Rooster

Does a piece of our parent’s soul imprint upon us? Do our dreams play scenes from our lives as well as scenes from Mom’s life and Dad’s life? Does my hell play a phantasmagoria in my children’s sleep? Is it real or hyperbole and how do I differentiate?

Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

I need another chance. I need more time. I need you to hear me. Why did you run away? Why did you hide? And why did you take your life? I abhor your self-absorbed pity. I loved your smile—the happy one—when you were sober.

Damn it. Damn you. Go to hell—but—not really. Don’t go.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

It was the ancient superstition that unhappiness resides in the country without not within, and that one may cure a broken heart by a simple change of address.
Ellen Glasgow

I prefer to attend a funeral rather than attending a wedding. I still get to dress up and enjoy a nice buffet. There is generally no dancing which is fine with me because my dancing skills are still at the three-year-old level. And people seem to be more sincere when reflecting upon the life of one who has died.

Why do couples marry? Religious reasons aside, why do couples feel the need to legally entangle themselves to the point where autonomy becomes a foreign concept? Why then, when one or both believe the union no longer works, must there be such contempt?

Breaking up is difficult—yes—but holding on and reopening a wound is worse. Time and distance are necessary. The belief in The One is a myth. There are many good people out there. And many who will be attracted to you. Yet you don’t have to marry the next good guy or gal who comes along. Commitment is much more than a legal document.

Reincarnation

Mary Karr presents her childhood in an almost unbroken panorama. Mine is a fogged-out landscape from which occasional memories appear like isolated trees . . . the kind that look as if they might like to grab and eat you.
Stephen King

Write first and then read books after. That is the deal. I agreed because I need to focus on writing. To write is to give my demons a voice. I fear what they say. And I fear re-entering the dark forest of my past.

Several nights ago I had a dream in which I found a make-shift grave. At first glance there were weathered gray pieces of small flat wood. The wood was neatly stacked over a coffin shaped mound. Rocks held the wood down. I began to pick up the rocks and toss them aside. Then I began tossing the wood aside. Under the wood and rock was chicken wire. The chicken wire formed a cage around a human body.

I completely uncovered the body from its grave. Unafraid and curious, I began to unravel the muslin which covered the figure. Upon exposing her face, the body came to life with a smile, “Hi Nancy.” It was my mom.

She, my mom, came to life and I forged a new relationship with her. We got along. We talked. She listened and took interest in my life, in my interests.

Details in the Fabric

The girl, Maggie, blossomed in a mud puddle.
Stephen Crane

I cannot grasp the life unlived. A mind unlearned. Holding onto hope until the last breath and yet still unrealized. Why did she stop trying? Why did she give up? Why couldn’t she love me and hold me and tell me everything will be all right?

Lachrymose, I sit unable to identify the ache. Lamenting a relationship never realized. Why am I unable to move on? Mom, I need you—still—I need you.

At the time, Mariam did not understand. She did not know what this word harami--bastard--meant. Nor was she old enough to appreciate the injustice, to see that it is the creators of the harami who are culpable, not the harami, whose only sin is being born.
Khaled Hosseini

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.
George Bernard Shaw

I’m sitting here eating a large piece of white cake, the kind with the thick lardy hydrogenated oil frosting, thinking of how I wish you adored me. I feel like a silly junior high girl with a crush. I take another bite of cake and shake my Starbucks cup. The soy chai latte is all gone. The cake will make me feel better. The cake will fill up the emptiness inside. But the cake doesn’t cure the aching and the longing. The cake doesn’t make me laugh until my side hurts—it doesn’t make me laugh at all. It doesn’t make me feel like you do.

Human beings are made up of flesh and blood and a miracle fiber called courage.

~George Patton

I run in honor of every person I couldn’t save. Many people in my family on my dad’s side, including my dad, died of various forms of cancer. Several people on my mom’s side died due to conditions related to mental illness. I know powerlessness.

With Team in Training I take back some of the power because the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society is making progress. Every week I learn of someone who has survived because of research and patient care through LLS. Please donate.