We all know the saying: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder".....but what would you say in return? For me, I would say back "Behold the Eye of Beauty".
I see it all the time....in a small child's smile. A mother and child's embrace. Husband and wife, holding hands walking down the path. An elderly couple snuggling together like it is their first date. These all just the awe-factors in life and yes we all see that.
But, what about the beauty that hides behind the eyes of a beautiful person. We see them all the time, but yet we only look at the outer beauty. But why? Could it be that we have guarded ourselves so much that we have forgotten how to see it?
I have many beautiful friends....of the vain kind. Those who spend way too much time in the bathroom primping to no end...to only come out and say "I give up!" They go to the closet to find the right outfit for the right occasion to only come out after trying everything on, exclaiming: "I give up!"
*Smacks forehead*.....that's it.....there is the answer to my question. Why do we not look past the outer beauty? Because we give up on it.
We are so hung up on the outer beauty that the inner beauty has not one chance to manifest itself! Think on that one for a moment.......*looks at watch.....looks about the room.....goes to get mail.....comes back* Now ask yourself.....do you look for the beauty within? or do you look for the makeup, right clothes, plastic surgery or even their false kindness?
I know one lady who keeps getting it wrong with men....she has always looked at what is on the outside of the package. But yet those with inner beauty...she keeps as friends because they are not outwardly attractive. With many men in her wake, two marriages, one done and over with and the current one on the verge of collapse...she has missed the mark of the beauty of that soul...the one, I know would make her eternally happy in her life. This pains me when I talk to her....I want to yell and scream....just look how handsome he is....referring to his inner beauty....no...he may not be a drop dead looker, but hey....he is a catch! I love her eternally, known her since she was 9 and when I met her I was only 19. I have gone thru the good times and the bad times. And, yes, I have given her my advice on the guys she has dated....and married. Told her many times, the ones that I have seen the inner beauty that would make her happy, are the keepers. But, yet she tells me she isn't physically attracted to them because they are not outwardly beautiful to her. It is so frustrating to me.
We walk past beauty all the time, and we miss the mark.
Then there is the beauty that I look for....I look inside the eyes of that person...and I see wondrous things that has made them who they are.
I am the kind who sees the whole package and wants to just rip the outer packaging and delve into the beauty of the inner soul...Wonder at the glory of this person who I have deemed worthy of the Eye of the Beholder, so to speak. It is that beauty that makes me happy...makes me want to be near them and find the fun that they will share with me, and make many memories in its wake.
I will admit...taking a leap of faith so to speak to get to see that soul is sometimes hard for me to do. But, with some hesitation and some encouragement, I make the effort. Sometimes, it will take someone who will tap me on the shoulder and say...hey..over here...don't be afraid.
So, where is your Eye? Do you look at the outer wrappings, the pretty paper that the soul is wrapped in? or do you look for the whole inner package? If you are the one who is looking at the outer packaging....stop and embrace the inner beauty of everyone. Look past past that outer packaging...you just might find a diamond amongst the lumps of coal.
If you know me....then you know I have found a many of diamonds. So smile, the Eye of the Beholder is upon you.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
I am no maid....
*Alert! Total ramblings here*
I tell ya...it is a week of irritability for me. I can not count on my hands and toes how many times I have had to start my dishwasher this morning....rinse a dish, that my lovely daughter, who is 24 and doesn't seem to know how to wash a dish, clean up a mess, or put things away,...lets not forget how many times I have stepped on the cat, because he is lying in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Why am I so irritable?
My allergies are buggin me so bad....dogs keep loosing their fur all over my freshly vacuumed floor....my face itches.....my nose is running away like the drippy kitchen facet.
I am ignored while in a conversation of a party of four...but yet the other three are having a grand time.....my thryoid medication hasn't arrived and my body is feeling like a smoldering flame that has been sprayed with water and is now water logged....
I stick...haven't showered because I have no patience for the constant deluge of water.....sun is making my eyes water....I feel so alone today.....but have no energy to make the effort to talk to someone.....
Why am I feeling like I am the 'cinder' girl today? I want to scream....I want to hit something....but my instincts keep me in check. Grrrrr....I hate you right now....
Why am I constantly the one who cleans up everything.....why can't I have a say in anything with out someone making me feel like my breath is a waste to even speak?
Why can't my friggin' dishwasher just work...so I don't have to pull out the dish drainer and wash all those dishes by hand? *click....it goes off again*.....damn it!
Where is my fairy godmother...to wave her magic wand and just make everything right?
Oi vey!......I am finding today is going to be just taxing just to even move.....I want to curl up in the fetal position and just cry......'you can't do that' I hear ringing in my ears...you have laundry to do.....clothes....folding...put away....crap...more things to bitch about.
I am sitting here and watching 'Muppets-Treasure Island'....and the song, 'Cabin Fever' has just come on....thats it....lets just chalk up all this to Cabin Fever.....but wait....I seem to have this daily.....Oh why can't I just go to the ball in a beautiful gown and everyone 'ooo's and ahhhh's' me.
No where to go....and no little mouse to comfort me.....
I warned ya....all ramblings!
I tell ya...it is a week of irritability for me. I can not count on my hands and toes how many times I have had to start my dishwasher this morning....rinse a dish, that my lovely daughter, who is 24 and doesn't seem to know how to wash a dish, clean up a mess, or put things away,...lets not forget how many times I have stepped on the cat, because he is lying in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Why am I so irritable?
My allergies are buggin me so bad....dogs keep loosing their fur all over my freshly vacuumed floor....my face itches.....my nose is running away like the drippy kitchen facet.
I am ignored while in a conversation of a party of four...but yet the other three are having a grand time.....my thryoid medication hasn't arrived and my body is feeling like a smoldering flame that has been sprayed with water and is now water logged....
I stick...haven't showered because I have no patience for the constant deluge of water.....sun is making my eyes water....I feel so alone today.....but have no energy to make the effort to talk to someone.....
Why am I feeling like I am the 'cinder' girl today? I want to scream....I want to hit something....but my instincts keep me in check. Grrrrr....I hate you right now....
Why am I constantly the one who cleans up everything.....why can't I have a say in anything with out someone making me feel like my breath is a waste to even speak?
Why can't my friggin' dishwasher just work...so I don't have to pull out the dish drainer and wash all those dishes by hand? *click....it goes off again*.....damn it!
Where is my fairy godmother...to wave her magic wand and just make everything right?
Oi vey!......I am finding today is going to be just taxing just to even move.....I want to curl up in the fetal position and just cry......'you can't do that' I hear ringing in my ears...you have laundry to do.....clothes....folding...put away....crap...more things to bitch about.
I am sitting here and watching 'Muppets-Treasure Island'....and the song, 'Cabin Fever' has just come on....thats it....lets just chalk up all this to Cabin Fever.....but wait....I seem to have this daily.....Oh why can't I just go to the ball in a beautiful gown and everyone 'ooo's and ahhhh's' me.
No where to go....and no little mouse to comfort me.....
I warned ya....all ramblings!
Monday, August 5, 2013
Direct me to the edge....
We all ask for directions once in a while....ok...men....they have some difficulties in stopping and asking for directions. *I know all to well about the scenic route....taken it a time or two with my husband*...lol... But us women.....we are bold and have no regrets, we admit when we are lost and have no problems in stopping to ask for directions. This happened to me today in fact....
A damsel in distress had admitted to her lost attempts and went to seek out someone to put her on the right path. With a grin....I pointed her in the right direction and off she went.....easy peasy.
Now, why is it we have a hard time asking for direction in our own life? Could it be that we are just too proud? Or do we think we know what is best for us? Wouldn't stopping and asking for direction be easier?
In our lives we do this all the time.....we run into an area of our lives and we know we are taking the wrong turns. But yet, we ignore that voice in our head that tells us that we need help. 'Just stop" it implores. "Ask for help" it says.
Why? Why do we do this? Because....because we are afraid. Reason? Because we have usually been hurt so many times when we have reached out for help. The constant bashing we have taken has made us fear each other. To shy away from one another. The one thing that can save us from the edges of a wrong turn....are others who could help.
But, we have chosen to take what we share with each other and use it against us, to harm us...to berate and belittle us for their own advancement.
You can't even walk down the street and look at someone without they assuming that you are looking at them with some sort of hatred or disgust. A person just waving to you can be construed as something of a gang sign....or taken as you flipping them off.
When in fact, walking down the street you have made mental note of some incident that is badly going wrong in your life and you just happened to frown when that car past...or person walking by. *I have done this many of times....and believe me.....I have gotten alot of sign language...obscene banter that is totally unwarranted.* You just may end up on the wrong side of things
Where did it all go wrong, when did people observe and make decisions about what you are thinking about them.....*I was just walking here*...people get shot for just asking directions...people get shot for just looking the way they do.....people get beat up, stabbed, and throw shit at....by someone just making the wrong turn about your directional walking.
This has led us to the edge....no one can look at anyone anymore. We can't ask for directions, because we are scared. In so many ways.
Understand, I am not saying that is happens everywhere....but it happens in so many places now days.
I had to thwart my daughter, when she was younger, just for this action. One day, when a woman mouthed some colorful words in the car next to us, which she just so happened upon my daughter's gaze, this was my daughter's assumption. But when I looked at the woman....she was singing at the top of her lungs in her air conditioned car to the song in which I knew all to well cause I had sang them in my air conditioned car many times before. That is when I first observed this....it was then I explained to my daughter. 'Never assume...it makes an arse out of you and me'
That is why we don't ask for direction in our lives....all because of the assumptions.....sad isn't it?
Their are so many of us out there, just waiting to ask for directions.....but we have to be so careful that the assumptions out way the benefits of getting the right directions. The risks to do so, are way too high....to hard to gamble with....because we have so much to loose. So what happens? We keep going the wrong direction and find ourselves at the edge.
We become farther and farther torn apart form stopping and doing the right thing and asking for directions in our lives. No where to turn and no GPS system to help us...*sorry 'TomTom'* There are no maps to show us to our proper destinations. We find ourselves lost.....
So we must face and suffer the effects....finding ourselves at the edge.....with no directions to the place we want to be.....
A damsel in distress had admitted to her lost attempts and went to seek out someone to put her on the right path. With a grin....I pointed her in the right direction and off she went.....easy peasy.
Now, why is it we have a hard time asking for direction in our own life? Could it be that we are just too proud? Or do we think we know what is best for us? Wouldn't stopping and asking for direction be easier?
In our lives we do this all the time.....we run into an area of our lives and we know we are taking the wrong turns. But yet, we ignore that voice in our head that tells us that we need help. 'Just stop" it implores. "Ask for help" it says.
Why? Why do we do this? Because....because we are afraid. Reason? Because we have usually been hurt so many times when we have reached out for help. The constant bashing we have taken has made us fear each other. To shy away from one another. The one thing that can save us from the edges of a wrong turn....are others who could help.
But, we have chosen to take what we share with each other and use it against us, to harm us...to berate and belittle us for their own advancement.
You can't even walk down the street and look at someone without they assuming that you are looking at them with some sort of hatred or disgust. A person just waving to you can be construed as something of a gang sign....or taken as you flipping them off.
When in fact, walking down the street you have made mental note of some incident that is badly going wrong in your life and you just happened to frown when that car past...or person walking by. *I have done this many of times....and believe me.....I have gotten alot of sign language...obscene banter that is totally unwarranted.* You just may end up on the wrong side of things
Where did it all go wrong, when did people observe and make decisions about what you are thinking about them.....*I was just walking here*...people get shot for just asking directions...people get shot for just looking the way they do.....people get beat up, stabbed, and throw shit at....by someone just making the wrong turn about your directional walking.
This has led us to the edge....no one can look at anyone anymore. We can't ask for directions, because we are scared. In so many ways.
Understand, I am not saying that is happens everywhere....but it happens in so many places now days.
I had to thwart my daughter, when she was younger, just for this action. One day, when a woman mouthed some colorful words in the car next to us, which she just so happened upon my daughter's gaze, this was my daughter's assumption. But when I looked at the woman....she was singing at the top of her lungs in her air conditioned car to the song in which I knew all to well cause I had sang them in my air conditioned car many times before. That is when I first observed this....it was then I explained to my daughter. 'Never assume...it makes an arse out of you and me'
That is why we don't ask for direction in our lives....all because of the assumptions.....sad isn't it?
Their are so many of us out there, just waiting to ask for directions.....but we have to be so careful that the assumptions out way the benefits of getting the right directions. The risks to do so, are way too high....to hard to gamble with....because we have so much to loose. So what happens? We keep going the wrong direction and find ourselves at the edge.
We become farther and farther torn apart form stopping and doing the right thing and asking for directions in our lives. No where to turn and no GPS system to help us...*sorry 'TomTom'* There are no maps to show us to our proper destinations. We find ourselves lost.....
So we must face and suffer the effects....finding ourselves at the edge.....with no directions to the place we want to be.....
Life is sometimes a bitter pill to swallow....
It is true for a lot of us. As it is for me....
I will begin with a confession....I know those of you like those juicy gossip mongering details about people. So here it goes...I am taking part of a skeleton in my closet. You can't use this weapon against me...because I have put it on the table in my life and with my family.
*Takes a deep breath in*
I am an addict....I admit it...for over 20 some years I was addicted to pain medications. I first took them for pain for my endometreosis. So much pain within my reproductive systems that would never seem to cease. Doctor visits....after doctor visits to diagnose that disease. Many pain medications were just handed to me to just shut me up. I took them....at first with great hesitation. It would relieve my pain. But somewhere, I lost the reasons why I was taking them....to this day I still don't know where it went wrong.
Soon, just taking them for pain wasn't enough....it gave me a euphoric and satisfying feeling within. I soon found myself taking them when I couldn't handle stress....daily stress, work stress, parenting stress and marriage stress. The pills just kept flowing....pill after pill...bottle after bottle....doctor after doctor.
I know why I took them....I did it so I wouldn't deal with the underlying issues of my life. To mask the pain, so to speak, that was deep within my soul. I hated living....found life confusing, frustrating and to top it off, just to deal with the pain I felt within my heart was so......so unbearable. Tears flowed daily....anger spewed from my lips....battles of pain were dished out so profusely...I was lost, lost within a huge labyrinth, where I found no way to escape it.
I soon found myself going to shady places in different cities to obtain that pain blocker. I once woke up in my dealer's home....stomach all nervous, cause I knew I had been away too long from my husband and daughter. I would argue to my husband I needed them for this pain...that pain...back pain *which wasn't a lie, but used it the full extend of it as I could*
I was lost...in a haze....loved it...but hated it all the same. It would make me feel powerful, but, yet so weak. I could stay awake longer....get things done that needed to be done. Shallow feelings, smiles to make everyone think nothing was wrong in my life. It was like be a superhero...and yet....no one but my husband and daughter knew. I was good at hiding the fact that I had a weakness that was so dark.
But, finally after my back surgery in 2009...I took a huge step forward in the third week of my healing....I quit all pain meds....ugh....the pain...the withdrawal....all cold stone turkey I may add.
Sick...cold chills....sensitivity to touch....for about 3 weeks this went on.
I cried...screamed....pounded the floor....kicked my pillows.....sweated.....shook....cried out to God....*which I may add, never answered*...starved myself....ate like a horse...slept....awake.....jumped up and down, flailing my arms in the air....curled up into a ball.....
The withdrawals were painful and horrid....and yes I discovered why most addicts want to go back on their bitter pills.....once the majority of withdrawals had subsided, I went into a recovery group soon after.
Did it help? Yes to some degree...but the memories of childhood...pain of motherhood...pain of marriage *don't get me wrong, I love my husband*.....pain of just living life....were the hardest to take. I became physically ill when dealing with them. I would find myself throwing up before I had to attend...throwing up on my way there....and of course you guessed it....once I had arrived. They were so painful that I had to remove myself from the recovery group, because I felt that I was doing damage to the healings of others within the group.
So I set off on my journey to understand my addiction....the ways I would hide and cover the pain I felt so deep with in my soul. It helped....I would talk to my husband about my concerns, my fears, my pain. Just to look into those soft brown eyes and to see him through my world was scary.
They say honesty is the best policy....but to me....just putting it out there and telling him...'I am not asking you to fix me, I just want you to listen'. It worked, I could take small breaths at first....as the iron weight of my emotional pain would slowly be lifted, one shaving at a time. He listened, he would hold me from time to time.....but never offered to solve the problems of this 'Wounded Warrior'. It was as if he just held my hand as I healed. Walked beside me when I needed his presence. Lifted me up in his arms when I felt I couldn't walk that next step.
Now, almost 4 and half years later....sober....and trying hard to deal with the pain that life dishes out, not just in one serving .....but heaping loads of it as seconds, thirds and fourths. I have found that he has been there with me to just lend me his ear, his hand, his attention, and his strength when I am in need of it and of course use his humorous magical spells when he felt it was time I needed to smile.
And yes, even today, I still have withdrawals....I will continually yearn for that pill to make it all go away, even if it is just a blink in time for me.
Now for the understanding.....it is hard for me....there are days when I struggle to stay afloat in this big sea of life. Sometimes, I feel that I am being punished for those years that I will never be able to take back...fix....rewind....amend all the pain I caused to others.
Understand this, I can't and won't fix your pain....because.....you have to find ways to heal your wounds. I can only be an instrument of your healing process. I can only work on healing my pain....the strength is within me...all the locked doors I have.....I have the keys....I know how to unlock them. But, find it hard to walk past the doors that I have thought I have healed....why? I do not rightly know or understand. All I know is that I have to keep walking to the next door and unlock it and open it and let it be. But you, those that I have hurt....you have to find your way to heal your own pain from the trauma's that I may of cause you.
It is my make-up...it is what makes me....well me.
I have to accept the things that I cannot change...and accept the things I heal to move on. Stop living for others and just live for myself. Just be happy with who I am and not living up to the expectations of what people want me to be. I want to live....love and just be happy for the time I have with this stage of my life. There is nothing wrong with that...I see the selfishness of others who want me to be who they are...I won't and I cannot *stomps foot, like a child*...you cannot make me....if I choose it...then I will.
So here I plow...through the bitter taste of the pill of life....
I will begin with a confession....I know those of you like those juicy gossip mongering details about people. So here it goes...I am taking part of a skeleton in my closet. You can't use this weapon against me...because I have put it on the table in my life and with my family.
*Takes a deep breath in*
I am an addict....I admit it...for over 20 some years I was addicted to pain medications. I first took them for pain for my endometreosis. So much pain within my reproductive systems that would never seem to cease. Doctor visits....after doctor visits to diagnose that disease. Many pain medications were just handed to me to just shut me up. I took them....at first with great hesitation. It would relieve my pain. But somewhere, I lost the reasons why I was taking them....to this day I still don't know where it went wrong.
Soon, just taking them for pain wasn't enough....it gave me a euphoric and satisfying feeling within. I soon found myself taking them when I couldn't handle stress....daily stress, work stress, parenting stress and marriage stress. The pills just kept flowing....pill after pill...bottle after bottle....doctor after doctor.
I know why I took them....I did it so I wouldn't deal with the underlying issues of my life. To mask the pain, so to speak, that was deep within my soul. I hated living....found life confusing, frustrating and to top it off, just to deal with the pain I felt within my heart was so......so unbearable. Tears flowed daily....anger spewed from my lips....battles of pain were dished out so profusely...I was lost, lost within a huge labyrinth, where I found no way to escape it.
I soon found myself going to shady places in different cities to obtain that pain blocker. I once woke up in my dealer's home....stomach all nervous, cause I knew I had been away too long from my husband and daughter. I would argue to my husband I needed them for this pain...that pain...back pain *which wasn't a lie, but used it the full extend of it as I could*
I was lost...in a haze....loved it...but hated it all the same. It would make me feel powerful, but, yet so weak. I could stay awake longer....get things done that needed to be done. Shallow feelings, smiles to make everyone think nothing was wrong in my life. It was like be a superhero...and yet....no one but my husband and daughter knew. I was good at hiding the fact that I had a weakness that was so dark.
But, finally after my back surgery in 2009...I took a huge step forward in the third week of my healing....I quit all pain meds....ugh....the pain...the withdrawal....all cold stone turkey I may add.
Sick...cold chills....sensitivity to touch....for about 3 weeks this went on.
I cried...screamed....pounded the floor....kicked my pillows.....sweated.....shook....cried out to God....*which I may add, never answered*...starved myself....ate like a horse...slept....awake.....jumped up and down, flailing my arms in the air....curled up into a ball.....
The withdrawals were painful and horrid....and yes I discovered why most addicts want to go back on their bitter pills.....once the majority of withdrawals had subsided, I went into a recovery group soon after.
Did it help? Yes to some degree...but the memories of childhood...pain of motherhood...pain of marriage *don't get me wrong, I love my husband*.....pain of just living life....were the hardest to take. I became physically ill when dealing with them. I would find myself throwing up before I had to attend...throwing up on my way there....and of course you guessed it....once I had arrived. They were so painful that I had to remove myself from the recovery group, because I felt that I was doing damage to the healings of others within the group.
So I set off on my journey to understand my addiction....the ways I would hide and cover the pain I felt so deep with in my soul. It helped....I would talk to my husband about my concerns, my fears, my pain. Just to look into those soft brown eyes and to see him through my world was scary.
They say honesty is the best policy....but to me....just putting it out there and telling him...'I am not asking you to fix me, I just want you to listen'. It worked, I could take small breaths at first....as the iron weight of my emotional pain would slowly be lifted, one shaving at a time. He listened, he would hold me from time to time.....but never offered to solve the problems of this 'Wounded Warrior'. It was as if he just held my hand as I healed. Walked beside me when I needed his presence. Lifted me up in his arms when I felt I couldn't walk that next step.
Now, almost 4 and half years later....sober....and trying hard to deal with the pain that life dishes out, not just in one serving .....but heaping loads of it as seconds, thirds and fourths. I have found that he has been there with me to just lend me his ear, his hand, his attention, and his strength when I am in need of it and of course use his humorous magical spells when he felt it was time I needed to smile.
And yes, even today, I still have withdrawals....I will continually yearn for that pill to make it all go away, even if it is just a blink in time for me.
Now for the understanding.....it is hard for me....there are days when I struggle to stay afloat in this big sea of life. Sometimes, I feel that I am being punished for those years that I will never be able to take back...fix....rewind....amend all the pain I caused to others.
Understand this, I can't and won't fix your pain....because.....you have to find ways to heal your wounds. I can only be an instrument of your healing process. I can only work on healing my pain....the strength is within me...all the locked doors I have.....I have the keys....I know how to unlock them. But, find it hard to walk past the doors that I have thought I have healed....why? I do not rightly know or understand. All I know is that I have to keep walking to the next door and unlock it and open it and let it be. But you, those that I have hurt....you have to find your way to heal your own pain from the trauma's that I may of cause you.
It is my make-up...it is what makes me....well me.
I have to accept the things that I cannot change...and accept the things I heal to move on. Stop living for others and just live for myself. Just be happy with who I am and not living up to the expectations of what people want me to be. I want to live....love and just be happy for the time I have with this stage of my life. There is nothing wrong with that...I see the selfishness of others who want me to be who they are...I won't and I cannot *stomps foot, like a child*...you cannot make me....if I choose it...then I will.
So here I plow...through the bitter taste of the pill of life....
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Room with a view.....
Ever been in a beautiful room that is so elegant, quaint and peaceful? I have spent many of times in places that have such inner beauty that makes a person feel comfy and satisfied. Then, you look out at a view that takes your breath away and you want so much to be part of that view.
Well, today...as I have strolled through my Facebook, I see a partial look out the window...into peoples lives that say they are friends. People who just seem to have a life outside of the beautiful room.
It is wonderful to see...honestly...everyone's cheery faces as they meander through their day or simple vacations or event the events that occur in their little lives. I know...you are honestly waiting for me to make some joke or make light of their events...or even congratulate them on some occasion that they feel deemed worthy of note.
But I don't....it pains me.
People who I know and feel honestly, with an open heart and open soul, care about. Who I even just talked to days ago or a week ago about events to come, don't even offer one extent of the same feeling I share. You don't ask me to come and join in the fun or even let me know that they are going somewhere and if I would love to go on one of their myriad of adventures that they have.
Why? I am in that room....looking out at the gorgeous view....and I.....sometimes the adventurous type....watch in jealousy...yearning...with such desire to just enjoy that view with them.
It really fucking pisses me off! When I am around...you ask how I am...you want to know some of the things I am doing or getting myself into. I let you know...you, with such a facade, listen and tell me that is nice. It is then I tell you I want to be involved...almost sometimes implore you to involve me in your lives. *people have told me...they can't hear your thoughts...but will hear your voice if you speak it*
What am I to you? Just a one night's stand? Easy come, easy go...take what you can while I am around?
Am I ugly?....Do I smell bad....cause I know I shower frequently....and do apply deodorant from time to time....when it is on sale and is on the clearance shelf in the back of some discounted dollar store....*ok ok....maybe a joke or two...but seriously?*
Are you afraid that I would embarrass you?....Make fun of you?...or be the old shoe? Possibly the 'fuddie duddie' that always is the conscience of the group......
What is it about me that plagues some of the people who claim to be my friend...to exclude me from their lives? Am I too fat?...Don't wear the right designer clothes?....Have the fancy car or the fat bank account to match the lifestyle that none of you really have?
Wait.....I get it....this is a Marco Polo game...but when I say Marco...and you say Polo.....you sound like you are on the other side of the pool. But in my realm, I call out Marco.....
Silence.....
Alone.......
Enjoying the view from my room.
Thanks to all those who are fake...who go out and enjoy life with what they don't have and wish they had.
I will just enjoy my room....safe from your judgements about me....giggles behind my back.....talks about me that make me look bad and you all look like saints.
Well, one saying I have for you.....you so called saints....Sinners are Saints. Saints are Sinners. But Angels are born Divine.
So you just you think....sit and spin *oh lordy, realized I am just really pissed about this*...I mean think on those words. Remember them when you head off to the pearly gates and you see your Angel sitting there.
So enjoy your view.....I am already within those pearly gates....with my beautiful wings....and angelic face....watching you.....enjoy my room with a view!
Well, today...as I have strolled through my Facebook, I see a partial look out the window...into peoples lives that say they are friends. People who just seem to have a life outside of the beautiful room.
It is wonderful to see...honestly...everyone's cheery faces as they meander through their day or simple vacations or event the events that occur in their little lives. I know...you are honestly waiting for me to make some joke or make light of their events...or even congratulate them on some occasion that they feel deemed worthy of note.
But I don't....it pains me.
People who I know and feel honestly, with an open heart and open soul, care about. Who I even just talked to days ago or a week ago about events to come, don't even offer one extent of the same feeling I share. You don't ask me to come and join in the fun or even let me know that they are going somewhere and if I would love to go on one of their myriad of adventures that they have.
Why? I am in that room....looking out at the gorgeous view....and I.....sometimes the adventurous type....watch in jealousy...yearning...with such desire to just enjoy that view with them.
It really fucking pisses me off! When I am around...you ask how I am...you want to know some of the things I am doing or getting myself into. I let you know...you, with such a facade, listen and tell me that is nice. It is then I tell you I want to be involved...almost sometimes implore you to involve me in your lives. *people have told me...they can't hear your thoughts...but will hear your voice if you speak it*
What am I to you? Just a one night's stand? Easy come, easy go...take what you can while I am around?
Am I ugly?....Do I smell bad....cause I know I shower frequently....and do apply deodorant from time to time....when it is on sale and is on the clearance shelf in the back of some discounted dollar store....*ok ok....maybe a joke or two...but seriously?*
Are you afraid that I would embarrass you?....Make fun of you?...or be the old shoe? Possibly the 'fuddie duddie' that always is the conscience of the group......
What is it about me that plagues some of the people who claim to be my friend...to exclude me from their lives? Am I too fat?...Don't wear the right designer clothes?....Have the fancy car or the fat bank account to match the lifestyle that none of you really have?
Wait.....I get it....this is a Marco Polo game...but when I say Marco...and you say Polo.....you sound like you are on the other side of the pool. But in my realm, I call out Marco.....
Silence.....
Alone.......
Enjoying the view from my room.
Thanks to all those who are fake...who go out and enjoy life with what they don't have and wish they had.
I will just enjoy my room....safe from your judgements about me....giggles behind my back.....talks about me that make me look bad and you all look like saints.
Well, one saying I have for you.....you so called saints....Sinners are Saints. Saints are Sinners. But Angels are born Divine.
So you just you think....sit and spin *oh lordy, realized I am just really pissed about this*...I mean think on those words. Remember them when you head off to the pearly gates and you see your Angel sitting there.
So enjoy your view.....I am already within those pearly gates....with my beautiful wings....and angelic face....watching you.....enjoy my room with a view!
Que the Wicked Witch Music Here!
Wizard of Oz...to me is the best movie of all times.
I am just going to let that statement just hang there all by itself. Because, in my life there is so many things that I just seem to refer it to. One such character in my life....way back when I had to walk to school, up hill, both ways...in the snow, mind you....oh and lets not forget barefoot. Lol. I just had to say it, cause my father always said that.
Now, the person I refer to way back then. If she was in the play of the 'Wizard of Oz'....she would most definitely fit the image of the Wicked Witch of the West. So....let me see if I can grasp her image in words.
First off, she is skinny....not like a toothpick....but maybe like a bamboo reed...but not tall....but of some imaginary height that in youth made her look like she was 7 feet tall. Her hair.....a dull red chilly pepper color...all tied up tightly into a cinnabon bun. Not a strand out of place, due to the sch-lack of Aqua Net that kept it all in check. Her face was narrow and a pasty white color....which always led me to believe she was one of the first zombies I saw in my life. Her beady little eyes were directly hidden behind a thin narrow, magnified pair of glasses. That of course slid down her nose when she looked down at you. A long thin narrow nose that seem to be hooked into a downward position to hide her boogers from you. *Lol...sorry had to add that...cause it was true.* Her lips thin, pursed and with crackled edges that were from her always over frowning, which, I am pretty sure her lips were always in that position. She always had on a bright shade of red lipstick that always looked orange in the sunlight.
She always seem to wear high collared blouses that had a bow effect to cinch off her scrawny little neck. Followed by a narrow skirt that went below the knee. Back then and where I lived at that time, well, lets just call it the 'Bible Belt of America'. *sorry had to use this cliche, but it was the truth* Of course....she put on nylons...heaven forbid if she didn't....we might of realized how hairy the beasty legs were! Oh, let not forget the shoes....comfortable, with a bit of a lift to them...but yet when she would walk across the wooden floor....you knew exactly who was coming.
Now...that you have the Wicked Witch image in your head....now for the name to set it off. I am pretty sure she has left this world, so I feel safe to mention her name. Wait for it....wait for it.....Mrs. McKinney...there! Lol, does that not befit a Wicked Witch?
Now, I was in my tenth year of the educational process that plagues the youth to this time still. Mrs. McKinney was unfortunately the draw of the lottery process of English classes that a sophomore had to take. And unfortunately, I drew the short straw and had to be in this Gingerbread House of a classroom with her. She was known as a battle axe...I should know...lol...I flunked her class with a glamorous 'F'!
I loved to write....wrote a lot of poetry before I had been in the Iron Maiden's classroom. I felt I was pretty good....but knew I needed a lot of discipline in the art of the pen. It was a requirement for all High School students to have 4 units in English to graduate. So, reluctantly, I was herded into her world of torture to obtain that unit.
There was many things that she did....the worst was just listening to her read to us....I do recall 'Of Mice or Men', but if it wasn't for the movie...I would never remember what the story was about. She had a nasally kind of tone for a voice that had a whiff of chalk board screeching if I do recall. *shutters, yep that was the one* I would never raised my hand. But she always found time to include me in on the days list of tortures. *personally, I think I was always at the top of that list.....'To do Today....1. Torture Janette. Make her squirm. Belittle her. And most of all lash her with your lizard like tongue, because, she adores it'*
But, where she would wound me the deepest was when she would have us write. Now remember, I loved to write. She would assign an essay of the day. While we wrote...not a sound of paper could be heard dropping to the floor. But the charcoal scratching could be heard. Then, we would hand in our essay and write the days notes in our 3 foot binders that held stuff that we would never use again and she would sit at her throne and read our essays. Also with her broom....I mean her red bleeding pen she would circle, scratch, and etch our grades at the top of our pages.
To no avail, once the cramping in our hands started to subside, she would read some of the best and some of the worst essays to all 30 of us absorbing minds. Best...not bad. Could use some rewording, but pretty good. She gave the praise to the student and offered the slight changes with her satisfactory grin. But, on to the worst....ugh....she picked my for the umptenth time. After every sentence and punctuation....critic. Bad...awful....bad use of punctuation....don't understand the main idea....and on and on she would go....with her raking painful voice that would just make my ears bleed. I would try so hard to become a speck of dirt that fell into a creavous of the wooden floor below me...curl up shoes and all like the 'Wicked Witch of the East's' feet did in the movie or become one with my hard wooden chair I sat in.
It was during one of those constructive critiques, that she announced to the class: "Miss Reed...as you can hear...this essay....well, with all your works Miss Reed...you will never be able to be a functioning member of the writing world. You have no talent for it. So, in my personal opinion....I would suggest that you, Miss Reed *she always would try to make me feel important before smashing my heartfelt words, so she would address me as such, to this day...I still hear her call me that.*....think more of a maternal job in your near future."
WHAM...BAM....and thank you Mrs. McKinney! She should of said, "Miss Reed, at your age, you should be barefoot and pregnant!" If she had said that...I probably would of done what I did to my Uncles when they made that same statement to me. I chucked a beer bottle at one hit him, knocked him to the floor and was elated to watch my other two Uncles scramble out the door or jump out the window. *Lol...I still giggle at watching them scramble as my Grandmother told me: 'Good girl, they deserved that!' It was then my first of many evil grins that would grace my face...lol*
So, with just those words....I never wrote again. I bought into it...hook line and sinker.
It wasn't until I was in my mid thirties that I finally was convinced by a friend to write. She found out that I was full of images that I could put to the page. She was astounded by my brilliant use of words. I wrote for the first time in decades. We wrote together, had a good following with the story we developed. But, with time, I stepped away from it. Don't understand why....but I did.
Whose going to stop me now? Unless, we have the 'Zombie Apocalypse', I highly doubt Mrs. McKinney, would make her way to me to just eat my brains, like she did so many decades ago. Lol.....I shudder at the thought of that woman doing it....just her voice alone would stop me in my tracks and drop dead.....lol....ah the days of high school....
So fast forward about 10 years, I decided to finally put my life into words again. So, to all of you Mrs. McKinney's, aka Wicked Witches of the West, I stick my tongue out at you....wiggle my bare lily white arse at you! And to top it off...."Nanner Nanner!"
I am just going to let that statement just hang there all by itself. Because, in my life there is so many things that I just seem to refer it to. One such character in my life....way back when I had to walk to school, up hill, both ways...in the snow, mind you....oh and lets not forget barefoot. Lol. I just had to say it, cause my father always said that.
Now, the person I refer to way back then. If she was in the play of the 'Wizard of Oz'....she would most definitely fit the image of the Wicked Witch of the West. So....let me see if I can grasp her image in words.
First off, she is skinny....not like a toothpick....but maybe like a bamboo reed...but not tall....but of some imaginary height that in youth made her look like she was 7 feet tall. Her hair.....a dull red chilly pepper color...all tied up tightly into a cinnabon bun. Not a strand out of place, due to the sch-lack of Aqua Net that kept it all in check. Her face was narrow and a pasty white color....which always led me to believe she was one of the first zombies I saw in my life. Her beady little eyes were directly hidden behind a thin narrow, magnified pair of glasses. That of course slid down her nose when she looked down at you. A long thin narrow nose that seem to be hooked into a downward position to hide her boogers from you. *Lol...sorry had to add that...cause it was true.* Her lips thin, pursed and with crackled edges that were from her always over frowning, which, I am pretty sure her lips were always in that position. She always had on a bright shade of red lipstick that always looked orange in the sunlight.
She always seem to wear high collared blouses that had a bow effect to cinch off her scrawny little neck. Followed by a narrow skirt that went below the knee. Back then and where I lived at that time, well, lets just call it the 'Bible Belt of America'. *sorry had to use this cliche, but it was the truth* Of course....she put on nylons...heaven forbid if she didn't....we might of realized how hairy the beasty legs were! Oh, let not forget the shoes....comfortable, with a bit of a lift to them...but yet when she would walk across the wooden floor....you knew exactly who was coming.
Now...that you have the Wicked Witch image in your head....now for the name to set it off. I am pretty sure she has left this world, so I feel safe to mention her name. Wait for it....wait for it.....Mrs. McKinney...there! Lol, does that not befit a Wicked Witch?
Now, I was in my tenth year of the educational process that plagues the youth to this time still. Mrs. McKinney was unfortunately the draw of the lottery process of English classes that a sophomore had to take. And unfortunately, I drew the short straw and had to be in this Gingerbread House of a classroom with her. She was known as a battle axe...I should know...lol...I flunked her class with a glamorous 'F'!
I loved to write....wrote a lot of poetry before I had been in the Iron Maiden's classroom. I felt I was pretty good....but knew I needed a lot of discipline in the art of the pen. It was a requirement for all High School students to have 4 units in English to graduate. So, reluctantly, I was herded into her world of torture to obtain that unit.
There was many things that she did....the worst was just listening to her read to us....I do recall 'Of Mice or Men', but if it wasn't for the movie...I would never remember what the story was about. She had a nasally kind of tone for a voice that had a whiff of chalk board screeching if I do recall. *shutters, yep that was the one* I would never raised my hand. But she always found time to include me in on the days list of tortures. *personally, I think I was always at the top of that list.....'To do Today....1. Torture Janette. Make her squirm. Belittle her. And most of all lash her with your lizard like tongue, because, she adores it'*
But, where she would wound me the deepest was when she would have us write. Now remember, I loved to write. She would assign an essay of the day. While we wrote...not a sound of paper could be heard dropping to the floor. But the charcoal scratching could be heard. Then, we would hand in our essay and write the days notes in our 3 foot binders that held stuff that we would never use again and she would sit at her throne and read our essays. Also with her broom....I mean her red bleeding pen she would circle, scratch, and etch our grades at the top of our pages.
To no avail, once the cramping in our hands started to subside, she would read some of the best and some of the worst essays to all 30 of us absorbing minds. Best...not bad. Could use some rewording, but pretty good. She gave the praise to the student and offered the slight changes with her satisfactory grin. But, on to the worst....ugh....she picked my for the umptenth time. After every sentence and punctuation....critic. Bad...awful....bad use of punctuation....don't understand the main idea....and on and on she would go....with her raking painful voice that would just make my ears bleed. I would try so hard to become a speck of dirt that fell into a creavous of the wooden floor below me...curl up shoes and all like the 'Wicked Witch of the East's' feet did in the movie or become one with my hard wooden chair I sat in.
It was during one of those constructive critiques, that she announced to the class: "Miss Reed...as you can hear...this essay....well, with all your works Miss Reed...you will never be able to be a functioning member of the writing world. You have no talent for it. So, in my personal opinion....I would suggest that you, Miss Reed *she always would try to make me feel important before smashing my heartfelt words, so she would address me as such, to this day...I still hear her call me that.*....think more of a maternal job in your near future."
WHAM...BAM....and thank you Mrs. McKinney! She should of said, "Miss Reed, at your age, you should be barefoot and pregnant!" If she had said that...I probably would of done what I did to my Uncles when they made that same statement to me. I chucked a beer bottle at one hit him, knocked him to the floor and was elated to watch my other two Uncles scramble out the door or jump out the window. *Lol...I still giggle at watching them scramble as my Grandmother told me: 'Good girl, they deserved that!' It was then my first of many evil grins that would grace my face...lol*
So, with just those words....I never wrote again. I bought into it...hook line and sinker.
It wasn't until I was in my mid thirties that I finally was convinced by a friend to write. She found out that I was full of images that I could put to the page. She was astounded by my brilliant use of words. I wrote for the first time in decades. We wrote together, had a good following with the story we developed. But, with time, I stepped away from it. Don't understand why....but I did.
Whose going to stop me now? Unless, we have the 'Zombie Apocalypse', I highly doubt Mrs. McKinney, would make her way to me to just eat my brains, like she did so many decades ago. Lol.....I shudder at the thought of that woman doing it....just her voice alone would stop me in my tracks and drop dead.....lol....ah the days of high school....
So fast forward about 10 years, I decided to finally put my life into words again. So, to all of you Mrs. McKinney's, aka Wicked Witches of the West, I stick my tongue out at you....wiggle my bare lily white arse at you! And to top it off...."Nanner Nanner!"
Friday, August 2, 2013
This is where it begins.....
Well, today of all days, I open this blog with my first thoughts and some thanks. It started out simple....I got up, looked in the mirror to see the swollen effects of my plaguing allergies. *Ugh* I utter, another day of itchy, watery eyes. I meander thru my usual routine. Put on some clothes, I am a nudist at heart when I sleep, I must confess. The sereneness of feeling like baby whilst I sleep, is a temptation that I cannot resist.
In a zombie state, I stumble out the bedroom door to the quiet feelings of my daughter sleeping in her room, I smile to myself. I love knowing my daughter is home from her trip. I make my way to the back sliding door to announce the news to my furry beast, that their Mommy has awaking and will arrive to release them from the gilded cage that holds them in the evening hours. They like to dig, so to salvage what little yard I have...I must imprison them. I am greeted with smiles of open panting mouths and the swishing of their rumpuses. "Morning my babies". Then, I head off to get their bowls to harvest scoops of a bland diet of some brand of dog food that I have gathered for them.
The wobbles of our enormous, bulgy cat that we named as 'Tigger', trust me, in his youth, he was a bouncy character of a lizard, and rivaled any skateboarder as he would bank corners at a bullets speed of power. He "Mews" at me with a protest of not ever being fed in his whole life. Lol. Trust me....the wobbles of his belly tell a different tail. I feed all three of them and bring the bowls in to let the fat kitty engulf the meal as if it was his last. The beasts, on the other hand, they sniff their portions and make sure it is their bowls and lay down as I head of to brew my pot of 'evil'. I call it that cause once I have had a couple of cups, the power of caffeine takes over and dictates my morning.
Now, my morning ritual is complete...I wait. *The smell of it makes my mouth water, the beep of the pot alerts me that is has done its job* Like a hawk, I am pouring the evilness into a large cup. The anticipation of the first sip is like an addict awaiting their first fix of the day.
Like my title of my blog...this is all ramblings. Now for the first reason why I decided to open this blog.
A wonderful and endearing friend, lit up my Facebook chat to just check in and let me know she was thinking of me. Of which, I laughed, I was just thinking of her and stalking her posts that she delightfully awakens my mind and heart with each post.
Funny, this person, has somehow...become so close so fast in my life. There isn't a day that goes by that I divert my mind to her and what she is doing. There are days, in which I yearn for us to live closer. But, the big city calls out to her and her husband. But, out of selfishness, I wish for her to be nearer to me. *Oh, sorry...rambling again...back on task here*
Now, while we talk, she opens my heart and I tell her my worries. Which, I usually don't do with people, I am very private. It is an issue to protect my soul from harm. I begin to cry and feel so intimately close to someone. I feel safe....protected....but yet....free for the first time in my life, other than my husband. But yet, still there I am guarded. I share the worries of my mother over the past couple of weeks and my helplessness of solving her problems. But, I have shared my worries with my mother and that is all I can do. I have accepted this. It just hard when you have no control.
Sharing this with her, my endearing friend, I realize that I have over stepped one of my own boundaries. I never share my most intimate feelings with anyone....but why her I wonder. I begin to cry and realize that for the first time I have found a friend who, I a 'Wounded Warrior', can put down my shield and allow her into my inner sanctum.
She shares her personal thoughts and feelings with me as if we had been childhood friends, or meaning forever. Oddness strikes me as I have always been so guarded with my personal feelings. But yet, with her.....it is so amazingly peaceful. It is then she shares what she writes in a blog. Which I hastily Google her blog, bookmark it with a star and find what she has posted. It is then and there I decide to open myself in words in a blog and share with an open heart to the world to read.
Understand, for a 'Wounded Warrior' to take such a great leap into the unknown, is in itself a dangerous challenge for her and for me. So, this is where it begins.....I will take up the gauntlet to battle into the unknown and allow others to read my thoughts, my concerns, my ramblings of a 'Wounded Warrior'
I welcome those who choose to follow along with me. Be aware, these are things of sensitive emotions and are difficult for me to share at times. You can comment or not....I personally will not judge you for your opinions. Not my place to. So welcome to my journey, path or whatever you may want to call it.
In a zombie state, I stumble out the bedroom door to the quiet feelings of my daughter sleeping in her room, I smile to myself. I love knowing my daughter is home from her trip. I make my way to the back sliding door to announce the news to my furry beast, that their Mommy has awaking and will arrive to release them from the gilded cage that holds them in the evening hours. They like to dig, so to salvage what little yard I have...I must imprison them. I am greeted with smiles of open panting mouths and the swishing of their rumpuses. "Morning my babies". Then, I head off to get their bowls to harvest scoops of a bland diet of some brand of dog food that I have gathered for them.
The wobbles of our enormous, bulgy cat that we named as 'Tigger', trust me, in his youth, he was a bouncy character of a lizard, and rivaled any skateboarder as he would bank corners at a bullets speed of power. He "Mews" at me with a protest of not ever being fed in his whole life. Lol. Trust me....the wobbles of his belly tell a different tail. I feed all three of them and bring the bowls in to let the fat kitty engulf the meal as if it was his last. The beasts, on the other hand, they sniff their portions and make sure it is their bowls and lay down as I head of to brew my pot of 'evil'. I call it that cause once I have had a couple of cups, the power of caffeine takes over and dictates my morning.
Now, my morning ritual is complete...I wait. *The smell of it makes my mouth water, the beep of the pot alerts me that is has done its job* Like a hawk, I am pouring the evilness into a large cup. The anticipation of the first sip is like an addict awaiting their first fix of the day.
Like my title of my blog...this is all ramblings. Now for the first reason why I decided to open this blog.
A wonderful and endearing friend, lit up my Facebook chat to just check in and let me know she was thinking of me. Of which, I laughed, I was just thinking of her and stalking her posts that she delightfully awakens my mind and heart with each post.
Funny, this person, has somehow...become so close so fast in my life. There isn't a day that goes by that I divert my mind to her and what she is doing. There are days, in which I yearn for us to live closer. But, the big city calls out to her and her husband. But, out of selfishness, I wish for her to be nearer to me. *Oh, sorry...rambling again...back on task here*
Now, while we talk, she opens my heart and I tell her my worries. Which, I usually don't do with people, I am very private. It is an issue to protect my soul from harm. I begin to cry and feel so intimately close to someone. I feel safe....protected....but yet....free for the first time in my life, other than my husband. But yet, still there I am guarded. I share the worries of my mother over the past couple of weeks and my helplessness of solving her problems. But, I have shared my worries with my mother and that is all I can do. I have accepted this. It just hard when you have no control.
Sharing this with her, my endearing friend, I realize that I have over stepped one of my own boundaries. I never share my most intimate feelings with anyone....but why her I wonder. I begin to cry and realize that for the first time I have found a friend who, I a 'Wounded Warrior', can put down my shield and allow her into my inner sanctum.
She shares her personal thoughts and feelings with me as if we had been childhood friends, or meaning forever. Oddness strikes me as I have always been so guarded with my personal feelings. But yet, with her.....it is so amazingly peaceful. It is then she shares what she writes in a blog. Which I hastily Google her blog, bookmark it with a star and find what she has posted. It is then and there I decide to open myself in words in a blog and share with an open heart to the world to read.
Understand, for a 'Wounded Warrior' to take such a great leap into the unknown, is in itself a dangerous challenge for her and for me. So, this is where it begins.....I will take up the gauntlet to battle into the unknown and allow others to read my thoughts, my concerns, my ramblings of a 'Wounded Warrior'
I welcome those who choose to follow along with me. Be aware, these are things of sensitive emotions and are difficult for me to share at times. You can comment or not....I personally will not judge you for your opinions. Not my place to. So welcome to my journey, path or whatever you may want to call it.
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