blather blather, ruminate, ruminate

The hardest lesson I've ever learned, or am in the process of learning, is that life continues to change. No matter what.

Every single day is different than every other day. Every state of being is temporary.

I try and try to wrap my noggin around this, and continue to have issues with it. If nothing is going to ever stay the same, why do we try to achieve anything? Why do we try so hard if it, too, is going to go poof and vanish?

It's for those moments, I guess. Is it all for the good moments, for the amazing moments, for the moments where our feelings and emotions take us outside of the mundane?

Is it all for a chance at happiness?

Happiness.

I guess that is the goal. However fleeting. However temporary.

There are no gaurentees. No real stability. No promises. None. Zero.

My thoughts are so fragmented right now. I'm just marinating and marinating and marinating some more.

It upsets me that some things are not permanent. It upsets me that life is not permanent. It upsets me that I can't be in control.

I think my sister is really lucky that she has faith. It would be nice to believe that someone is in control that truly loves and cares about me. It would be so amazing to be able to just sigh a big sigh of relief, and no longer feel alone or lost or confused.

But, fuck. You can't just believe what you don't believe. Believe me, I've tried.

acceptance

acceptance
is
not
one
of
my
strong
points
but
washing
away
my
tears
is
something
i
am
getting
used
to

Wednesday's Lunch Music Mix

Confessions.

I secretly love shirts with raibows on them.
I often take photos of myself to check out my hair, or to document an emotion.
I wish I were rich so I could run off somewhere warm and be alone.
I would like to set up my fishtank, but I'm afraid the fish will all die.
I am afraid I am making big mistakes in my life.
I am too afraid to do it any other way.
I am afraid of hurting people.
I like horses but don't want to admit it.
I also like dogs, but don't want to admit that either.
I eat snow, just not the yellow stuff. It tastes different than it used to.
I like pink, the color.
I also like metallic blue, with sparkles.
I wish glitter prints would come back in style.
I'm crush happy. In the sixth grade I realized I had had a crush on EVERYONE in my class, at one point or another.
Including the teacher.
I want to be pure of heart.
I want to be honest.
I want to dance.
The last time I laughed until it hurt, it hurt really bad. I think I am out of practice.
I like icecicles. Even if it means we have an insulation problem.
I like ivy on my house, even if it eats at the morter.
I miss my old dog, Graybee, I miss Cricket, I miss Leela. I miss Muma Kitty. I miss my tarantula, Bob. I miss my hen, Crippily.
I miss warmth from the sun on my legs.
I miss kittens.
I miss drinking from mason jars.
I want more bird feeders.
I want to live simply.
I want more time with my friends.
I think tumbleweeds are poetry in motion.
I think poetry seperates us from chimps.
I think chimps are cute.
I want to go to the melting pot, even if it takes three hours.
I want warmth. I want strength. I want patience.
I think birds are beautiful, amazing creatures.
I think toads are adorable, too.
I secretly stole and ate one of Gwen's candies on her desk, and
I am secretly hoarding three chocolate bars in my freezer at home.

Valentine's Day

Okay, so, I am going to out myself as a procrastinator by posting this, but here is what I see every single Valentine's Day when I go to the hallmark store to pick something out. If I waited until later, there would be MANY MORE MEN crammed into this photo, and if you wait till after 3pm there is a SEA of men figting over every red and pink bobble in the place.

This year I decided to make it easy on myself and go on my lunch break, and I have to say, the selection was MUCH improved. :D

Tuesday Morning Haikus

new cherry zero
i am so jonesing for you
so coke-a-licious

I love sweet Roger
silky black hair, toothy grin
cutest pooch around

the snow is swirling
the drifts are forming a ledge
white and crunchy cold

she lets herself fall
every time she starts to trip
so many tears shed

stark white, cobalt blue
the color scheme for the day
no embers in sight

the storm is coming
and i am craving beef stew
that is pretty weird

Photo Theif

I know it's wrong to steal, and I'm trying to wean myself off stealing photos... but this was my latest score. Me and Mom, 1975.

Thirty Two

So I'm finally thirty two. I say finally because I've been thinking I was thirty two for the past year and a half. I'm not sure why, it's just how old I already have been in my head. Maybe it's because I like even numbers. Maybe it's because it's always seemed like a respectble age. Not too old, not too young. Not a turning point age, not a a real shocker. It's an age I'm cool with. For now, anway.

Birthdays come and go, and this is the third one I've spent without my mom. It feels so wrong to do it without her. She made me. From scratch. She suffered through the labor, she cradled my head in her hands. It was always my day to reflect upon that.

I really missed her phone call, her birthday song sang just for me, my kitten birthday card, my name in her handwriting. I know I talk a lot about this, I have to, it's as much a part of the threads of me as my hair or my skin. I seep with my loss. I reverberate my pain.

Sixteen years ago I was sixteen. All I wanted in life was for Greg to realize he loved me, and then to have ten thousand babies with him. I guess I also wanted new L.A. Gears and a car, but overall I would have settled for Greg and the ten thousand babies. Turns out, Greg wasn't quite the same person I had imagined him to be. Turns out, too, that ten thosand babies might have been a bit too much for me to handle.

Eight years ago I was 24. Happily living the twenty-something dream. New girlfriend, new state, new life. No more pickle stains on these hands, no more Pinconning sheep-farmer stories to live down.

Four years ago I oozed with pain, dripped with fear, and simmered in regret. Regrets I couldn't identify yet, but I sensed were lurking just around the bend.

Two years ago I tried to open my eyes. And it hurt.

One year ago I noticed that I hear my mom when I sing aloud. I see her hands when I do the dishes. I feel her with me when I wrap up in my afghan.

This year I want to figure out how to hold on to everything that make me smile and somehow still move forward in life.