You can’t have too much of a good thing


I thought I would have an overwhelming sense of guilt about my day yesterday.  But the truth is, I do not.  I hadn’t deviated from any plan of what I should have been doing but, instead, forged ahead with my original intention and spent the majority of the day on my couch binge-watching the remaining episodes of Breaking Bad on Netflix.  There, I said it….I’m out.

I did manage to feed myself the required meals to sustain my ability to swear at the screen and I did tend to my puppy dog, as the job did seem obligatory.  But any task outside of those parameters took a back seat and I was glued to the screen.

As the credits rolled and I waited for the next episode to begin, I had to face the harsh reality as the screen changed to the standard Netflix screen and not the profile of the characters I have come to know so well.  No longer would I be captivated by Walter White and his transformation from meek Chemistry teacher to the tower of greed and felonious intentions that he slowly became.   I had to call it – time of death, 10:39 pm.


I will slowly acclimate to the reality I once knew.  My blog will learn to recognize me once again.  My Kindle will be dusted off and my vacuum will feel the familiar touch of my hands as I learn to live my old life.  I’m sure my friends will vaguely recall what my voice sounds like once I pick up the phone to re-establish contact.  I just hope I can remember not to call them all “bitch”.








Feeding the right wolf


I don’t usually reblog my own posts, but this one struck me today. It holds just as much meaning today as it did when I wrote it.

polysyllabic profundities

It never ceases to amaze me when people make gross assumptions about single people and feel that they must be missing something in their lives.  Not all single people are lonely.  Just as not all people who are taken are in love.  Some things we see on our own would completely escape our attention if we were with others.

Single is not a status.  I am forging through this life unattached again by choice.  That decision took some deep soul-searching on my part but in the end it was the best decision I have made in a long time.  My willingness to be on my own again only solidified the fact that I am strong enough to live and thrive without having to depend on another person to perpetuate my happiness.  There were days during my marriage that I felt more alone than I do now that I live on…

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When you don’t want to mince words


sure_logoIt is no secret that I love words.  I like to articulate my responses in a way that is concise without being too verbose, but I do like to phrase my answers in a meaningful way – especially if I am replying to a significantly valuable question.  I want people to know I have truly ingested the words they have spoken and taken the time to formulate a well-constructed response.

But there are those less wordy than I, those who choose to avoid the commitment of a lengthy answer and spare any unwarranted emotion by responding with a simple, one-word comment.  While that single word may convey the necessary feedback to the initial query, sometimes the person posing the question is left thinking that the responder cannot be bothered to take the time to formulate a proper retort.

Upon chatting with a friend, he told his tale of how he had fallen victim to the easy out of a one-word answer.   He had received a rather detailed text and he simply wrote back “Sure”.  After I had admonished him for his complete avoidance of all other words in the English language, we both had a good laugh.

He was incensed by his own lack of effort and every time he repeated the word ‘sure’, we laughed even more.  After we had expelled all the laughter we could, obviously at his expense, he thought it would make a great idea for a blog post and asked if I would be able to write about it.  I said the only thing I could think of – “sure”.

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Holding on to strength



“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.”
― Corrie Ten Boom


It is easy to tell someone not to worry.  I am guilty of doing that very thing on an extremely frequent basis and in many different circumstances.  Recently, I have become much more aware of how redundant that statement can be and how little it does to alleviate the concern of the person doing the worrying.

Worry is a big part of the human condition.  We spend countless hours stressing about the things we cannot foresee, cannot control and cannot change.  We are designed to be thinkers, to be problem-solvers, and in those brief moments that we are left without an answer or a contingency plan we submerge under the waves of the unknown.

For as much as I try to not unsettle myself with things out of my control, today was a glaring reminder of how quickly worry can overtake us and truly drain us of our strength.  There is a small path in the carpet in my office where I paced back and forth.  There is an emptiness in my stomach where nourishment should have found its place, but didn’t.  And there is a dull ache in my temple from the inescapable habit of clenching my jaw when I am apprehensive.

Today worry was the cat and I was the feeble mouse.  I was victim to its cunning and could do nothing more than to hide in the metaphorical corner and play dead, hoping that the insidious predator would leave me alone.

Now I sit, writing this post with a slightly more peaceful feeling than I had earlier today.  Worry still beckons, the concerns of tomorrow still evident, but it holds much less power now than it did earlier today.  I have regained some of my tenacity so I can face tomorrow with a new courage.

Worry may be strong but I am stronger.


image credit: Worry by Zdralea Ioana –

When you don’t have to think twice


I am fortunate to have some truly great friends in my life who just get me.  I never have to worry about saying the wrong thing or having a joke hang in the air like a deflating cartoon balloon.  My sense of humor falls squarely on their ears and is met with an understanding laugh as opposed to the chirping of crickets in an otherwise silent room.

And the same can be said for their comprehension of the range of my emotional scale.  I have never been afraid to cry in front of, or with, those same people.  To me those tears are not a weakness but a genuine representation of my character and I admire that same quality in those with whom I choose to surround myself.  In an ocean as big as this life, it is nice to find another fish from the same school of thought.

There is a great sense of comfort knowing that, when you are with the right people, there is no need to feel guarded.  There is no reason to quell words or feelings because you sense they will be out of place.  There is no second guessing when it comes to telling it like it is because those people expect and appreciate your honesty and your compassion.

With those same friends, I never feel embarrassed if I am not at my best.  They know my good days and my bad days by the timber in my voice and they are just there, with no judgement and no unsolicited advice.  There is only concern and a touching way to express that concern.  Whether it is a solid embrace, a well-timed “I love you” or a simple touch of a hand to a shoulder, they seem to know the solution before I have had a chance to diagnose the problem.


Those friends, those souls who are so connected to my soul, never make me think twice about being myself.  They cushion my fall.  They wipe my tears.  And they really do take up the biggest part of my heart.

Nothing but flowers


You cried,

enduring pain for me,

loving me with never having met me

and I felt blessed.

You stood,

hands on your hips,

a whimsical smile on your face

and I felt anchored.

You embraced,

you wiped my tears,

you listened and never interrupted

 and I felt understood.

You watched,

allowing me to make mistakes,

but always there to help me mend

and I felt empowered.


I cried

when you left me.

 In a dream I saw you,

and watched you float.

You hovered,

our eyes met, you waved,

blew me a kiss

and fell into nothing but flowers.


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Sometimes you just want to wear your mom’s long johns


We cleaned out my mom’s house over two years ago.  It was months before she had passed away but it felt just as much about closing a chapter as her actual passing.

There were very few things we kept for various reasons but, of all the memorabilia I could have wanted to keep, her yellow long johns with daisies on them was the item I wanted the most.  Sure, I still have her wedding ring and some other jewelry as well as a few small wood carvings of the birds we loved but this relic, this throwback to the 1970’s, was the thing that I held most dear out of all the items I could have kept.

Had you asked me at the time why it was that particular item that held my attention I don’t think I would have been able to articulate my reasoning.  But now, as I sit on my couch wearing her long johns as I type this post, I get it.


This simple item of clothing has the ability to teleport me back to a time when life seemed perfect, when our family was happy and healthy and we just enjoyed spending time together.  These long johns held tight to my mother’s skin as we skied up to Swan Lake and they cushioned me in my mom’s lap while I snuck a few sips of wine out of the wine-skin she carried around her neck.

This yellow cotton is the fabric that helped to weave the reflections of my childhood into the memories of my adulthood.  It once clung to my mother as it now clings to me and there is great solace in its embrace.

When someone who can comfort you so much is taken from you, you cling to the things that have the ability to remind you of that person.  You want to find every way possible to emphasize the joy you found in your shared moments.  And even though I find that joy in an old pair of yellow long johns with daisies on it, that cloth helps me to overlook the things in my life that have no value and to focus on the things and the people who truly matter.



Job fairs and being able to form a sentence


Things have changed drastically since I was a young teenager propelling myself into the work force.  I was a go-getter when I was young.  I had procured my first job at the age of twelve by walking into the store, relatively well-dressed for a kid my age, and handed over a resume that I had proudly written in cursive.  That piece of paper included absolutely no formal job experience besides babysitting but they could not resist my enthusiasm and my charm and I was hired on the spot to be a cashier and stock girl in a small, family run vegetable market.

Yesterday, I had cause to be at a job fair at the local high school.  Without going into scandalous detail, the outfits and the lack of eye contact or direct communication was overwhelming.  We did meet some wonderful candidates who presented themselves extremely well but the ones who stick out the most, sadly, are not the ones who inspired this post and, respectfully, they will not be the subject matter for the remainder of it.


Mumblers and those who completely avoided eye contact aside, I was impressed by the level of maturity shown by some of the students who stopped by our desk.  They introduced themselves, some shook our hands and they asked questions about our lodge.  Sure, some of the outfits were not truly conducive to obtaining gainful employment but I had to cut them some slack.  They shuffled out of their high school classes because their attendance was required by the school.  For those who took the fair a little more sincerely, they arrived with resumes in hand and fully willing to take the day seriously.

I still maintain a modicum of hope for the future generations.  Notwithstanding the applicants who had their parents apply for them, I think we found some keepers!







Breaking Bad could ruin my life as I know it



Okay, so I’m a little behind the times.  Breaking Bad ended in September of 2013 and I, admittedly, had never had any interest in watching it.  What an egregious error in judgement.

At the urging of a friend, and the consequent risk of losing that friendship if I didn’t watch it, I subscribed for a Netflix trial, poured a glass of wine and began watching Season One, episode one.  That was a few days ago and I am now on Season Two, Episode Nine.  In that short period of time, I have also been working my full-time job as well as managing my daily household tasks.  Sleep is for wimps.

Sunday was a challenge when I was out of power for six hours and kept myself warm by rocking back and forth in the fetal position wondering when Heisenberg and Jesse would once again grace my laptop screen.

My vernacular has taken a sudden turn as I now end every sentence with an emphatic “bitch”, and I have developed a growing attraction to a mild-mannered Chemistry teacher turned bad ass.

If I am suspiciously absent from your blog sites, I apologize.  If my blog site goes unattended for a few days, I can accurately blame it on the Crystal Meth and feel safe knowing that my hallucinations are a result of sleep deprivation and not drug use.

The selfless act of being yourself


Since turning thirty a number of years ago, I have really grown into a person that I am proud to be.  I had spent many years before that x-mark on the calendar trying to be many things for many people and it was emotionally draining.  I had put the small pieces of myself on a shelf and created a false picture based on fitting in the pieces that others had been trying to force into the frame of my puzzle.  Not only had I done myself a grave injustice, but I tried to pass off a fake portrait as art.

Since that defining moment in my life, I have retrieved those small pieces of myself and worked steadily at rebuilding my own puzzle.  Each piece now gently falls into place and I feel much more of a sense of accomplishment knowing that this puzzle is the one I should have been working on in the first place.

life puzzle

You are only a reflection of yourself and it is a defining moment when you can truly embrace the person you are and not the person who others think you should be.  It was a hard road for me to follow but each step was worth the anguish, each misstep was worth the correction, and each failure was worth the lesson.

I used to deflect compliments, and sometimes old habits die hard, but now when I receive kind words I can truly take them to heart because those words reflect who I am to the core of my being.  Now that I am being honest with myself, and just being myself, those words have greater meaning because they fall on the ears of the person I wished I had given myself permission to be so many years ago.

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