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I believe in honesty, but not without compassion.

I believe in tact, but not if it means I can’t mean what I say the first time.

I believe in trust, but often get nervous with the vulnerability it creates.

I believe in faith, but worry about the blindness it often involves.

I believe in second chances, but not without ensuring I can survive the pain…… again.

I believe in giving all I have to all I do…

But I also have learned to appreciate the need to recharge and revitalize in an almost selfish way from time to time.

I can’t believe the myth of one true love; for I have found that my life has many loves that go by different names in different times.

I believe in being cautious, but wish I could just jump in.

And I believe that regardless of what the future holds, I know that I am enough. That I have lessons to learn, light to shine, skills to practice and days to fill with passion and joy.

Sundays

I woke this morning in a little bit of a haze. With only four hours of sleep my mind was not clearing easily. The schedule of the day floating before me....a staggard flow chart in purple and green.....glimpses of last night floating thru my memory.....Sundays from the past, present and future all flowing together in my brain.

Days like today my imagination works like a little black box theater. Everything is close up and personal, but your seat is back far enough that the action is removed enough for you to take it all in. I lay there painting pictures in my mind - past, present and future - memories and desires mingling together. It made for a nice dreamy morning while I tried to avoid starting the day.


It has been a long held belief of mine that Sundays were made for sex and sleep. Not normal sleep - or normal sex. I am not talking about napping on the couch through the afternoon while HGTV plays in the background after banging your old man at halftime (not that there is anything inately wrong with that - but it isn't what I want from a Sunday)

I am talking about one of those Sundays that are filled with an all day sex and sleep marathon. A day where sex and sleep mingle and become almost interchangable, so if you were the type to tell stories out of school you might wonder where the sex ended and the napping begins.

The kind of sex that begins with wandering fingers and a slowly roaming mouth....across the body of your sleeping lover.....waking him before he wakes

The kind of love making that begins before you are fully aroused from sleep's grip...giving it a dream-like cast that is hard to overcome, not that you really try

the kind of sex where orgasm is an eventuality, not an immediate goal. Where love is expressed with carresses and sighs, pressure and the mere presence of flesh on flesh. The kind of sex that just kind of pauses while you are all entwined, and you find later that you drifted off to sleep while he stroked your hair and filled your heart with words of love in that deep rich baritone that you hear in your dreams.

You wake to begin again, only to find you are starving. Even trips to the kitchen can not stop the playing, the touching, the exploring and the kissing.

that poor kitchen counter never saw it coming

Eventually your hunger is satisfiied, but your desire is not and with the music blaring throughout the house the days activities reach the cresendo they have been building to all day - the likes of which you hoped to reach, but never really thought was possible.

At some point you need to get cleaned up, so off to the showers you go - but again this just provides means and opportunity. Eventually you pull it together, gather the children from whatever far corners they have been hanging out in all day and carry on

It is the kind of Sunday that leaves you smiling until sometime Wednesday afternoon.

It is the kind of Sunday I just can't seem to get out of my head today