix. Besides, I wasn't getting a mess kit either way so what difference would it make. We went home; me feeling resigned and my mom feeling great. She loves a bargain.
*************************************************
The first day at camp was great. We were assigned our cabins and we ate dinner in the mess hall. Wait, mess hall...mess kit, now I get it. I became fast friends with my cabin mates. We spent half the night talking and giggling and the other half screaming and hiding, mostly due to the spooky stories we eagerly whispered into the dark. At least until one of the counselors came in to shush us so we could get some rest before the big camp out the next day.
We packed up our gear, including our mess kits and headed out on a long hike to our campsite. When we got there, we sang songs and talked while the food was cooking. When it was time to eat, everybody pulled out their mess kits. I noticed that some of the girls had brought those tin cafeteria trays but I was the only one sporting a bright yellow plastic bowl. I was also the only one who had no utensils. This wasn't a big problem for the hot dogs but the baked beans were a bitch and a half. I resorted to tipping the bowl into my mouth in order to get to the beans.
After the meal, we were sent to a designated area to clean our dishes and that's when I noticed something that changed my entire camping experience. I had turned the bowl over and there was the label still stuck to the bottom of my bowl. It was a picture of a big cartoon dog with a bib wrapped around his neck. A bowl (my bowl) was set in front of him and the label read: Doggy Dining. Underneath that, in case I tried to convince myself otherwise, it read: Dog Bowl...
My mom had sent me to camp for two weeks with a bunch of girls I didn't know and in order to save four bucks, she decided to have me eat out of a dog bowl. I could feel my face flush red. I picked at the label until there was nothing left but some torn paper backing and a couple sticky spots with some grayish little glue clumps.
Needless to say, I tried to avoid all campfire meals for the rest of my stay. It was bad enough that I had to eat out of a dog bowl but without my own utensils, I kept picturing myself with my face in the dog bowl and my pig tails flopping at the sides of my head and well, it was just too much for me. I mean, even the cartoon dog on the label was depicted holding a fork and knife.
When I came home and told my mom about my discovery, she wasn't surprised. She told me that she had chosen the dog bowl on purpose so it wouldn't go to waste when I came back. Apparently, our little cockapoo, Winnie, needed a new bowl anyway.
That's mycheapskate fiscally responsible mom for you.
Gotta lover her...right?
We came to the States from Thailand when I was around three years old and there were many things we had to learn the hard way or the embarrassing way. I will be guest posting at another blog soon with an example of the hard way but this particular incident falls into the latter category.
My troop leader sent us all home one day with information on a two week camping trip in northern California and a few of my friends were planning to go. I begged my mom to let me go and she finally said yes. I was so excited when I got to our Scout meeting the following week, my hands clenching the permission forms and a check for the trip.
By the time I found out that none of my friends were going to be able to go, I had already turned everything in to the troop leader. I was extremely shy and didn't say anything at the meeting and by the time I got home, I had decided to go on the trip anyway. It was definitely better than admitting to my mom that I had no interest in camping and had only wanted to go to be with my friends. I just kept my mouth shut and things moved forward.
About three weeks before camp, I was sent home with a list of mandatory items to pack as well as some additional items suggested by the camp counselors. Needless to say, my mom immediately discarded the suggested items list as a scheme to make her spend extra money. This was a notion my mom apparently adopted regarding America's capitalist society back when she was growing up in Thailand. Either that, or she was just very very
We were left with a basic list of necessities which were pretty easy to acquire until we came to an item that left us at a complete loss: a mess kit. A. Mess. Kit. No matter how many times we tried the words on our lips, the meaning eluded us. We were thinking it must have had something to do with personal grooming but we couldn't figure out what. Shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, towel, washcloth...those items were already on the list.
Finally, my mom contacted the parent of another scout and discovered that a mess kit was "for eating with while camping". This is how my mom explained it to me when she ended the call. I suspect that since the call lasted about ten minutes that there was a more detailed description provided but this is what my mom got out of the conversation.
That weekend, we headed out to our local Kmart (no Walmarts or Targets back in medieval times) to go pick up this elusive mess kit. My mom found a store clerk who advised her that they didn't sell mess kits. The clerk suggested we try a cafeteria style tray and my mom put it in the shopping cart and continued to look around the store.
She stopped in an aisle with deep plastic bowls in a multitude of colors. I stood there quietly and unhappily since I really wanted to have a mess kit like the other kids would even though I still really had no idea what it was. My mom showed me a bright yellow bowl (yellow was one of my favorite colors at the time) and told me she thought this would be much prettier than the ugly tin cafeteria tray we had in the cart. Plus it only cost a dollar and the cafeteria tray was five dollars.
Even at nine, I knew there was no point in trying to debate my mom when an 80% savings was thrown into the mix. Besides, I wasn't getting a mess kit either way so what difference would it make. We went home; me feeling resigned and my mom feeling great. She loves a bargain.
*************************************************
The first day at camp was great. We were assigned our cabins and we ate dinner in the mess hall. Wait, mess hall...mess kit, now I get it. I became fast friends with my cabin mates. We spent half the night talking and giggling and the other half screaming and hiding, mostly due to the spooky stories we eagerly whispered into the dark. At least until one of the counselors came in to shush us so we could get some rest before the big camp out the next day.
We packed up our gear, including our mess kits and headed out on a long hike to our campsite. When we got there, we sang songs and talked while the food was cooking. When it was time to eat, everybody pulled out their mess kits. I noticed that some of the girls had brought those tin cafeteria trays but I was the only one sporting a bright yellow plastic bowl. I was also the only one who had no utensils. This wasn't a big problem for the hot dogs but the baked beans were a bitch and a half. I resorted to tipping the bowl into my mouth in order to get to the beans.
After the meal, we were sent to a designated area to clean our dishes and that's when I noticed something that changed my entire camping experience. I had turned the bowl over and there was the label still stuck to the bottom of my bowl. It was a picture of a big cartoon dog with a bib wrapped around his neck. A bowl (my bowl) was set in front of him and the label read: Doggy Dining. Underneath that, in case I tried to convince myself otherwise, it read: Dog Bowl...
My mom had sent me to camp for two weeks with a bunch of girls I didn't know and in order to save four bucks, she decided to have me eat out of a dog bowl. I could feel my face flush red. I picked at the label until there was nothing left but some torn paper backing and a couple sticky spots with some grayish little glue clumps.
Needless to say, I tried to avoid all campfire meals for the rest of my stay. It was bad enough that I had to eat out of a dog bowl but without my own utensils, I kept picturing myself with my face in the dog bowl and my pig tails flopping at the sides of my head and well, it was just too much for me. I mean, even the cartoon dog on the label was depicted holding a fork and knife.
When I came home and told my mom about my discovery, she wasn't surprised. She told me that she had chosen the dog bowl on purpose so it wouldn't go to waste when I came back. Apparently, our little cockapoo, Winnie, needed a new bowl anyway.
That's my
Gotta lover her...right?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
SNUGGLING ON THE BEACH
Not much is going on today. It's quiet at the office and I am bored to tears. I dream of going somewhere. Anywhere, really. How about here?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tagged by Miss Nikki? Who could ask for anything more?
Guess what? I was tagged. I didn't even know what that meant but since I was tagged by one of my favorite bloggers ever, Miss Nikki at My Cyber House Rules, I went straight to work. If you haven't been to her blog, GO! What are you waiting for? Can't you read? Her Cyber House Rules! What? Did you think that was just a creative title? I'll see you when you get back.
If I have this correct, I need to answer an extremely large number of questions and than proceed to tag four fellow bloggers and I guess let them know they're it. So, in case you really don't want to go through every question with me (I'm not all that interesting, except to myself: I find myself fascinating but I don't really get out much) just to find out whose been tagged, here's a list of four fantastic and far more interesting bloggers than I:
SherilinR at laughing my abs off (real life, only funnier and more entertaining)
Vinny at as vinny cs it (he is my blogging hero)
Tim Riley at life of riles (I like his take on things)
Shopgirl at A Blessing A Day (her positive outlook balances my cynicism)
Anyway, here are the questions:
3. What is the one thing most hated by you?
People who are socially responsible and ethereally pure...not really, I think what I hate the most is stupidity, especially those who can't admit they're stupid.
4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
8. If you are currently in a relationship, how did you meet your partner?
10. What kinds of books do you read?
I read everything: romance, suspense, sci-fi, horror, biographies, self-help, historical, my girls diaries (just kidding, I do NOT want to know that stuff). I read bumper stickers, clothing labels (although I rarely follow the handling instructions), the backs of shampoo bottles, it doesn't matter. If you write it, I will read.
11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?
I guess by looking in the mirror ten years from now?
12. What’s your fear?
Bugs...eeeeeewwwww!!!! Other than that, it used to be failure, now it's the fear that my Girls are afraid of failure. After all, they picked up my fear of bugs...eeeeeewwwww!!!!
13. Would you give up all junk food for the rest of your life for the opportunity to visit outer space?
Why, do they have better junk food in outer space?
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married, but poor?
16. If you could change one thing about your spouse/partner what would it be?
18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?
I could probably forgive but since I don't currently have amnesia, I really don't think I could forget. I mean, isn't that a little bit of an unrealistic expectation?
19. If you could only eat one thing for the next 6 months, what would it be?
Toast with honey and butter (but I would definitely need a cup of hot tea with milk and sugar added)
If I have this correct, I need to answer an extremely large number of questions and than proceed to tag four fellow bloggers and I guess let them know they're it. So, in case you really don't want to go through every question with me (I'm not all that interesting, except to myself: I find myself fascinating but I don't really get out much) just to find out whose been tagged, here's a list of four fantastic and far more interesting bloggers than I:
SherilinR at laughing my abs off (real life, only funnier and more entertaining)
Vinny at as vinny cs it (he is my blogging hero)
Tim Riley at life of riles (I like his take on things)
Shopgirl at A Blessing A Day (her positive outlook balances my cynicism)
Anyway, here are the questions:
1. If you have pets, do you see them as merely animals, or are they members of your family?
Pets? Members of the family? Those are my babies, well, except for my German Shepard who is so obviously my Baby, my Boyfriend (platonically speaking, I'm not that kind of blogger), and my Bodyguard. Let's just call him Triple B.
2. If you can have a dream to come true, what would it be?
Anything? I wish Triple B were human (huh, maybe it I am that kind of blogger). Honestly, I know most people are very socially responsible or ethereally pure with this question but what I want the most is to become an obscenely successful writer.
2. If you can have a dream to come true, what would it be?
Anything? I wish Triple B were human (huh, maybe it I am that kind of blogger). Honestly, I know most people are very socially responsible or ethereally pure with this question but what I want the most is to become an obscenely successful writer.
3. What is the one thing most hated by you?
People who are socially responsible and ethereally pure...not really, I think what I hate the most is stupidity, especially those who can't admit they're stupid.
4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Start my own publishing company, for the whole successful writer dream. I would also spend a lot of time travelling...everywhere, with my entourage, including Triple B.
5. What helps to pull you out of a bad mood?
The truth? Yummy food, a good book, a glass of wine, Triple B (duh), or a stupid joke delivered by my Hubby (can't have the Hubby feeling threatened by Triple B)
6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?
It's definitely more blessed to love someone but it's easier to be loved by someone as long as it's not some kind of wierd stalker type love but that story's for another day...
7. What is your bedtime routine?
I let the dogs out, drink some water, pee, lock up the house, set the alarm, remind my oldest to feed the cats, turn up the heat or A/C, straighten out Triple B's bedding, brush my teeth and climb into bed. Sometimes I read a little first but nothing too good or I will stay up all night. I'm a book junkie and tend to read several books at once, going through five to seven books a week.
5. What helps to pull you out of a bad mood?
The truth? Yummy food, a good book, a glass of wine, Triple B (duh), or a stupid joke delivered by my Hubby (can't have the Hubby feeling threatened by Triple B)
6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?
It's definitely more blessed to love someone but it's easier to be loved by someone as long as it's not some kind of wierd stalker type love but that story's for another day...
7. What is your bedtime routine?
I let the dogs out, drink some water, pee, lock up the house, set the alarm, remind my oldest to feed the cats, turn up the heat or A/C, straighten out Triple B's bedding, brush my teeth and climb into bed. Sometimes I read a little first but nothing too good or I will stay up all night. I'm a book junkie and tend to read several books at once, going through five to seven books a week.
8. If you are currently in a relationship, how did you meet your partner?
I met my Hubby though my friend's boyfriend who was living with him but we didn't really get together until he was planning to move out of town and I was going to take over his lease. I had with me, my two girls and their Nanny, Carl (he liked to refer to himself as their Nanny and the girls got a kick out of it). We got to know each other while sharing the same living space, found out we had the same views on life and were headed in the same direction so we decided to travel it together. He asked the girls for my hand in marriage and they helped him propose. How could you say no to that?
9. If you could watch a creative person in the act of the creative process, who would it be?
If I could watch from inside their brain, it would have to be an author but if I have to watch them the conventional way, I guess it would have to be a sculptor. A lump of clay...a work of art? Certainly beyond my creative capability.
9. If you could watch a creative person in the act of the creative process, who would it be?
If I could watch from inside their brain, it would have to be an author but if I have to watch them the conventional way, I guess it would have to be a sculptor. A lump of clay...a work of art? Certainly beyond my creative capability.
10. What kinds of books do you read?
I read everything: romance, suspense, sci-fi, horror, biographies, self-help, historical, my girls diaries (just kidding, I do NOT want to know that stuff). I read bumper stickers, clothing labels (although I rarely follow the handling instructions), the backs of shampoo bottles, it doesn't matter. If you write it, I will read.
11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?
I guess by looking in the mirror ten years from now?
I don't know what will happen in the next ten years and I've learned to live with that.
12. What’s your fear?
Bugs...eeeeeewwwww!!!! Other than that, it used to be failure, now it's the fear that my Girls are afraid of failure. After all, they picked up my fear of bugs...eeeeeewwwww!!!!
13. Would you give up all junk food for the rest of your life for the opportunity to visit outer space?
Why, do they have better junk food in outer space?
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married, but poor?
I've been married and poor and it's not so bad...but if I'm going to be single, I would much rather be rich. Poor is more fun when you have someone to share it with.
15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Pee and take the dogs out to pee. Peeing should be the first thing everyone does, shouldn't it? If not, I wouldn't recommend sharing a bed with that particular person.
15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Pee and take the dogs out to pee. Peeing should be the first thing everyone does, shouldn't it? If not, I wouldn't recommend sharing a bed with that particular person.
16. If you could change one thing about your spouse/partner what would it be?
His family? Just kidding, I would change his clothes but alas, 'tis not to be. Of course, I'm not willing to walk around the house in hot pants or booty shorts either so I guess we're even.
17. If you could pick a new name for yourself, what would it be?
Halle Berry? Catherine Zeta Jones? Oh wait, would I still be myself? Well, then I wouldn't really need to change my name unless I end up on the run or something. (changing my middle name would be amusing so I could say things like, "Danger? Please. Danger is my middle name."
17. If you could pick a new name for yourself, what would it be?
Halle Berry? Catherine Zeta Jones? Oh wait, would I still be myself? Well, then I wouldn't really need to change my name unless I end up on the run or something. (changing my middle name would be amusing so I could say things like, "Danger? Please. Danger is my middle name."
18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?
I could probably forgive but since I don't currently have amnesia, I really don't think I could forget. I mean, isn't that a little bit of an unrealistic expectation?
19. If you could only eat one thing for the next 6 months, what would it be?
Toast with honey and butter (but I would definitely need a cup of hot tea with milk and sugar added)
Whew! Finally, I'm done. Thanks for hanging in there with me.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Romancing the Stoned
I was reading a post yesterday: Calling People Names - "Her First Love" and it got me thinking...was I that naive, that careless with my own heart back then? The answer to that is a definitive...YES. That post was a real and gritty story of the abusing of a young heart. This is so much less than that but it is mine to tell.
I believed in the idea of love as all-consuming, all-powerful, and beyond my control. My heart was untried and fearless. It beat strongly and purely, having yet to endure a single romantic scar. I could feel it's need to love and oddly, it's need to suffer. (A little trip to the therapist might be in order as a result of my little retrospective.) It was a constant demand echoing within me and all around me. I was a fourteen year old girl. I was supposed to have a steady boyfriend. I was supposed to argue with my parents about him and stand up for true love against all odds...right?
Not surprisingly, I soon found a boy that stirred my heart and captured my imagination. He was sixteen and his parents never seemed to be around. I met him at the park with one of my friends and a couple of his. We ended up at his house.
He kept an electric guitar slung over his shoulder and he liked to paint in abstract bursts of color all over his walls and ceiling. He barely spoke and when he did, it was comprised of maybe two to three words, never a complete sentence. He was always focused on something else. Something none of us could see but him. Needless to say, my fourteen year old heart trembled before him.
He was the most tragically romantic creature I had ever laid eyes on in real life. He would look at me with his flashing dark eyes from behind his long black hair and I would freeze in place. Each time he took my hand or kissed my lips, I would imagine myself more alive, more real, as if I had been in a holding pattern waiting for his touch.
It was wonderful. It was tedious.
We never talked. As I mentioned before, he rarely said anything at all. He wasn't interested in hanging out with friends, double-dating, going to the movies. He wasn't really interested in anything. The only time we saw each other was when I went to his house or met him at the park. What had seemed so darkly mysterious was starting to become just a pain in the ass. But I was young and he was my pain in the ass. Plus, love was all about torment and tragedy. I mean, look at Romeo and Juliet. Look at Luke and Laura. (Many of you may not get that reference, which not only reveals my age but the fact that I used to watch General Hospital.)
I proudly wore my suffering like a badge of honor. I was the envy of my friends. Mostly due to the wonderfully imaginative details of our "secret trysts" that I would dole out to them the way my mom used to hand out Popsicles to us on a hot summer day.
Eventually, our love just fizzled out. There was no big break up. No tears. Just a loss of interest on my part. I don't imagine his interest was ever truly piqued in the first place. I was the one trying to win his attention, he already had mine. It just got boring after a while and there were just so many other boys around. So I moved on to the next boy and to tell you the truth, I'm not sure he ever even knew I was gone.
A couple years later, I ran into him and realized that the dreamy look in his eye was definitely the glassy-eyed stare of a major drug addict-not the dark glimpses of a tortured and talented soul. I also realized that my romantic devotion to him was a lot like my maternal devotion to my first baby doll. A relationship with a lot of posturing and imagination but in reality, just a game.
In the end, the experience taught me nothing about life, love or relationships...
It did however, teach me about french kisses and hickeys, so I guess it had it's uses after all.
I believed in the idea of love as all-consuming, all-powerful, and beyond my control. My heart was untried and fearless. It beat strongly and purely, having yet to endure a single romantic scar. I could feel it's need to love and oddly, it's need to suffer. (A little trip to the therapist might be in order as a result of my little retrospective.) It was a constant demand echoing within me and all around me. I was a fourteen year old girl. I was supposed to have a steady boyfriend. I was supposed to argue with my parents about him and stand up for true love against all odds...right?
Not surprisingly, I soon found a boy that stirred my heart and captured my imagination. He was sixteen and his parents never seemed to be around. I met him at the park with one of my friends and a couple of his. We ended up at his house.
He kept an electric guitar slung over his shoulder and he liked to paint in abstract bursts of color all over his walls and ceiling. He barely spoke and when he did, it was comprised of maybe two to three words, never a complete sentence. He was always focused on something else. Something none of us could see but him. Needless to say, my fourteen year old heart trembled before him.
He was the most tragically romantic creature I had ever laid eyes on in real life. He would look at me with his flashing dark eyes from behind his long black hair and I would freeze in place. Each time he took my hand or kissed my lips, I would imagine myself more alive, more real, as if I had been in a holding pattern waiting for his touch.
It was wonderful. It was tedious.
We never talked. As I mentioned before, he rarely said anything at all. He wasn't interested in hanging out with friends, double-dating, going to the movies. He wasn't really interested in anything. The only time we saw each other was when I went to his house or met him at the park. What had seemed so darkly mysterious was starting to become just a pain in the ass. But I was young and he was my pain in the ass. Plus, love was all about torment and tragedy. I mean, look at Romeo and Juliet. Look at Luke and Laura. (Many of you may not get that reference, which not only reveals my age but the fact that I used to watch General Hospital.)
I proudly wore my suffering like a badge of honor. I was the envy of my friends. Mostly due to the wonderfully imaginative details of our "secret trysts" that I would dole out to them the way my mom used to hand out Popsicles to us on a hot summer day.
Eventually, our love just fizzled out. There was no big break up. No tears. Just a loss of interest on my part. I don't imagine his interest was ever truly piqued in the first place. I was the one trying to win his attention, he already had mine. It just got boring after a while and there were just so many other boys around. So I moved on to the next boy and to tell you the truth, I'm not sure he ever even knew I was gone.
A couple years later, I ran into him and realized that the dreamy look in his eye was definitely the glassy-eyed stare of a major drug addict-not the dark glimpses of a tortured and talented soul. I also realized that my romantic devotion to him was a lot like my maternal devotion to my first baby doll. A relationship with a lot of posturing and imagination but in reality, just a game.
In the end, the experience taught me nothing about life, love or relationships...
It did however, teach me about french kisses and hickeys, so I guess it had it's uses after all.
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