Bed of Lies

My weary head and aching bones,
Need a place to rest.
No accommodation really fits,
Or passes my comfort test.

Feeling like a sleepy cat,
Slowly circling a lap.
Searching for that proper spot,
To curl up for a nap.

It no longer fits me well,
That old usual stand-by.
Looking forward to the satisfaction,
Of some regular shut-eye.

Never knew how much I liked,
Sleeping in a bed.
It's not until I lost that spot,
That I got it through my head.

Comfort doesn't always mean,
Happy and healthy too.
It keeps me stuck in one place,
Knowing what I always knew.

CATharsis

Today I met a cat named Stein.

We hit it off right away. He followed me around while I cleaned his human's house and stole pets and scratches from me whenever he could. We quickly developed a rapport. He would let me love on him while he perched on his cat-tree, then run into each room, just a few paces ahead of me and jump on the highest and most obvious piece of furniture. I'd give him a little love and attention before graciously and apologetically kicking him out.

We did this in a few rooms before we reached the bedroom, where he promptly plopped himself on the bed, exposing his tummy for what I assumed to be, affectionate rubbing. In cat-lover fashion I threw caution to the wind and proceeded to rub his tummy, knowing full-well that I was playing with fire. There's something about rubbing a cats tummy for longer than about three seconds, that causes them to go buck wild on your hand, tearing it up like so many stuffed mice.

With this knowledge in mind, I tempted fate and rubbed Stein's tummy anyway.  I'm sure you can guess what happened next. He snapped forward, grasping the heel of my left hand with one of his (ironically named) canine teeth and tore into my flesh, as if he were trying to pull meat from bone. Surprised, despite my suspicions, I puled my hand away, sucking air in through clenched teeth and muttering feline-directed obscenities at the same time.

Stein looked at me with bewilderment in his eyes; eyes that said, "What? What did I do?" He had no idea he had hurt me, or if he did, he certainly didn't care. Chances are pretty good that either scenario could be true. After all, he is a cat and as a long-time cat owner and cat lover, I should have known better.

In that moment of mild shock and moderate physical pain, I felt something else. Hurt. Not the cat-tooth-tearing-through-flesh physical hurt, but emotional hurt. My feelings were hurt. Here Stein and I had shared this bond all over the house and the minute we get into the bedroom, he tears into me. How rude.

Is it weird that I allowed a cat to hurt my feelings today? I suspect it had nothing really to do with Stein; however, he was the metaphor or messenger of my emotions. It's not so much that the cat turned on me for rubbing his belly. They do that. What hurt me was that we had developed a relationship, however brief it was and none of that mattered to Stein. He felt he had cause to take a bite out of me, so he did. How many times has this happened to me with people? Probably more times than I could count. 

Quicksand

I'm feeling quite real and raw lately. I'm dealing with a variety of emotions that are coming from all sorts of deep places within me. Much of what I'm experiencing is the same repetitive confusion that I've been trapped in. The quicksand.

If I keep still and don't flail around too much, I can keep my head from going under. As soon as I get restless and begin to fidget, I loose my footing. Then it's time to calm down and regain my composure once more. You'd think I would have figured this pattern out by now and some how outsmarted my emotional brain. Not really. I can't help resisting the feeling of being trapped in the quicksand. I don't want to be trapped anymore. I want to move and be free. Being still and avoiding that fear of sinking... that's slowly killing me.

I have found some small bits of respite in my pit, however. There are these small fragments of my existence, when I get the nerve to really fight. Before I can talk myself out of it, I attempt to thrash and claw my way out. The feeling of movement is so empowering. I'm moving muscles I had forgotten I had. This emotional exercise feels so awesome... but it doesn't last long. Soon I realize that I'm still in the quicksand, fighting and sinking further still. I quiet my limbs and bring my emotional workout to a stop.

When I stop and asses my situation, I realize that part of the reason that I'm sinking into the quicksand is because I'm carrying a lot of baggage that's weighing me down. I need to let it go. It's only hurting my cause at this point and really, it's too heavy to carry around anyway. I can do away with it. I really don't need it. When I get where I'm going, there will be plenty of resources for me there. I can live off of my own wisdom until then.

Once the baggage is gone, I feel myself become a little more buoyant. Keeping my head above the quicksand isn't as hard, yet there's still the problem of getting out. How can I do it by myself? Wouldn't it just be easier if I had a buddy that could lend a hand? Someone who could just swoop in and rescue me. A knight in shinning armor, perhaps? Maybe a crafty hiker out on his own quest? Of course. All of those people sound wonderful, but I'm alone in this and it's part of my journey to remedy this problem by myself.

Escaping from quicksand takes time. It isn't something I can do hastily. Finding my balance is necessary and that's achieved by carefully assessing my situation, calming myself and making slow, but deliberate movements that support escape. Whenever I feel myself sinking, I know I have to slow down, take a deep breath and start again. Shit is going to happen and I'm going to feel as though I'll never break free. If I let the negative thoughts take over, I'm doomed for sure. All I have to do is keep my composure, use my resources and take it slow. If I remember to take a break once in a while and recharge my batteries, I'll have more energy to keep fighting.

I'm determined to escape and when I do, I know there is a life of abundance waiting for me.

It's in the cards...

On life's journey, many of us look for guides or points of direction to help navigate us. These guides can come in many forms, from self-help books, to religion, to wise people that cross our paths. Any number of things can be bits of a map that help us find our way through the maze of life. One of these such things is the Tarot.

 

 

 

 

The Tarot has a direct correlation to the occult and can commonly be thought of as magic, but for me it is a guide. I am by no means a trained cartomancer or anything even close. I'm just a spiritually open individual who believes in the significance of our lives in relation to the stars and the possibility that messages can be transmitted to us in a variety of ways, if we open up our soul to the communication, or essentially tap into the connections to the spiritual plane, that already exist.  I believe the tarot is one of these pathways.

 

Again, I am not properly schooled in the ways of the tarot and I don't normally do readings for anyone other than myself. I'm not even sure if I can call what I do a "reading". It's more of a "fortune" of sorts. I focus on something, most often my present situation or dilemma, or just anything that is currently on my heart. As I'm focusing, my thoughts and energy are directed to the deck of tarot cards in my hand. I touch them, manipulate them and shuffle them however I see fit. This process can often be different depending on my state of mind at the time. When I feel as though I have sufficiently fondled the deck to my liking, I must pull a card. I usually only pull one card, but sometimes more if the cards choose me; meaning they fall out of the deck while I'm shuffling them, or an additional card comes along with the original card that I pull. That card, or cards, becomes my "fortune" or message.

 

Because I'm not really great at memorizing what all of the cards symbolize, I use a website to translate the meanings of the cards I pull. It gives me a detailed overview and description of the card and it's significance within a reading. I process the information and apply it to my situation as best as I can. Occasionally I will pull the same card twice or three times within a short period of time (like a week or two). For me, this symbolizes the importance of the message and my previous inability or unwillingness to process the message and apply it to my life.

 

Today I pulled a card and an additional card followed. The tag-along card happened to be the card that I had last pulled... the Five of Swords. My new card was the Five of Cups. Clearly the message of the Five of Swords was not properly received by my stubborn soul and it had to be reinforced today.  

 

The Five of Swords is all about self interest and finding the solution that is the best for one's self... something that I know I've been afraid to do, but have been achieving in subtle ways over the last year or more.  I believe that the most important choice ahead of me in the self-interest department will involve a major change.

 

The Five of Cups is about loss and how loss initiates change and grief is our emotional resistance to change. I have been grieving quite fully for over 2 years now. My grief has changed forms, but what has always remained ever-present is the resistance to change.

The losses I have suffered have spawned quite a few changes in my life. So many of those changes have been the catalyst for positivity, yet I resist change as if it were an evil force to which I have no defense and for all my resistance, the changes continue to take place. I believe they are destined to do so, whether or not I'm playing along.

 

So my "fortune" for this day, which has held it's own small, yet significant bits of change, is that I must embrace what is in my own personal best interest. Often times when I do what is truly best for me, it is also best for the other people involved in my situation. I can not act in a narrow sense, satisfying my short-term urges while ignoring my whole self. This will cause me much pain in the long run. I must also embrace the loss that will inevitably be the catalyst for a major change; a change that I hope will bring me much joy. Resistance is futile and change is inevitable. I can either accept the ebb and flow that is my journey or work against it, dragging myself upstream in a pointless battle against the process and flow of the universe.

Hrumph!

I'm having an angry day. There's nothing in particular that is the cause of my anger... just a series of little things that have come to a greasy, plump head of a rage-riddled pimple in the center of my life. And I can't ignore it. I've been trying to pop this boil of wrath all day.

No luck.

Everything is extremely irritating to me today. Landlords and Baby Daddies, topping the list.     I've decided that there's no way I can be on top of my game today. It just isn't gonna happen. I won't apologize for it either. I'm allowed to have a shitty day, even if my repressors don't think so. I will also have sn unapologetic glass of wine if I feel like it... except there's no wine in the house. Now I'm even more irritated!

Gratitude. That's the thing that is supposed to take presidence at a time like this. If I just focus on what I'm thankful for, I won't be in such a funk. Oh, but really... I'm crabby. Do I have to do this? Fine.

You only get 10 things, because even ten is going to be hard for me right now, when I'd love to punch someone in the throat.

1. My car - which gets excellent gas mileage for those times when I can easily justify leaving the house to just aimlessly drive. I promise I won't go over a bridge.

2. Thanksgiving Leftovers - this bitch is not cooking today. Heat up some turkey and I don't care if you're sick of it.

3. Other people's comitments - get them out if my face. Ok, that's not fair...
3(b). Alone time - helps me decompress and get my serenity back.

4. My kid - because it can be really hard to circle the drain with a pair of sparkling blue eyes staring up at me in anticipation.

5. 4-day weekends - even though this particular one is almost over. I had a decent run and any series of consecutive days that I don't have to go to work is a damn good thing.

6. Work - because I know there are plenty of people who would be happy to have my job. I'm not complaining about work really... it could be so much worse.

7. Being the only tenants in the house for a week - it's going to be quiet and I can appreciate quiet and the taste of what it might feel like to be the only ones living in our home. Some day.

8. Business trips - they give me a much-needed break from the people on said trips.

9. Friends - my silver lining. I have great friends that look out for me and love me, even when I'm a crab-ass. Love you guys!

10. My 12-step program - it gives me the tools I never learned on my own.

Ok... so I feel a little better. I guess the gratitude list worked. Turkey is warming in the oven and a warm shower has my name on it. It's going to be an interesting week and I have a couple things to look forward to. I'm gonna ride that wave for now...

Holding Back

So close,
Yet you're not really there
Deep rift between us,
And I don't even care

Looking for escape,
To find a way out
Searching for something,
To obsess about

In the sound of his voice,
Comes a distant ringing
An alarm going off,
My intuition singing

Close my eyes then,
Follow the sound
Of a singing heart
Where peace has been found

Alone in the dark
I grasp for something to hold
A hand in the blackness,
Pulls me from the cold

Refuge is near,
If only I could see
The one holding back
Has always been me

Missing

Another sucessful Thankgiving under my belt. As I lounge in a turkey coma, I reflect on the many years I've spent this holiday with the ones I love. This is the first year that Grandma wasn't in the seat next to me at the dinner table. Her absence was obvious. No one pages through the Black Friday ads with me quite like Grandma did. Even when the sales were less than impressive, we always had good conversation over a glass of cranberry slush and a mound of newspaper.

This year I made the meal and although Grandma wasn't here to enjoy it, I know she would have been proud of me and showered me with endless compliments on my cooking. After dinner in years past, we would sit around a partially cleared dining room table, just the ladies, while the guys vegged out in front of the tv. We'd talk about everything and nothing at all, laughing at each other in spite of our full bellies.

Grandma was always the hub in the wheel that is my family. Without that hub, the wheel still turns, though quite more freely and with less direction. No one is quite used to life without that matriarchal pillar and holidays expose our confusion. As they say, change is inevitable, but it seems so out of place when it comes to tradition. The whole point of tradition is the constant practices we come to rely on with fondness. Loss of our loved ones tears at the fabric of our traditions, but the memories give us pieces to start something new.

From Grandma's love and adoration, I create a sense of togetherness with those I hold dear. That's really the best way for me to carry on our family traditions and her memory. I will still always miss the feeling of having her in that seat next to me at my mom's table... bumping elbows because she's left handed and I'm right, passing the mashed potatoes one too many times and in recent years, fixing her plate for her because the neoropathy made it hard for her to do it herself.

I didn't know for sure that 2012 would be our last holiday season together (although I suspected), but I remember taking very detailed mental pictures of so many things, as if they were my last chance to experience them.

Get out and shop... with turkey still stuck between your teeth!

I bet you thought this was going to be another one of those "Black-Friday-takes-over-Thankgiving" rants, right? Well, not exactly.

For the first time in many years, I'm actually not interested in Christmas shopping at all. Not even a little... which feels a bit strange. I view myself as a recovering (mild to moderate) shopaholic. First of all, I'm a female and for a good percentage of us, shopaholism runs in our DNA. Don't ask me how or why, because any argument I can come up with to support my theory sounds ridiculous. Just trust me on this one... girls love to shop.

The fact that I haven't been plotting my strategy for the biggest excuse to shop all year, is an achievement in itself, but knowing deep down that I don't even care -- now that's progress!

I blame this new found lack of interest on gratitude. You know the old quote... "Gratitude takes what we have and makes it enough" (or something to that effect)? It's amazing how well that works! Since practicing an attitude of gratitude, I've noticed just how much my daughter and I have. We both have enough clothes to avoid doing laundry for at least two weeks, (not that I've tested that theory). She has more toys that sit in her toy box, untouched, than I think I had throughout my entire childhood. The books are overflowing from the shelf and the stuffed animals have taken over my house. (They really have. Drive by on any given day and you're likely to see a couple sitting in the front window,  creepily watching you drive by.) My closet is stuffed to the gills with clothes and other crap that I don't seem to have a better place for. I keep telling myself that I need to get more organized,  but really, I need to stop aquiring shit!

Christmas has always been a great excuse to shop and the American economy loves to depend on our blind consumerism. I'm not here to try and talk anyone out of shopping on Thanksgivukkah or any time, for that matter. If that's what you want to do, go nuts. (Just please don't buy my kid any stupid plastic junk or Rainbow Loom bracelet makers. I will have to hurt you.)

Maybe some of us need to think about what we and our loved ones already have. I know I need to keep reminding myself to be thankful for what I already have, even if there's something better out there. There's always going to be something better. I think it's probably best that I save my upgrades for life circumstances, instead of electronics. I'd much rather be looking for ways to improve my life, than running up my credit card bill to aquire more shit that doesn't make me happy.

See, the thing about opinions is...

...society doesn't really think you're capable of changing them.

I kinda have a hard time putting how I feel about stuff in print. It's really a lot less of a hassle if I just think stuff and occasionally say it (to selected people), because... What if I change my mind? It happens all the time, actually. I have a new experience, someone brings some information to light that I didn't previously have, or I just decide to look at things from a different perspective. Once I put how I feel about a subject in writing, I have essentially locked myself into that point of view. It's much easier for people to use my opinions against me if they're in print. "See? It says so right here! You hate country music!"  If later on I decide that I feel differently (Highly unlikely with country music, but you never know.) and I want to change my opinion, there's all this red tape to deal with.

I find it interesting how people all around me are constantly trying to sway my opinions to favor theirs -- "Abortion is wrong! Jesus saves! Obama sucks! Guns kill! Team Edward!" -- but actually changing your stance on an issue is often viewed with skepticism. You're wishy-washy if you change your mind. People can't trust you because you can be easily swayed, blah, blah, blah. I find it's much less of a headache to have ideas and keep them to myself, if possible. Not that I'm opposed to giving my opinion when asked, but I've learned the hard way that even if it's not a permanent point of view, the score keepers certainly think so.

Blowing the dust off.

I was just discussing with a friend  how most of what I've written lately has been in the form of eulogies. It's sort of a bittersweet predicament to be in. The honor and appreciation I feel having known someone well enough to write about who they are and the life they lead, is a privilege. Losing that someone... well, that just sucks balls.

So anyway, that got me thinking about my writing (or lack thereof). I realized that I have some oldies that I could blow the dust off of and share, so here you go. I might even throw a eulogy in here at some point. 



This is a poem I wrote in 2006. It's scarily still quite relevant.

No Back-Up Plan

When love is lost to confusion

Resentment takes its place

The harsh reality of stress

Scores a little girls face

The one she always looked up to

Becomes the source of her grief

The sun has set on that time

Leaving her no sense of relief

Destruction all around her

There is no refuge she may seek

Alone with her own struggles

Pain always claws at the meek

Vulnerable and innocent

Alone she enters into humanity

To find nothing but grief

To feed her growing insanity

A lifetime of struggle

Had so long ago began

But it’s now that she sees

She has no back-up plan

This piece was also written in 2006. I suspect my motivation at the time was a job in Human Resources that I had at a school bus and motor coach company. I won't mention any names, but the school bus portion of that company has since gone under. *quiet applause*

Sorrow Tomorrow

Everyday I waste myself

This energy of creation and rebirth

Is subdued for something that returns nothing

No satisfaction, no reaction, do it all again

 

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Looking for a couple days to rest

When I find myself again

Spend my time, rushing for pleasure

Healing the wounds that will be opened again

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Numb what is really inside

Serve for a faceless end to the means

That gives me the things, I have no time to enjoy

Because I choose to be a victim of

Tomorrow

And the next day, and the next

Slave to a corporation

That doesn't know my name.

It owns my tomorrows

Because I trade. Them…for a check.

Okay, so this next one is making me blush, as I read it some 7 years after it was originally written. If I remember correctly, this was the prologue to the cheesy romance novel that I never quite got around to writing. It's probably a good thing that I never really started that book; however, it's clear that I still have a pretty active imagination for such things. ;-)

Warmth

I pressed my face close against the frosted window pain; the warmth of my breath, leaving a cloud of condensation beneath my nose. As I gazed into the outside world that I had left for so long, I felt his arms wrap strongly around my middle. His excitement was obvious, against my plump, bare bottom. Soft brushes of his lips and a day-old beard caressed the nape of my neck and the tip of my shoulder. A slight nibble sent shivers down my bare back and I squirmed inside the shelter of his tightly wrapped arms, turning at once to face my captor.

Without hesitation he drew his head close to mine and planted his full wet lips upon my slightly agape mouth. A warm rush filled my blood as his enormous tongue forced its way into my mouth, claiming the space as his own. I responded in a similar language, returning the trust with my own tongue, feeling the intricacies of teeth and mouth. A large hand, then another, slid from my waist, down to the crest of my bottom, cupping it with playful force. One quick pull and I was balancing on his waist, wrapping my moist thighs around his middle; his bulging muscles, my only grip against a warm back, dripping with sweat.

He continued to kiss me with strength and passion as I slowly slid downward to my final resting place upon his manhood. The thick sensation filled me at once, as I prepared to make him my own.

Whooo! That was hot!

This last piece (for now) is one I'm particularly delighted to find. I had forgotten about it and it makes me smile. I'm still trying to figure out how I knew, 16 weeks into a pregnancy where I didn't find out the gender of my baby until birth, that I would have a daughter? Maybe I later edited this... Jury is still out.

.

The Poor Things…
(an edited excerpt from my MySpace blog – dated November 3, 2006)

I understand that there are things that happen in this world that I can do nothing to change...but does that mean I should let those things bother me any less?

There seems to be this "death alley" area on a local road near my home. Everyday I drive through "death alley" on my way to and from work and everyday it seems there is something else dead on the ground. The dead usually consist of the ever-popular road kill candidates, possums and raccoons...but lately there's been cats, deer, bunnies and even trees that have been cut down to make way for a subdivision or some extra power lines or some such "progress". 

I guess the dead cats bother me the most. I've been a cat lover my whole life and it saddens me to see these poor helpless animals smashed to bits on the road. Is there anything I can do, aside from not running them over myself? I'm afraid not. 

What bothers me maybe even more than the fact that these animals are being killed, is the fact that they remain on the road for days and days after their demise. Maybe the road kill clean-up crew was the first to go with the county budget cuts, but it would be nice if someone could remove the poor things from the road...at least to spare the hearts of sensitive viewers such as myself.

I've often thought about what I'm going to tell my daughter someday when she asks me why dead animals are on the road in the first place and why no one picks them up and buries them in a nice cemetery somewhere. What do I say? Do I tell my child that animals' lives aren't as valuable as humans' lives and no one really cares about the dead raccoon that's been run over about 300 times, until all that's left is a streak of blackened road and a few tufts of fur?

Somehow I don't think I'll be able to desensitize her that way. But what will I say? How will I explain that the reason all these animals are running into the road in the first place is because we're destroying their homes to build condos and office buildings? All the noise and destruction from bulldozers and front-end loaders are scaring the poor animals away from their familiar habitat and into the path of speeding motorists. How do I explain this to my daughter without her wanting to just cry...cry for the animals?

Maybe I need to write a book about it. Does a children's book make a problem go away? No, but I guess it helps explain something to our children in a way that only a book with colorful pictures and characters can. So I guess that's the answer to my problem. Write a book about the things that piss me off and maybe then I'll feel better about it. 

Someday.


And I file that one right next to that trashy romance novel I'm still writing in my head! :-D

I guess I'm starting a blog...

I've talked about writing a blog since I knew they existed, yet it's taken me until the end of 2013 to actually do it. Why? I suspect laziness is probably a major factor, but I think I've never felt confident that anyone really cares what I have to say. We'll see if I'm right.

I was encouraged by a friend to do this... a friend who I am getting to know a great deal, through reading his blog. It's offered me a perspective into his life that I otherwise wouldn't have. At present, I think every blog post he has written is from before we met. His stories are deep, humorous and entertaining, as well as inspiring. Normally I would only have limited glimpses into those experiences, whenever he had cause to tell me about them, but because of his blog, I can read about them as if they occurred yesterday. How lucky am I?

So here I am... starting a blog. What have I got to say? My experiences as a mom of a little girl, a residential and commercial cleaner, a tattoo addict, former mechanic trainee and amateur writer and artist certainly give me plenty of material. I suppose it's time to start digging through my thoughts and articulating them into something worth reading. I'm not sure who will read this, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The art of putting the words together is therapy for me.