The Clock is Ticking

The first apartment I lived in seriously confused me. I'm convinced there were gremlins in it, but that wasn't what struck me within the first 10 minutes I'd had a key to the place.

There was a light switch in the living room and another in the kitchen that did nothing. Not a blessed thing. So, I did the Monica thing, only I used noise AND lights. Because I'm cool like that.( No, really, it was because I was in my first apartment and didn't have enough things of one kind or the other to put in every outlet. But, to be honest, I am cool like that.)

I lived in that apartment for 3 and a half years. Never, never, never did I figure out what those switches went to. I don't think they did anything..they were a plant. Someone had designs to drive me crazy. Seriously.

Second apartment I moved into, same complex different building, also had a tricky light switch. This one was right by the door, on the same wall as the cable outlet. Which would be, typically, where one might want to put the TV. Also, by the door might be where one would like to put a lamp. But, because of the amazing lay-out of the place, switching off that outlet meant your TV (and VCR, and DVD, and cable box) were all shut-off as well. Again, because of the layout, you couldn't put the TV anywhere else and not have it look stupid. (Because furniture placement is everything, dahlinks.)

Now, this apartment, which I've lived in for almost 3 years, this one has a switch that only works one of set of holes on an outlet. (you know, they have 2, right? The switch only works the top one.) The outlet and the switch are next to the entry..which is fortunate. Because I actually do use it for a lamp. It's also the wall my TV, etc. are on, but there's a separate outlet for those things. Very handy.

But, it still bothers me that I don't know about those other ones. Frustrates me.

For other things that we just don't get, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.

The first apartment I lived in seriously confused me. I'm convinced there were gremlins in it, but that wasn't what struck me within the first 10 minutes I'd had a key to the place.

There was a light switch in the living room and another in the kitchen that did nothing. Not a blessed thing. So, I did the Monica thing, only I used noise AND lights. Because I'm cool like that.( No, really, it was because I was in my first apartment and didn't have enough things of one kind or the other to put in every outlet. But, to be honest, I am cool like that.)

I lived in that apartment for 3 and a half years. Never, never, never did I figure out what those switches went to. I don't think they did anything..they were a plant. Someone had designs to drive me crazy. Seriously.

Second apartment I moved into, same complex different building, also had a tricky light switch. This one was right by the door, on the same wall as the cable outlet. Which would be, typically, where one might want to put the TV. Also, by the door might be where one would like to put a lamp. But, because of the amazing lay-out of the place, switching off that outlet meant your TV (and VCR, and DVD, and cable box) were all shut-off as well. Again, because of the layout, you couldn't put the TV anywhere else and not have it look stupid. (Because furniture placement is everything, dahlinks.)

Now, this apartment, which I've lived in for almost 3 years, this one has a switch that only works one of set of holes on an outlet. (you know, they have 2, right? The switch only works the top one.) The outlet and the switch are next to the entry..which is fortunate. Because I actually do use it for a lamp. It's also the wall my TV, etc. are on, but there's a separate outlet for those things. Very handy.

But, it still bothers me that I don't know about those other ones. Frustrates me.

I've never participated in a Thursday 13, and honestly, I'm a little on edge about it. I don't like non-prompt prompts. I mean..just list 13 somethings about yourself? Ugh..and put a theme to it? PLEASE--Just give me a theme!

So..because we all know that writers steal at one time or another, I've stolen Mrs. Brownstone's @ XBox Wife's topic--things that drive me bananas.

Thirteen Things that Drive Me Crazy



1. My downstairs neighbors. Quit slamming the door, quit letting your dog poop all over the place and then don't pick it up for days.

2. Karma, and how it seems to just love screwing with me. I never really thought Karma was against me, until the downstairs neighbor joined the staff of the apartment complex. How exactly do I complain to the manager about herself?

3. Tail-gaters. My gosh people--get off my butt? I'm doing the limit +5 on the highway and, as you can clearly see, I CAN'T CHANGE LANES EITHER WITH THE 6 CARS IN THE NEXT LANE GOING THE SAME SPEED. It's just rude.

4. The pillows on my couch. Kids, I've place them on the couch a certain way for a reason. If you must move them or squash them, kindly put them back the way they were when you sat down. And by "kids," I mean everyone who sits on my couch.

5. One-uppers. I gotta agree with Mrs. Brownstone on this one. What I really can't stand is someone who tries to one-up while in the presence of another who has known them long enough to know that story is a lie.

6. People who are down on libraries. Look, I'm pretty down on what you do for a living as well, but you've never heard me say that to your face. Get it?

7. The inept. You know these people, they can't function outside of the box they've created. Well, not true...they CAN function outside of that box, but only when surgically attached to you. (There's this little voice in my head right now telling me I'm supposed to be kind to these people, they may well be the meek. (scroll down, the Beatitudes are in blue below all the 'explanation')).

8. Wal-Mart. Yes, I know it's some sort of marketing strategy to rearrange the entire store every 17 hours, but would you please leave things in the same general area?? I'm going in for a couple of things, a 10-minute trip. But then I can't find anything. Now it's a 30-minute trip. Thanks a lot. It would've been easier if you hadn't run the 2 locally owned grocery stores in town out of business when you opened your "Super" store.

9. Joel Osteen. And it unnerves me that to share this with you will create a "hit" for him in the Google search list. Ugh. I won't go into it all, but if you want to know why, just ask me. Be prepared, this borders on things greater than just annoyance.

10. Mass emails that come from everyone. AKA, known as "repeater emails." Please, check out the list of people that Bob sent this to, you'll notice that not only is your name on it, so is mine. Better yet, don't forward to me the same email I just sent you--just a guess, but I probably read it the first time.

11. Business hours. The office for my cable company is only open between 9:30 and 4:00. Only. I think they do this on purpose so as to avoid all the people who want to call and complain about the service. Hello..guys, you operate a service industry. The edge they have is that they are the only cable company in town--so, unless you go satellite, they've got your business.

12. Talking with your mouth full. Ironically, as much as I love shrimp, crabs, and fish, I don't enjoy "see food." Please, remember that we're the species that determined what "civilized" meant. Could we act like we are? I mean, we weren't raised in barns.

13. Rudeness. I really can't stand people who cannot say a simple "yes ma'am" or "no sir." Or heck, "please" and "thank you." I wish I could post a sign at work "if you can't find it in you to be polite, then we can't find it in us to help you much." But that might not be polite, huh?

And, yes, I'm guilty of some of these at times. Okay, so maybe all of them. Except for maybe the Joel Osteen and Wal-Mart ones. Though, because of the prices, I do shop in Wal-Mart when I have more time to spare than 10-minutes (God Bless the Kroger across the street. The place hasn't been rearranged since it was remodeled 15 or so years ago.) I'll admit it, though..I'm human. I'm not always polite, I'm not always civilized...but I try.


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Hm..what 10 ten things do I have to be thankful for? Well...I'm feeling like this list might be hard coming. We'll see.

1. I had a great weekend hanging out with The Man and Darling Daughter and Son. I've missed days when it's just the 4 of us.

2. I'm on Spring Break, and today, Tuesday, is only the 2nd day (not counting the weekend).

3. Phone call from the insurance company today. They're going to pay for the repairs to my car.

4. The better news about the car is that they aren't my insurance company. And the rental car (again, that they're paying for) was delivered before I walked out of the body shop.

5. Pretty toes! Got a pedicure today. Something about pretty feet and hands makes me feel prettier.

6. WonderDog and I took a nice nap this afternoon, on the couch. We then migrated to the bed for a second nap.

7. I'm going to visit my aunt and uncle Thursday. I'm actually looking forward to it. (It's the first time I'll have been to that house since my grandfather died, and the first I'll have been there in 8 and half years without my dad.)

8. WonderDog and I shared a Deluxe Breakfast from McDonald's this morning. I don't treat him or myself to that stuff very often. I had the hashbrown and the pancakes (syrup is just too messy for WonderDog) and he had the eggs and biscuit. (The picture has an english muffin, must be from up North. Us Southerners know that breakfast should have biscuits.) We shared the sausage. Mmmmm...sausuage.

9. I'm rereading Madeleine L'Engle's Many Waters. It's the continuation of the series starring the Murry family (from A Wrinkle in Time, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, and A Wind in the Door.) This is probably my favorite series of all time. Okay, well that and the Little House books and the Chronicles of Narnia.

10. The new Lifehouse CD is really good. I'm glad that impulse buy worked out.

For other thankful lists, visit Ten Things Tuesday at XBox Wife.

I can't explain it, but...this disturbs me.

I guess I'd never been aware of the existence of the stuff. Until today. Today, I saw it on the shelf at the dollar store.

This is the stuff bad dreams are made of.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I've been thinking of moving. I've toyed with the idea of moving to Georgia, where my brother is. I've looked at other jobs, closer to here but still far enough away to feel like I'm starting fresh. Even applied for a couple. I've really felt like that, even with everything that here has to offer me, it doesn't really offer me anything.

Anyway, I have been wondering why I live here. I mean, here is a nice enough place, decent schools (which is nice since I work in one), my church is near, I know people. My family is here. Yes, I grew up here, so there's the sense of familiarity and feeling like I am a part of this place, to some extent.

You know, it started because I just didn't have the funds to move out on my own right after college. My hometown likes to see "its own" come back to live and work here, and makes no bones about liking to hire us. So, it seemed natural. I promised myself I'd give my hometown 5 years--this is year 8. I promised myself I'd give my library 5 years--this is year 5. Thing is, I already know I'll be back for year 6 (well, 9).

It is nice being here. It's comfortable, safe. I know who I am here, and people know me. But I do want more. I want to know I can make it away from here, find happiness that meets everything I need. But I won't leave the safe place. Even if I think happiness is "out there" somewhere.


For other random thoughts and writings, check out Sunday Scribblings.

Lately (well for a couple of months now), I've been in a state of experimentation. Every morning, I study the idea of getting out of bed. I don't go blindly into the experiment. I don't believe in running about willy nilly (as they'd say) and jumping off of cliffs without ropes on the chance that someone will catch me. No, I weigh it out, pros/cons, factor in the possible outcomes, and what I learned when I performed the experiment the day before (hence the Einstein quote above.)

See, I've been depressed. Now, that's not a diagnosis, just a knowledge that I have. And every day, simply opening my eyes is an experiment in living. I've not gotten so low as to not want to extend the experiment for a long while, but I have wondered about bothering with that day. Yesterday was like that. I got out of bed, had some coffee, walked The WonderDog, checked email and went back to bed. It was mid-afternoon before I bothered dressing and running to the store for food (yes, the grocery fairy had skipped me again. I guess I need to talk to her boss.). I had plans last night, but I begged off. I couldn't convince myself to risk leaving the house again. I really hate that.

What gets me up is knowing I have to go to work. I enjoy my work, so I often forget I'm experimenting. But then I come home, put on my pjs and go to bed. At 5 pm. The poor WonderDog hates it. I don't play, I don't love on him. He's his own island. Not good for a puppy dog. But he's been good, he tries so hard to take care of me, resigning himself to sleep all day on a pretty Saturday, rather than play in the yard.

Now, I know that some of what I've said (i.e. opening my eyes is an experiment in living) is really a commentary of the human condition and life anyway. But I also know that I've never felt like that before. I've felt listless before, but never felt like faking it was so exhausting (and, some days, so pointless). There's a part of me that wonders if I shouldn't go find some tools until I get back on my feet, and off of my face, but I can't even start entertaining that notion right now. It means leaving the house for something other than a dire necessity or work.

And you know what really hurts? The people who I think know me best have no idea. I'm not sure if that's a sign of amazing coping/acting skills or if that means they don't really know me.

For more thoughts on experimenting and experimentation, visit Sunday Scribblings this week.

Oh good..I typed that big word up there and then freaked out because I didn't know if it was a word or not. According to Dictionary.com, it is. And it, rather obviously, means just what you think it does.

On my iGoogle page, one of my widgets (or is it gadgets?) is an Einstein quote-a-day. I like him. I don't understand everything he had to say, but I do like the things that I do understand.

Like this...

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

You know. I get this one. The thing is, reality is relative. My reality (rather, my perception of reality) doesn't match yours. That's just a human nature.

The hardest thing to understand in the world is the income tax.

Amen to that. And it doesn't help that it seems to change every year.

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.

And I think everything should be viewed as a miracle. I have my cynical moments (days, ok weeks), but I really do wake up every day and feel blessed that I have woken up. I'll admit I don't wake up feeling that the alarm is a miracle (even of modern technology), but I do thank God for the miracle of waking and being able to get out of bed on my own power.

Anyway..just rambly tonight.

Free associations again. The idea is you're given a word and you reply with one word. Don't forget...I can't follow directions well. *grin*

1. Chemical :: allergies (from which I'm suffering a little right now)


2. Poker :: ooo, a tie...face and "red-hot"


3. Federal :: Income tax (waiting on my refund)


4. Mattress :: not so heavenly (the hotel I stayed in had a "heavenly bed" that sucked.)


5. Who am I? :: I don't know..who are you?


6. Investigation :: Roger Clemens


7. In good hands :: D


8. 8:30 :: bedtime


9. Creditors :: damn them


10. Resource :: learning

For other free associations (which happen to be free!), check out Unconscious Mutterings.

This week, Sunday Scribblings has their 100th prompt. Happy (sorta) Blogaversary to you guys!

The idea this time is to write about the things that are like a mini-time machine for you. Music is mine. Sometimes smells and tastes, but always music. And then the music brings up the smells, tastes, touches, and the feelings in my heart.



The first time I heard this Kenny Chesney song, I knew exactly what he meant.

I never really thought about, that music is so integral to who I am. I'm not a musician, not really. I can appreciate it at the nut and bolt level. I can tell you when someone's off-key. I even direct an instrumental choir at church. But I just realized that I regularly made sound tracks for my life.

Okay, we all do that right? Make mix tapes? Or, I guess, CDs or playlists now. I've done it for years. I caught myself the other day making the list of that defined love and life with The Man. (I was only doing that because I couldn't focus on the death of my grandfather so I picked something else that made me feel warm. The Man and I aren't together anymore so our sound track is decidedly different now than it was a few months ago, but the warmth is still welcome.)

Songs can reduce me to tears, leave me uplifted. Cure every hurt, and amplify the pain.

I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this weekend. Next week will be 4 years since she passed. Grandpa just passed this last Friday. These two songs were her two of her favorites (sung by her one of her favorite "new guys" in country music, Alan Jackson.) We sang "I'll Fly Away" at her funeral.



For other time machines, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.

Today feels like a fog.

I was called early this morning and told that my grandfather, Daddy's dad, died during the night.
I already know.

I woke around 12:15 this morning to a totally silent room, but felt like someone other than the WonderDog was there. When I was little, Grandpa would run his hand over my hair..starting at my widow's peak and all the way down (my then) long hair, about midback. I felt him do that this morning. Felt the familiar weight of his hand. Then I heard him say, what he'd always said when I'd leave his company back when he still recognized me, "I'm proud of you."

So, today, silence is bad. I've got media player running through the library I've ripped onto the computer. The lyrics are speaking to me, but not in the way the artists must've intended..

And time has been spread so thin and its just hours till the day begins. And the things that are keeping you here are not keeping me here and the things that are keeping you here will keep me away. (Dashboard Confessional, "Drowning")

Cause when I take a look around everybody seems so strong. I know they'll soon discover that I don't belong. (Casting Crowns, "Stained Glass Masquerade")

So, I stayed late at work to do some stuff. That turned into some random babysitting. No big deal, I get paid for it.

And, I'm playing on the computer. Google Blog Search. Looked for "caffeine" because I was dreaming about coffee at the time. Oddly enough, I apparently didn't read the news much today at work. Starbucks closed?? For hours? To train they're employees? Well.

Okay, so if you're like me and missed this until it was too late anyway, the story is that Starbucks stores--every Starbucks mind you--were closed for 3 hours this evening to spend time training their baristas. This is something I figured happened prior to them preparing my venti mocha lattes, but apparently that's not the case. At least, it appears to not be the case.

However, bravo to them. They've obviously noticed that they're falling behind somewhere along the way. I mean, people actually want to get coffee pushed by a donut shop (and these people aren't cops!) or from the local "Golden Arches."

Ooooo...have I mentioned I love going to McDonald's in the morning for coffee? I mean, now that they serve respectable coffee, it's nice to go anyway. BUT, the other morning, I discovered that when you order your large coffee and ask for 2 creams and 2 sugars, they'll put it in the cup and stir for you. Yum...drinking my coffee before leaving the parking lot? Wonderful...

Back to them other guys...

I kinda have a problem with Starbucks. I feel like there's some global take over thing in the works with them. Kind of like Wal-Mart. However, my bigger problem with them is that the closest one is 25 minutes away. I mean, it's good coffee, but I don't know that it's 25-mile coffee.

I've sat down to write here I can't tell you how many times in the last 3 weeks. I want to write. I want the catharsis..I want so badly to put words on paper. It's even worse knowing the words are there. They're in my head, in my heart.

They won't come out of my hands.

To be reasonable, I know I've been a little more A.D.D. lately. I open a post window, or a document, or a journal, and then the WonderDog squeaks at me. Or a bird flits past the window. Or my stomach grumbles. Most recently, the package of pre-fab chicken pot stickers in my fridge actually spoke my name. I heard them loud and clear. They said "Eat me..you know you want to. Eat me RIGHT NOW."

It turns out they were right. I just took them out of the pan.

However...I still don't find myself writing the things I want to write about. I'm writing about pot stickers, for cripes sake. I've figured it out, I think. I'm scared. And that's categorically ridiculous, for me.

I enjoy writing. I'm confident in my abilities. I firmly believe in an adage that R gave me years ago--when you have something to say, you don't have to get it right the first time, but you do have to start somewhere. I know I don't have to get it right here the first time, or the tenth time--that's what that beautiful "edit posts" link is about...I can edit it even after I've published it a dozen times.

I think I'm scared of what I'll discover. And that's wrong to me, too. I've been very good the last several years about being real with myself. Very good. (Again, thank you R.) However, I think I'm scared right now that I'll feel something. And I don't really want to this month. I've got too much going on. Is that strange?

Found a new thinking prompt. Apparently, I'm a little late in the game (this is week 262), but it's fun anyhow. It's all about free associations. Try it out *wink*

1. Score :: concert tickets (I just scored some free ones, teehee)


2. Luxurious :: socks


3. Party :: cocktail


4. Limited edition :: need more


5. Security :: measures


6. Betty :: Davis eyes


7. Under construction :: ugh..me


8. Pest :: my cereal (there were ants in my cereal box this morning)


9. director :: Oscar-status


10. Express :: cost (as in high cost of shipping)

For more thinking, try Unconscious Mutterings,

I recently read an article in the Houston Chronicle that talked about a project over at Smith magazine. Check out the "Six Word Memoirs" projects.

So..what's your life story? In six words..

I came. I saw. I loved.

I don't know, who am I?

Share it over at Smith..but share it here, too.

1. Father went to college yes
2. Father finished college well, sorta..associate's
3. Mother went to college yes
4. Mother finished college yes
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor yes..the Brother
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers. yes, middle class
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home. yep..and check out cards
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home. no room
9. Were read children's books by a parent yep.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18 yep--piano, flute, dance
11. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed on the the news just before the hysterical mother
12. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18 try 23
13. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs first degree, yes. second no
14. Went to a private high school nope
15. Went to summer camp yep
16. Had a private tutor before you turned 18 nope
17. Family vacations involved staying at hotels yep
18. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18 nope, some were hand me downs from the neighbor
19. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them yep
20. There was original art in your house when you were a child only what my brother and I did
21. You and your family lived in a single-family house yep
22. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home nope, just paid it off
23. You had your own room as a child yep
24. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course no
25. Had your own TV in your room in high school yep, a black and white
26. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college thanks to my grandfather
27. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16 Orlando when I was 2
28. Went on a cruise with your family still waiting for this one, promises, promises
29. Went on more than one cruise with your family see above
30. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up yep..education is important
31. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family probably..don't really remember

Had an interesting train of thought the other day....an old friend, K, started it.

I was telling him a little about some medical troubles I've been having. Nothing major. Just stuff to get over. He commented that I'm too bad to die young. Ok..it was worth a short giggle.

But I got to thinking about it...It's not that I'm bad. Well, not really. I guess it's more that I feel like maybe I haven't been very good at living. You'd think after 31 (eek) years I'd have a better handle on it.

I just don't know..I feel like I've not focused on things that are really important. I haven't honestly been thankful for every bit of the life I've been given. Most importantly, I'm not grateful.

More on this. Soon..not months from now. Promise.

Actually, no, it isn't different shit. I've been here before.

Starting over.

Frickin' sucks. But, I guess we all do stuff we don't want to, right?

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

I have 2 favorite Christmas gifts this year. Well, 2 favorite material gifts.

First is....

New perfume from The Man. We stopped at the perfume counter a couple of weeks ago. I was trying to decide between my old scent (classic Burberry) and a new one (Burberry London). I figured, since he'd have to smell it on me, I'd get his opinion. It was not a thinly veiled hint to buy me perfume for Christmas. But he did anyway..the whole stinkin' set--shower gel and lotion, too! I love it, love it, love it.


The other is....

My espresso machine! See, I have a coffee addiction. Detailed here and here. I love coffee. I don't know how to start a day without it. I just don't.

But, the best gift? Spending time with The Man. I feel so good around him. He's an angel, and I'm blessed.

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. ~Benjamin Franklin

I think I've said this somewhere before...but I don't do New Year's Resolutions. I don't believe in them. I can't think of any good reason to resolve to change once a year. Yes, I know, you can decide to make changes at any point during the year, but people make such a big deal about it at New Year's.

I don't think Old Ben meant that you should start in January working yourself over to be a new man. Instead, I think when the new year starts, the idea is that you're better than you were when the last one did.

Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us. ~Hal Borland

There's an old prayer, rumored to be found in the Bible of a freed slave who died in battle during the Civil War.

"Lord, I ain't what I oughta be,
And I ain't what I wanna be,
And I ain't what I gonna be.
But Lord, I thank ya,
I ain't what I was."

That's what I think about during this time of year. I honestly do sit and think about how I've grown and changed during the course of a year. And where I'm heading.

On New Year's Day, my mother will ask us to share our resolutions. She's obviously never heard..

Never tell your resolution beforehand, or it's twice as onerous a duty. ~John Selden

So, even if I did really, really make New Year's resolutions, I wouldn't share them.

All that being said, I do have a change I'm going to endeavor to make. I'm gonna stop cussing. It's really gotten to be too easy for me to let those 4-letter words slip out. I tried once before, even set myself up to put a quarter in a jar every time I said one. The idea was that once I'd gone 2 weeks without paying the jar, I could take the money and go do something fun. I made it to $4, then decided it was really stupid and did away with the cup. And kept cussing. (Should I note that the first $2.50 accrued inside of about 20 minutes?).

One last thought about resolutions and change, from dear Mr. Twain...

Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. ~Mark Twain

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. ~Benjamin Franklin

I think I've said this somewhere before...but I don't do New Year's Resolutions. I don't believe in them. I can't think of any good reason to resolve to change once a year. Yes, I know, you can decide to make changes at any point during the year, but people make such a big deal about it at New Year's.

I don't think Old Ben meant that you should start in January working yourself over to be a new man. Instead, I think when the new year starts, the idea is that you're better than you were when the last one did.

Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us. ~Hal Borland

There's an old prayer, rumored to be found in the Bible of a freed slave who died in battle during the Civil War.

"Lord, I ain't what I oughta be,
And I ain't what I wanna be,
And I ain't what I gonna be.
But Lord, I thank ya,
I ain't what I was."

That's what I think about during this time of year. I honestly do sit and think about how I've grown and changed during the course of a year. And where I'm heading.

On New Year's Day, my mother will ask us to share our resolutions. She's obviously never heard..

Never tell your resolution beforehand, or it's twice as onerous a duty. ~John Selden

So, even if I did really, really make New Year's resolutions, I wouldn't share them.

All that being said, I do have a change I'm going to endeavor to make. I'm gonna stop cussing. It's really gotten to be too easy for me to let those 4-letter words slip out. I tried once before, even set myself up to put a quarter in a jar every time I said one. The idea was that once I'd gone 2 weeks without paying the jar, I could take the money and go do something fun. I made it to $4, then decided it was really stupid and did away with the cup. And kept cussing. (Should I note that the first $2.50 accrued inside of about 20 minutes?).

One last thought about resolutions and change, from dear Mr. Twain...

Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. ~Mark Twain

For other thoughts on change, visit Sunday Scribblings.

I'm not sure who this poem is about. There's a couple of front-runners.

In a situation I thought
improbable
(because I've learned 'impossible' is a laughable word)
I've fought so hard lately to be
practical.
Lock it all away,
Tell no one of pain, of joy.
Then, He surprised me.

Could be a faith issue. It's altered in the last few months. Went through some rocky stuff that surprised me--by both the suddenness and how deeply my heart was affected. I know my faith, which has been pretty strong for a long while now, deepened.

Could be about The Man. We've wandered back to each other again. It's so much nicer this time--we smile more, touch more, and are more at ease with each other. I thought I was happy and at peace with him before, but I don't think I really knew what that felt like. I do now.

To read some other inspired poetry, check out Poetry Thursday.

Kids,

Momma needs a new template. She's bored with this, and just not feeling like a 'red girl' anymore.

Where do you go to find your fabulous templates?

Sing it with me now....

Green Acres is the the place to be...
Farm livin' is the life for me!
Land spreadin' out so far and wide..
Keep Manhattan just give me that countryside!

I'm watching TVLand this morning. I just luuuurve "Green Acres." This morning, Lisa's mother has come to visit in Hooterville. The most touching part (and you can see where Lisa gets her brains from) is when she mistakes Eb for Lisa's husband, Oliver.

Does it bother anyone else that Lisa's mom doesn't have an accent at all???

For the 'real' name...

I'm sorry, this is a bit pathetic. "You're Not Fired."

I can't help but think that some little girl is out there thinking it's okay to behave the way this young woman did. I'm not saying that I never did those things, but not while I was in such a public position.

I think it's a breach of contract. Miss America should be upright and law-abiding. She should've been fired.

Just joined up with a great blogroll.

Blogging Chicks is a women's only blogroll.

You oughta check it out.

Just joined up with a great blogroll.

Blogging Chicks is a women's only blogroll.

You oughta check it out.

Dear you,

Let me begin by saying that I am ever so glad you took that extra few seconds to touch up your hair and lipstick after I asked for your assistance. It made getting upset with you so much nicer, knowing that at least you looked/felt good.

I came into your store on a busy-ish Friday afternoon. The store wasn't packed, there weren't lines snaking out the door, but there were several people there. To be expected on the Friday a week before Christmas, I suppose. But still, it wasn't so busy that I would be silly to expect at least a little personal service.

After wandering the store rather aimlessly for a few minutes, I approached the counter that you were safely hidden behind and asked for your help. Please note, I did not approach while you were primping. Rather, the lipstick appeared after I said "Could I get some help, please?" Once you'd dropped the lipstick back in your pocket, and made sure that your perfectly coiffed hair was still, in fact, perfect, you turned to me with a flat expression.

"What do you need?"

Well. Okay. A smile might have been in order, but whatever. From here forward, let me list in order of offense the things you should have done differently.

1. When asked to help with a bra-fit, don't do it right there in the middle of the store. I realize that this might be mostly a personal preference, but I think my bra size is something the general public doesn't need to know. Rather than whip out your tape measure in front of the register, take me back to a dressing room.

2. Once you have divulged my measurements to the store at-large, the appropriate thing to do is to help me find "my perfect bra." Not point vaguely at the greater part of the selection and say "here's what we have" then turn back to an empty counter. So, I picked out what I was looking for. Next problem.

3. If I ask for more specific help, maybe--just maybe--you should provide it. I ask about the specific size you broadcasted earlier. You opened a drawer and disdainfully said "Here's where we keep that size." Now, I understand that the drawer is labeled that size and being an educated woman, I'd already figured out that the drawer you pointed out was where that size was supposed to be. But it wasn't. That was my point. I wasn't finding what I was looking for using your system the way I understood it. That's whyI asked for help. Go figure.

4. Remind your cohorts that poor service from one of you doesn't translate to poor service from the rest of you. I stood there, searching, digging through every drawer for what I needed. Three other sales associates walked past and smiled at me. No one asked if I needed help. I thought customer service was about the customer.


After spending 20 minutes searching fruitlessly, forgive me for being a tad petty and trite. I found one thing. One. Only one. I heard rumors there were more "somewhere" but since no one would help me, I couldn't find them.

So, I gathered up a few things and joined the line at your register. When my turn arrived, I placed my half-dozen things in front of you, and your eyes lit up (a BIG sale). You rung up each piece, then asked "Did you find everything you needed today?" No, actually, I didn't. "Well, you should've asked for help." Hm..seems like I did. A couple times. No response.

You rung up everything, then gave me a total. I dug in my purse for a minute...must be right here...then offered up a saccharin smile....sorry. I keep my credit card right here, right where it says "credit card," but I guess I can't find it. I turned and walked out.

Okay, so it was a tad petty and childish. Oh well. I wasn't in the mood to be adult, especially feeling like the time I'd carved out of the day to visit your store was wasted.

You know what makes it worse? Your tag said "store manager." No wonder the other girls didn't help, you haven't taught them how.

Um..2 weeks ago (or something like that), the prompt offered over at Poetry Thursday was a meme. Since I didn't get around to doing it then, and I'm up at 6:30 on a DAY OFF, I'll do it now (apparently, I have time!).

Works well since this week's prompt seems to basically be a "do what you want" kind of week.


1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was... Shel Silverstein's "Boa Constrictor." (Find it here) I think this was the first time that I'd realized how words paint pictures and that, as that wasn't enough!, they tasted in my mouth.

2. I was forced to memorize (name of poem) in school and... Gosh, we must have been deprived at our school. I honestly can't remember ever having to memorize a poem. I remember reciting "The Fog" (Sandburg) and then doing an art project on it and writing our own "fog-like" poem, though.

3. I read/don't read poetry because... I do read poetry because it relaxes me. But I also subscribe to the notion that to write good poetry/prose/grocery lists/whatever, a person must read those things voraciously.

4. A poem I'm likely to think about when asked about a favorite poem is... Wow, Emily Dickinson comes to mind. I imagine it would be cheating to say "all of it," huh? Well, call me a cheater. It wouldn't be the first time!

5. I write/don't write poetry, but... I do write poetry, but I wish I wrote more of it.

6. My experience with reading poetry differs from my experience with reading other types of literature... It feeds my mild A.D.D. quite well--I can finish a piece and do my thinking before my wanders again. But, too, phrasing and line breaks make sense in my mind. It's how I think.

7. I find poetry... Delicious. I devour it, and sometimes bleed it. Poetry is in every step of my life, kind of like my faith.

8. The last time I heard poetry... A few days ago. One of my students read his pieces to me.

9. I think poetry is like... Visual perception through one's heart. No, not everyone feels poetry intensely, but you can't deny that it evokes the visceral.

For other answers to this meme, visit Poetry Thursday.