Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Thanks for all the offers to hang out. Sorry I haven't been able to call you back or join you on any of the night out activities. They sound like a lot of fun!
Having a new born has changed my life greatly! Did you know she will be a month in two days? (I can't believe how fast time has flown already.) She has started to smile for reasons other than gas. It's great to see. You should stop by sometime, but call first!
Anyway, be patient with me and PLEASE keep me in mind for future events, even if you don't hear back from me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
He lay there, staring at the base of the toilet, wondering why things ended up like this, what he did to deserve it. The ceramic tile was cold against his bare skin. He didn't have the strength or desire to do anything about it. The small bathroom smelled sticky sweet. "So that's what it smells like to die." It was matter-of-fact, absent of fear and judgment. The music pulsed through his veins, thicker than the blood pouring out of them.
He’d picked the album, Ten, thoughtfully. It was calming to him, an album he listened to frequently to alleviate his own desperation by identifying with the lyrics and raw emotion of Vedder. He hoped it would tell his story. One of betrayal, loneliness, depression, and finally suicide. The music dulled in his ears as the pounding of his heart began to falter.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I beat the odds because I am still alive and not suicidal. I beat the odds because the first time someone hit me, I stood up and walked away without ever looking back. I beat the odds because I do not drink or do drugs. I beat the odds because I have a husband and two beautiful children who do not know (and never will know) what it is like to be physically, emotionally, or verbally abused. I beat the odds because I have not fallen into the many snares there are for people who have experienced these things. And I am proud of that fact.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
You sexy thing
I believe in miracles
Since you came along
You sexy thing"
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
I was told to write a story. To just get back to it. That it would be like riding a bike. It’s a skill I would never loose. Maybe a little wobbly at first, but I wouldn’t fall and skin my knee. They lied. It wasn’t easy. I fell often and none of those who told me I could do it were around to pick me up and tend to my injuries. Now, I sit here at my desk, in front of my keyboard, starring at the blank white piece of paper portrayed on the monitor. My mind reflects that paper. No ideas came then and no ideas are coming now.
What am I suppose to do? The motivation left me long ago. It was a whim to take on this project. “Sure. I could write that!” I told some mother I met at the PTA luncheon after a couple of glasses of wine. “I’ll even do it for free.” At least I don't have the guilt associated with payment. I learned that little nugget of insight when my first book unexpectedly made it to the top seller’s book list. There was even talk of a movie. Of course, that was quantified with the completion of another installment following Miss Priss’s life.
Perhaps that’s when my motivation died. No. That wouldn’t make sense. I was incredibly motivated to produce another great piece of literature. I think it was my inspiration. It was eaten by the cameras and interviews and whispered rumors of a sequel. The quiet time I had dreamed my first book came in the wee hours of the morning as I watched my newborn baby rock in her cradle or the swing. I was exhausted. Lonely. Desperate for help and a man that wouldn’t walk out on me. I had the ability to dream of what my life would have been like if I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and the world on a string. Miss Priss was my coping method.
Now that same sweet girl who would rock next to me is in school. I haven’t been sleep deprived in years. I can have Miss Priss’s life as long as royalties continue to be deposited in my checking account. It is no longer a dream and I certainly don’t need her to cope. In short, she is no longer inspiring. I know if I disclosed this to those who put me on the bike they would just say, “Well what inspires you now? Use that as a spring board.” And again, they would be elsewhere when my work was refused by the publishers and my hands and knees bloodied from the effort.
I need to stop it! None of this is helping me write the story of the school. Why did I agree to this? Two glasses of wine and a little bit of persuasion. I need to tattoo it on my forehead not to drink in public ever again. But then I would drink alone in the privacy of my own home. That could not possibly play out well. Focus! Stay on track. Tomorrow will be here shortly. It is getting late. I am beyond tired and need to get this completed or look like an ass.
Okay. The story of the school. I don’t need a completed piece. I need a rough outline or draft of the first part. Just something to show them. What makes a school unique. Rarely is it the classrooms. Sure, some are better than others as far as design or technology go, but essentially, they are all a cinder block square with desks in the middle. I could highlight teachers. The school has good teachers. They are compassionate and caring. Lots of schools have that. It would be a nice touch. There just isn’t enough to really write something eloquent. The students, however, offer so many more stories. They are the reason for the school. They make the image of the school. In this school, they are diverse. White students (and I hate that term only slightly less than Caucasian) are in the minority if you combine all the other groups together.
I could write about the students. I could request interviews, sit in and observe, write it from the viewpoint of my daughter. She is incredible. Her perspective would be incredibly interesting. Hmmmm…. This has potential. I see so many possibilities. Yes. That is what I am going to present as well as a request for more time to truly develop this. Oh my God! I think I may have found a new kind of inspiration!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
So, I am constantly amazed to see him jump in with friends on tasks that would otherwise be daunting. He's tried soccer, gymnastics, board games, etc. But only because another preschooler told him it was cool. Now if only one of his friends would eat a vegetable in front of him. I'd be set.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
“5….4….3….2….1 and welcome to January 1st, 2010. Happy New Year all!” Dick Clark intoned. I smiled and raised my plastic Champaign flute of sparkling apple cider toward the TV. “Happy New Year” I said softly, resting my other hand on top of my enlarged abdomen. I drank the rest of the cider, turned off the TV, and wandered to my bedroom, glass still in hand. The small room was cold and dark, but rich in security. I breathed deeply, pulling the sense of freedom deeply into my lungs, imagining it entering my blood stream and circulating throughout my body, as I pulled the heavy comforter back and climbed slowly into the space left open.
After carefully arranging the body pillow next to me, I reached across the little remaining space of the twin bed and flipped off the light. The chill that had settled on my skin retreated as I pulled the comforter over top of me. I laid my head on my pillow and positioned the roundness of my stomach on top of the body pillow for support. This year would be different. It was already different. I drifted off to sleep filled with hope instead of fear.