spinning

somedays it seems the world is passing by.
i want to curl up and stop.
just stop.

but the cars still motor about their routines.
the trains dump loads of commuters off at Starbucks,
my mailbox continues to fill with monthly monetary obligations,
and design deadlines spill into my inbox.
the air filter in my furnace needs replacing,
the skylights on my sun porch are leaking,
my son, my dogs, and my cat need breakfast, lunch and dinner,
and I wait anxiously for each of them to poop
before we continue on.

and I am tired.
and I want to be seventeen
and drive around in my car until dusk
watching the clouds melt the sun
and let someone else do the responsible things.

nothing stops...
it just keeps spinning,
even when your eyelids are so heavy your can barely focus
even when your shoulders won't release from your ears.
it just keeps spinning.

house guest

this is yoshi.
he giggles and snorts.
he waddles and waggers.
he snores like a freight train,
performs awkward yoga to scratch he left ear.

he sneezes backwards and inside out.
this makes him sound like a midevil monster.
and we cower away as these strange noises
vibrating off of him.

but he is the sweetest house guest we have ever had.

month 23

Just one month shy of your second birthday
and a certain mourning is taking place inside my heart.

Why has “two” become such a large number?

At your first birthday we rejoiced in simply surviving.
Now I feel as if turning two means turning you loose
Into your independent toddlerhood

Fearful of sounding like the mother trying to hold her child back,
I hesitate to discuss such feelings.

I am delighted about your bright growth and clever maturity,
I am thrilled about your mumbles translating into conversations,
your comical actions, your attention to details, your independent demands.

But lately I’ve been breaking the Supernanny’s rules
And letting you snuggle in my bed way past your bedtime
In an attempt to hold on to the little infant boy
Who could not lift his head without me,
Whose fingers wrapped securely around my shoulders
for most the day.

I am saying goodbye to a moment from yesterday
I have never been very good at this.

anxious

"Well, the past is gone, I know that.
The future isn't here yet, whatever it's going to be.
So, all there is, is this.
The present.
That's it."

~Bill Murray as Don Johnston in Broken Flowers

sleepy

When the whole world fits inside of your arms
Don't really need to pay attention to the alarm
Wake up slow, yeah wake up slow

~Banana Pancakes, Jack Johnson

Between us…

Let's face it... you and me.
Probably not meant to be.

I have not treated you well.
I have not maintained your needs.
I have ignored as many of your issue as I can...

I do not like your neighbors.
I take pride in ambivalencence for the stature of your town.
I will never put on make-up to run to the grocery store
Or care what type of car I drive.
I want to leave you because I feel somehow I am deeper
than the desperate housewives that live across the street.

But with each new stranger that crosses your floors and finds
Something they do not like about your structure,
your layout, your body and face,
I feel wounded.

Not because I am eager to move on.
Not because I am disappointed that the visit didn't result in a sale.

Because I want someone to love you like I have.

I want someone to curl in your corners and listen to the rain
Dance on the steel chimney of your potbelly stove.

I want someone to throw a party in your parlor,
illuminate your soul from the inside out with flickers of candle light,
and beam when their guests tell them what a sexy home they have.

I want someone who sees better things for you.
I want someone to dream bigger for you
than I have...

resolved

About 9 months ago I made a promise to myself to continue my journals. To spill my inner thoughts and celebrate the messiness of my mind. My friend Jen helped inspire me. After several months of online journaling, we had coffee on perfect mid-west morning and dared each other to get a little more "real" or "sassy" as we said that sunny day.

I've been pretty chicken shit (or just too lazy to upload my photos.) I keep worrying that someone in my real life will read my little niche in cyberspace and think... well, think I'm not perfect ALL THE TIME. Or maybe they would catch my ones and zeros on the day that I don't like them.

I'm not perfect - ever. Though I like to think I am. I don't like everyone. Not even well - ever. And if you are in my real life and you read this and you think it is about you - you are probably right - but more likely - wrong.

But I know this. I am more than mediocre and the friends I have met in this magnificent online landscape of creative females are way more than mediocre. And I cherish celebrating the moments of our lives... Thank you, Jen, for reminding me to be true to myself - first. I miss ya!

My news years resolution: Start dating my laptop again...