I always dread summer. Weird, right? But I am an indoor person, and I love feeling ok about being inside. I especially love it when it is really cold or there is a storm going on outside.
But hey, all of the sudden it is summer time in Alaska, and look at how green everything got over night! I love it! I can't wait to get home every day so I can sit out side with the kids, watch them play, try to read while digging dirt out of the baby's mouth. It may not last long- tomorrow it could start raining and not stop until it freezes in the Fall, so I know better than to sit inside when it is sunny out. I need to store up some Vitamin D!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
A dreamer?
I have always said that I don't know how to dream, I never learned how. But I realize that's not entirely true. I do dream. My dreams are of being a writer, but not just being a writer, having the imagination and drive that it takes to be a writer. That to me, is just as hard to do as the writing itself. I always think that if I have time to sit and write, the words, the stories, they will just come to me. But I remain "blocked" for creativity and time. Maybe everyone thinks this way, hence the popularity of blogs. You can always kick out some kind of word dribble (drivel?) in 5-10 minutes, and there it is for the whole world to see in black and white. People have proven that they will consume just about any kind of garbage in this day of reality everything. So maybe people will consume my garbage, chew it up, find the things they can identify with and swallow, spit out the rest in disgust.
A poem I wish I'd written (there will be a lot of these)
Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look
- Kim Addonizio
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look
- Kim Addonizio
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Who I Am
I am just what my blog says, just another tired wife and mother. Like most women these days, I am totally overloaded with too much to do, not enough time or energy, and at the bottom of my never-ending list of things that need time and attention.
I used to love to read, now I can't get through a book and end up putting them down half way through and never finishing it. I am a magazine junkie, but it takes me weeks to get through those too. I have always wanted to write, write a book, write poetry, something, so here I am. I had another blog once on MSNspaces, but my someone decided they didn't so much like seeing what I thought in black and white, so that went away quickly. I don't deal well with opposition and cave immediately to pressure, especially from family. I wish I hadn't dumped it so quickly, there was some good stuff there. But in the face of a total over-reaction, I panicked and just reacted.
Normally, I would never use the word "I" so much, but this is something I decided to do for me, a creative outlet. Something to help me process the crap that runs through my head. We all just want to feel like we exist, that someone cares about how we feel, think. My writing here is for me, just for me. If you derive some insight or pleasure out of reading it, great, if you don't, that's ok too. I'm not writing it for you, I'm writing it for me.
That said, I would like to say that I hope not to offend anyone, hurt feelings, or bore too much. Remember, you choose how to feel about something, I (or anyone else for that matter) cannot make you feel something. If you are set on being offended, you will be. If you are set on getting something out of an experience, you will. You have a choice in everything and are responsible for your own self, your own emotional state and reactions.
I wish you all love and peace.
I used to love to read, now I can't get through a book and end up putting them down half way through and never finishing it. I am a magazine junkie, but it takes me weeks to get through those too. I have always wanted to write, write a book, write poetry, something, so here I am. I had another blog once on MSNspaces, but my someone decided they didn't so much like seeing what I thought in black and white, so that went away quickly. I don't deal well with opposition and cave immediately to pressure, especially from family. I wish I hadn't dumped it so quickly, there was some good stuff there. But in the face of a total over-reaction, I panicked and just reacted.
Normally, I would never use the word "I" so much, but this is something I decided to do for me, a creative outlet. Something to help me process the crap that runs through my head. We all just want to feel like we exist, that someone cares about how we feel, think. My writing here is for me, just for me. If you derive some insight or pleasure out of reading it, great, if you don't, that's ok too. I'm not writing it for you, I'm writing it for me.
That said, I would like to say that I hope not to offend anyone, hurt feelings, or bore too much. Remember, you choose how to feel about something, I (or anyone else for that matter) cannot make you feel something. If you are set on being offended, you will be. If you are set on getting something out of an experience, you will. You have a choice in everything and are responsible for your own self, your own emotional state and reactions.
I wish you all love and peace.
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