Broken

Thoughts never published from a few months ago

Hands full of shattered glad hearts woven with thread tattered by lost hopes and needles bent with pressure

Hookie

Playing hookie from life today with my mother as the primary enabler. Not letting any of the shit get in the way of a beautiful, extraordinarily nice weather, beach adventure with the children. I don't think I could ever live anywhere that the ocean and the forest were too far to drive for a day trip. Still recharging my batteries though I fear everything else is depleating them too quickly to every gain a full charge.

Choke

Not sure what's wrong with me. I 've had many difficult conversations and been the instigator.... I just can't even choke the words out to get started. I'd say I'm too tired but that's a lie, it's on MY mind constantly. I didn't even do anything wrong this time, why does the fear have a death grip on my throat? Shouldn't this be the one place that I should be able to have such conversations? Not sure what to do.... Maybe therapy...

The words literally won't come out...

Roads Traveled

I really don't know where to begin with this. There is a tornado of barely recognizable ideals and morals playing a ferocious game of capture the flag with reality and conveluded attempts at reason and understanding. On continues the games through the dreamscapes into the early morning hours only to be set slightly out of sight with the welcome white static of the days necessary tasks. How has it come to this place of complete complacency with sacrificial values?

I'm not sure at which juncture back on what shadowy road that I let my stead fast, slightly feminist, ethics regarding what will and will not be acceptable loom off. Just out of reach but yet I maintain the outlines of their figures against the night sky. This road I meandered carelessly onto is all too familiar. I veil my eyes and can comfortably feel my way down the worn path, carefully stepping over rocks and avoiding branches.

I can sense that although the trees have grown I find myself closer to their brambly tops. Puzzled at how my own growth seems to be catching that of the leafy curtains that sway together to obstruct my view. I can feel my shadow back on the lower road, whispering through the crisp air, calling to me to rendezvous at the nearest intersection.

Fear of what predator watches from the depths of the woods crawls up from the pit of my stomach, the primitive survival instinct, like battery acid that burns the back of my throat. I can begin to smell it as it pimples my arms and weighs down my legs. The salt stings the corners of my eyes as I fight back to maintain the clarity in my vision. There is no indication of what is that is paralyzing about the usual comfort of my own woods.

Only moments ago I bathed in the sweet refreshing comfort of my steady stream. The water that washes away lonelieness and contributes to the cycle of sustinance, breathing life into all that roots near its edge, has been tarnished by an upstream intruder on the quiet land. Its waters are graying and rolling with more turbulance over the large stones. It seems the life forces that have required the existance of the stream for its survival have unknowingly made a blood pact to stand faithfully stead fast and weather the change without any knowledge of the outcome.

Over time, the foliage begins to lose its vibrance. The flowers still bloom however from sadder buds, and the 4 legged ones visit only when the steam sleeps.

Who is this unknown entity that has begun to tarnish the once clear refreshing waters? There is more bite to the dip of a toe and less comotion in the absence of pollywogs and water skippers.

During moments of temporary shifts in currents on the wind I can smell the unwelcome party. The scent overpowers the putrid battery acid on my breath choked down by the necessity of progress. Fear duels with rage at the impact on my surroundings that the intruder has gifted. Though its intentions do not smell of havok and pain, they appear to be absent of regard and accountability. Life near the stream will not thrive in the presence of the most vile of impurities.

The scales falter back and forth between
familiarity without vibrance and in the absence of genuine intimacy opposed to
Fresh adventure riddled with uncertainty, painful growth, and a reuniting with the wandering shadow of my ideals and morals

Dear Girl

You are worthy
You are beautiful
You are smart and funny
You are worthy of all the love, affection, and attention that you desperately need and desire
This world is not going to give it
This is not a reflection of your being or your actions
You are worthy....

ToBeContinued...

What's the agenda

At work, providing safety type skills training to parent when parent spouts off with spiel on instilling his homophobic values in his kid.... My job is not to educate bigots. Although refraining from doing so.... REALLY REALLY fucking hard. I had to literally bite my lip to keep the words from cascading out of my mouth. "so in 4 years when your son tells you he is gay.... How you gonna handle that?"

Definitely need some supervision around that one. Ignorance.... Ugh...

I really hope for your kids sake that he is not gay... Or his 20's are gonna really suck.

Purpose

The steadfast idea that we are here as a result of a magical being's idea and preoccupation drives me nuts. Really sit and think about that a moment. Does our very existence and pursuit of happiness hinge on the need for an explanation regarding how we got here so badly that were really going to buy into this divine creation bit? Its all pretty far fetched. Perhaps if we put a little more energy into what we do with what we have, this place wouldn't be such a mess. Afterall, it seems rather self serving to act in accordance with a a structure instituted by man in the name of god with the root of its pirpose to please him and in turn secure our own ticket upstairs.  How about empathy? Why is it not enough to act out of simple understanding? Don't help the homeless guy  on the on ramp cause its what God would want you to do. Help him because, one seeing turn and it could be any one of us. Help him because he too bleeds, hungers, feels pain, feels joy. Help him because we all deserve dignity. Help him so that one day, should you find yourself on a street corner, a version of yourself may come along and help you.

Penance

There is a penance we pay, whether it be in this life or the next.
I can only hope that the energy I have coming back to me I have the opportunity to square away in this life rather than stave it over to the next. I am uncertain how limited my time here is and if nothing else goes according to my grandiose childhood plan, I hope to at least leave this life, squared off, face to face, staring it down, with a sigh of acceptance and some small fleck or recognition to a balance in my eyes.

I finally see myself for who i really am and have let go of the wistful idea of trying to peek through another eyes for the sake of some outsiders understanding. I do not wish to be liked or even necessarily accepted through others eyes. I only wish for some moderate sense of understanding. Without deeper understanding, one can not begin to claim acceptance. Perhaps I have just begun to understand myself in a more revealing light that I have made peace with all that I am and am not. I have very modest expectations for others perceptions and ideas. Understanding is not an exaggerated expectation to hold.

For all of this understanding, I have a deeper grasp on reality. I wish others near me could share this. It has a tenancy to make life a little smoother. There is so much others covet, my imperfect self included, that simply isn't real. As a result, truth and authenticity are too often lost in the shuffle. We over complicate the whole mess of it.

I didn't think when I started that I would be able to end this abruptly. I sit here, with my 4 legged companion, television on pause, his candle and ashes on the table next to me, and I am more calm and more content than I could have hoped for. Initially sitting with this, I expected pages to pour out. Its in there somewhere but these short bursts lately are leaching it out of me quicker than I can find the means to replace it.

I am trying to to numb myself this year and have probably failed miserably. I have stood up for, and followed through with my process, my grief that I only allow to sneak in and wreak havoc but once a year. I don't ask for much, I make great effort to push down any ego and selfishness. This one time a year, I ask for selfish things. I ask to be able to mourn, forget, or celebrate in whichever way my heart and mind need to in the moment. I choose to allow my few precious days to be free of intruding schedules and prying constrictions. I choose how, when, and where to cope, if I choose to at all. I choose to be in my home when the floodgates open. I refuse to let other guilt me into being disloyal to this process I have developed. Its too important, the events were too traumatic. I choose to be selfish, do what i need to do for myself, so the other 362 days of the year, I can go back to doing for others.

Writing to find not only the answer, but the question

Watched a fantastic spoken word poet on TED talks last night
She described using poetry to solve her problems or discover the answers to her questions
What happens when one doesn't even know the question?

I tuck the kids in bed
give them a tight squeeze
threaten that tomorrows liberties ride on their staying put
put on less annoying attire
position myself in my favorite corner of my tired overstuffed couch
balance my work issued laptop
(that has seen better days) on my thighs
neglect the switches that would otherwise illuminate the soft amber lights of my living room
and in a futile effort
attempt to make sense of the nonsensical vibrations
twitching about among the rhythms of sentiment
that flow between reason, expectation, and the
demoralizing loneliness of a well attended
but poorly attuned oblivious congregation
the clicking drone
gears of a cheap 3 inch clock
a hushed reminder of the dependable nature of time itself
moments pulsating
pouring the vitality into each sequential event....

(unfinished... ill come back to this tomorrow...)

Boiling under the surface

The internal pressure is too high to even begin to write. Maybe ill go back over some old stuff, expand it, turn it into some spoken word shit... Well see what tomorrow brings. The damn better break loose soon, I can feel it about to overflow

Always this time of year

Why does the universe seem so intent on not letting me have a day to just manage my own saddness without having to manage everyone else's stuff??

Aggitation

Ever so careful to choose my words. I refuse to let my anger get the best of me and resurrect the wicked bitch that feeds kindling to the small light of rage that burns quietly somewhere in the depths. Resentment is poisonous and feasts on unattended frustrations. 

(Thoughts never published from a few months ago)

Shit...

The last several "new" looking entries were all actually from a while ago. agoapparently when I read back and try to edit major typos, it then posts them as new. Thanks blogger.

Dreamland

Has not been very kind... The more aware and intense in my thought process gets around myself, love, life, control, general mindfulness, impulses, etc, the more my dreams take over. I have never in my life dreamed like this before... Theyre often, in multiples, seemingly random, and without much rhyme or reason. Since my childhood my dreams have always consisted of random terrifying animals and riddled with confusing but necessary flight. These were only broken up by typical new mommy dreams during pregnancy processing all kinds of strange irrational baby fears. I never saw faces, places were jumbled messes of those familiar all at once, and none ended,all repeated throughout years with only slight additions and modifications. Lately is something quite different. People are very present, the places sometimes familiar sometimes not however always concretely a single fixed place, not all are horrifying life threatening, some are mild, others neutral, Some anxious, some almost bordering pleasant. I struggle to recall their specifics yet I know I can't rest my eyes for 30 minutes without them flooding in. When one ends, I wake completely although usually briefly. I have sensed nearly 4 to 5 completely separate dreams in a single night of only 6 hours of sleep. Its impossible to feel rested. I don't understand... I know I am on the correct path with my own personal journey, I can sense that as well... So what am I missing? Where are these coming from? Why can't I rest??...

Fuck you Monday

Seemingly the theme as of late
Not sure what to do with myself, kinda feeling like the weight of a thousand task rests glaringly over me
Meticulously plan and execute an event for which is way out of my league, kids class project, write a program, catch up on ever so haunting paperwork, put my best hat on for a lateral move to a now demanding job with higher stakes requiring more of my time that I've worked 2 years towards, find a new place, move, re-settle, all the while there at dentist appointments for tooth extractions, doctor check ups, vet appointments, small claims to file, credit recovery battle, and not to mention everything going on daily with raising busy children...
Seriously?!?
I'm really just human, that's all, I promise nothing more