you again?

I get tired of the merry-go-round sometimes

and just when I am sure I can't deal with one more thing - I realize that if I would just learn the lesson I could get off the damned merry-go-round and play on the swings for a bit

If I would learn to recognize it before I took the bait I could have a different response - a different experience - but as long as I behave the same way with the same choices and the same concerns all wrapped up in the same fears I will forever be stuck on the merry-go-round

and once I see that the rest is easy

see the bait - ignore the bait - difuse the situation - leave thier shit on the table and own my own

and today it worked

so yea me

a late start

The cacophony of ring tones begins at 543 exactly

A quiet digital samba joined by a driving electronic rock beat
the duet playing out betweeen the blessings of snooze

My own quiet bell joins the frey and I crawl from my down-filled cocoon
Climbing over the piles of a teenage filing system
turning an ankle on a stack of clothes deceptively hiding last months Cosmo and Glamour

I make the gentle good morning noises that seem to be genetically encoded in my sleepy mind
cooing and clucking at my brood to start their day

I turn on lights
yank pillows
Ruffle blankets
tickle feet
poke bellies
stroke a sleepy head of long brown hair remembering how beautiful it was before the dye

they burrow deeper into their own cocoons
muttering about the evils of english teachers and the tortures of math tests

they are just stretching
just one more minuting
just grumbling and grousing


the hour has come
the bus will leave without you
it is a long walk


You should wake us up earlier, they tell me

630 is much to late to start

living forever, wildly in love and loved wildly

What a concept!

And it works - if you let it.

Just living in love every day - loving who you are and where you are

people respond to it - they can't help themselves - who wouldn't want to spend time with someone who chooses to be happy and live a life filled with love and respect?

I always wonder why I forget things like that...such simple things

and then I have these days that make me so sad - i mean just miserable sad - and the truth is that I forgot to be happy - I forgot to live my life like I love myself - and those around me were just picking up on it.....they couldnt help themselves - I mean if I don't want to be in my own skin - why would they want to be a part of it?

but today I remembered why I enjoy waking up in the morning. I remembered what it was about myself that makes me smile - and makes me laugh - and makes me love what I see in the mirror and hear on the phone - I remember that perfection is for someone else to worry about because where I am and what I am doing is absolutely perfect - and then once I remembered it I just believed it - and then I lived it

and it works

a new start

So, because I believe it is important to always do things that move life forward and to cut ties to things that tend to prevent personal growth - I killed my myspace profile. Long story......lots of reasons.....very important - but I lost my blog.

I loved having a place to just empty my head - a place to pour out the words that seem to bounce around like the ball in a game of pong. It is a beautiful thing, having a place to record those words. I watch the things that stop me - the things that bottle me up and prevent me from living clearly just disappear....the words start flowing...the ball starts banging around and hitting those blocks just making them disappear.

So I have started a new place - a new venue to poor out my words.

thanks for stopping by

a new brush

Standing before a blank canvas.....

New paint pots before me filling my head with the unique smell of fresh acrylic

The white of a blank slate
glaring in its brightness....
Terrifying in it's emptiness

I am told I can fill it however I like - that is when the trepidation begins

a new canvas - a new start - a new chance

the hues - the strokes - the composition

all open to my whim, my desire, my will

I reach into my arsenal - the collection of tools picked up over the years

And for the first time I take a good look at my brushes - they are bent and broken from years of misuse

Bristles are missing - gaps and holes affecting the strokes I will make -
the lines I leave - the story I tell

angles are off - some don't have handles - some look in pretty good shape, but I know how they were cobbled together and just don't trust them to do the job

I take a deep breath

and slowly dip my hands into the paint - I use a new tool

I embrace the broken bristles and make a new design

watch the shades mix and mingle into new colors

my colors

The canvas fills slowly and deliberately

false starts and hesitation blend with confidence and creativity

It's not perfect, but neither am I

My hands are caked in paint - colors mix under my nails forming shades I have never seen before....but the canvas swirls to life

a new picture

a new day

a new tool


A new brush

bull durham

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