Tag Archives: life

you don’t yell at a sleepwalker. he may fall and break his neck – from sunset boulevard

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i think in dramatic words sometimes. above the din of my sarcastic humor and chastising taskmaster is the voice of my internal norma desmond, her tongue lingering on the L’s in romantic, tragic words like languish and lament, and on her lips making O’s in gentle words like repose and opiate. 

languish is a favorite word of mine lately (opiate might be if i could do something other than lament the absence). even as my life blooms with possibilities and positivities, i wake most days to a wilted spirit. many mornings i lay with a single eye open, attempting to motivate myself for a work day. first i navigate my regular monday-through-friday desire to pierce my jugular with a nearby ballpoint. i imagine the gentle return to sleep as blood loss saps the energy already en route to my list-maker and worry wheels. (ok, norma, your toddler would not appreciate the leave-behind of life without mommy….though i suspect she’d be delighted at the opportunity to use an entire box of dora bandaids with no lecture on how many bleeding children in the world can’t afford them.) after wistfully ruling out a dramatic, unexpected suicide after which all my words would be published and celebrated posthumously, i imagine my life without corporate responsibility and the need for 8 billable hours a day. i laugh at the anticipated death of the word deliverables in my life and lexicon. lastly, i drift through a few fanciful ideas, words, projects, plots and characters that i’d rather play with today.

that last part leaves me relatively certain i’m not just a sad sack of lazy. i’ve convinced myself that if i had a different focus, my jugular wouldn’t look so inviting to sharp-ish objects, and my natural spark would keep my smiles and insides warm. i picture a life where i write, read, cook and love my family full-time. in it i get to paint and decorate our new house without so much as a nod to anything but my daughter, my man, my aspirations and a sunny sky. i sort through all of these imaginings before i change my sleepy breathing. finally, i reluctantly rise and pry my mind open enough to make coffee. problem salved.

truth is, i’m not the kind to embrace i’ll-be-happy-when’s, but i’m not thinking so clearly lately. i turn 40 in two months. i’ve been divorced a year this weekend. (this, at least, is offset by cinco de mayo and my new love’s birthday…plus the fact that the word “weekend” applies.) then there is the part where my mom passed away less than six weeks ago, followed closely by my beloved old kitty. maybe someday i’ll blog about what it’s like in the maelstrom of a catholic-military family reunion-funeral. picture way too much alcohol, more proximity than any of us can stand experience regularly, and you get a lot of bittersweet nostalgia plus a giant bag of tempers and tears. i got predictably ill upon my return home and just haven’t felt my Self much since.

but i am working out. sometimes i eat well. i’m here writing words. i’m loving my loving and lovable friends. and i’m trying hard to crawl from languishing to largess in my spirit of accountability and professional pride. i’m using what i know, and i am happy much of the time, despite the morose tone today.

grief is a funny thing. it doesn’t stay separated into nice neat piles based on cause, and it doesn’t respond all that much to logic or efforts to “express it all” so as not to stumble across its remnants later. it also isn’t clear about itself, hiding in clumsiness, self-doubt, old hurts, and sudden loud noises. you can drink all the water you want, eat a field of whole foods, run around the world once a day, journal, pray, numb out…none of it can fill the gaping wound of loss any faster than it could fill the gaping wound of surgery.

i’m sort of dreading mothers’ day this year. i’m excited for the celebration with my tiny daughter, but there is a blurry spot where my focus has been all these years. this year my spirit will celebrate with my mom’s, and that has to be enough…beautifully enough.

that’s one thing i know about this life…that it is enough, beautifully enough, whether we like it or not. when it’s grey inside you, the sun still shines waiting for the return of your toothy smile and easy laughter. when grief is a stifling syrup of breaths and blur, the relief that one day comes is accompanied by new vision and a deeper soul. it’s always enough. many times too much.

i grew up next to sunset boulevard. the tiny one in melbourne beach, florida. perhaps that’s where my norma was born, bound for luxury, luster, lazing and a laugh lines. i’ve already got the last part in place. that’s the best one anyway.

on all 4s in life’s great relay race of love, laughter & loss

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these struggling tides of life that seem
in wayward, aimless course to tend,
are eddies of the mighty stream
that rolls to its appointed end.

william cullen bryant

i’m sipping black coffee this morning since i ran out of creamer and the milk in my fridge went over. it separated into rotten milk-flakes as i attempted to make do without my half-n-half yesterday. mmmm. now there’s some great imagery for a monday morning. how’s your cereal?

i’ve been out of creamer for at least 4 days. i’ve had half-ready mail decorating the seats of my pre-schooler dirtied car for 4 days. i’ve been medicating a(nother) UTI for 4 days. i have a half finished report at work, overdue 4 days.

i’m going to lose my mom, quite possibly in less than 4 days. she might last as long as the early cherry blossoms my family and i admired yesterday, those gnarled trees’ magnificence displayed first with bursting flowers, then with the soft green canopy meant for picnics and shaded family strolls. or my phone could ring in 4 hours, 4 minutes, 4 seconds….i will very soon lose her body to the stage 4 lung cancer diagnosis she received two octobers ago.

my life this year is rife with eras ending. in some cases, the indication comes from within as i watch and feel the dying of patterns that no longer suit me. in other cases, it’s Life’s great cycle coming to reclaim the spent bodies of souls who’ve shared their energy with me all these years from hearts so loved and loving. then there are cases where the end of an era is most clearly marked by a new beginning, by the clearing of disaster debris and the discovery of a well-built foundation from which to face and embrace all of the wonder and growth yet to come.

in about 4 months, i’ll be 40. does life ever wrap things up in this tidy, if not painful a fashion? it’s been a long, long last 4 years. perhaps in 2012 this culminates and then lets me go, relieved, reborn, refreshed for my next 4 decades. no doubt 2012 will roll to its appointed end, likely with less drama than the rollercoasters of 2010 & 11, but still with its own disorienting curves, hysterical climbs and disconcerting drops.

in honor of my new beginnings and this one shot at life, i will send this missive into the ether. i will nurture and feed my future. i will write. i started this blog last July with those 3 words and 1 promise from head to heart…that i would do it for me, outrageous me, that i would practice this craft and put words together no matter if i had many or no readers to impress. i don’t need wordpress to get famous nor will i write my pulitzer winning novel for my “followers.” i will never fulfill my dreams while seeking the approval of others who are struggling toward their own. i’m here because my dreams and fantasies are mine to indulge, fulfill, achieve or regret.

and therein lies another era’s ending, one that makes space for a life lived in comfortable skin, connected to the center of my Being and my reason for Being on this earth, in tune with where i am this very moment. and so i take 4 breaths and publish my 4 cents…and thank each and every reader 4 times from the bottom of my heart.

namaste

 

a lesson on shyness, shambles and the pursuit of “Awww”

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a beat writer fan’s cliche…our smoke on the water riff, if you will…where we first alight, find delight and begin our imitations…

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!'” – j.kerouac

but i’m not here today to imitate, or to ruminate on the futures and fantasies this quote inspired behind my shy, collegiate eyes. i’m not writing with the same “Awww” in my throat as when i scribbled it in paint, dead center, on the black sheet of quotes and trippy things that hung in my early ’90s dorm room of disaffection and flannel.

what interests me this morning is the beginning of that sentence…the part i’ve never seen included with these words out of their context…the part i didn’t paint on my black sheep’s black sheet…

“they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and i shambled after as i’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because…”

i’ve always chosen the mad ones. jack described their salience so elegantly, so perfectly analogous to fireworks, like the ones i imagined were for me each july 4th as the nation kicked off its trish birthday festivities in anticipation of the 6th. the mad ones. i’ve hung rapt on their burning words. i’ve wished that my presence would explode like sparkling spiders enough to fill a sky full of stars, or even just a room. i’ve always hoped my blue centerlight would pop one day and the world would say “Awww” at all the love, brilliance, hope and wonder i carry in my heart.

i’ve spent a life shambling. i’ve spent a life feeling the cool cast of a shadow…someone’s shadow, all my days. i’d bet that’s not what people might guess. i’ve learned a lot about how those around me perceived me, my shyness and my life over the years. i was always alarmed and amused when i would learn later about people who were intimidated…the ones who thought i was always outrageous, confident, cool and cold. they were as surprised as i was fascinated when they learned i was a shy, nerdy, soft-hearted dreamer. they don’t know i was the littlest of 7 loud kids. they didn’t guess that i was once the awkward girl at school who got picked on or ignored completely. i went through a lot protecting that dreamer. i kept my tender heart a secret from so many, sometimes on purpose. i’m proud to say she’s made it through with bigger dreams, eyes and sighs than ever.

i used to shamble, but i’m picking up speed.

i always chased those mad ones because i thought i couldn’t be one…one of the people who interests me. i wasn’t interesting enough to others to interest myself. i wasn’t wild enough, free-spirited enough. i danced on peripheries looking for places to jump into the fun, afraid i wasn’t welcome. i felt like a wallflower but played the role badly enough to confuse all but the most perceptive viewers. i became a great sidekick to the loud and living. together we developed complex worldviews in galaxies all our own with our desires and perceptions as lenses. i gave them all the credit for whatever i found interesting in my life. strange then, that i chose so much solitude, moving and working always in new places, seeking my inner dingledodie and another one to play with.

i chose the mad ones as my mates. each time, i believed i was a partner, a mad one, half of a perfect dingledodie pair. sometimes we exploded, but too close to the ground, setting wild fires and hearts ablaze with romantic and destructive abandon. but most times i became the practical one, the grounded girl, the shambler. in the end i’d find myself shambling after the important details left strewn behind my mad one. i’d spend my energy admiring and shambling into trouble, picking up the pieces of our lives, waiting for that blue centerlight that was the fruition of their dreams, mine somehow now a footnote.

these days i’m free. free from the need or desire for shambling. free from the shyness that kept me from lighting my yellow roman candle for a crowd. i’ve picked a mate who seems inspired by my madness and need to burn, burn, burn and never say a commonplace thing (though i know i do more often than not). he does much of my yawning for me, leads with his mind and heart, lives for passion, expresses himself eloquently and honestly and never shambles. he cools and calms me, even as he stokes the fires in my belly, under my ass and in my most desirous heart. he leaves me space and gives me safety as i tap into the heat and beautiful chaos of my centerlight. it’s frightening. i have so much time and energy to devote to fulfilling all of these promises i’ve made to my Self…my excuses for inaction are now thin at best.

jack was a mad one. he describes himself in this most famous of quotes. i wonder if he ever realized he was exactly what he sought, what he loved. i wonder if he had a day where he woke up and realized the shambling was all in his mind. i wonder if he saw that in his whole life he never yawned or said a commonplace thing. i wonder if he ever anticipated that his beautiful and tragic life and poetry would explode across my mind and heart every time i set feet where he set his, or read words he wrote that feel like mine. i wonder if he ever looked up and realized how many shambled after him.

this is a poignant post for me, lacking the wit i love to wield behind my words. but, it is my most outrageous revelation of this brand new year, one of several i’m sure i will stew on as my clock ticks toward 40…as i realize that i am what i’ve loved…as i become more outrageously me…and share it with outrageous you.

may we all live out loud and with passion, my fellow dingledodies…and the self-awareness to feel it.

an exorcism of apathy and the scream of dying demons

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ah, the scent of freshly mixed compost and self-sabotage. all around me are new leaves, faces turned optimistically upward at a deepening winter sky. they frost the tops of many aged, rotting ones that are decomposing finally into the soil of my habits.

still, amid the clearing and cultivating of so many neglected parts of the garden, there are sections now languishing, no longer loved nor appreciated…no matter even that they are necessary for the care and feeding of my tiny family. it’s a conundrum, a puzzle, flavored with dilemma sprinkles and disregard. mary, mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow? with silvery dreams and frustrated screams, and pretty mistakes all in a row…

pretty, shiny leaves:

my diet has finally come together. i never really made a “decision” to improve it…i’d been trying to do that for years. once upon a time i was an absurdly healthy eater, which made it even funnier and more tragic that once i got pregnant all i wanted was fast food. after delivering my mcdaughter, and through the long, dark latte-with-whip time of my soul, i found i couldn’t force myself to crave brown rice and veggies just because i used to. i began to wonder if i would sink permanently into that vat of transfats, depression and anguish. so it surprised me when the improvements happened naturally, as i watched good cravings stack themselves atop a growing repulsion from junk (coincidentally or not, right after my Reiki treatment a while back. for details see: this train of thought will make all local stops transfers are inevitable at most-stations and its prelude, the hovering of hands…how was your metaphysical today?).

i quit smoking more than 7 months ago, for good…or for as long as my life seems worth living, which i expect will be for quite some time. with a few tragedies under my almost 40 year-old belt, it would take a lot to reduce me to that place. i could imagine what, but i prefer not to. worry is only borrowed trouble.

i recently hired a giant personal trainer dude to come to my house and abuse me. i found him on craigslist, he’s legit, and posted the only ad i saw with rates for someone on a smaller budget than Jennifer Aniston or anyone in my landlord’s neighborhood. it was as though the Universe herself had been waiting these last 20 years for me to get off the bench and back in the game….i felt her pat me on the butt in encouragement as i rose and began to pluck the splinters out of my flabby cheeks. (for the record – skinny is a “shape” but not the same shape as “in shape.”)

my romantic life is a dream…my friendships are growing…my daughter is a magical delight to me, attitude and all….

new, purty leaves.

browning, curling, dangling leaves:

professionally i feel paralyzed. my 9-5er fruit is rotting on its branches. i’m letting the pieces fall. i’m eating what i’m lucky enough to salvage. i’m here now trying to get my appetite back for that work, for that success, for what i’ve promised to do and for what i’ve done for the last 12 years.

guilt from that negligence is stifling my freedom to pursue my best road out of the corporate cult. as a result, i write less, feeling that i should devote more time to my paid work, and i balk when i have the energy to work on my website and copywriting business knowing that i haven’t met other obligations. i’m as afraid of success there as i am of failure.

so my “work sector” is frozen. it almost looks stable, except that i know it’s ready to shatter, or soon melt into a crushing, freezing sludge of embarassment. sometimes i can imagine my 2012 turning into a new york city snow dump in april….with my daughter and i struggling to find food morsels and a hand up out of the muck.

then there is my battle of evermore, where i fight administrivia with the dull blade and plastic stones of procrastination. i catch up sometimes, but here i am today…ready to call verizon wielding my overdue payment, ready to slay the disconnect notice i received this week, or at least poke at it hard and run away. for logistical and technical reasons, not financial, i find myself in this position with them several times a year.  that’s just the first detail monster in a corp of oppressors…my weak efforts to bludgeon a list of simple things leaves me anxious on days like this. time to sharpen my to-do list of doom. sigh.

today the Universe (and Brain Mysteries) captured these ruminations and turned them onto a book i now desperately want to read: What Makes Your Brain Happy and Why You Should Do the Opposite by David DiSalvo. brain science is so cool, and apparently this a useful summation of new discoveries about our how minds function for and against us. self-sabotage seems to be a uniquely human pursuit, like golf, culinary arts or a house with bedroom-level laundry facilities. readers describe the “takeaways” from this one as “resonating,” “practical,” and “enduring.” i want to learn my way out of self-sabotage. i want to turn a leaf on the procrastination pile. i want convergence of this love and light and all of these desires. i want a consistent, authentic life where the path i seek is lined with provisions for my beloved charges.

alas, i sit here planning to change some things…neh…planning to read about changing some things…about changing this one thing to match the other changes i’ve made. i’m impatient with being patient with myself…i can hear the whip cracking in the distance…or maybe that’s my soul gettin’ crackin’ on all this desire.

brick by brick, my citizens, brick by brick, says the Emperor Hadrian of Rome…to the citizens of my brainspace, both the demons and disciples of Love…and to you my gentle readers. namaste.

 

 

 

 

 

put this antique on the roadshow…a life less lustrous

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it is nighttime, not typically the right time for my write time, but this first day of a brand new year begs for words to greet it. tiny christmas lights twinkle their last wishes my way as i finally sit down and start to play with my words. mmm, words…they tickle and comfort me with soft ideas and breathy inspiration, so close to my heart they change its rhythm sometimes. so special is the feeling, that most of my reflections on the passing of 2011 fall on how i found my words again.

my writer’s mind started this day by reading again a “note” i posted the same day last year. i was in a similar mood. new year’s day seems to find me pensive if not a little melancholy…i’m noticing a trend. i wonder if it’s always been that way.

at that time, i timidly published those private thoughts on facebook, shared among friends, and was humbled and warmed by the responses. i had no idea why i would make public what amounted to a typical, front porch, rocking chair-style journal entry. i quiver a little now at the implications of that morning and of those words i released into this balance of electricity and magnetism we call life.

i’ve often claimed i was a writer, the declaration always carrying the casual, apologetic tone of weekend artists and idols.  i hadn’t earned the right to describe it as more than a hobby, often started, often stopped. i still haven’t. i’m still scared i never will. and so i was afraid to talk about how i was feeling, that my words were coming back to me, flirting with me, teasing me…that it felt like they were coming back to stay, maybe to change my life.

but seven months after describing what i could only hope was an awakening and not just another lucid dream, i started this blog. during those seven months, all filled up with other kinds of living, i almost let it happen again…the steam evaporate from my passionate breaths and dreams. but something tugged at my focus, sending reminders on airplanes to denver, pulling my emotions to the surface on the surface streets of jack and dean’s LoDo, painting rainbows over mountains and monuments like a child in a coloring book. the awakening continued.

i write. i can say that now, at the beginning of 2012, without the internal wince of a fearful fraud.

woven throughout my post last year is a desire to break through my apathy. i desperately wanted to give some things to myself in 2011. i was hoping i could find the “discipline” or “motivation,” to make and break some habits, imagining what it would look like when i got everything right. the fantasy view. knowing how my soul rebels against the words “discipline” and “motivation,” i pushed a prayer out there with a promise to myself to keep down the  “shoulds,”  embrace when possible the “coulds,” and not worry so much about making them “dids.”

looking back today was a spiritual moment. i had prophesied my year and then fulfilled it. i didn’t do it with resolutions. i didn’t do it with promises. i gently gave myself the right, not the obligation, to keep trying…to know we never really get it right…to be happy that i’m doing my best, even when my best doesn’t impress me very much.

i spent 2011 making and breaking habits i’d struggled with for years, decades, a lifetime in some cases. i was afraid to mention a single one loudly for fear i would flag again and shrink further from those who had encouraged me.  the jinx i would deliver myself was ever-impending and inevitable. i preferred to try and fail in private…no need for the world to know the weakness of my follow through.

but i did mention it…in  some detail, out here for the world to see, and on display in my physical world too…and the jinx never came. my cautious, intentional steps toward things i finally really wanted continued, even as i sensed the heights i was reaching, even as i lost touch sometimes with the earth beneath my feat. and feet.

i grew to love 2011. i imagine it will always be a favorite, despite its pits and zits. it’s in the record books for me. it started with such a lackluster opening act, but at the time, i wasn’t really interested in lustrous things anyway.  i wanted to see everything at its rawest, most naked…where i could trust it and my own perceptions. i knew that recently, as the luster had worn from some of my treasures, i found i’d been fooled by a more than a few.

sometimes your favorite things turn out to be pretty unspectacular, even ugly, when all the sparkly parts are gone.

sometimes under a little patina you find a masterpiece aging with its own tasteful hue. and that was me. my life in 2011. i found the masterpiece under all of the shiny tragedy and fantasy.

and i found out that sometimes luster can be restored. a little can be nice.

i started it all by putting it out there on facebook. my private words and thoughts. i only apologized a few times for doing it, and i will only apologize once here. i still don’t know what i’m doing. but i’m doing. and i’m less and less afraid to do it out loud…to live my outrageous life as outrageous me.

i kissed 2012’s arrival much more sweetly than 2011’s.  last year was like a rocket launch with all of that potential energy on the launchpad, not much movement at first…then slowly it rises…until it inconspicuously hits cruising speeds that barely translate in the earthly mind. and that all fits neatly into my lustrous little world view. 2012 sounds so space age to me. i think i’m cruising for a while, with some good systems go.

i’ll see you same time, same place next year, alphabet. you and me…we’re good together. and to my friends and readers, happy new year…again.

fist at the sky, belly full of laughter…what is up with mondays lately?

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it’s a ridiculously quick stop by here to let anyone who might wonder my whereabouts or general well-being that i’m struggling to post regularly because i’m laughing too hard at life’s most dependable practical joke. consistency. HA! my outrageous life laughs threateningly with a shaking fist at all my attempts to fit myself into the routines i think i must if i’m to live well and avoid raising a sociopath. that little sociopath now has the flu. did i say HA!?**

so she’s lethargic and needy, resting comfortably and a regular two-year old in a spastic rotating circle of you’ll-never-get-close-to-a-normal-day speeds.  i’m now off to rustle up some sick food…define and select the bare minimums at my 9-5er…eek out as much work as i can on my first commercial copywriting project under HardHeadpress (HardHeadpress.com is under construction…tacky mention but i’m starting somewhere)…prepare the family, home and workplace for two more days of rather unexpected travel (not far, just far enough to be travel thanks to the twice-daily impassable monolith that is the DC area traffic spike)…and whatever else decides to join the joke.

riveting i know. oh, and i’ll squeeze in a hockey game somehow tomorrow night. it’s outrageous when i put it all on paper (screen, whatever). i’m not as lazy or as much of a slacker as i feel like i am. it’s like reading about someone else’s busier, cooler life. eye-opening. heart-opening. you should try it sometime.

so til something like a more reasonable morning, i wish you all happy, heart-filled living. and i’m not bailing…i’m not talking “haitus”…i’ve not yet earned a vacation hour at this new writing gig. i’m just announcing a high probability of an irregular smattering of thoughts and words, just enough to feed me (and maybe your curiosity)…definitely with less regularity than the irregularity i’ve already established.

there…the pressure is off…freedom on. discipline is a funny thing. maybe my best discipline is just pressing on. pressing…ha…HardHeadpress…ha again. man, i love a happy semantic accident.

** flu? no way, mundane! further inspection reveals suspected hand, foot & mouth disease or her first herpes outbreak. ah, childhood.

a moody maniacal monday menagerie of imaginary management magic

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ahhhh! there is so much going on right now. my action figure life peaks plaintively from behind this blinking cursor…my friend and frenemy…and i’m left wondering where all of this input is supposed to settle in my brainscape. a lost week and some lost momentum, and now i want to believe that this blur forms one bigger, messier image…the kind of image that begs a wider viewpoint in search of its broad, obvious pattern, a pattern i won’t likely see until my deathbed or later.

so i’m down here in the weeds, and my thoughts argue like schizophrenic contrarians as i sort out my today, tomorrow and someday lists. the toughest concepts i consider are cluttered with possibilities and probabilities, and little pieces of scrap paper that say things like, has boston been kicked out of the wild card race yet? and ooh, saints 2-1…when’s a good time for a football party? or i wonder if a truckload of mulch in the back yard would make the last month’s worth of dog crap go away?

i want to do too much, i know. my bucket list is 5 lifetimes long. sigh. take a deep breath, trish. as i do, my mind skips around on wilco tunes i heard live last night, to the place where i recharged my soul the way i do, by sitting in front of screaming speaker stacks. now it’s monday and i’m thinking about my trip at the end of this week and the details that go into business travel and vacationing with a two year old. at the same time, i’m wondering when i’ll get my daughter down to see her grandparents in florida again, when she’ll grow into a big girl bed or out of of diapers or how i will manage preschool next year. someone asked me this weekend if i had a costume picked out for my dog for halloween, which made me look at them funny and then wonder if i could just take him for another overdue walk and pretend he’s my daughter...oh, this? i found a new pattern and some fabric on sale…what does roscoe say, honey? 

and there goes everyone telling me to get ahead of myself again. (a lyric drifts maniacally through my headit’s still summer somewhere, and i guess i better go there…). meanwhile i’m trying to remember to get the trash to the curb, take my medicine on time, get my daughter to daycare and home, make a follow up appointment for the bleeding kidney thing, figure out when i can weed the front yard, get my animals to a new vet, get my teeth to a new dentist, my car to the new tire and brakes store (right next to the new tire and brakes money machine), and (EGADS!), i could do this forever. holy overwhelming life. one day at a time, trish, one day at a time. oh, and there’s still that full time job thing.

i think this is my midlife crisis. i’m not sure what it’s supposed to look like on a woman. i want to begin my second half, the next 40 years, if only for a second, with all my ducks in a perfect little squawking row….so i guess i’ve got about 9 months to sort it all out. Haha! is it so strange that i want to start with a fresh and clean to do list of tasks and dreams, in place of the churn i feel each morning as a i wake? still, i’m willing to bet that’s a dragon i can’t catch, no matter how earnest the chase. somewhere in college, everything i i thought i needed to do fit on a list. i kept that list tidy and up to date (three lists actually, non-electronic, cross-referenced in case i lost one – um, yes, it was clinical and i’ve addressed the issue). i’m not even sure when i lost control of that list…or when the somedays turned into tomorrows, then todays and then yesterdays. i’m guessing it was probably about the time i started Living.

and now it’s all about priorities…lists that never end, items that simply slip from place to place in order of perceived importance, relevance…some that linger at the bottoms of those lists only to nag and drag at my sleep in perpetuity. the best i can do is prioritize well. i’m writing this realizing, for the 100th time, that i will likely never feel, “all caught up” again. sigh. it’s almost too much.

so i’m going to crawl back to my coffee carafe, try to sort through some of these priorities and cheer up. i want a simple life. is there such a thing? for trish? perhaps keeping that simple life alive in my imagination is how i prioritize, how i keep the outrage to a lovable, livable roar, and the closest i’ll get until it’s all as simple as soft food and activities of daily living. some people like to tell me that if i don’t slow down, i’ll get there sooner than i think. sigh. i’m 39. my child hasn’t even started pre-school yet. i haven’t officially opened doors on my own business yet…the one i see as the backdrop for the “second set” of my life. did i miss intermission? i could have used the pee break.