Obscurity

A thousand and one miles deep into obscurity, but happy about it. Fa-fa-fump, and all the songs on the radio are Snow Patrol's lately. That one album that encompasses every last VH-1 almost-be's. Um, not sounding right. The edges of the mirror and her cracks,...

and one birthday late. Just gonna sit here for a bit while I gather my thoughts, pawning half-answers off on my three-year-old, and her questions. Whose is that? Mine? Can I have it, in other words. Simpler to ignore half her sentences.

Until she gets to the root of what she's asking, really though, she's just messing up parts of the basement until I answer. So that's how romance novelists' thoughts are processed. Irregularly.

Schedule

Five o'clock and five-thirty, I must be there to regather my young ones, all played out with dates I arranged just today. Friendships in the making, with mother's full support...their containers. Latin root, continere, to hold together. Reflections of themselves, their worlds seen in others, a gracious exchange.

Words, words in staccato, I know I know. Still seeking that free space where I soared above all, plucking from the fruit trees all that would serve me, listening in between. Where the soul arises of its own doing, the not-doing place, the arising without acting.

It's just. Such open forgiveness and allowing clears the space, and the sounds are suggested...the words its translation. Rudolph Steiner and his eurhythmy, where consonants and vowels suggest the course. And all we have to do is wait and receive, finding gratitude for its obedient way.

A static phase

Pacing my way through a series of days filled with normal. School returns just around the corner, excited by the new rituals and demands ahead. For entertainment, reading the thoughts of fellow empty nesters, an endless supply of been there and survived it. Some, anyway.

Planning ahead for seven years later, and then the culmination that will arrive in fifteen (last graduation). Am I prepared, have I celebrated every moment? Backstepped and rechecked, then plowed further ahead?

Who will I be when the last one leaves my nest...someone who took less for granted, who lived full-time in "believe in your best life" land.

I found horror

Not to be exhibitionistic, the worst crime forced upon Americans they hum, but these past years have shaped me into who I currently am. Not to confuse myself with what I shall be, but am not. I want to be that perfect mother who never screws up, who has expertly sidestepped exhibiting her life as from shambles.

But I've been there, raced there even just to see what I'd like,...if. My life was different than it is today, which is recovering from shambles. Got that? My life, in its current state, is recovering from a shamble-filled existence. Portrayed also online, somewhere else.

Won't say where.

More pizza tonight

Not only pepperoni this time, but hickory barbecue chicken w/ sweet onions (grilled). It's nice to have weekends like these, temp was just like it'd be when sipping sweet tea in the south. Met that feeling at Sam's Club where romance novels were begging my attention.

It was a sweet tea summer though, something profitable like that (and efficient). I hear these romance novel writers make the most money, follow the craft exquisitely, and find that range I dare not achieve. Who wants to experience everything?

Not me. Strikes too many nerves over and over. Plus, no cure.

Places and Spaces

I should be playing with Playdough

Instead, I'm escaping from SpongeBob puzzle duty (100 pieces), and basking in the smell of a just baked cake. Pioneer Woman's, of course. No link love today, dahhhlings, as I've more avoiding to do, disappearing, and staying still in hell.

Yes, I said it, bored out of my mind. Six days straight of evil and poisonous answers to everything possible? And this is clearing my conscience wide open, and how!!! It takes courage to excavate all those darkest parts and so I...oops, wait, there's my tea.

Here I am, still avoiding the puzzle though.