After All This Time..

Alright. So.
I’ve had a little bit of an emotional breakthrough.
My heart after 27 years, has felt a new frickin thing.
It’s called love.

27 Years.

Okay. So I love my child.
But loving a man ( not a boy ), my age ( not 24 years younger ),  is a really really cool, large, deal.
Okay. So I thought I loved my husband.
That to me, is now in my books labelled as ‘in love’.

And you know what?
There’s a gigantic difference in that book of mine.

I will likely write about that differance in a seperate poast. Wow. I just wrote post as poast.

My heart has been in heaves the past two days.
I drove to work yesterday breathing as fast as a hyena who’s run 14 k.
So much so that I started getting lightheaded and the windows fogged up. The defrost was on full blost too.

Here I am knowing I’m about to launch a spray of my brainworks,heartworks- and whatever other works I’ve got in the unknown makings-by me, at you guys.
The next few posts may be of a repetitive nature, but hey- sometimes we become consumed in soaking in our feelings.
And that’s not too bad of a thing.

Specially when it’s kinda gotta sorta um,

really is to do
with the real thing




Really really.





Well you and folks,
today was the day.

I met with you for a few hours. We made brownies.
We laid together, intimate together. ( And I mean, reaaaaallly intimate together-like gasping for emotional air, eyes to eyes, nose to nose like we knew everything in the whole world about each other, not just in those seconds, but beyond the minutes)

I cried quite a bit.
But happy mixed with sad tears is like a revelation.

We knew we had to do this. We know we’re supposed to.
That the only chance we ever have of being together again, is to not be in contact. 

So tonight you will call and we will have one of our last conversations we will have in a very long time and we will cease contact and I will say over and over again in my head,

” This is for the best, this is for the best, this is for the flooping gosh-dang-it best’.


Trying to Travel the Less Travelled

Hey Travellers,

You mostly all want to do the ‘non touristy’ stuff. To live like they do.
To experience life as they would. To not buy a Tourist Magazine and book tours or go to the top rated temple in the world or scuba dive like they can not afford or buy Starbucks like the people behind the counters’ wages couldn’t even buy in one hour.

I lived in Thailand for 5 years. I lived in a tourist city. ( That was where my Dad was located for work.)

I met many many travellers.
And believe it or not, this was a common theme as well.
” We just wanna stay on this unbeaten path and yuh know, scope out the way they live’.

Fair enough.
I get your curiousity.
And by no means am I faulting it.

But I kind of am.

Because you see,
your glimpses of ‘the way they live’
are like 12 snowflakes in a full sized igloo.

I realize that I’m a little tainted and under valued.
I just want to make the point that you aren’t the only ones doing it.
Don’t think you’re the hippest coolest travellors around ( I’ve met a lot that think they’re doing a route that no one else has’ ) when hundreds of you are doing the same thing.
Truth is,
all you off beaten travellers,

are slowly but surely,
making that off beaten path
a beaten down trail of direction to what will eventually be a page in the next
‘Places to Go when in India’.

Bedhead is Vulnerability

That’s why I like it so much.

When my exquisite best friend who is always alert and the last to fall asleep, wakes up with her hairs all askew, it’s cute and kiddish.

When my ex boyfriend wakes up with a big rats nest in his long locks, it’s admirable and a beautiful sight.
When my ex husband who flies helicopters for a living wakes up with a hank of hair totally reaching up for Neptune,it’s kinda like, ‘ Hey, I’m one of the only ones that see this side of him’.

When my son wakes up with his hairs bubbled up like a clown, I’ve got to smile and feel my heart go ‘ wrrreeennncccch’. In the good direction.

So helpless, so vulnerable, 
those little hairs of bedhead. 



Feels Outta My Eyes

I’m trying to gauge my stance on this situation.
I want to say a lot but I know it means- perhaps a bit more than it would have a month ago- but still not enough to sink to the bottom of your heart core.
My words float, because they hold no weight.

So I must refrain, each time I am with you now. To just feel. To stroke your arm or squeeze you hand. To look into your eyes. Knowing mine are brimming with emotion.

You always said I had the deepest eyes of anybody you ever knew.

Mine are so full of my heart that it leaks out sometimes and they drain down, making snail wet tracks down my cheeks.

I can’t help it. I am in awe of you.
And of me.
I’ve changed
and my eyes aren’t the only thing that can feel it.


What My Earrings Say About Me

There’s an evident flickering on the floor beside my bed.
A glistening little pond, the smallest sea of jewels.

Quite Frankly, or Mikely or Bobbly,
it is that.

A small sea of jewels.

I take them off and put them their each night .

Thin layer of earrings line a section of the carpet.
Shapes of hearts, gold, silver, dangly ones, pearl ones.

If I could tell who I was by looking at this pile of earrings, I’d say I can be a sophisticated well mannered woman, who goes to fancy wine parties. I’m also a 12 year old girl who can be caught drawing initials in a heart during class. I can also be a punk kind of gal with black and tom boyish kind of clothes. All of these and more.

And then back to real me,
well I’d have to go ahead and say that a collection of ones earrings can tell a lot of accuracy about that person.
For I feel all of those above, is true. I am all of those and more.
For those of you who care.