Category Archives: moods

Getting back my sense of self

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For the first time in a long time I walked through my house tonight and found I was smiling.  I wasn’t reliving a memory or anticipating an upcoming event, I was just….happy.

I hadn’t realized how much of my happiness had been consumed by reality until the corners of my lips were turned upright for no particular reason.  After all the tension I have experienced over the last couple of months, I was sure those muscles had atrophied and would require intense physiotherapy to get the full range of motion to return.  The degeneration of joy was paralyzing.

But I am once again finding beauty in my surroundings because stress no longer abrades my senses.  The scent of lilacs permeates my nose as soon as I step outside and the sounds of the creatures of the night soothe me with their harmonic tones.  And after many nights of being unaware of the true depth of my melancholy, I am now able to appreciate their symphony and realize that my true bliss has returned.

My words flow more freely now because they are no longer trapped in a smoldering vat of fermenting unrest.  My brain is at ease and my creativity flows in small streams until it culminates at the mouth of the river.  Those ideas trickle along the banks of my mind.  Each drop of inspiration is collected, it pools and eddies at the precipice until the words spill uncontrollably over the crest of rock and create a waterfall of language and expression.  That waterfall is my release.  That rapid flow of ideas is my heaven.

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(image credit: commons.wikimedia.org)

I have slowly re-acquainted myself with the things that I hold dear.  I have learned to let go of the stress and spend time each day making new memories and not just relying on recollections of my past to satiate my need for happy thoughts.  I have regained my inner compass.  I have reclaimed my sense of self.

Feeling up with some down time

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Yesterday I was able to leave work early and spend some much-needed time to myself.  While preparing to leave my old job and begin the journey of starting a new job, I worked 18 days straight and had little time to just relax and breath.

I performed the perfunctory task of cleaning my house, I visited my mom and I went out for dinner with a friend.  It was a great afternoon and once I was ensconced in the comfort of my living room, Mother Nature provided a great show of pyrotechnics last night for my amusement.  I lit the candles, extinguished the lights and let the smooth harmonic blend of The Tenors wash over me as I watched the lightning dance outside my window.

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(image credit: dottech.org)

I had a nice leisurely morning pulling myself from under the covers much later than usual and enjoyed a few cups of the “liquid of the Gods” known as coffee.  My laptop welcomed me with open arms and we spent a few hours writing together.

It amazes me that a few simple hours spent away from the constraints of reality can make such a difference.  Although I am truly a ‘people person’, I enjoy my solitude immensely.  I am ready to tackle the next few days remembering the cherished moments I just spent with my puppy dog with no outside distractions until we can close the door on the world once more and take those fleeting minutes to just breathe.

This just in….

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In what is being referred to as a heinous crime against nature, an unknown perpetrator has assaulted the freshly awakened earth with a blanket of snow.  Investigators have a short list of suspects and a few known offenders are at the top of their watch list.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. has given their profile to local weather  teams and have asked for the public’s assistance in capturing this un-sub before any more damage is done to the pristine Spring landscape.  The blossoming lilacs and daffodils have been ruthlessly violated by the cold temperatures and the cover of white powder.  Nurseries and landscapers are on full alert and have assembled emergency response teams to assist if necessary.

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(image credit: agefotostock.com)

The F.B.I.’s investigative team has predicted a second wave of the assault on Monday night and are arming their troops in preparation of the attack.  Unlike the blitz invasion on Sunday, the B.A.U. is warning residents NOT to plant and to arm their patio furniture as a safeguard against the defilement.

If you have any information in regards to the events on Sunday, May 12th, please contact Jack Frost and tell him to EFF OFF!!   More news at 11:00.  Now back to you.

Blogger – diagnose thy self

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We all have symptoms of possible afflictions that we try to diagnose ourselves.  If you are anything like me, your computer is powered on and you are searching on Google or Bing for probable illnesses that match the symptoms you are experiencing.

Lately, I have been suffering sleepless nights, lack of concentration at work and stiff joints in my neck and wrists.  After a myriad of suggestions from those online medical gurus, I have stepped outside of the clinical box and diagnosed myself with I.B.S. – Insatiable Blogging Syndrome.

The creative part of my brain seems to be enlarged and is causing me to wake in the middle of the night with the ideas that are spilling from the cracks caused by the swelling.  The only relief is to free the idioms that seem to be the source of the contusions.  Those lacerations perpetuate my inability to focus on life outside of the blogosphere and cause me to sit at my laptop for hours at a time reading the words of others while trying to deftly craft my own.  Daily routines and writing my novel fade into the background as the myriad of blog ideas rush through my veins to the forefront of my mind.

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(image credit: performance-rules.com)

Short of a lobotomy, there is no known cure for Insatiable Blogging Syndrome.  I am a victim of its temporary paralysis and subsequent mood swings caused by the inability to focus on anything but stringing sentences together to create some semblance of entertainment and meaning.  In the face of adversity, I shall “soldier on” as my mom used to say.  I will not let this unstudied medical ailment affect my ability to lead a normal life.

Until there is a cure, those words, those personifications and idioms dripping with color will continue to attack my brain with fervor.  I am a victim to its grace and tenacity.  I am a writer.

The Storm Rumbles On – Trifextra Post

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The passing wind whooshed by,

leaving the drips of rain scattered.

The clap of thunder resonates,

the crack of lightning left a mark that mattered.

The storm rumbles on,

leaving the earth tattered.

~

Written for the Trifextra Post: On to the weekend challenge.  This weekend we want you to give us 33 words (exactly) that include among them at least one example of onomatopoeia.  When looking for a good page to link to in order to help describe the device, we stumbled upon our very own Apoplectic Apostrophes‘ post on literary devices.  Check it out if you need help remembering how onomatopoeia work.

Karma

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There are several familiar expressions with which humankind uses to describe the same outcome. Whether it be “Live by the sword, die by the sword” or “what goes around, comes around”, they converge on each other and intertwine to form a common thread that we all weave into our lives.  That common thread is called Karma.

Karma is part of the law of cause and effect, and it chooses how and when to seek its retribution.  It may come back to haunt you in a swift and effective charge, it may linger in the shadows and creep in when you least expect it, or, if you believe in reincarnation, it may wreak its havoc in your next go around.  Regardless of when it rears its ugly head, it will seek you out and serve up a dish of revenge that is best served cold.   It is calculating and it is manipulative, but those adjectives may best describe the actions that led Karma to finding you in the first place.

Karma is not a superstitious hypothesis.  I believe we each create our own luck, be it good or bad luck.  Karma is energy, a life force that gets its momentum from the vibrations we put out into the world.   And it is not just about negative energy and paybacks.  Karma works just as well on the opposite side of the energy spectrum.  Good deeds done selflessly tend to have Karma smile favorably upon us as opposed to hunting us like wounded prey and going in for the kill.

The Golden Rule, or as I discovered another name, The Ethic of Reciprocity (which sounds way more fun) -is this - do unto others, as you would have done to you – such a simple string of words with such a profound outcome.  You’ve seen it in action on the smallest scale when you give a smile to a stranger and they immediately smile back.   Positive Karma results from positive states of mind and positive actions.

As this is the year that I vowed to keep a positive attitude, I am putting my good karmic vibrations into the atmosphere.  Maybe, if we all focus enough positivity into the atmosphere, a small trickle of good energy can transform itself, one person at a time, and gain enough momentum to become a waterfall.

 

(image credit: world-beautifulwallpapers.blogspot.com)

Over forty and feeling…..broken

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Forty may be the new twenty, but I don’t think my body got that memo.   I used to be able to handle stress much better, not that I had the stress I have in my forties, but the carriage that houses my soul never used to show signs of that stress.  I would bounce back and be prepared for the next onslaught of tension, armed and ready to kill that dragon.

These days, I am not as fortunate.  The knots of stress seem to locate the weakest parts of my body and finds the forty-something-year-old muscles far more inviting.  Like an unwanted house guest, it settles in, makes itself comfortable and it chooses to stay for a while.

About a month and a half ago I injured my knee while shoveling snow.  Who knew an activity so benign could leave such a lasting injury?  The pain subsided and temporarily vanished, but every so often it flares up again and I am currently moving slower than some of my mom’s new acquaintances in the retirement home.

I have yet to go to the doctor, but that trip is looming.  The male part of my brain had me convinced that the temple that is my body would heal itself, but that seems far-fetched as I hobble around my house this morning, wishing I had a cane.  In my self-diagnosis, compliments of Google, I realized that I have most likely torn the meniscus in my right knee.   It could be a minor tear but could also lead to surgery if not properly diagnosed and healed.

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(image credit: oralchelation.com)

Today, for me, forty feels more like the new sixty but I am determined not to let this affliction get the best of me.  I will beat stress and injury into submission with determination, tenacity and a borrowed cane!

Before the storm – Romantic Monday

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Thunder clouds in the distance

the promise of a storm to come

his touch is firm on my flesh

the earth is waiting to succumb

to the reign of terror in the sky

the promise of a fury unleashed

the air is electric, feelings are charged

mother nature is in control of the beast

blue sky falls into the abyss

the ceiling of night turns to gray

energy ignites with the coming storm

feelings, for now, are at bay

his grip remains strong on my skin

his eyes search for the sign

thunder crashes, lightning explodes

the moods begin to align

I turn to him under mottled clouds

the earth opens its spring

water cascades over exposed flesh

the symphony of love starts to sing

his touch brings more power

than the lightning casts from the sky

bodies churn in the shower of rain

under the cover of nigh

before the storm the feeling lived

but now its fury is unleashed

hands roam, bodies entwine

the power of nature is released

his body is mine, and mine is his

the storm can not debate

 the true love felt under stormy skies

the honesty of love will not wait

~

Romantic Monday seems to inspire the poet in me.   I took the subject line literally and the storm seemed to bring something out in me.  Thanks Edward Hotspur!

I never just give it a second thought

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I am a thinker.  I’m not like the bronze statue perpetually perched on bent hand in a state of posthumous concentration but I am equally consumed by thought.  I never give things a second thought, I give them a third and fourth thought until I am satisfied that I can think no more. Maybe Winnie The Pooh was on to something.

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(image credit: disney.com)

I never do anything on a whim.   I have to examine things from many angles, deconstruct the complete picture and piece it back together while thinking of all the probabilities and possibilities of that situation.  I replay conversations in my head, thinking about what words were uttered, examining the inflection in the words that were spoken.  I don’t have an eidetic memory but I can certainly recall conversations, sometimes verbatim, and I  will analyze those words until I am satisfied that what I heard was what I was supposed to hear.

My brain likes to disassemble moments or conversations, examine each piece and then slowly rebuild that moment until it is once again the sum of all of its parts.  I don’t know why I am the way I am.  There are moments that I would like to be that duck that allows the water to bead and roll from its back but that is not how I am built.  I need to analyse – I need to dwell on an idea until my thinking has left me satisfied and content.

I am a thinker.  I am a re-thinker.  Potentially, I am an over-thinker.  In any case, I can rest assured that I have exhausted every angle before I’ve come to a final decision and that thought helps me sleep at night – until I think I may have missed something and spend hours thinking about what thought may have eluded me.

Where are you on the think scale?

Those who say goodbyes are easy never really meant them….

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Saying that final goodbye closes a chapter.  Sometimes that is a good thing but inevitably goodbye means closing ties to something you felt a bond with.  That something could be inanimate or that something could be flesh and blood.  Regardless, goodbyes are never easy.

I have experienced many of those closures over the last few weeks and each one of them has meant storing a memory – trapping a moment in a vault that holds the value of a time gone by.  I have begun the process of bidding adieu to a job that I have spent many years growing as an employee and as a person, I have sorted through things my mother has saved throughout our lifetime and I will be saying farewell to a house that helped my family shape the people we are today.  Although my mom has moved into a retirement home and seems happy to be moving forward, saying goodbye to the life we lived will be difficult.

Each minute I spend sorting through things from our past is a minute that brings my childhood back to the forefront.  A single item of my mother’s clothing transports me back 30 years and I can see the last moment I remember her wearing that shirt.  Knowing the power of recollection that shirt can elicit makes it that much harder to say goodbye to that relic of fashion, but time marches on and the goodbye must be uttered.

Precious memories recede on the plain of our existence but they impart a lasting impression.  A smell, a piece of fabric or a place in the capsule of time can cement our memory and form a piece of our history that is still accessible in the far reaches of our minds.  Although the farewells may be necessary, the challenge of walking away from something will never be easy.

I hope that these goodbyes don’t mean that going away signifies forgetting.  That is something I am not willing to do.  Although goodbyes are difficult, losing those memories is not an option.  Past experiences carve the path for the future.  Past experiences shape our sense of self. Past experiences make us who we are.

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(image credit: healthyplace.com)

Goodbyes are never effortless, but they are necessary.  Saying goodbye to the past can only open the door for the future.  My heart may be in the memory, but my hope still lies in what is to come.