past lives

"I should have been a great many things..." Jo, Little Women


Many things, I, too, should've been, and
many things I already, briefly, was...  Am.
Skinny girl with curly hair shall I never be;
never, either, a flighty fool, 'cept in being wooed.
Lately, though, I ponder most what my future
tense will be; and tense this verb should I also be.
Favorite songs are helpless now, for readily
they tell lies - of happier times and memories,
send me longingly beyond - fixed upon their melody.
So many things I'd like to be, yet I am cursed as what?
A writer with no publisher? A teacher without a class?
Turn the radio up a bit, to drown out these silly thoughts.
I want to drown my sorrows in the many things I'm not.

A big thank you to Jennie for the comment, and to all of my new followers! Looking forward to blogging with all of you.  

LET'S DO HAIKU!!

Rain falls sideways and
gathers in reflective ponds
mirroring my gloom.

Fastidiousness
is the only word I need
for that initial line.




Funny little butterfly
wobbles all around, looking quite
suspiciously at my eager cat.




Crazy lady in white walks
up and down Main Street, picking up cans,
wearing a giant smile.


Have a Happy Friday!

I'm not broke... yet.

I haven't told my dad about my current job situation, yet.  Why? Well:

1.  He supported me growing up (obviously).
2.  He supported me during college.
3.  He supported me after my divorce when I still had a huge mortgage payment.
4.  He supported me when I moved to a brand new city and needed help.
5.  I owe him, literally, a million dollars.  Which he is too generous to ever ask me to return.

I have, needless to say, the best father in the entire world.  Yet I can't bring myself to admit defeat to him.  His first response will be "Do you need money?"  And I, shaking my head 'no' with tears in my eyes, will probably have to say 'yes.'  Again.

I'm in my late (ugh) twenties, and I still need my daddy's support.  How sad is that?

And, in case you were wondering... this new "job" sucks.  All I've been doing is wasting money, time, and energy.  Keep your fingers crossed out there in the blogosphere, will ya?  I could use a little luck right now.

Sigh.

Here's a poem:

"Journey to Damascus"

It all went wrong without asking my permission.

Everything I wanted, gone,

like the dew on new spring mornings

after the sun yawns, stretches, brushes it aside

like wrinkled sheets.

Wonder, if you must, why a lady young as I

could be so broken.

It was just a vase, a cheap, empty vase, and a careless

mistake.  Dropped on cheap laminate,

imitation of wood.

Imitation of life.

It was so long ago.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Drove from dawn til dusk that muggy July.

Crying, when I wasn’t screaming songs

of broken hearts, broken lives, broken people.

People just like me.

Following the signs, though not really reading.

Speed Limit: 70

That must be for those who don’t want to crash.

I’m going 90, faking happy at last.

Don’t think I’d mind getting lost on I-20,

somewhere between ATL and the end of it all.

Wasn’t I happy once?

God, where did my life take this critical turn?

And I don't mean that religiously, though maybe I should.

Thought I followed the right signs, but I didn’t really read them.

Should have seen the inevitable from the very beginning.

Been almost a year.  Been quite a restless year.

Looking around this house full of wasted time:

memories gone or fading, missing out on life, but I'm alive.

I'm a statue here, waiting for a shine, stagnant, filthy, 

Left here alone with these broken pieces of time
Waiting for a voice to call me toward a direction -
any which way will do. 

Just call, and I'll answer - 

and maybe, for once, I'll follow through.