Country Road, Take Me Home

I'm going home.
I'm going to Texas. While I live in Seattle, I have Texas in my bones. It resides in my being.
I am proud to be a Texan.
Now don't get me wrong..... I love Seattle. I chose to live here many moons ago.
But the Lone Star State will always have my heart.
I'm going to attend a dear friends Breast Cancer Charity Volleyball Tournament. His name is Chris Bailey and he is one of the kindest most generous humans I have ever known.
I knew him when he was a punk ass bitch drunk mutha fucka. I know him now as a husband and father and friend that donates and incredible amount of money, food and time, giving to those who have nothing. His heart is Texas size. If you ever get to meet him you should consider yourself lucky!!!!
With this trip I plan to see family and friends that I haven't seen in a long time. I plan to tune up my accent while I am there too. Watch out ya'll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See you on the flip side!

Empty Victory

I am catering a wedding this weekend.
My first really big job.
I am scared out my mind. I take comfort in the rhythm of chopping vegetables. The smell of my kitchen. The music playing in the background.
It's quiet in my house and I have lots of thinking time.
I think about how I made it to this point. This point of turning a passion into a business.
At the time I decided to pursue this dream, I had someone in my life that supported me. In every way, He told me we could do anything together and I believed him. I needed to believe him in order to have the courage to do this.
But he stopped believing.
In me.
In us.
While I am learning to live with this, I must still keep going after this dream I have of cooking for people. If I don't I will always wonder....what if.
So today is an empty victory. He is not by my side to smooth over by brow. He is not here to tell me me to stop my whining and DO IT.
It feels lonely not being able to tell him that I am excited and nervous.
It feels empty.
It feels like a victory.

Hold Your Tongue

The Canonization

BY JOHN DONNE

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,

         Or chide my palsy, or my gout,

My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout,

         With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,

                Take you a course, get you a place,

                Observe his honor, or his grace,

Or the king's real, or his stampèd face

         Contemplate; what you will, approve,

         So you will let me love.

Alas, alas, who's injured by my love?

         What merchant's ships have my sighs drowned?

Who says my tears have overflowed his ground?

         When did my colds a forward spring remove?

                When did the heats which my veins fill

                Add one more to the plaguy bill?

Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still

         Litigious men, which quarrels move,

         Though she and I do love.

Call us what you will, we are made such by love;

         Call her one, me another fly,

We're tapers too, and at our own cost die,

         And we in us find the eagle and the dove.

                The phœnix riddle hath more wit

                By us; we two being one, are it.

So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.

         We die and rise the same, and prove

         Mysterious by this love.

We can die by it, if not live by love,

         And if unfit for tombs and hearse

Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;

         And if no piece of chronicle we prove,

                We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms;

                As well a well-wrought urn becomes

The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,

         And by these hymns, all shall approve

         Us canonized for Love.

And thus invoke us: "You, whom reverend love

         Made one another's hermitage;

You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;

         Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove

                Into the glasses of your eyes

                (So made such mirrors, and such spies,

That they did all to you epitomize)

         Countries, towns, courts: beg from above

         A pattern of your love!"

Unlovable

I had this thought today.
I am not sure if it comforted me or terrified me.
I think I am unlovable,
I take comfort in this because it allows me to stop ever looking and hoping.
I am terrified because it really might be true.
I might not be worthy of love.
I don't say this so someone will say, OH!! but you are!  I say this because my personal history has shown I might not be,
I felt truly loved ONE time. And he too is gone.
The father of my children cares for me. Of course he does. He cares for my well being. But I never really felt he was in love with me.
My children love me. I know this.
My father, no so much.
My mother, only to restore all the shit she pulled when I was a kid.
Men see me as fuckable, until the tit truth comes out. Then I am a freak show the want to see naked.
So this thought, that started in the back of my head as a whisper is now screaming at me, and I can't make it stop.

make.
it.
stop.

Need

I think I need to blog. I think if I don't get this out of me I will explode.
I have a need. Blogging is my release.
Too much has been going on. The rocks in my head keep tumbling around.
And now I start to type and my mind has gone blank. Oh dear reader are you there? Do you read me? Is this thing on?????

PTFO  

Puttin this on blast

Such beauty in this world. Only to be met at times with such ugliness.
I have not blogged in a long time. Life sometimes gets in the way of blogging about life.
I have someone whom I keep at the outskirts of my life who is acting really ugly. I am not sure what happened to this person in their life that fills them up with hatred. This person has a very sad existence.
This person hates me. With such passion.
This person says, and I quote, I wish that bitch was dead. He is refering to this bitch right here. Me.
As if he deserves to be on this planet more than I do. That my children deserve to be motherless. That my step childen deserve to see another woman die. Was it not enough to see their own mother die?
That my husband should bury another wife because my being on this planet angers this person so much he would rather me dead.
Sad. Just ever so sad.
This person goes around my social peers and spews his hatred. He doesn't care what gets back to our kids. His agenda is way more important that little ears hearing what he says.
This is his religion. His opinions are gospel. His hate is the doctrine he follows and believes everyone should too.
I am not he first to be his target. No no no. I am in the line up of what's wrong with the world.
In his path of destruction he is taking innocent people with him.
So I say, peace be with you sir. You are knocking on the door of karma and she is not kind sometimes. What you put out here comes back to you ten fold...good luck with that.

PTFO

Blink of an Eye

Life changes. I have no words right now. No one deserves such pain. Such heartache.
Life is so short. So very short.
Am I wasting it????

Please help if you can.





http://www.gofundme.com/695ico

or

https://fundrazr.com/campaigns/6gCDf/ab/82eey6?psid=bfb8c53c8a4847b4bba56065557e907e

At Dusk

THERE AT DUSK I FOUND YOU~
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

There at dusk I found you, walking and weeping 
Upon the broken flags,
Where at dusk the dumb white nicotine awakes and utters her
fragrance
In a garden sleeping.

Looking askance you said:
Love is dead.

Under our eyes without warning softly the summer afternoon
let fall
The rose upon the wall,
And it lay there splintered.
Terribly then into my heart the forgotten anguish entered.

I saw the dark stone on the smallest finger of your hand,
And the clean cuff above.
No more, no more the dark stone on the smallest finger
Of your brown and naked arm,
Lifting my body in love!

Worse than dead is he of the wounded wing,
Who walks between us, weeping upon the cold flags,
Bleeding and weeping, dragging his broken wing.
He has gathered the rose into his hand and chafed her with his
breath.
But the rose is quiet and pale. She has forgotten us all.
Even spring.
Even death.

As for me, I have forgotten nothing,-nor shall I ever forget-
But this one thing:
I have forgotten which of us it was 
That hurt his wing.
I only know his limping flight above us in the blue air
Toward the sunset cloud
Is more than I can bear.

You, you there,
Stiff-necked and angry, holding up your head so proud,
Have you not seen how pitiful lame he flies, and none to befriend
him?
Speak! Are you blind? Are you dead?
Shall we call him back? Shall we mend him?


Not my usual....but I liked it the first time i read it on another blog. 

PTFO