Tag Archives: paintbyletters

People Riding In Limos

People Riding In Limos

There’s been a lot going on lately.

Changes and challenges and worries.

Tests coming up and tests taken that still haunt me.

I’m not always so wise in the “relationship” department. Or compartment.

I make mistakes. Quite a bit actually. And I can’t help but think I should be making less of the same ones. I cant help but think I should be less young.

Maybe I grew up too fast. Or in some ways not fast enough.

But that is the story of our lives I suppose. Either too far ahead or too far behind.

I read a quote once. Something about a limo and a bus and breaking down on the side of the road. I can’t remember what it was about exactly, but lying in bed late at night got me thinking. The events of the day rushing back. The events of the week….the events of the month…the events of the year.

And I thought back to when I was younger, smaller in so many ways. Smaller in experience, but larger in spirit. Someone happy. Someone who bayed at the moon just cause, after all, that’s what the animals do when they’re happy (and no one judges them on their singing talents). Someone who didn’t have a care in the world except what was for breakfast and if she was going to pass some test I wish I was doing now. Someone who didn’t know the hurt and the other ugly things I know now. Someone who thought there was a happy ending for everyone, and that that happy ending would be the first person I met. The first person that I kissed or loved or trusted.

Now I’m smaller in other ways. I’m bigger on the outside and smaller on the  inside. Hiding from something that I don’t even know the name of. Maybe love. Maybe hurt. But I’m honest enough to know that some days I just don’t know what.

I wonder who I would have been if I never would have met him. If I never would have burnt out my flame on him fighting so hard for his love. For a false love. Would I still be as naive as I was, untainted and free? Or would I have still walked this path to where I am now, just without him?

What’s left of me now? A withered flame today. Tired and alone in a shallow room, straining my eyes in searching. Searching for a flame like mine. My eyes are tired. There’s too much too look at sometimes in life. Too many things going on that we forget to look. I’m just busy trying to keep my flame alive.

Some days I’m better; learning to burn bright again, to be me again. By accident, but then I guess I was always “me” by accident. Is there any other way of inventing “me”?

So, in thinking about this limo quote and the events leading to my place in life (after I was done being depressing), I came to something inside myself. It was that moment that you get on a lazy afternoon, dozing just as the sun turns the room gold. How magical that moment is, how transcendent. It’s a rare moment. Something in you breaks, but in breaking it flowers as if your heart were a seed that suddenly felt its time come. It was that moment of knowing. Just knowing. As if the universe came and whispered a secret in your ear and you knew it was right. You knew it was right so strongly that it didn’t surprise you. A known surprise, like a precious trinket you hid away and suddenly discover years later.

The moon shone down, a bright full face soon to be smiling as it wanes away, and as I looked up I felt it. That strong breeze of spirit.

I’ve been riding in limos. Limos come and go, a different one every time. They come just for a moment, night or day. You ride, you pay and you leave, off to some event that is far more important than the limo. The limo is an afterthought. They limo is a tool. But the limo wasn’t important. You could have easily taken a cab or driven yourself. You could have taken the metro or flown or rowed a boat. The limo doesn’t take you on a journey, it just holes you up for a little while, blocking you from the outside world with its tinted windows and its reclined seating. It’s the same with people. People love “limos”. They’re easy, no commitment to self or thought. Each night a different one. They look nice and might feed you in some way or another, providing you with drinks that encourage things to happen.

And then there’s the bus. Now, we’re not talking some dirty old bus like you might  get on while riding gloomily to work. No. We’re working in the metaphorical here. Try and keep up. So, nice bus. You have to wait for the bus, yes. But you meet some great people on the bus. It’s hard waiting for the bus. You get bored cause you know it’s coming sometime soon but it can seem like an eternity for your exact bus to arrive. You try to distract yourself with things to do while you wait. You stand lookout. The bus will arrive, but it’ll arrive when it’s time. You could get rained on, you may want to give up, but the bus will come if you’re patient. Sure, it’d be easier to call a limo to come pick you up. But maybe the limo just isn’t better. How much fun is it to ride a bus with someone you really enjoy speaking with? Someone who’s just happy to be there with you? Just cause you’re there? You waited for that darn slow bus, but it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? To feel the warmth and joy of speaking to someone who listens and understands? To fall asleep on the shoulder of someone you love, letting the jostling of the tires rock you and the dull roar of the engine be your lullaby. To fall asleep, someone sweetly stroking your hair, heartbeats in time?

Great things happen in the backs of limos. Rappers have parties. Girls in dresses too short drink champagne. Old men smoke with women their granddaughter’s age sitting on their laps. Singers sing, dancers dance. People stick their heads out of the sunroof. And that’s all very exciting.

But if I’m honest, despite how everyone looks at me like I might have a head injury when I say it, I like the bus better. I want that closeness, that roar of the engine, that hand pressed against mine, quiet and watching the shops and people go by while we listen to music. There’s something so exciting about the feel of “the bus”; of an adventure beginning and excitement waiting at the next stop. Feeling like I am safe and can gently step off into a new story and discover new things whenever I please. I know the bus will always be there. Limos can be booked and not have time to pick you up. But the bus is just there.

If I’m honest. I just want to ride the bus.

I’m tired of limos. I’m tired of picking up and dropping off and never looking back to see  if I’m okay. I’m tired of a new driver who just doesn’t care about me. I’m just today’s ticket. I’m a fix.

I’m just tired.

I’m tired of faking that I like limos and that they’re just “so amazing”. I’m tired of pretending like I’m the same as everyone else.

It’s so very obvious I’m not. I’m the tiger pretending I’m a duck. I’m like a rose poking out of a petunia patch. It’s just not going to work and I’m tired of quacking. I’m not who I keep trying to be despite the fact it goes adverse to who I am. Maybe I’m just looking for love, or intimacy, but I can’t keep on like this. Each thing must be what it is and follow its nature. A cloud may wish to be a tree but it can’t. It’s a cloud. It was meant to float and make shapes and rain. That’s its nature. That’s what it does, and to go against that nature will only bring misery.

Now, I just have to learn to wait. Wait for the bus to come. Wait for what I really want to get here.

I don’t know how well I’ll do at first. The limos are tempting. But if i can manage to be patient I won’t miss my bus and have to wait longer. I’ll simply get on and start my new adventure.

I’m not a duck, or a tree, or a petunia. I’m just me. And I need to be truer to me.

The time to start is now.


Not So New News

Not So New News

News..that Breaks



          Rachel’s lawyers say it was an old statement that sparked the dispute, creating a heinous scene of frozen limbs and insecurity. The plight started the previous night when Rachel was speaking to a friend. It was said that she suddenly was reminded of something the previously mentioned “him” had said formerly, causing her to fall silent. After many attempts to revive her from the stupor with her name, she returned but was unable to continue the conversation. She was excused from the conversation with a “Gotta go, my parakeet has bowling lessons”, and hanging up. Afterward, she sat silently in a dark room and cried. But, in hating herself immediately for another win to the insecurity gang, she hastily swiped the tears away as if to say “no I wasn’t”. She thought it amazing at this time that one person’s words could render you broken, comparing them to drops in an endless sea of awareness and speech. Though she did not want to reveal the person sending the decidedly mindless and arrogant statement, she did give us a brief synopsis.

             “[He said], ‘The reason you suffered was because you are crazy, and no one else would take you. No else wants you. You are so low.’ And on top of it, his statement was dangerously close to combusting as it sat in proximity to ‘If you would have just taken it slow I might have graced you with my presence a while longer, but I’m still going to ‘eff’ you cause I can.’  I didn’t know what to do, I was stunned”

After a brief pause, the woman continued, eyes sparkling with an unnamed strength.

                “I like to think I deserve to be happy. Crazy thought right? Some don’t seem to agree with me. Imagine that. I’m smart, funny, talented in some things. I’m fun and loyal. I have an okay smile and I can do the “smolder” like no one I know. I like animals and kids in general. I’m hard-working. I can do elementary math. So, what did I do to deserve that? Ask for more? That was my crime? Not settling for less? Okay. Fine”.

At this time, confidence got wind of the statement and hastily advanced on the subject, thinking about it all night and into the next morning, at which time he was arrested for conspiracy, distribution, and murder of pride, dignity, and trust. It is not yet clear how confidence received the ammunition in order to complete his task, but numerous anonymous tips have pointed to “him”, lord of all things arrogant. With her confidence in full custody and awaiting trial, Rachel expressed concern for her safety and health, but did not find it prudent that such feelings existed. Love and Stupidity were also arrested for questioning as to their whereabouts during confidence’s arrest and the events leading up to the crime.

“We will be fine.” Was Rachel’s only comment on the case which is quickly spreading through word of mouth.

After her statement was taken, Rachel was hastily rushed to the back of a car and driven home, where she promptly curled up into a ball. She reiterated her previous claim that she did not how it came to be that her confidence was arrested, but posted bail. There will be a hearing on the 24th in order to determine guilt, but the trial may be postponed a month in order for the authorities to gather more evidence.


I’m still almost-slightly-not-exactly struggling with thoughts of the “him” I was speaking of earlier. Lucky me. Special me. Stupid me.

In case you couldn’t tell.

Waiting to hear “I love you”


Sometimes, you want to say something important. Something insurmountable. Something precious. But, words seem to bring it down a shade in color. Like bright green splashing gracefully across expanses of earth in late autumn, its splendor only diminished by the lens of a camera trying to catch it.

“I love you”

It’s so important. Yet, I feel it can never express the feeling right. It’s more than words on a page or a breath I spill on a brisk night, coming out as my own personal cloud.

It’s…oxygen, coming in and out. It’s living.

We hear it all the time. We say it to each other and it’s everywhere: movies, music and television. We watch dogs say it on Youtube. We can make it known with our hands. We read books where the characters express it with poise or unbridled exuberance. Children learn to say it early. And some never do, or it’s never spoken in their home, but somehow know its importance.

It’s understood. The meaning, the broad spectrum of love that it covers is perhaps what makes it so attractive. A love says it and you melt, heart fluttering up to some otherworldly Utopia where we eat and breathe love. A parent says it, and your heart sends out tendrils of life, clinging to their essence and soul, remembering. A warm feeling of home. Or a sudden sense of surprise followed by understanding and relief. A sister or brother says it and you feel a sense of camaraderie. A knowing. A playful smile growing (or maybe even awkwardness that your playmate has turned into a grown-up). A friend says it and it feels like a realization. A connection.

“I love you”

No matter how we say it, or where, or to whom, it’s one of the few things in life that are understood. Like that the sun will shine (as long as it isn’t night, cloudy, or the end of the world), or that it will always rain after you wash your car..like math (bad joke, I know, considering  that the Greek meaning is  “things understood”)…It’s understood. Like hope, or faith.

“I love you”

It’s unoriginal. Where did we learn these words, this feeling? People have said it before you and they surly with say it after you. It’s a quote.  We will use it flippantly or carefully, savoring our words or have them fall on deaf ears. People may mean it more or less, possibly, than you do. We might not get it back, or we might not give it.

And yet…this unoriginal statement; This overused phrase; This ridiculously cliché sentimental set of three words, causes us to fall to our knees and beg for mercy. Beg to be lifted up and filled up and find home. We long to hear it. No matter what people say about it, or how we put it down, we desperately desire to hear those words spoken to us. We need it.

“I love you”

We repeat these words over and over, and somehow they never go out of style. We say them so much, and praise their affiliate with art, lyrics and words, both spoken and written. Love Love Love. We whisper it to each other like a secret and scream it to the world at the top of our lungs; raging toward it like fire, demanding its attention or stroll calmly beside it, holding hands.

We think, ‘someone loves me! What a glorious experience! What a wonderful world. What a dream I have strayed into, to be blessed with such rare treatings. I love you too! How amazing that sounds…’

If you haven’t been told in a while, you realize what you’re missing out on. You realize how precious every person who loves you is, like a lost necklace that you found. Or a song you finally remembered from long ago, when times were sweeter. Some of us may not register our “I love you”‘s. They may fall silent and unanswered. But most importantly, they were shared. Love is a gift we give one another when the other person isn’t looking. An action. True love, cares not whether you love me back, but that I am loving you. Inside and out. That somehow, somewhere, I found a part of you that I found amazing. I took a small smile from those qualities I found in you, and put it in my back pocket to admire later. I saw something in you. Something that’s essentially you. Something I love. Whether it be a little quirk or habit, fantastic blue eyes, a crinkle to their smile that lights you up, a giving heart, or even a reflection of my Father…I found it. In you. And it became a part of me.

We can’t let others taint this love. Taint the “I love you” we gave. Love is pure. Don’t pressure it to be more with Shame or Doubt or Selfishness. Love is simply perfect and it demands to be expressed. It won’t be quiet (though it may whisper quietly, so you’ll listen) or just seen, it won’t be worried about others opinions, it won’t “be a good boy/girl”..it’ll break out in dance. It’ll belt a song, maybe badly, as it walks down the street. It’ll color madly outside the lines.

So, go out there and tell someone you love them. It means the world, and creates many more. Deftly or messy, without reproach.

Go. Seek. And most importantly….Love.

Because someone’s out there..

Waiting to hear..

“I love you”

The trouble with dating…is dating



So, I have recently become aware…I have a flesh-eating disease.

Okay, not really..but I feel like I must!

Here I am…21. A mom. And I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never been drinking at an actual bar either, but getting drunk off overpriced liquor with strangers somehow seems like less of a loss. It’s not for lack of trying or desire to be dated or to go out, just from the lack of willing participants I guess.

I’ve only ever been with two people and neither ever took me out. I can’t really tell you why it never happened. It seems like a logical and natural progression in a relationship. You meet a guy, he smiles dreamily at you, there’s some melting involved and then you make a date for later flirtation.

I mean, I think I’m fairly good-looking.  But then, they have no problem looking. I’m magnetic for withering, clothes-removing looks, but when it comes to speech I’m stuck as the only speaking person in a silent movie. The few guys I have had talk to me must have been drunk, asking blatantly (despite my lies of having a boyfriend) if I cheat. I see them coming, rolling my eyes at their inability to control from staring practically through my clothes and feeling unimpressed with my ability to distinguish the type of underwear they’re wearing with ease, their shorts hanging low enough to be a midget’s pants . Their vocabulary of “whadnut’s” and words that I’m sure might have once been english, have me quickly adding them to the list of people to avoid. I thought statements like that only happened in Adam Sandler movies. Oh so very scarily wrong. But then, guys don’t need much encouragement to stare, off in their own fantasyland. I can just hear the little conversations I have with guys (both imaginary, and sometimes embarrassingly, REAL ones), counting off in my head…. Hello! I am more than boobs and depreciating body parts. I am up here, goood, that’s it. Yes, I am aware that I am naked under my clothes, and also very aware of your conversation with my chest rather than my face. Thank you very much, but that is not the kind of “customer service” that I think is appropriate from a sales representative as yourself.

Anyway, that’s nothing we don’t already know, or worse, already experienced. So. This fact that I have not been properly dated has been vexing me lately. I woke up this morning, looked myself in the mirror, and wondered what was wrong with me. It bugged me all day and turned into a full-blown mix between a daydream of what it’d be like, and why people didn’t automatically assume a date was necessary to “get to know” a girl anymore. For future reference..the two don’t mix.

I wonder what it feels like, first date gitters. The feeling of butterflies in your stomach as he rings the doorbell and you embarrassingly remove your dog from crotch of his pressed pants. Eating with him at a nice restaurant, dressed up and smelling sweet, feeling like floating. A kiss at the door and dancing alone in my room in a silent parade of emotions, leaving me smiling as I drift off to sleep.

I hope I’m not building it up too much in my mind, this dating thing. I suppose it would depend on the person you’re dating. Everyone says it’s overrated, but obviously they haven’t been a social pariah before.

It’s so easy in our modern world of internet and texting and twitter to get caught up. You no longer have to buck up the courage to walk up and talk to someone or call their house just to hear their voice. You don’t have to plan elaborate or cute dates to enjoy, and why do it if you can go through half the effort and get exactly what you want? You can find them on Facebook and message them, text their phone without a word spoken (and plenty of time to screen your words so that you don’t sound like an idiot, whether you actually are one or not), or even email them with the one listed on profiles by Facebook or a number of other networking sites. Our virtual world only serves to give us a false sense of security that we know a person through our online or texual interactions. We build our relationships online. Virtual dating.

           Hello Virtuality. I would shake your hand but it seems that your mother-board is in the way…Is that                                       a mouse  on your desktop, or are you just happy to see me?…You have beautiful flash drives.

At this suggestion, romance and thoughtfulness took the first terminal on the golden-gates express..True love disappeared in a puff of scientific theory and evolution..And many other amiable qualities were convinced to be leashed but eventually ran away, never to be heard from again.

RIP romance, who brought us roses and candlelight and picnics in the park. Who made our moments magical.

RIP thoughtfulness who drew a bath after a long day at work, or spent the extra time to write a sweet note and put it on our car.

RIP hard work, who actually saved up for a nice date and could keep a job

RIP gumption, who stood tall in the face of adversity and asked the most popular or pretty girl out, or knelt in the middle of a crowd of people and asked his girl to spend the rest of her days with him because she would always be in every one of his.

RIP persistence, who didn’t give up, even when the girl turned him down 10 times, and who wouldn’t stop calling until she answered.

RIP respect,  who loved themselves enough not to let them be used and truned into an object, either by others..or by being the user.

RIP true love, who did try hard to get people to notice, but instead was rejected for The Wrong Man/Woman, Lack of Self-Reflection, Career, Status, and Pride.

And to all the others, we hope to see you again sometime soon.

Seems such a shame I was born in this time period sometimes. The Victorian Era or even the 40’s at times seem more enthralling. My generation has lived to see the death of common sense, Australia, Social Security and…as it seems..dating. The real way.

And if I’m wrong, I will be overjoyed to be proved wrong. For a guy to get to know me for ME and not for his need to discover what is in my pants, as if I’m the Bermudas Triangle and need to be seen, stripped, and categorized. Luckily, I’m a fast learner. After number one, and more regrettably, two, I’ve already maxed out my number of bad relationship ideas for the century. 

So, I will return to my rejection of your reality, substituting my own. Back to trees and wild skies. Back to a good book and real, brewed coffee. Back to Looney Toons and no Hannah Montana. Back to real work, even if it fulfills one more stereotype than I prefer. Back to respect, of me and others. Back to the truth.

Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed the show..Thank you and goodnight..Don’t forget to tip your usher.

Your task is not to seek for love….


“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it”

So, it seems that lately, Love has it in the books for me. Every novel I try to read, song I find, or movie I watch is full of love. People searching for the everlasting connection we all crave. The connection that warms our bellies with an eternal summer that flushes our cheeks and makes the butterflies soar. The connection that makes us crave for the closeness of another’s touch, causing us to tingle as lightning ignites our soul’s fire.

And there I am, thinking I’m safe, sitting on the couch and watching a movie. I feel invincible as the beginning credits roll and the movie starts out. Thoughts of men and relationships and love are far away. Then, I see it. That character. My character. The actress portrayed exactly how I feel, how we feel, the reality of it. She was perfect, as she stood alone in a crowd of couples at a show. She looks around slowly, taking in her surroundings, painfully aware of the romancing couples but trying to pretend as if she didn’t notice (or worse, didn’t care). But, as a particularly charming couple nuzzles into each other, holding hands as the music takes a slower turn, she visibly shrinks, glancing down and away, and takes on “the look”.

I have taken on this look all too many times. At the mall, walking in the park, in the movies.

It’s the look you get to hide the ache. To hide the pain of aloneness. Not solitude, which is a beautiful singularity of a long walk in the woods or a morning outside, a blanket draped around you as you drink hot coffee. No. Alone. Alone is lost in the desert of emotion and people. Alone is a dark hole and falling, deep into the swallows of prickling and poking anxiety and unknown lives. Alone is invisibility.

It feels like mocking.

Having to watch people kiss or be cute in front of you while you’re single is like personal torture. Like having shoots shoved up your nails. My chest aches with the very thought of it, clenching around the tiny ball of hope still left in me. This ball of light struggles to get out, escape, and never return. It’s a daily struggle to not let it go.

Keep hoping.

Now, some days I’m completely fine with being single. Happy to be “chainless” and cynical about love and how much it stinks. And then, other days, I find myself laying back against my bed and feeling. Feeling someone there beside me, stroking my hair and breathing sweetly against my neck. Closing my eyes, to find a picturesque scene of laughter in the grass of the park, looking up at the stars. Of twin bodies, curled against one another and reading silently in the early morning hours. Of a rain-soaked kiss. Of fragility and tears and a heart bursting with love, like a flower in one of those time-lapse videos: suddenly bursting open in a flurry of bright colors and sweet pollen, surrounded by bright-green waxy leaves and facing a golden sun.

Alone is an awkward, most painful feeling. Like half of you is missing. And as a “single”, you’re constantly aware of it; like walking around with one eye and knowing your world is only half as big and half as beautiful. 

Some days I find this notion ridiculous. Half a life? As if some man could really fill that hole…as if I’d need someone to fill that hole. Stupid. But, if you really break it down, what else is there to life? Love is what makes the world go ’round. It’s what makes us take chances, make sacrifices, change, and become the person we always wanted to be. It makes us dance and sing and write poetry. It makes us whole. We write endless songs about it, from the Beatles “All you need is love” to the enormous ever-growing list of pop-love songs and to the deep, emotional classical confessions using violins and pianos and trumpets. We have millions of novels covering this topic, from people who experienced it and people who wished more than anything to simply taste of the real thing. Every molecule, from a young age, yearns with it. Be, and be loved. Our motto, unspoken yet true.




And it’s only later that we develop the Fear. The wariness of age, of experience. A warning, like a little red flag, popping up to stop us from being vulnerable. Self-preservation. We call it instinct in animals, but for us it’s developed. We don’t want to be the first one to say “I love you” or have the other person think we’re clingy because we need them, want them there. Are we so afraid to give our all?  A choice made in fear, anger, or revenge (even a revenge against love or hope) is no choice at all. It’s leftovers.

Can we really look in the face of tomorrow and wonder, if we would have just given all of ourselves to that man or woman, would we have made it? Would things have worked out if I’d just given my all? I have to say that after my second experience with “adult” love, I had the idea to never give all of me again to a man. But, just as quickly as I think it, I dismiss it like a scorned grade-school student. It will help no one to do so. Not the guy. And surely not me. That’s giving him control. The control to say, you’ll never be the same. I’ll ruin you. I have all the control.


I will not build a barrier against love. Something inside you dies when you do that. I will not build walls, and if my heart builds them while I’m not looking, I will tentatively dismantle them. Brick by brick, I will raze the fortress of my heart. Some days are slow demolition, some days are dynamite in a coal mine, and still others are days in which I pout like a spoiled five-year-old, letting the walls construct themselves under dark humor. But, something in me tells me no. Tells me I don’t mean what I say. Tells me to try again, and that I will. I’d barely need a nudge to do so, and I’d be off…relishing in the bright blue, cool waters of soothing love.

So, let us not find ourselves afraid in the darkness of loneliness. Too afraid to move on and let love into our lives. We cling to ourselves, the one we made after Sorrow wetted us with her tears. We cling to the “me” we created, after all, it is the one constant, the one thing we KNOW and can predict. But, we have to learn to let go. To let our wings out for a stretch.

So, let us not seek for love, let us simply be open for when it finally shows up. Because, it most certainly will call on each and every one of us…then it will be in our hands whether we’re still on the phone with doubt, fear, or the wrong man and therefore giving love the busy signal.

And really?…

Love’s a better house-guest.

Rejection..and finding daily worthiness



We all fear it. Like the anticipation of thunder after the lightning.

And with each passing rejection you can almost see your heart feeling like…less.

How did my worth get so tied to how he feels about me? What he says about me? How he holds me?

Why do I feel such pain? Agony in my chest, like a clamoring rain. I feel stupid. Stupid that I let him make me feel like this, despite the pain that I can’t seem to stop. Loved ones tell me I’m worth more, that I’m out of his league not because of my looks or money, but because of my heart. And because the Father has bigger plans for me, that I’m special. But I feel deficient. I don’t know how I’m better. I do, but I don’t. How can I be better if I don’t even know who ME is all the time. Who am I? Why must I carry the responsibility? The guilt? I thought I was smarter the second time around. I thought I found someone like me, someone who cared.

I don’t need it.

How many times did I tell myself this? I don’t need to be respected. I don’t need to be loved like I love him. I’m okay. I don’t need to be treated nice. That I didn’t need to be taken out. Maybe I didn’t register it, but my head must have told my heart that, in order for me to allow myself to be treated like I was.

I may or may not have needed it, but I should have gotten it. I should have wanted it for myself.  I was worth it.

I took my heart out today, to take a look at it. I pulled it from where it nestled with my dreams in a small box within the top drawer of my dresser. It was bruised and stained. A smokey wisp. A reflection of what it once was. A strong breeze could have blown it away. And yet it feels heavy. The numbness in my chest revealing it’s absence. I can’t even remember what it felt like to have it close and warm. I’m afraid to let anyone see it, afraid to get hurt again. Each pain a fresh, raw, new scar that I scrub to keep new. Scrub it so that I remember  the way I felt.

I can’t barely think of being in a relationship now. Just the inkling makes me want to vomit. The thought of a man, skin close, kissing my lips and caressing my neck makes my eyes squint in the face of an invisible attacker and sends a bone-crushing stab into my chest, so that I stand gasping for breath.


Why would I give myself over freely to such pain?  To question all my words and his, making excuses before he’s able to make them and leave me. To watch him, his eyes turning cold, as I tell him about my past. As he looks over at my son, judging me.

She has baggage..Maybe this isn’t worth it. Maybe she isn’t worth it..I’m young, I don’t want a kid..Do I really want her that bad? I mean, she’s pretty and talented and good, but maybe not enough?

And me questioning whether every word I say, every story, every truth will turn into ammo in his hands. That as he turns his back and leaves, he’ll spit them back out at me in sardonic half-truths.

Am I worth it?

The truth? Hell yes…yes I am.

I was created. Chosen. From thousands of millions of sperm, I was the one that got it in, that was let in. Over my unborn sister before me, who never got a chance to live. I was the one. And each day He creates anew, just for me. That if only I was present on this earth, He’d do it for me. He would paint that blushing sunrise. I am His child. He loves me. He thinks I’m beautiful. He thinks I’m worth it. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

No matter how many guys may try to ruin me, to put me down, and crush me..I will stand, redeemed, unafraid and loved simply because He is there. Each day, He gives me the strength to stand and get through the day. No. Not get through the day. To conquer the day, and find joy in it. To stand against the pain of heartbreak given, both maliciously and indiscriminately.

I look at all those people who hurt me and let me down and were cruel, from my romantic relationships and life relationships, and I feel sorry for them. But mostly..

I thank them.

Thank you for showing me who I don’t want to be. Thank you for showing me how important it is to be ME everyday, or at least work to find who that is. That I should always emulate my Father, and not just pretend to. Thank you for your judgement. For looking at me and working so hard to find something about me to hate and speak ill of, for you showed me that I am worth something. I was worth the energy cost to scrutinize me, to criticize me, to find disdain in your heart for me. I must have been fairly powerful in your life for you to labor over me and find time to think of me. Thank you for your slaps, whose force only swung me around into the arms of my Father, so that I could cry and find my strength again. Thank you for teaching me once more how important and patient forgiveness is.

Thank you.

 Some days I may still wake up to find myself feeling sorry. I may mope. I may get down. I may wake to find my horizon gray. But more importantly, I will get back up. I will rise and rise again. I will be kind when others are not. I will. And my gray skies will bloom into rose and periwinkle and gold.  

I will take in the little things. The little blessings. The little wonders of the universe. The small joys. Like sparkles in bubbles.

For God made bubbles, and then put sparkles in them…just for the fun of it

Just like He did in me.



“When you please others in hopes of being accepted, you lose your self-worth in the process”

Hola to the world!



Day One.

A blog. Well, as cliche as this sounds, my mom encouraged me to go through with getting a blog. I had one before, but it was for my Interpersonal Communications and I didn’t always stay on track! I wasn’t sure I’d have anything to write about that anyone would care to read without some sort of “boundary” involved. I often have a wild mind that tends to go off on a rabbit trail. Well, more like a bear trail I suppose, as I meander through, crushing small squirrels as I tumble along.  But my mom is the escense of great motherhood and she really does know best (though I didn’t always believe that). So, here goes.

Today is Monday. Joy of all days of the week. Filled with sunshine and gillyflowers. Everyone just loves Monday, right? Well, today was an okay Monday for me at least, though I can’t speak for the centuries of Mondays past.

This morning I woke aggitated. Not unusual for how things have been lately. My baby boy of five months has decided quite suddenly to not let me sleep. He’s always been a great sleeper. 9 or so hours at a time with no tossing or turning that I noticed. Now, he’s become the boogeyman of sleep-deprevation. Just as I dose off, peaceful in my bliss, and peek my head into REM. WHAM! He’s awake and ready to party. From then on it’s The Kid comedy hour. “Talking” and kicking and wanting to eat. I stare at him with blank eyes, but eventually I have to smile because if I don’t then he looks at me with these pleading pools of blue, like, “What? I’m not entertaining you? I’m having the most fun of my entire life, I’m talking about all the funniest subjects in the sandbox, and you aren’t amused?? Mom, seriously.” So, of course I’d have to smile and give him just a little encouragement. Who couldn’t love that face? At the very moment I smile, however, I have a breif thought that this might only encourage him to prolong the show.

Groans soon emerge.

So, all night I move in and out of sleep like an unwanted house-guest visiting relatives. Praying for any hint of the sweet dreamscape. Then, it’s 7 ish and I figure that rising from my warm, sheet-strewn bed might be more pleasant than my pretend sleep. admittedly, I’m often cynical, and add on ‘why sleep at all!’ to the shower walls. Meanwhile, my little show-stopper is somehow still  conscious and still talking. If he wasn’t so darn cute I might have been able to be mad, but instead I’m just numb. Which only pleases my dark sense of humor which rises to the surface like a coiled black snake, striking at anything from the toothpaste to my Cheerios. I suppose I look quite funny, laughing silently at a bowl of cereal while dark bags hang from under my eyes. And even the thought of how I look makes me smile at that moment.

Now, moms all over know how tired you can get just chasing a kid around (even if they can’t walk yet), and I’m sure you’ve all fallen into the “action-sleep”. What is the action sleep, you say? It’s where you’re so tired that you fall asleep right in the middle of doing something. I’ve done it while trying to feed him, playing with a toy, or even making faces at him. Today, it was while I was shaking the bouncer with a foot. We both fell asleep. This was a small achievement, as normally The Kid rules naps out as well, voting instead for “practice our tones” time instead. So, I was all too over-joyed when I awoke to find that I had slept for 45 minutes! I danced across the room in a victory dance, silently mouthing “Eye of the Tiger” as I even got him to sleep for another 15 minutes without me while I washed the dishes. Aaaahhh, sweet victory. Washed down with an actual HOT cup of tea that I didn’t have to reheat.

Moral of the story?….Be like the Italians. Never ignore the opportunity for a nap.

So, I think that’ll do it for the first post. We’ll see how it goes!