I cry often and harder.
When will I get it right?
I want simple things:
to make music, art and laughter.
Today, I will start treating myself like I do others.
I will listen to my heart, comfort myself and encourage my impossible.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
listen
I cry often and harder.
When will I get it right?
I want simple things:
to make music, art and laughter.
Today, I will start treating myself like I do others.
I will listen to my heart, comfort myself and encourage my impossible.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
What I want...
I want to work from an office and from home.
I want to sing in musicals and write childrens books.
I want to listen to music everyday, except when it is raining.
I want to read my children books I have written and have them eat their favorite dessert in my resturant.
I want to teach them to not be scared to live.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Back to the middle
I am placed in two extremes
where I serve, or I am queen.
Where power is passed from you to me
or is held just out of reach.
I wake up knowing that you chose me,
then spend the day questioning when you will leave.
I brag about the "rock" that you have been,
and then left speechless reading the text you so quickly send.
One day I taste of the love you sing-
settle in the comfort that security brings...
And before the sun hides and the weight of the day is through,
you're see-sawing leaves me trying again to understand you.
You stand to help me when I climb,
and rejoice regardless of what I find.
And before you take my hand to guide me as I crawl,
you step away and ignore my fall.
In the sun, in the rain-floating high or unprecedented pain,
I am expected to accept my place,
Held first in your heart or fighting to keep pace.
I allowed you to become too powerful,
Trusting that you could handle a heart on a plate that was already full
So I will give you what you say you need,
as I take my place back in "the middle" of ME.
where I serve, or I am queen.
Where power is passed from you to me
or is held just out of reach.
I wake up knowing that you chose me,
then spend the day questioning when you will leave.
I brag about the "rock" that you have been,
and then left speechless reading the text you so quickly send.
One day I taste of the love you sing-
settle in the comfort that security brings...
And before the sun hides and the weight of the day is through,
you're see-sawing leaves me trying again to understand you.
You stand to help me when I climb,
and rejoice regardless of what I find.
And before you take my hand to guide me as I crawl,
you step away and ignore my fall.
In the sun, in the rain-floating high or unprecedented pain,
I am expected to accept my place,
Held first in your heart or fighting to keep pace.
I allowed you to become too powerful,
Trusting that you could handle a heart on a plate that was already full
So I will give you what you say you need,
as I take my place back in "the middle" of ME.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
its contagious
They made a statue of us
And put it on a mountain top
Now tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs for fun, for fun
They'll name a city after us
And later say it's all our fault
Then they'll give us a talking to
Because they've got years of experience
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We're living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
We wear our scarves just like a noose
But not 'cause we want eternal sleep
And though our parts are slightly used
New ones are slave labor you can keep
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We're living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
They made a statue of us
The tourists come and stare at us
The sculptor's mama sends regards
They made a statue of us
Our noses have begun to rust
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
Were living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
And put it on a mountain top
Now tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs for fun, for fun
They'll name a city after us
And later say it's all our fault
Then they'll give us a talking to
Because they've got years of experience
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We're living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
We wear our scarves just like a noose
But not 'cause we want eternal sleep
And though our parts are slightly used
New ones are slave labor you can keep
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
We're living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
They made a statue of us
The tourists come and stare at us
The sculptor's mama sends regards
They made a statue of us
Our noses have begun to rust
We're living in a den of thieves
Rummaging for answers in the pages
Were living in a den of thieves
And it's contagious
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Web MD says drink fluids...
On our way home…
We drove 2 hours and I worked the entire way.
We helped over 50 Vietnamese complete applications.
We answered every single question.
I ordered a kids meal from Checkers, so I wouldn’t feel so guilty for eating fast food.
Everyone talked in the van, and I took my post in my “office” on the back seat just like every night before.
Exhaustion is not an option for any of us; we just have to keep going.
I can’t remember the last time I had a “girl’s night” or slept in on Saturday.
I didn’t look up from emails but I knew we had exited on College Drive from the Orange glow of the Hooters sign.
Suddenly we hit something hard, and I looked up as gasps filled the van and two or three “what was that’s?”
I turned instantly; behind us in the right lane of the road was a cat half crawling-half walking and its tail flailing violently.
I yelled at our driver to stop or turn around. I threw off my heels and dug in my purse for my gun, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember if it was in my car or on my nightstand.
I was furious that not only was I without it, but I couldn’t force myself to remember where it was.
The van came to a stop and I told everyone not to look.
I ran. In familiar form, my weeks without running body began a slow sprint as I ran hard enough to get there but slow enough to leap over mud and water that would cause my bare feet to slip on the concrete sidewalk.
My breathing pattern set and I knew I had run about 300 yards before I reached it.
Still awake, eyes glassing over and making desperate attempts to move; I picked up the warm and flailing animal in its last moments of life.
I jogged along the fence line of the school, still not knowing what I was going to do, but knowing what I had to.
One hunk lay broken off from the overflow of concrete around a fence post and I reached for it wincing at what I was about to do.
“The quickest way…the quickest way…” I forced myself to process.
I covered his face and stretched his head gently away from his legs, lengthening his neck as much as possible.
Only one blow and I made it count because I knew I could never take a second.
I began to pray as the breath left his body and I cried.
I stood and felt a wave of nausea as I turned and fell into full sprint back to the van.
I flung the door open to four heads facing downward and said, “Let’s go, I don’t want to talk about it.”
I shook the entire ride home.
I could barely see the road when I began driving my own car home and kept trying to blink the blur away.
I cried.
I cried into Belle, in my bed, in my bath water.
It has been two days and I am still telling myself that it is okay to feel horrible, broken and even “wrong” when doing “the right thing.”
We helped over 50 Vietnamese complete applications.
We answered every single question.
I ordered a kids meal from Checkers, so I wouldn’t feel so guilty for eating fast food.
Everyone talked in the van, and I took my post in my “office” on the back seat just like every night before.
Exhaustion is not an option for any of us; we just have to keep going.
I can’t remember the last time I had a “girl’s night” or slept in on Saturday.
I didn’t look up from emails but I knew we had exited on College Drive from the Orange glow of the Hooters sign.
Suddenly we hit something hard, and I looked up as gasps filled the van and two or three “what was that’s?”
I turned instantly; behind us in the right lane of the road was a cat half crawling-half walking and its tail flailing violently.
I yelled at our driver to stop or turn around. I threw off my heels and dug in my purse for my gun, but it wasn’t there. I couldn’t remember if it was in my car or on my nightstand.
I was furious that not only was I without it, but I couldn’t force myself to remember where it was.
The van came to a stop and I told everyone not to look.
I ran. In familiar form, my weeks without running body began a slow sprint as I ran hard enough to get there but slow enough to leap over mud and water that would cause my bare feet to slip on the concrete sidewalk.
My breathing pattern set and I knew I had run about 300 yards before I reached it.
Still awake, eyes glassing over and making desperate attempts to move; I picked up the warm and flailing animal in its last moments of life.
I jogged along the fence line of the school, still not knowing what I was going to do, but knowing what I had to.
One hunk lay broken off from the overflow of concrete around a fence post and I reached for it wincing at what I was about to do.
“The quickest way…the quickest way…” I forced myself to process.
I covered his face and stretched his head gently away from his legs, lengthening his neck as much as possible.
Only one blow and I made it count because I knew I could never take a second.
I began to pray as the breath left his body and I cried.
I stood and felt a wave of nausea as I turned and fell into full sprint back to the van.
I flung the door open to four heads facing downward and said, “Let’s go, I don’t want to talk about it.”
I shook the entire ride home.
I could barely see the road when I began driving my own car home and kept trying to blink the blur away.
I cried.
I cried into Belle, in my bed, in my bath water.
It has been two days and I am still telling myself that it is okay to feel horrible, broken and even “wrong” when doing “the right thing.”
Friday, February 26, 2010
They say I am amazing, one of a kind…but,
I sing, play guitar, flute, piccolo, piano, violin, harmonica and banjo,
but none better than any average girl.
I love basketball, running, working out and know more about football than 90% of men I know,
but I can’t find a girl friend to do any of these things with.
I love to hunt, track, fish, hike, climb and swim
but give everyone else so much of my time that I seldom get to do much of any.
I would rather take a summer vacation to a mountain than the beach.
I can lay tile, float sheet rock, form concrete and build anything,
but I have never met a man that wanted to hand me the tools.
I love to write, listen and tell bedtime stories,
but have no one who feels the same way.
I could lie on a blanket and listen to the wind, a band or “people watch” for an entire weekend,
but everyone I know thinks this is boring or rude.
I don’t watch a single sitcom ritualistically and only have cable for ESPN, Discovery and the History Channel,
but can’t find a single movie that I have not seen.
I love to meet, talk and get to know every person I come in contact with,
but people say this behavior proves that I love myself.
I am neat, organized and efficient,
but have to battle to relax.
I love to dance to every song; alone, with friends, or strangers,
but I’m not that great.
I do not get nervous. In front of crowds when singing, speaking, praying or dancing
and I have a hard time understanding “social anxiety.”
I want to be a mother more than anything I have ever wanted and for as long as I can remember,
but my doctor doesn’t know if I can have children.
but none better than any average girl.
I love basketball, running, working out and know more about football than 90% of men I know,
but I can’t find a girl friend to do any of these things with.
I love to hunt, track, fish, hike, climb and swim
but give everyone else so much of my time that I seldom get to do much of any.
I would rather take a summer vacation to a mountain than the beach.
I can lay tile, float sheet rock, form concrete and build anything,
but I have never met a man that wanted to hand me the tools.
I love to write, listen and tell bedtime stories,
but have no one who feels the same way.
I could lie on a blanket and listen to the wind, a band or “people watch” for an entire weekend,
but everyone I know thinks this is boring or rude.
I don’t watch a single sitcom ritualistically and only have cable for ESPN, Discovery and the History Channel,
but can’t find a single movie that I have not seen.
I love to meet, talk and get to know every person I come in contact with,
but people say this behavior proves that I love myself.
I am neat, organized and efficient,
but have to battle to relax.
I love to dance to every song; alone, with friends, or strangers,
but I’m not that great.
I do not get nervous. In front of crowds when singing, speaking, praying or dancing
and I have a hard time understanding “social anxiety.”
I want to be a mother more than anything I have ever wanted and for as long as I can remember,
but my doctor doesn’t know if I can have children.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Before me
I am listening to music that he got from her.
He has nothing of hers and it makes me think of how many things I have given, left behind for the next girl to find.
She will need a bobby pin and I will have left it for her.
All I ever found was a cheap earring here or there, half used shampoo and random pictures.
I always wondered what women found behind me. What have I left behind?
Hair products, ticket stubs and birthday videos.
I have left memories and eventually, they will fade.
Whatever residence I held in someone’s heart, is either vacant or newly occupied.
How can I be “so different” and yet never “the one?”
I would love to think that I have not settled and I have not allowed anyone to do the same.
What about my Mr. Right? What have women left with him?
A standard for me to be compared to?
Memories of someone not as OCD, someone who drinks less or never gets jealous?
What I do know, is that I will never know what I have left behind.
I just know that tonight I worked hard, the drive is long and looking out over the bayou makes me consider why God made me.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Cameron Parish behind me...
I am 104 miles away and the ride is dragging on,
The condensation rolling down from icy windows in a van that is too warm.
I am on the back seat like when I was young and "cool."
On the bus with cliques and couples riding home from public school.
The bumpy road and jarring teeth bring a familiar pain into my head,
and I'm wide awake in exhaustion as every other sleeps deeply in their temporary makeshift bed.
We have traveled across the entire state, in circles several times,
and yet we still have five or more before we've covered the "below I-10" line.
Guidelines, questions, Programs, exceptions my mind is racing still;
and I know that this speed will stick, as I'm only half way up the hill.
I'm learning-living, giving all that I have the power to give,
but I am growing weary; and life on fumes is no way to live.
The condensation rolling down from icy windows in a van that is too warm.
I am on the back seat like when I was young and "cool."
On the bus with cliques and couples riding home from public school.
The bumpy road and jarring teeth bring a familiar pain into my head,
and I'm wide awake in exhaustion as every other sleeps deeply in their temporary makeshift bed.
We have traveled across the entire state, in circles several times,
and yet we still have five or more before we've covered the "below I-10" line.
Guidelines, questions, Programs, exceptions my mind is racing still;
and I know that this speed will stick, as I'm only half way up the hill.
I'm learning-living, giving all that I have the power to give,
but I am growing weary; and life on fumes is no way to live.
Monday, February 22, 2010
"Really?"
I worked a few hours late Friday night and somewhere between my eyes blurring and sighs of exhaustion, I decided it was time for a break. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere, just to get away. I ran in Hobby Lobby to get some decorating ideas for my sister’s baby shower and Easter was painted everywhere. I was tired, running out of ideas and starving and then one of those “really?” moments hit me.
I have asked every single “boyfriend” and “friend-boy” to get me a hollow chocolate bunny for Easter so we could bite off his ear and drink milk out of him together.
Last year makes the seventh year that this didn’t happen. It had even become a joke with one guy that I dated for years. I finally broke down and bought myself one while shopping WITH a guy. But really, I don’t demand jewelry, dozens of roses-I hate all of that crap...but is a Palmers hollow chocolate Easter bunny and a little QT too much to ask for?
So, this year, and from here on out…I plan to buy myself the first one I come across, so I am not tempted to ask, therefore in-turn…will not be let down. Thanks guys.
I have asked every single “boyfriend” and “friend-boy” to get me a hollow chocolate bunny for Easter so we could bite off his ear and drink milk out of him together.
Last year makes the seventh year that this didn’t happen. It had even become a joke with one guy that I dated for years. I finally broke down and bought myself one while shopping WITH a guy. But really, I don’t demand jewelry, dozens of roses-I hate all of that crap...but is a Palmers hollow chocolate Easter bunny and a little QT too much to ask for?
So, this year, and from here on out…I plan to buy myself the first one I come across, so I am not tempted to ask, therefore in-turn…will not be let down. Thanks guys.
...
"Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to." - C.S. Lewis
Friday, February 19, 2010
True Strength
"If you want to know what the world really thinks about you, just start living out of your true strength. Say what you think, stand up for the underdog, challenge foolish policies. ... The world of posers is shaken by a real man. They'll do whatever it takes to get you back in line---threaten you, bribe you, seduce you, undermind you. They crucified Jesus. But it didn't work, did it? You must let your strength show up. ... Many of us have actually been afraid to let our strength show up because the world doesn't have a place for it. Fine. The world's screwed up. Let people feel the weight of who you are and let them deal with it." - John Eldridge
Thursday, February 18, 2010
for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus
In this period of the liturgical year leading up to Easter, or formerly Christmas before the term Advent was officially recognized, I am taking the opportunity to prepare myself through prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial.
So as Jesus in the desert before the beginning of his public ministry where he endured temptation by Satan that I will never fully grasp, I am committing myself to 40 days.
So as Jesus in the desert before the beginning of his public ministry where he endured temptation by Satan that I will never fully grasp, I am committing myself to 40 days.
What Religion is Your Bra?
Omer walked into the ladies department of a Macy's and shyly walked up to the woman behind the counter and said, "I'd like to buy a bra for my wife, Anne-Mae."
"What type of bra?" asked the clerk.
"Type?" inquires Omer, "There's more than one type?"
"Look around," said the saleslady, as she showed a sea of bras in every shape, size, color and material imaginable.
"Actually, even with all of this variety, there are really only four types of bras to choose."
Relieved, Omer asked about the types. The saleslady replied:
"There are the Catholic, the Salvation Army, the Presbyterian, and the Baptist types. Which one would you prefer?"
Now totally befuddled, Omer asked about the differences between them.
The Saleslady responded, "It is all really quite simple... "
The Catholic type supports the masses.
The Salvation Army type lifts the fallen,
The Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright, and
The Baptist makes mountains out of mole hills.
Have you ever wondered why A, B, C, D, DD, E, F, G, and H are the letters used to define bra sizes?
If you have wondered why, but couldn't figure out what the letters stood for, it is about time you became informed!
(A} Almost Boobs...
{B} Barely there.
{C} Can't Complain!
{D} Dang!
{DD} Double dang!
{E} Enormous!
{F} Fake.
{G} Get a Reduction.
{H} Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!
"What type of bra?" asked the clerk.
"Type?" inquires Omer, "There's more than one type?"
"Look around," said the saleslady, as she showed a sea of bras in every shape, size, color and material imaginable.
"Actually, even with all of this variety, there are really only four types of bras to choose."
Relieved, Omer asked about the types. The saleslady replied:
"There are the Catholic, the Salvation Army, the Presbyterian, and the Baptist types. Which one would you prefer?"
Now totally befuddled, Omer asked about the differences between them.
The Saleslady responded, "It is all really quite simple... "
The Catholic type supports the masses.
The Salvation Army type lifts the fallen,
The Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright, and
The Baptist makes mountains out of mole hills.
Have you ever wondered why A, B, C, D, DD, E, F, G, and H are the letters used to define bra sizes?
If you have wondered why, but couldn't figure out what the letters stood for, it is about time you became informed!
(A} Almost Boobs...
{B} Barely there.
{C} Can't Complain!
{D} Dang!
{DD} Double dang!
{E} Enormous!
{F} Fake.
{G} Get a Reduction.
{H} Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Only held by gravity, faded with uncertainty
It is the 15th,
The day we kissed and ended it.
Why are most songs about love and loss?
Music is where we met most and now I avoid the radio.
We were friendship set on fire
and I have a feeling you have not even noticed what I left behind.
You never get your old skin back,
Once you have loved like that.
Turns out lying is what I’m best at.
In bed, on the floor and in wait.
I am now one of the girls that “came before”
I opened my soul and am no more.
All I wanted was everything,
and until I gave up, you wouldn’t surrender.
Did it happen, were we there?
Sleeping late and fighting
I don’t want to cry if you are better off without me
And I won’t ever know, because you’ve never been a talker.
I battled for your attention
But you will find her, and all will change
I am taking the boxes of before and leaving them outside,
Too many hearts to carry any more, I need all the strength I have to carry me now.
The day we kissed and ended it.
Why are most songs about love and loss?
Music is where we met most and now I avoid the radio.
We were friendship set on fire
and I have a feeling you have not even noticed what I left behind.
You never get your old skin back,
Once you have loved like that.
Turns out lying is what I’m best at.
In bed, on the floor and in wait.
I am now one of the girls that “came before”
I opened my soul and am no more.
All I wanted was everything,
and until I gave up, you wouldn’t surrender.
Did it happen, were we there?
Sleeping late and fighting
I don’t want to cry if you are better off without me
And I won’t ever know, because you’ve never been a talker.
I battled for your attention
But you will find her, and all will change
I am taking the boxes of before and leaving them outside,
Too many hearts to carry any more, I need all the strength I have to carry me now.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
From the smartest man I know, with the driest sense of humor
Nothing in life that is worthwhile is easy. Nothing.
Destiny is not a matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not wished for. It is achieved.
Persistence is the common trait of all successes. Giving up is the common trait of all failures.
You only have to be this much smarter ( ll ) than the average man to be succesful.
When you are satisfied be very wary. Satisfaction is the first step towards average. Everyone is average. You aren't.
You appear to be working with average to below average men. Learn all you can about what not to do.
These pretzels are making me thirsty.
Obama is the anti-christ.
I'm walking at least 9 today. Maybe 18 if it gets warmer than 45.
You're the smartest guy down there. Make sure everyone sees it without you saying it. I think they all know it already.
I hit a Sonny Bono yesterday with my driver. Straight into the trees.
Hit a JFK Jr. on # 15. Didn't make it over the water.
Being dissapointed means you're on the right track. Nothing in life that is worthwhile is easy. Nothing.
I could go on all day but I won't. You'd just get bored. Just one more.
It is not silence that is golden. Tact is golden. Silence will, and has, destroyed nations and individuals.
The Drake
Destiny is not a matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not wished for. It is achieved.
Persistence is the common trait of all successes. Giving up is the common trait of all failures.
You only have to be this much smarter ( ll ) than the average man to be succesful.
When you are satisfied be very wary. Satisfaction is the first step towards average. Everyone is average. You aren't.
You appear to be working with average to below average men. Learn all you can about what not to do.
These pretzels are making me thirsty.
Obama is the anti-christ.
I'm walking at least 9 today. Maybe 18 if it gets warmer than 45.
You're the smartest guy down there. Make sure everyone sees it without you saying it. I think they all know it already.
I hit a Sonny Bono yesterday with my driver. Straight into the trees.
Hit a JFK Jr. on # 15. Didn't make it over the water.
Being dissapointed means you're on the right track. Nothing in life that is worthwhile is easy. Nothing.
I could go on all day but I won't. You'd just get bored. Just one more.
It is not silence that is golden. Tact is golden. Silence will, and has, destroyed nations and individuals.
The Drake
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Never say Never....
So...Chloe drags us to see a hypnotist at the Funny Bone. I obviously post up in my usual fashion and order a bucket of ultra. As my speculation and judgment begins, the guy starts cracking jokes…pretty soon, I am having fun, and before I know it he is calling up audience members to volunteer to “go under.” Well, obviously I am NOT going up there because I think this is all crap. He starts telling them how to breath and relax…in this monotone professor type voice and before I know it, I wake up to Chloe laughing because I have apparently fallen asleep sitting up and banged my head on the table. So, whether legit or Jedi mind tricks…I am NEVER going to see a hypnotist again.
your smell
I wish that I could bottle up your smell
From behind your ears, and never tell.
I would pull if from your chin and neck
when you were sleeping and would not suspect.
I wish I could steal away your smell,
from the air you breath in the one nostril where-
you whistle at night and sigh and snore
and your nose would need not attract me any more
I want to take from your chest your smell,
Where there is only warmth, and no hair
I would sweep it all down to your belly button
and draw it out and leave it nothing.
And when you’ve tossed your clothes aside
And you jump in the shower, ill be outside
Waiting to capture all the scent left there
From your hoodie and jeans till they were bare
Then unsuspecting you would towel off,
brush your teeth-search for matching socks;
you would never guess that I would be
In the shower stealing all the smell you left me
And as always, we would seize the day
and I’d hide my bottle-so you couldn’t take it away
And I’d take care not to let it drop,
or slip and fall and loosen the top.
And dinner and singing and laughing would come
as sighs and yawns fall from our tongues;
and as we find ourselves drifting to sleep,
I’d bottle up your last breath,
as you whisper that you love me
From behind your ears, and never tell.
I would pull if from your chin and neck
when you were sleeping and would not suspect.
I wish I could steal away your smell,
from the air you breath in the one nostril where-
you whistle at night and sigh and snore
and your nose would need not attract me any more
I want to take from your chest your smell,
Where there is only warmth, and no hair
I would sweep it all down to your belly button
and draw it out and leave it nothing.
And when you’ve tossed your clothes aside
And you jump in the shower, ill be outside
Waiting to capture all the scent left there
From your hoodie and jeans till they were bare
Then unsuspecting you would towel off,
brush your teeth-search for matching socks;
you would never guess that I would be
In the shower stealing all the smell you left me
And as always, we would seize the day
and I’d hide my bottle-so you couldn’t take it away
And I’d take care not to let it drop,
or slip and fall and loosen the top.
And dinner and singing and laughing would come
as sighs and yawns fall from our tongues;
and as we find ourselves drifting to sleep,
I’d bottle up your last breath,
as you whisper that you love me
Monday, February 8, 2010
Buckslayer
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