The Clock is Ticking

Diverging from my usual course, I wound up sick after a holiday break. Usually, I manage to hold off illness until we have several days off from work. So, I'm almost always sick at Thanksgiving, Christmas, Spring Break, and just as we kick off the summer. Almost always.

Instead, I went to work Monday and came home early. I pretty much felt like death warmed over. Today is day two of sinus infection watch. Yeah for me.

Do you know (and I'm sure you do) there's NOTHING on TV during the day. I've watched CBS's Early Show. The highlight of that show was the street performances from the musical "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." Very cute. Wish it would come to Texas sometime soon. Now, I'm flipping between Food Network and the SciFi channel (Tales from the Darkside marathon).

Food Network is always almost always good stuff. Today, Sugarrush has a show about flower-inspired sweets. This one woman has some absolutely amazing sugar flowers--from beautiful tea roses to hydrangeas. Just incredible.

I clicked into SciFi Network towards the end of an episode. It was called "Love Hungry." This overweight woman is trying to lose weight, and winds up having her fruits and vegetables talk to her. They beg her not to eat them, even though she needs to eat. She breaks down, in a fit and grabs the banana, while the other fruits are calling her a murderer. She doesn't eat him, and winds up killing herself. Weird.

Anyway. I hope the food doesn't start talking to me.

Okay, I promise I'm not prejudiced (sp?) when it comes to what I'm about to write on (after a friend read the coming post, a disclaimer was suggested. Just in case.)

First, go here (the Poet Tree, on Ning) and read the "poet-tree-pedia" post at the top of the page.

UPDATE 10/15: I feel like I should explain that I PURPOSEFULLY took the line I've written about out of the context of the poem. The wording of the line alone is what got me. NOT how it works in the poem.

Rachel's post for the 'pedia hit me. I think the whole piece is beautiful. Certainly encouraging and creates a sense of confindence and power. One line (and the title) poke me between the eyes.

I'm a woman with color.

In particular, that prepositional phrase got me --"with color." In this day and age, we don't hear that phrase in particular. Usually, it's "of color." That always ...irks me.The people who tend to use it are, by and large, not caucasian. (This is where I might start offending some people.) I understand that the history of our, well, world has always created a sense of "us" and "them" with "them" being anyone who doesn't fit into the color scheme that is either predominant in the local society or happens to be the scheme in postions of authority. Generally, "us" tends to be made of caucasian skin. As a caucasian individual, I'm neither taking responsibility for that, nor am I apologizing. I didn't have anything to do with that particular turn of events nor do I advocate them.

However, I think that those using the phrase "of color" are denying something incredibly important. I, too, am of color. Sure it's "white" (maybe more than some), but it's still a color. And, honestly, a color doesn't make one person anymore special or important than another person. Let me make this clear--I've never believed color has anything to do with a person deserving respect. I've ALWAYS believed the person inside has EVERYTHING to do with this. I never see color when considering the character of a person--I see his behavior, his personality, the mind stuff, not the skin stuff.

And that's how it should be. I care more about the person you are than the person you look like. Does everyone? Of course not. That's why we still have race problems in a place that proclaimed itself to be a 'melting pot.'

As an aside, my first year working in a high school setting, I sent some girls to the office for rather obviously disrepectful behavior--not just disrepectful to me, but also to others in the room. The principal asked me to join them in his office, where the girls proceeded to accuse me of being "racial" because they all happened to be black. I told them that me being racial was just about as silly a notion as I could think of--they could have been "white, brown, black, or purple with pink polka dots" and I still would've written them up for being disrespectful. I believe the term I used, trying to diffuse the situation a bit, was that I'm an "equal opportunity hater, I hate on everyone equally." Seems to me that if you believe that your race is a factor in everything that ever happens in your life, than maybe you're the racist. (I didn't say that last part, but I sure thought it.)

So..what I'm finally getting around to, is that Rachel's phrase "I'm a woman with color" is telling when you consider it separately from her whole piece. All of us, all women (and heck, all men if you edit the line a bit *grin*), are individuals with color. Just as the colors of our physical appearances mark us as unique, our color within does the same thing. It's up to us to decide which one we think is most important to celebrate and share with the world.

Bustling about
One foot in front of the other, in front of the other,
infrontoftheother, infrontoftheother.

The world spinning me into madness,
being pulled in a dozen directions would be easier
than what I'm doing all day long.

In a blink, open the door,
step into the simple life with you.
Where breathing is enough.

Using one word, describe the following things. Note: I can't follow directions.

Yourself: easy (as in "like Sunday morning" not "that woman on the corner.")
Your partner: amazing
Your hair: brunette
Your Mother: well-intentioned
Your Father: wonderful-wonderful (family thing)
Your Favourite Item: bed
Your dream last night: incredibly realistic
Your Favourite Drink: wine
Your Dream Home: secluded...but not remote
The Room You Are In: cluttered
Your fear: alone
Where you Want to be in Ten Years?: home
Who you hung out with last night: WonderDog
What You're Not: overly extroverted
Your Best Friend: the amazing one
One of Your Wish List Items: books
Your Gender: female
The Last Thing You Did: drank a beer
What You Are Wearing: comfy clothes
Your favourite weather: Texas fall--in December
Your Favourite Book?: just one??
Last thing you ate?: um....
Your Life: crazy
Your mood: calm
The last person you talked to on the phone: Madre
Who are you thinking about right now?: The Man (the amazing one *grin*)

***Note: this one is cross-posted. Hey, some of you don't read both blogs.

I've been thinking a lot lately about language. Mine, in particular. To be more specific, my use of "foul" language.

See, The Man and I have decided to make a conscious effort to clean up our language. We both cuss too much. He was in a conversation with a coworker a few days ago who commented on the incredibly foul language of another colleague (let's just, it would make a sailor blush). She pointed out that he does cuss, not as often the others they work with, and he almost always checks her (the colleague he was talking to) reaction. She doesn't like the language at all. It pushed him to do something about his own habit.

I've spent a good few months feeling guilty lately when I cuss around him. A random "damn" or "hell" has never bothered me, but I know I've gotten comfortable and that's not all I'm saying anymore.

I will admit that sometimes, there just aren't other words--either for emphasis or intensity. I mean, come on, when I fell a few weeks ago and nearly broke my tailbone, saying "shoot" just didn't do the pain justice. And I've always thought you should say what you mean (and mean what you say, of course.) I've even been known to use the "f" word for shock value, or to make sure I'm getting the attention I'm needing from the person I'm talking to.

A friend of mine said that swearing wasn't banned in his household. However there was a rule about the use of certain 4-letter words. You couldn't use them just 'cuz. You had to be creative in your use. In my house, creative use or not, you got punished. But we're all different.

I know I need to curb my mouth. Does that mean language will disappear from my writing? Not all. Some words just can't be replaced, specifically because of the implications to writing.

I mean, really--would "fudge" really replace "fuck?" I think not.

I've been thinking a lot lately about language. Mine, in particular. To be more specific, my use of "foul" language.

See, The Man and I have decided to make a conscious effort to clean up our language. We both cuss too much. He was in a conversation with a coworker a few days ago who commented on the incredibly foul language of another colleague (let's just, it would make a sailor blush). She pointed out that he does cuss, not as often the others they work with, and he almost always checks her (the colleague he was talking to) reaction. She doesn't like the language at all. It pushed him to do something about his own habit.

I've spent a good few months feeling guilty lately when I cuss around him. A random "damn" or "hell" has never bothered me, but I know I've gotten comfortable and that's not all I'm saying anymore.

I will admit that sometimes, there just aren't other words--either for emphasis or intensity. I mean, come on, when I fell a few weeks ago and nearly broke my tailbone, saying "shoot" just didn't do the pain justice. And I've always thought you should say what you mean (and mean what you say, of course.) I've even been known to use the "f" word for shock value, or to make sure I'm getting the attention I'm needing from the person I'm talking to.

A friend of mine said that swearing wasn't banned in his household. However there was a rule about the use of certain 4-letter words. You couldn't use them just 'cuz. You had to be creative in your use. In my house, creative use or not, you got punished. But we're all different.

I know I need to curb my mouth. Does that mean language will disappear from my writing? Not all. Some words just can't be replaced, specifically because of the implications to writing.

I mean, really--would "fudge" really replace "fuck?" I think not.

Oh, this is great. Being an English major, I'm always a little itchy about grammar and punctuation. I'll grant I'm not perfection in human form when it comes to this, but some things are just freakin' obvious.

Like quotation marks.

The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks.

It's time to bare all. I'm going to finally admit a silly, almost embarassing crush I've had forever. Ever since I first saw the reruns of the tv show, so many years ago. It burns me now that I can't find those reruns anymore.

I've always had a thing for the young David Cassidy. Why, oh why wasn't he born 15 years later? It wouldn't have been a celebrity crush I had to hide from everyone.




Shhh..don't tell The Man. ;)

I'm up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning. Do you realize there's very little on at this time of day on Sunday?

I did find one thing that interested me. A&E Biography is airing it's biography on David Cassidy. Of course I'm watching...I've always had a crush on the YOUNG David Cassidy. You know, The Partridge Family era. It's really kind of sad that he was such a cliche'--sex, drugs, and, well..not really rock and roll, but music.

He looked so old after the Partridge Family ended. His age lines were just horribly obvious. And the hair. I don't think I'd ever realized a man could use his hair as an acting prop. He really did though..you know, when it was long.

He's pretty neat, still though. Definitely remade himself, on his terms, not the studio's.

The random prompt generator over at Poetry Thursday when I visited this morning said "combustible." Instantly, I'm getting images and pricks on my arms (that synaesthesia thing again). Obviously, the initial images run to flames and danger.

But, then...the leftovers of last night's dream win out. It wasn't remotely hot and steamy, or even PG-13. It was decidedly PG, bordering on G. But it struck, mid-dream, and lasting into the morning, a mild "combustion" feeling inside.

So, though there is not poetry here, today. There may well be some later.

I did find something interesting this morning, to share...

PoetryKits

Interesting stuff there. Enjoy.

Check out Poetry Thursday for some other poetic offerings.

Check out the prompt over at Sunday Scribblings for this week. You'll find other thoughts about this topic as well.

We're supposed to discuss amazing phenomena that caught or does catch us. Gosh..there's just so many. I could go into those things that astonish and perplex me (like how people could actually feel sorry for Paris Hilton. But, I digress.). Instead, I would rather think about the phenomenon that gets me in the heart, every time.

I'm a high school librarian, by trade. I've always believed that my career is not a job, it's a calling. I was designed for this role, among others. While some may think that the most important part of my job is teaching and curriculum-based, I would disagree.

I'm a connection for the students that I work with. I'm someone who isn't harping them on to get school work done, or do their chores, or by golly pull your pants up. I just talk to them. I tell my colleagues that I have 1800 kids...and I care about all of them equally and to the best of my ability. Even when their behavior is unlovable.

I used to think, when I taught elementary school, that most amazing thing I got to see on a day to day basis was the "lightbulb" go on over a student's head. You know, when, after struggling and struggling, they suddenly GOT IT, whatever it was.

Now, it's when I look up to see who's standing at my office door and hear "Miss, can talk to you about something?" It means I got through to one of 'em. One of those 1800 kids has realized that someone gives a damn and isn't going to tell them what to do, but is going to listen and help them make choices. That's the phenomenon that makes what I do every day worth it. Why I go back.

I'm a librarian, which, by definition almost always means "book-pusher." That's the last part of my job. The first is loving those kids.

We both fall into this trap.

um...ok...

Something (unexpected...unpleasant...)
happens
and rather than deal with it head-on

um...ok...

And then one of us prattles on explaining,
while the other sits in silence.

um...ok...

(For other offerings, check out this weeks posts at Poetry Thursday.)

Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.
--Oscar Wilde

I've reason to believe that dear, dear Oscar was correct. If I might say so myself, I'm pretty damn interesting a good 90% of the day, once I get through breakfast.

Note: Breakfast must consist of either 4 cups of strong coffee, or 2 SINGE THE EYEBROWS STRONG Espressos. It doesn't matter if there's anything else for breakfast. This is the law, and I follow the law.

The people I classify as dull after I have coffee are, well, dull. Rather, they are DUH-ll. Put me to sleep, pass me more coffee, "look, a diversion" dull.

But in the mornings, if I've progressed beyond the queen troll stage (read: "had one or 2 cups of coffee, already"), they're brilliant in the since that they catch my attention and make me giggle appreciatively, as opposed to at them.

What do you think???

Okay..so I haven't kept myself completely separated from the modern world (AKA, the 'Net)...here's what I've been looking at as of late...

daily dose of imagery

Twitter ----addicting, beware

Rebound Designs ----for those who need to start their Christmas shopping, I'd like one in red, please.

My Life's Work ----like so many other things, the government hit this nail on the head perfectly.

Ning ----Social networking without the craziness of MySpace.

Okay, so I'm not the quintessential sports fan, or heck, even the best baseball fan ever, but...geez...I hated hearing this.

Biggio says goodbye

Alright, I know I've been gone awhile, again. I'll make my excuses now..because it's my blog and I can do it. (Normally, I wouldn't try to make the excuses, but oh well.)

The longterm obstacle has been my insomnia. It's just been awful. Two or three hours a night, if that. On the rare occasion, four hours. And I do mean rare. Now I've never slept through the night, anyway. I've always woken up at least once and been totally awake for 15-30 minutes and then gone back to sleep. My insomnia has been worse in the last year or so. I now know that a lot of it had to do with some medical issues that are finally being discovered and dealt with. So...it should start getting better.

BREAKING NEWS!!!!!

I SLEPT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NIGHT LAST NIGHT. I didn't wake up once..not even at 3 a.m. like I have for as long as I can remember.

It's utterly amazing to me. Those "8 hours" everyone talks about? Yeah, I know what that feels like now. I never have before. I can't remember ever sleeping through the night.

Okay...what else? I know there are more excuses.
Anyway, I'm not going to promise to be good and write regularly, but I'll promise to try. (No Yoda comments please.)

Okay..go read this post at As If!

My personal choices and beliefs aside, the story concerns me. I'm not concerned about those students who are standing up for their rights (you know, those inalienable ones).

No, I'm concerned about those students who will walk away feeling like second-class individuals, or heck, just sub-human because they don't fit a lawmakers concept of "the norm."

It's what I'm listening to here at work, too. I've had quite enough of the intolerant talks being had outside my office door. No, they aren't about me, or even specific people. Just general talks. By someone who should know better than to be so damned intolerant.

A literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art.

Hehe..this'll be fun. I immediately thought of this piece. Frankly, it's bothered me for years and years.

And so...here's what I think, after God knows how many years of existence, the red dot has to say.

Yes, I'm a dot.
Yes, I'm aware that I'm a big, red dot.
No, I don't "mean" anything.
Well, not really.
But I'm sure you've read some sort of
"deep, inner meaning"
in my roundness.
No, I don't want to know what it is.

Hehe...I had too much fun with this!

**Fire a volunteer (when you really need the warm body)?

**Tell someone that you think she's being a bigot and is teaching impressionable young minds to be bigots too?

Forget the volunteer bit. There's little that can really be done about that.

But the bigot thing. I just had to listen to a conversation about "Straight Pride Parades" and "White History Month."

I think I wore him out. He hasn't moved in 3 hours.

Hm...where does my inspiration come from?

I've written so many times about the way words affect me (here and here), my thoughts on just poetry in general.

But where does my inspiration come from? That's so much harder.

I take pictures a lot..my camera's almost always handy and I think the most fabulous gift I ever bought myself is my camera phone (and then I learned how to blog via my phone. Ain't I spiffy?). I rarely share the pictures I take, but I just look back at them and smells and feelings and words come right up (there goes that synaesthesia again).

Sometimes I'll hear a word or phrase and I'm just done in. I used to carry little bits of paper with me all the time. Now I text the phrases to my email address.

I'm a rehearser. I rehearse the important (and goofy...and sexy...and duurrrrty) conversations I want to have with The Man. (It makes me glad I run with an MP3 player strapped to me, people think I'm just singing along.) Sometimes I'll say something--or feed the words I want him to say--and it'll spark something else.

And sometimes I'll hit the prompt for Sunday Scribblings, or Poetry Thursday, and sometimes even One Deep Breath and I can't help but write.

When it hits, it's different every time. Some days, I have to stop everything and go with it. Other times, it marinates for a long while. I can always tell when I'm going to have to stop and focus on the word--my (self-diagnosed) A.D.D. gets so much worse. I've just got no chance of focusing on anything else. None.

For other thoughts on inspiration, check out Sunday Scribblings this week.

Just roaming around the internet this afternoon, while waiting on the Nascar race to start.

First, Visual Personality DNA... Here's mine...


Check out yours. I'm not certain mine's exactly right, but it's interesting.

Then, of course, being a Nascar fan, I ran across The Church of the Great Oval. Odd little site. A mix of just general Nascar commentary, and the driver's astrological forecasts for race day. Ok, sure. But it is fun to read.

Youths probed for daubing swastikas on sheep
Okay, so we're worried about why the kids behaved this way toward the good-natured sheep. What about just painting swastikas? I mean, yes, it can result in fines or prison time in Germany, but how about why swastikas???


I noticed something this week. Actually, I've noticed it before, but I'm mentioning it now. Because I have a small mouth (jokes ahead aside, my friends), I use a youth-size toothbrush. Okay, a child -sized toothbrush. I can't find one anywhere that doesn't have cartoon characters on it. There's not just a plain old toothbrush. I had, finally, found one without characters on it, but it's got a blinking light in the bottom but they were out this week. Certainly makes The Man's daughter laugh at me.

I find it really embarassing to stand in the lane at Wal-Mart at 30 years old trying to decide between Dora and Strawberry Shortcake.


What's the smell? Oh, it's the police
Um. Okay.

They could make it realistic, though...donut smell.

One question...why can't he just be a well-socialized cat?

Mama cat adopts Rottweiler puppy

I mean, doghood can't be all it's cracked up to be.

Okay, a few weeks ago, I wrote about my clock and a case of the "I want ones."

Well, they passed. Quickly, in fact. Well, they started fading before I wrote that post, and were pretty much gone by the end of the day after hitting the publish button.

I've always wavered about wanting children. Well, wanting my own children. I've gone from naming my future babies to shying away from babies in general--related or not. I've thought about adopting older kids--which is certainly something to consider if that's what God has in store for me and my one-day husband. But I've never imagined myself pregnant, giving birth (though I do know that if that ever happens, I am not one of those women who want a natural birth. Give me drugs, in quantity, please.). I've never looked at my friends who have new babies and wanted that part.

Babies don't scare me, any more than older children scare me (now, adults, they scare me). I've babysat, kept my friends kids, and goo-gooed and gah-gahed with the best of them. I've just never felt that pull for longer than a little while.

I'm perfectly happy being Aunt Jayne and would be the most devoted of step-mothers if that's how things happen. I know a couple of kids I'd love to be wicked step-mother to. In that "love you to bits, miss you all the time, saw this and thought about you, can't wait to have you home with us again" kind of wicked.

But is my clock still ticking? Well, yes. But not for kids. It's more about getting on with life.

A friend sent this to me. I'm going to share it, but then I'm going to insert my own commentary.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..one old love she can imagine going back to,and one who reminds her how far she has come..Except for those of us who want a love she'd never imagine leaving to be the one who reminds her how far she's come.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own even if she never wants to or needs to..Hmm, sounds like planning for the worst. I can't agree with this. For the same reasons I don't believe in prenups.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE.. something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour..And still agonize over what to wear. (I'll deny it and call you a liar if The Man ever learns of this--I change clothes at least 3 times before I settle on something to wear when I'm going to see him. Even when I'm going to his place late and wearing my pajamas. Every time.)

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..a youth she's content to leave behind..The Man might not believe this of me..but I do have a youth I'm quite content to leave behind in favor of my present and my future.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age..Okay, so I'll share a few things, but there's some things that will never be retold.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a blacklace bra..Check...check...working on that (and not necessarily in that order).

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE...one friend who always makes her laugh.. and one who lets her cry.. Definitely.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family..My favorite yellow chair, and my rocker.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored.. Okay, eight plates, 3 wine glasses (yes, 3), and a recipe that shows how much I love them. Oh, and seating for 4.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE..a feeling of control over her destiny.. Mostly. And that's me, personally. I mostly have that feeling. About the things that affect only me. But where The Man's concerned...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..how to fall in love without losing herself..This I do know, though it's taken a few missteps. For me, this love has been the want I want to lose myself in, but I haven't--and that's a good thing.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship. Yep, yep, yep.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..when to try harder.. and when to walk away..I've managed to not walk away when I should've, but it's the trying harder when I want to walk away that I never learned.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..that she can't change the length of her calves,the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents.. But I can make my calves look longer, hide the width of my hips, and move.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..that her childhood may not have been perfect.. but it is over..We are the SUM of our experiences, not each experience.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..what she would and wouldn't do for love or more..I believe it's called conviction.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..how to live alone.. even if she doesn't like it..Let's see, this week makes 6 years living alone, not counting the years living alone in a dorm room. For the record, I hate it.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..whom she can trust,whom she can't, and why she shouldn't take it personally.. But sometimes, you can't help but take it personally, particularly when the one you could trust suddenly becomes the one you can't.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..where to go, be it to her best friend's kitchen table,or a charming inn in the woods when her soul needs soothing..Yes, the park. His voice.

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..what she can and can't accomplish in a day..a month.. and a year..One thing at a time.

EVERY WOMAN IS SPECIAL..and she should embrace that..

I AM EVERY WOMAN..and so are you! Well, some of you are! *grin*

He's been sitting there with the blank stares for 20 minutes. Hasn't moved a muscle.

From my hammock.

I've always liked the word 'puzzled.' It feels good in my mouth, but I think that's because I like z-sounds. I don't think I use it very often, but I do tend to hold those words that taste especially good in reserve, so they don't get used too often.

I spent a fair amount of time puzzled this week. It managed to leave me on edge, and feeling insecure. The insecurity kind of scared me. It showed up in overly-emotional ways with The Man. I even raised my voice to him, and started crying because I'd realized what I'd done. I don't think I've ever done it to him, and I know he's never done it to me. I'm sure my doing so and my sudden tears were more than a little puzzling to him.

Last night, it hit me. It's not that I was feeling insecure about my relationship with The Man, that's good, that's solid. It's more that I was feeling very puzzled by reactions and feelings I was having (again, see this post).

People puzzle me. Myself the most. I used to joke with a friend about it. He'd make some comment about "never understand you, woman." I'd answer with "join the club, man." Sometimes, it bothers me that I don't understand myself more. Most of the time, it's just nice to know there's still things to learn, even about myself. I'm sure it's not easy for people around me, probably hardest for The Man (he doesn't have the advantage of knowing me for years).

Anyway, this wound up being just a wander for my mind. But, I wrote--this is twice this week!

For my puzzling thoughts, visit Sunday Scribblings.

**Pardon me whilst I stretch a bit. I'm a little out of practice again. Dang it, I need to write more--well, write more here, as opposed to there. (I know, I know, that makes no sense, but it sorta does, doesn't it?)

The prompt at Poetry Thursday this week is "the body knows." What does the body know, you ask? Well, all kinds of things. This morning, it happens to know quite well that I was out until 1 this morning. Quite well.

But that's not what's on my mind. Sticking to my "theme of the year," here is what my body knows, this morning. This one's even titled, and I rarely ever do that.

Because of a look...

Beating heart ceases, briefly,
then rushes to catch back up.
Full-body flush,
the color rising just before the heat.
Twinges of dancing in my toes
My eyes go wet, not quite welling.


Hm..that felt rusty. I'll have to get back to writing/blogging on a more regular basis.

For other body-knowledge, check out Poetry Thursday.

We had an interesting discussion at the lunch table a few weeks ago. Seems yet another celebrity had done something stupid and had been assigned therapy for something thoughtless he had done. Next day, Lindsey Lohan's listed as the newest in-patient for rehab.

Now, it's Britney. After having shaved her head.

You know, I'm a little tired of this. I feel sorry for any one who's going through a rough time and has a breakdown of sorts. I really do. I've been pretty damn low myself and done some stupid, stupid things. I'm just tired of hearing about celebrities who suddenly throw themselves into anger management therapy and/or rehab. It almost seems to be an easy way out.

Don't get me wrong, I know rehab and therapy are not easy paths to take, particularly if you are really, truly serious about what you're doing while in them. It just seems to me that we're all supposed to be feeling sorry for these celebrities who go off the deep end and then check themselves into rehab. And I'm not sure I do. People every day--regular people--check into rehab or start therapy programs without all the hoopla.

Maybe it's horrible of me, but I can't help but wonder how many of these apparently newsworthy stories are publicity stunts.

This week the prompt is "Chronicles." I finally took five minutes to stop and see what the prompt was this week (I've been preoccupied as of late.). Definition #2 from Answers.com says a chronicle is a detailed narrative record or report.

Actually, it's the subject of my recent preoccupation that I've been thinking about in terms of chroncling lately. I started a list of the things that are making me smile, making me tingle, my heart swell, and my disrupting my sleep (in a good way).

I may have mentioned The Man has returned. We've been back together nearing 2 months. It was instantly more serious than we were in the fall. I'm 10 kinds of happy, and in such love. I keep wanting to write about it, but don't feel like I can do it justice. Some days, what I feel for him just overwhelms me.

So, anyway, in a rush of love one night, when I couldn't do anything else, I started listing the things about him, about our time together that make me sing. In a sense, it's a chronicle of things, a 'detailed record' of the things that define my love for him, our love for each other.

Maybe, one day I'll share it with him.

Okay, okay, so I haven't posted anything in weeks. I know this. I've been preoccupied. Blame The Man. I don't mean "The Man" that keeps you down. I mean "My Man."

So, since I know I should post, and I'm churning some ideas I'm not ready to share, I'll do a news review. Here's what's caught my eye this evening.

Toddler's temper ousts family from plane
I really don't see the problem here. Thank you, flight crew, for deciding to remove a child whose parents wouldn't enforce the rules. I may be misreading this, but it sounds like the flight was already running late. I don't know if this was because of the child, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Oh...more later.

Yep, it's official. Someone's lost her mind.

Panty Check