no matter how you slice it, a sandwich is as a sandwich does

this morning ...manure manicured finger sandwiches are being constructed as we speak in my kitchen.

can't hide and can't deodorize their stink.

gotta dig quickly and deeply into mommy-roots and pull up the strongest ones

and wrap those suckers around my head until the words of positivity and strength and self idealization emerge,

encrusted and slimy and damp and ugly

almost forgotten

almost buried treasure, unexplored.

family trees are the hardest to see through.

the forest may run for miles and be transparent as the lace worn on my wedding day

not THE tree

ghosts of unknown relatives line branches, adding weight

separated, thin saplings reach out for extra light and the girth widens

difficult to prune

impossibly unmanageable

connections and origins and budding confusion

dry and cracked, brittle by years of wind storms and lightening strikes, and fallen beneath the forest's canopy

 farther away from belonging and hope,

remembrance and pride,

respect and delight;

or hang precariously and alone 

awaiting the boy to visit and randomly choose his newest fishing implement.

Read below an earlier post, written years ago, when I opened my heart, opened my soul, and shit sandwiches were served on platters to the ones I loved.  I'm perfecting my recipe, just in case you want it...

can barely see through the tears

must write to feel

must write to sort and think and see through

reality tears

acceptance of what i declared

and what responses followed

will follow

more to come

sure thing

reality

admitting purpose has price

to pay

in real time

with real people

real feelings to hurt

real intentions make real consequences

rather throw this keyboard through that window

rather hide

i'm good at it

hiding from reality

and bites

incompatibility of self with you

fit into one and not the other

help and hurt together

wishing i learned this already

might be easier

might not

reality bites

hard

"my heart can't wait to meet you on the other side"~mmj

to have and to hold

I'm not gonna stand and wait

I'm nothing on my own

~Coldplay

what feels right,
right here,
next to, in front, and around every corner
the one who knows,
knows
who I am
why I am here
what I need to work on
and working
together

talk and tell and teach,

feel what I feel 

listen, learn, like me

best

not when I'm holding the conch shell

not when I'm falling asleep while you read

not the minute I walk in the door

you understand

you just forgot

so did I

happenstance has changed our plans...






we share
we hear
we feel
we know
we are together

everlasting

everything

emergence

I've tended my garden,

hoed and tilled and fertilized. 

Ignored it too.  

The muddy path and tangled roots are clearing.  

My seedlings are planted, 

sheltered from the wind and snow that will fall again. 

Spring will come. 

I didn't realize how lost I was.  

I didn't understand my need to recover passions, dreams, and to answer unanswered questions.   

A spark lit inside of me that I had no idea was dying.  

I had no inkling of its existence, of the flames preparing to ignite.  

I found an old friend.  

And everything changed.

I opened my eyes and pointed my gaze inward. 

He reminded me of a lifetime where my heart was clean and fresh and trusting.  He represents a part of myself, of my life, that was forgotten and left for dead.  His contact revived me without intention.  He assured me by proxy.  My friend did what I remember of him three decades ago:  shared kindness.  

I felt encouraged to bust open my soul’s windows, 

to enter cautiously into the dark depths of myself, kept hidden and cold. 

And I ran. 
I ran into my fire. 
The warmth engulfs me and I become complacent and charred. 

I've been running through my fire for months,

 fanning flames with beer and chocolate, 

throwing on logs made of restlessness and doubt, 

walking over hot coals instead of walking with God.  

Such is life.  Life worth fighting for. 
Life lived once on earth and life of grace to live later. 
No matter how fast I run, or how hot my soul’s fire, life will lead.  
I am life’s follower.  

I am part of the massive picture, the one I cannot begin to see unless I believe. 

Unless I allow my talents to emerge positively. 
Unless I allow others inside, even when I doubt they will understand. 


Unless I turn my face to the sun especially during the dark of night.  
Unless I forgive myself for my past.  


Unless I open my perspective to possibility I fear.  
Unless I slow down enough to hear my soul’s song.  


Unless I tend my garden and share my laborious fruits.  
Unless I look around the blinders and stretch my head out of the sand.  


Unless I ask and unless I answer.

I live

I see 

I love

I am grateful for who I am 

and who surrounds me.  

Peace

Hugs

Light

Love~L

woods and water

rustic romp

two souls and a dog

temporary tin residence

louvered windows and flowered upholstery

avocado appliance

not your mother's kitchen

kids grown

uninterested

just us

taking off

turning corners

touching base

beer, cigarettes, bare feet 

chopping wood, shooting pics, napping

walks on the pier, dune climbing, bag toss game

Coors light, Jim and ginger, mustard pretzels

grilled cheese burgers, garden tomatoes, scrambled eggs w/ snausages

good enough to repeat

looking forward to retreat

camp on!

my so called lifeline

October 4, 2010

My doubt, self doubt, grows exponentially with my silence.  When I tell him that I don’t think I can satisfy him, what am I really saying? Am I asking him for help or asking him to bail?  He’s heard this over and over and it’s ingrained in his thoughts of me.  He says he needs me to tell him what I want. Now.  He needs me to tell him that I want him or that I don’t want him.  That I want to fight for this relationship or that I won’t fight for it.  He wants and needs to hear me include myself in the fixing of this partnership. Or he needs to hear the alternative.  He wants to stick.  God tells him to.  

I am confused.  I am hurt.  I am sad. I want so many experiences and I don’t feel close to my partner.  Did we ever feel close?  When did we think the same and dream the same dreams?  When did we share our desires?

I know I am growing and exploring who I never got to be.  I have consistently been the work-on-it gal.  But maybe my work hasn’t been for the good of closeness.  Have I been working toward strengthening our togetherness or our separateness?  What are my goals now?  What do I have the capability of working on?  Toward?  What do I want to work on?

Testing my limits by going to school and listening to him doubt that I made the right choice without him.  
Testing my mental health by submitting to illogical expectations of a psychotic boss and resigning before she canned me.  
Testing my self confidence and if he is right about my nursing ability.
Getting blindsided by my own confidence.
Feeling like a fool at the mercy of strangers.  
Falling into similar traps at a job without foundation.  
Exhausting myself to please and push for more and to fit in.
Ignoring the signals of security as I watch the walls crumble around me.
Running away before the explosion begins, setting myself up for self implosion instead.

How did I get here?  Where did I come from?  Why do I think this way?  Where is God?

I have felt lost in the last year or two, crying because I was hurt when he didn’t think well of me.  I recall the times he told me that my way of thinking is wrong, that my way of expressing my thoughts is wrong and inefficient and is not worth his time.  So I shut up.  I stopped expressing myself to him.  I stopped trying to explain myself and where I was coming from and how I felt and what I wanted.  I gave up.  After all, I did not want to hear that the man I loved thought negatively about me.  I did not need him to reinforce my self doubt.  Why put myself in a position where I knew I would hurt?

Our conflicts became broken records of despair and futility.  One negative word or head shake or rolling of the eyes or fuck you,  and I’m gone.  Out the door.  Out of the house.  Out of the city.  Out of my mind. Out of reality.  Out of myself.  This is the truth.  I’ve been living outside of myself.

Depressed enough to give up my license.  Depressed enough to say I’ll work for minimum wage.  Embarrassed enough to tell him he was right about me being a nurse.  Frightened enough to lie to myself and hide from the truth.  Until the sunshine blinded my insecurities for a brief moment of clarity and WTF-ness.

I didn’t want to be Rainey anymore.  Rainey is not taken seriously.  Rainey is a baby and frail and frustrated and fragile.  Rainey doesn’t know how to stand up for herself and speak her thoughts and commit to decisions or make and pursue goals.  I want to grow up and be L.  I want to make my own decisions and speak my mind and joke in public and cheer loudly at the games and talk about passionate subjects and tell my family what I really mean and not take their shit anymore.  That includes him.  No more shit sandwiches.  No more crybaby.  No more sulking in the corner.  No more caring what they think.

And I landed softly.  I landed safely.  I carefully caress my nursing career in the home of mental health.  And I feel confidence anew.  I am a nurse.  I am helping and learning and teaching and growing.  And God is with me.  The dance of life continues in the next room.  Please join us.  Please take off your shoes and get comfortable for this ride.  We welcome you back.  We missed you. Now get to work.

What I believe is truth in this room are lies inside the other room.  How I perform here is different than what I perform there. The train tracks switch in between and my mind does not always follow.  Which way do I turn?  Which way do you want me to turn?

I’m taking my meds.  I’m writing and sorting and releasing stress my way.  My way may be the wrong way.  Wrong for this family.  Wrong for these kids.  Wrong for my parents and his.  

He tells me the way I should do this.  Live.  Relate.  Speak my mind.  Listen.  Form goals and work toward them.  Parent.  Partner.
He suggests and helps when he notices my confusion and frustration.  He advises me to do what he does, because it works for him, has worked since he was a kid, 12 or 13 or 14 years old.  Good for him to be confident in his habits and confident in his patterns and with his goals reached and processes of getting there.  Good for him to rely on consistency.  Good for him to keep him afloat through the dark ages.

When I was 12, 13, 14, I was watching my parents split up for some unknown reason and placing me in the arms of a stranger without skills to know how to relate with him.  Placing me in a different world, switching scenes without telling me I had to follow.  Changing the expectations and allowances of my pre-adolescent hormonally developing mind and soul and heart.

Choices stripped.  Opinions banned.  Extraction from comfortable and forward momentum.  Forced into unknown and unsupported.  Doubted and divided.  Slapped and insulted.  Stifled and censored.  Ignored and injured.  Where am I going?  Where are you taking me?  What am I supposed to do now?  Who is leading me?  Where am I?

And I ran.  Toward acceptance of the negative sort.  From strangers who barely knew me and who I didn’t have to reveal myself. I didn’t have to hold back my passion.  And I flew.  Into trouble and insecurity of the adolescent kind.  The trouble of who do I like and how do I deal and what if I’m rejected?  Trouble of trying to ignore my home life long enough to feel like I could be happy otherwise.  Pretend to like yourself or don’t and pretend others do.  Release and reject.  Revive sanity temporarily.  Act two roles.  Isn’t that what I was taught?  Be someone you’re not in order to survive?  Be what they want you to be in order to be accepted?  In order not to get hit or hurt or doubt yourself more?  
Don’t ask questions. Don’t lead with ideas.  

 
August 8, 2011  (10 months later)

Full circle.  Right back where I started.  I’m at it again.  The last paragraph is my story.  The only one.  The missing link in my lifetime of sorrow.  No rusted links, only shiny like new, strong as ever sharp, cold metal connections, from my ten year old happy-go-lucky fourth grader to my presently fucked up self.  Breaking hearts and taking names by accident.  The accidental tourist of my own life.  45 years take away ten real good ones and 35 links later, I’m the expert avoider.  Just call me super sucka!

Therapist on board.  Not holding back from the fears thrown at me.  I’m taking strikes until my bat makes contact, until I feel the spark of energy, the mass of force pushing me through the motion by the release of weight off my shoulders.  When I watch the homerun ball soar above us all, it’s arch predetermined by my positioning, and see the open sky smiling, I will know. I will know.

And since I have no idea how that Babe Ruth-esque moment will feel, or when clarification will arrive, I’m grounded in my garden dugout, watching weeds pop up out of nowhere and wishing a giant hand will reach down to pull me up too.  

lost post found

1/5/11

My heavy heart

He thinks there’s a quick fix.  He  looks for the solution, the answer to the problem, the resolution.  So we can go on with life as we know it.  That’s what he does, makes stuff work.  Today the message is from outside of him: we are not in control.  Our world looks messy today.  Your pain cries louder than my heart aches.  Your immobility reigns supreme over our days.  We stretch ourselves thin and wait and hope and wait more.  For the professional opinion and the prognosis.  Are we prepared?

From the moment I wake and the moment I sleep I’ll be there by your side~ coldplay

Loud and clear.  God’s work.  I do and you need.  That’s what it’s supposed to be.  My chance now, to take care.  My time to shine.  My care to give, love to lose, help to hurt.   No answers.  Not enough time.  Peace within is our refuge.  Clarity is unavailable.  Hope and faith stand at the front of the queue, leading our heavy hearts into the grey puddle of our tomorrow.   Living still, living despite the facts, life with lines…perpendicular and precarious. 

Spies hide out in every corner.  They can’t touch you, no.  They’re just spies~ coldplay

What about that corner?  Justified by our imagination, we tip toe closer to its edge.  We pray the turn will be smooth, the glance toward, quick and easy.  Driving ourselves against the wind and rain of one storm in order to fight through the next.  And as we wrestle our minds into sleep and our bodies into submission, the cruelty of unbelief lies dormant.  Our treasure boxes filled with trophies and certificates of achievement laugh at the prospect of finality.  What once was will never be the same.

Look how they shine for you…the stars, and all the things that you do. ~coldplay

Hush little baby, don’t you cry.  Mommy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.  A diamond ring.  A mazarati.  The least invasive, fastest, least expensive, most gentle, most accommodating procedure, therapy, pain killer…whatever you want, you will get.  Or what?  Change.  Change your daily routine.  Change your plans, your travel, your business and pleasure and the way you see yourself.  What if your wings get clipped?  Will you find a different way to fly?  What if your spirit dims?  Will your heart spark fire?  What if your mind naps and your smile fades and your sarcastic wit withers?  I can hold your hand.  I can stroke your hair and kiss your forehead.  I cannot lift you.  I can try.  I can pray and wish and hope for you.  I cannot turn you around.  I am limited.  So are you.  Hush, rest now.  Conserve your strength.  Everything’s not lost.

Life is for living.  And I don’t want to live it alone. ~coldplay

cue Johnny Cash...

I thought about this keyboard all day.  Thoughts positive and light, waiting to be pieced together and shared.  Here goes…

Been kinda’ down the last few months for whatever reason or sense of something missing.  Been searching, yearning, reaching…for something undefined and needed.  Overanalyzed everything.  Pushed people’s buttons til they walked away.  Hid from others because they could not see.  Blah, blah…the same old story I tell with every breath I take.  Evolution of L.  Sad saga.  Life goes on.  And WTF!

Pullin up those proverbial bootstraps and beginning again.  I fired and rehired myself.  Not sure when the metamorphosis ensued, or the event that triggered.  Not gonna’ over think this one, just gonna describe the feelings.  Hands inside the car, seatbelts fastened, tray tables set for lunch…I’m feeling better.  I feel good.  Smiling.  Positive.  My thoughts are turning toward the sun and my shoulders feel looser.  Cluttered cobwebs be gone!

So what?  So let’s enjoy, shall we?

I was called to give advice to a friend whom I’m just beginning to know.  The subject matter was only familiar because the problem involved a female, which I sometimes play on TV.  My friend is a man and I have no experience giving this kind of advice to a man. Long story shorter, I found my perspective intelligent and fair and I came away feeling strong and straight and alive.  Although my friend’s situation is heartbreaking for him, a door has opened within my soul and I feel the fresh air circulating in my brain.  Placing myself in another woman’s shoes in order to fulfill his answers, in order to create temporary solace, with hope that he can see the bigger picture before his cliff rises to meet his doubts and fears, wishing I could make sense of the unknown in order for his heart to continue beating…I listened for hours and I played my part.  He claims I helped him.  He thanked me for caring.  He continues to battle against his broken dreams.  And I pat myself on my back.

Something’s shifted.  Energy movement from him to me?  Chakra, karma, ying, yang?  Insert a profound quote.  Re-tweet from Buddha or to write love on her arms (TWLOHA).  Read a paragraph from my nurse’s notes in a resident’s chart.  Clicking. Jiving.  Dancing.  Mentally moving to the beat of another part of myself.  My confident self.  Shit I feel good typing these words.  Thinking this way, claiming this land as my own.  By myself, using my learned skills and practiced talents.  I work my earth to produce more.  More me.  More of my mind.  More to share with you.  If you’ll have me.

I have a garden metaphor pertaining to my growth.  I’ve sprinkled my garden throughout one or two blog entries, hoed and tilled and fertilized over time.  Ignored it too. Today the muddy path and tangled roots are clearing.  My seedlings are planted and  sheltered from the wind and snow that will fall again.  Spring will come, says my French class friend.  From afar I watch his moves.  Learning what he began teaching me last year.  To live today and love today.  To be grateful for who I am and who surrounds me.  Tragedy lurks and fate occurs and only God knows what time schedule we fly by.  No use to worry or ask why.  Create, elate, celebrate! 

Jb, you opened my eyes and pointed my gaze inward.  You encouraged me to bust open my soul’s windows, to enter cautiously into the dark depths of myself, kept hidden and cold.  You reminded me of a lifetime where my heart was clean and fresh and trusting.  You represent a part of myself, of my life, that was forgotten and left for dead.  You revived me without intention.  You assured me by proxy.  You did what I remember of you three decades ago:  shared kindness.  I didn’t realize how lost I was until you helped me find my passions, my dreams, my unanswered questions.  You lit the spark inside of me that I had no idea was dying.  I had no inkling of its existence, of the flames preparing to ignite. 

FIRE!!!!

So I ran.  I ran into my fire.  I’m a slow learner, a procrastinator, distracted and unstructured.  I’ve been running through my fire for months, fanning flames with beer and chocolate, throwing on logs made of restlessness and doubt, walking over hot coals instead of walking with God.  The warmth engulfs me and I become complacent and charred.  Such is life.  Life worth fighting for.  Life lived once on earth and life of grace to live later.  No matter how fast I run, or how hot my soul’s fire, life will lead.  I am life’s follower.  I am part of the massive picture, the one I cannot begin to see unless I believe.  Unless I allow my talents to emerge positively.  Unless I allow others inside, even when I doubt they will understand.  Unless I turn my face to the sun especially during the dark of night.  Unless I forgive myself for my past.  Unless I open my perspective to possibility I fear.  Unless I slow down enough to hear your soul’s song.  Unless I tend my garden and share my laborious fruits.  Unless I look around the blinders and stretch my head out of the sand.  Unless I ask and unless I answer. 

Peace
Hugs
Light
Love
~L

scream of consciousness

so many words to write and one wrong move by my right hand sends them packing.  feelings and needs and rants wrapped up in that stream before it left the building with Elvis.  it screamed with everything stored inside, held the fog ransom while my fingers vomited the irrationality of my reality onto the keys and into cyberspace.  tears followed suit.  rose colored glasses inaccessible.  

I love you.

peace.

~L

memoirs of life

wake up today

sleep tomorrow
talking about it doesn't hurt
no worries if you face
life
face death
let it roll
and let it go

give it up to God
give yourself a break
let the day lead your mind
let your heart make a path for your soul

this week is difficult for some
reminder of tragedy and humility
in the hands of terror
now in the arms of an angel
unexpected death of a classmate
of my friend's sister
my friend's friend
my friend

weep
wonder what if
wipe off ambiguity with wtf
submit your plan
implement your proposal
start walking your path
lessons learned
on angels' wings

I hear her rustling through this morning
the wind through leaves
outside my house
wisdom floating through the window screen
grace gently singing
forcing my mind's attention
I hear her
I hear you
you teach me
you touch my soul
and I learn to love again

your examples are ingrained among us
the past group of immaturity
rising to your standards
beckoning your approval
among the angels
meaning is magnified

thank you for living with us
we remember you
your graceful dance
your infectious smile
your photos in the yearbook
your family online
your memorials unending
as we breathe
each new day
you are within
you are around
you are why we fill our lungs
for you
because of you
our hearts beat stronger
our love widens
our life walks on
because you lived and loved
us

thinking about the human loss on september 11th, 2001
especially my high school classmate
Mari Rae Sopper
may she be peacefully tumbling her way through God's Heaven
may her family and friends be peacefully walking with her in their hearts
may peace be with humanity
<3

they're just spies

I stole the title from Coldplay. They must know why I'm boarded up and behind closed doors.

If you ever feel neglected, if you think that all is lost, I'll be counting out my demons, hoping everything's not lost. (more Coldplay)

So tired of silence. Silence rocks my world right now. Noise is missing. Noise is necessary. My fuzzy, grey noise, buzzing inside my brain, humming louder with each revolution, gaining speed of sound and velocity of violence, garnering tidbits of answers from behind now and pressing into questions about now. NOW. THEN. WTF? My annoyance with simplicity grows with each hour of silent treatment and unanswered response. I wrote it up. The thesis of my NOW. I gave it out. I shared honesty and truth and growth and soul...simply. Smartly. Sincerely. Privately. printed out, not on a screen or cc'ed or drafted by blogger. It's physically and literally in his hands. or in his garbage or in his desk drawer or in his memory. I dunno cause he hasn't responded. Today is day 6.

What did God do on day 6? I know 7 was the restful one. Maybe he'll be ironically timely and tomorrow my heart will beat slower and my neck muscles will loosen and the salty liquid pushing at my eyelids will retreat. Maybe I'll hear what he thinks or feels or wants tomorrow. At this point I've gone through a few possible responses. Shit, we're experts at looking at what's wrong with our union. Experts at listing what doesn't work and what we've tried and retried and talked to death about trying. Experts at let's hang in there for a little while. Experts at feeling great about our strides and then falling through the floor in an instant.

That's what really bugs me now...the immediate change from laughter to anger in the same conversation. The transition into total chaos and doubt. I wrote one of you recently how my marriage is the best it's ever been...and here we stand in the mud up to our knees. I can't say I know how this will turn around. I can say that I know where my head and heart sit and I will be true to myself. The truth will set me free, right? The truth about life and love is one tricky son0fabitch to learn.

Healthy me wants to meet healthy him. I don't now when that will happen. Honest me introduced myself to honest him six days ago and here we are. Waiting for the shakedown, the shakeup, the line to be drawn or jumped over or raised with the bar. More of the same or more? Begin again or end up? Share or shut out?

I'll shut up now.

the more things change, the more they....well, you know.

Here's an older post, from january, a few months ago. My words are rough and my emotion is raw...that's me at my best and my worst. I put this one on the back burner, hidden from readers, saved for future use...apparently my family can't absorb the strength of my soul and when some read of my trouble, I received phone calls and "talks" about my sanity. Didn't y'all know I was crazy? I thought that was a given!
Today I require a revisit and review of this scene. Introspection running rampant in my mind begs for answers to similar questions. I'll fill you in later. Life is calling.
~L

Honesty is the best policy.

So here's the truth. I wanted to run away last night. I drove two hours, stopped to look for a hotel to sleep overnight, and turned around toward home. I'm glad I changed my mind. All I needed was time to think, and sleep. Which I did when I arrived home at 2:30 am.

No one knew I had escaped. My son called me to tell me he was home at curfew and we exchanged I love you's. My husband was in the basement when I left, and when I returned. They still have no clue. Irrational? A little. Necessary? You betcha'.

It's not my first attempt at escaping my reality by automobile. I can drive the four hours to my extended family in my sleep, been traveling that road for over 20 years. Usually I head in their direction. Usually I am guaranteed a soft place to land with one of my clan. This time I wanted to avoid them at all costs. Really, I needed to avoid confrontation. Confrontation put me in my car and pushed me out of town. No, I needed and wanted a reprieve. A respite. I was looking for peace.

Here I sit, 24 hours after my great escape, wondering where I am. I cannot see the forest from the trees. I'm squinting through leaves, standing on my tip toes, craning my neck to look around twisted branches. Too bad the sun isn't shining, I could use more light. Here I sit, 24 hours later, sorting through the underbrush. Shall I gather sticks and start a fire? I may have to stay here for a while. What will I use for cover if it begins to snow? I'm on my own, so I best begin. Begin again. Again.

Lay me down in the cool grass and let me do my stuff (Fleetwood Mac).

My husband and I have been married for 20 years. Well, officially shy by two months, which in the grand scheme of two decades of matrimony, means nothing. My husband and I confronted our demons last night...again. The unwelcome demons that linger here. I hate these demons. I hate them. Hate them. Hate. These fears that paralyze us. The feelings that haunt us. The misunderstandings and miss-communications that fuel our fire. The past precedents of confrontation eat at us, even after we promise them away for good. They tear at our hearts and reveal our weaknesses to each other. The ugly truth rears its head and we talk and emote and engage and stop listening. My husband and I own a pattern and cycle of dysfunctional cooperation. We are not partners. We know this.

We struggle to get along. To like each other. To expect less and receive more. To be content with each other and comfortable together. For twenty years we try. Our history is colorful and checkered. Checkered with choices of circumstance and change. Checkered with unexpected tragedy and unfinished trials. Checkered by the dissimilar expectations we brought with us. Last night I saw, heard, and felt my husband's pent up frustration and anger. Last night was another reminder of our separate lives desperately trying to fit together. I told him my truth and he told me his.

We have all been here before...(CSNY)

Each day I keep my depression in check and my life takes on meaning which he does not understand. I am misunderstood by my life partner and I feel sad. I feel sad because he tells me that I misunderstand him. I feel hollow inside when I see his eyes tear and his voice crack when he tells me that he doesn't know how much more he can take, or give. I empathize. I do. I feel exactly the same honey.

Still we live on. Forging what must be the shape of a married couple's life. Following the bread crumbs we find and praying we found the ones that lead us somewhere...and not back where we started. Last night we came back around, again. We walked onto the path of destruction and started running toward our familiar. Histrionic emotions exited by mouth and entered our storm. Hurt thundered around our heads. Regret gained velocity and pushed the demons closer. And I ran.

a sorry apology

a crowd of people stood and stared...the Beatles are my inspiration this week, this morning, this life.
I love to turn you on.....................
I do
when I feel it
when you feel it
when we are we

so the apology is expected
which one should I use this time? the "I'm sorry" with meaning, or the "I won't do it again" with prayers that I won't, or the "I realize what I did was not the best choice, I'm sorry that I hurt you or made you feel__________, I will think about coming at this issue from a different way next time"...blah, blah, and I'm sick of this shit, blah!

words already spoken aren't accepted; been heard and precedent set.
new words aren't trusted or heard or believed or allowed to leave my mouth in one paragraph.

I think a few of those words are wandering around in my bedroom closet, lost and looking for their landing strip. My clothing, absorbed with spouts and shouts and tears and fears, clinging to the rod for dear life from season to season, without concrete evidence that they will hang in the same wardrobe in the morning. Just ask the broken wine glasses or the dusty turntable or the scratched box of old lady's spoons...memories of nothing but trouble. Purging the past from my memory via material fascination with image. The multiple boxes of amassed utility bills and old loan statements will see their demise later today. Shredding paper can be cathartic.

Do you know it's gonna' be alright? The Beatles told me so. And so do you. I've come here, to my semi-private sounding board, before going there, where the problem lingers and hovers and waves its arms at me in reminder to look up, face it, greet it, deal. Let me introduce you to the great procrastinator at her best. The scared puppy with tail between legs and ears pinned back crouching under the coffee table until the big bad wolf exits. the long and winding road...will never disappear...I've seen that road before...it always leads me here. Yup! why do you think I'm hiding? I know this ending. the story has written itself for years over years. the characters remain the same. the places may have changed, the circumstances tweaked, the provocation adjusted by change...and the hurt still hurts. bilaterally.

parents are people too

"PROMISE TO MY CHILDREN ....I WILL stalk you, freak out on you, lecture you, drive you crazy, be your nightmare, embarrass you in front of your friends, hunt you down like a bloodhound until the day you understand why I do it. Then I will know you are a responsible adult. All because I LOVE YOU! You will never find someone who loves you & cares about you more than I do!!"    (traveling facebook post)

 a parent's job is to parent

a child's job is to push limits

ours, yours, their own

that makes me the heavy

that makes me the bitch

I know

I'm not wearing an 'L' on my forehead

what about that scarlet letter?

do you enjoy the reputation you are creating

from your lack of indiscretion

and false sense of power?

entitled to live here

entitled to eat here

entitled to drive our vehicles,

to change house rules at your leisure...

think again kiddo.

house guest

roommate

sibling

spouse

whoever

wherever

exude dignity and behave respectfully

your parents taught you 

your conscious tells you

your peers influence you

remember who you are

who you are

you