I sit here with over 30 posts in my drafts. I just have so much swirling around in my head, yet...I sit here, fingers poised softly on the keys...doing nothing.

There are words boiling over, waiting to burst....ideas, hopes, dreams, pleas, accusations, worries, prayers....

Yet I sit here in silence, waiting for the storm to pass, the anger to subside, the pain to dissipate. I hold on to the open smiles, the soft touches, the genuine laughs, the kind whispers, the looks of hope.


Shuffle, smirk

She shuffles down the hall, stopping just beyond the threshold of my office. I look up from my work and smile at the sight:
Her hair is a fuzzy mess, with a silly cowlick at her crown. Her glasses are on straight, but they are smudged. She wears a pretty cross around her neck, hanging where her breasts should be. Her shirt is clean, but seems a bit sloppy. Her pants are loose, hands in her pockets. I say good morning, and she looks surprised.
She shuffles in and takes a seat across from me. I ask her silly little questions, and she gives silly little answers. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think she has a sense of humor, and she's poking at me. I could be wrong though. No matter.
After I run out of questions, we sit in silence. It seems comfortable to her, but I squirm.
I go back to my work, glancing up every few minutes. She is focused at something outside the window, but glances over at me with a smirk.
With a grunt, she stands up, shoves her hands back in her pockets, and walks out of my office. As she steps into the hallway, she glances back, catching my eye.
That is all.
I see her numerous times throughout the day, wandering through the halls, entering other residents' rooms, curling up in a chair in the living room. I don't know if she knows where she is, what year it is......but she walks with purpose. I don't see the purpose, I don't understand it, but I know it's there, for her.
Each night as I leave the building, I think of her, shuffling down the hall with that little smile on her face. I think about my own purpose, my own steps, my hands shoved in my pockets, my own wandering. I wonder if I elude that sense of purpose. I wonder if the smile on my face fools everyone. I wonder if it fools me.


Etsy is a weakness for me

Earlier this year I went on a teeny tiny Etsy shopping spree. I've been trying my hardest not to go batshit crazy now that I have a job. So far, I haven't even gone on Etsy, but I'm not sure I can hold on much longer. Must.browse.etsy.sooooooooooooooon.

1. First, let's talk about this bag. My friend Tracey (Punkrockertracey) was in my aging class with me last Spring. I walked in and almost fell over when I saw her bag. I did fall over when I found out she made it! So, I paid her to have my own. And I LOVE it. I use it alllll the time.

She doesn't have anything in her shop right now, but check back often! If you like the bag, let me know, and I can hook you up with her and she will make one of your very own!

2. Next, please go to Fully Hooked and check out the beautiful work. I bought this cherry blossom ring:

And these bobby pins:

Her stuff is gorgeous, and I will definitely be making future purchases!

3. I bought this wallet from Batwa.The fabric selections are drop dead gorgeous. 
4. Lireca made this cute pouch that I used at the restaurant. Now I use it when I don't feel like carrying a purse. My lip gloss, blackberry, cash, and license fit just perfect, and I attach my keys. PERFECT. And super cute. I apparently don't have the 'license' to post the picture here, so here's hoping the link works. Sigh.

Now it's your turn! Show me what you have bought recently that you adore!



DoT #2-Something I love about myself

There are actually many things I love about myself, although several of them are also double-edged swords: they are great but they also suck. You'll see what I mean.

-I am empathetic...sometimes to a fault.
-I am giving...sometimes to a fault.
-I am determined.
-I am imperfect. I freely admit this. I am proud of my imperfection.
-I have big dreams for myself and my family.
-I am liberal.
-I love my family so much, and will fuck you up if you hurt any of them.
-I am laidback, and enjoy simple things, like spending a solid hour on the couch with someone I care about, or reading a good book.
-I love to try new things.
-I have high expectations for myself, and even for others, but I give others the benefit of the doubt. Meaning, I don't expect people to be at the top of their game all the time. I don't expect perfection. I don't hold people's mistakes or faults or weaknesses against them.
-I am intelligent and I love to learn.
-I am sensitive. I am emotional. I am outspoken about these things. I am honest about my feelings. I wear my heart on my sleeve.
-I love to laugh.
-I have a wonderful sense of humor, and I use it to my advantage when I can. I use it when others are in pain or uncomfortable situations. I use it to smooth things over in crappy situations at work.
-I am unselfish and forgiving and helpful and hopeful and sincere.
-I have hope for others. I have hope for this fantastic human race. That it's not all bullshit, that we aren't all selfish and evil, that there are others out there like me, who give a shit, and will do what is right for the future of our children.
-I love with my whole being, even when it hurts me. Even when I don't want to. Even when I see that it isn't healthy or right or good for me, I love.

I want to teach my daughter that these are good qualities to possess, to aspire to. Redeeming, sincere, wonderful, admirable. That none of these qualities are anything to be ashamed of. That she doesn't need to feel guilty or apologetic or less than.

To teach her this, I have to believe it.
I am working on this. I am working on me.
I am worth it.
And she is definitely worth it.


Heavily worn

I've discussed this guilt thing here, this emotion that takes over my soul at times, has become another organ inside my body, like my heart or my lungs, but so much less necessary. And as I type this, I know I'm kidding no one when I say "at times".

My memory reaches far back into my childhood, and even back then, there's the tiniest whisper of guilt in some of my earliest memories. It walked with me to school, sharing my footsteps. It spooned with me in bed at night, stealing the covers and making me sweat.

When I felt jealousy towards my foster siblings? Guilt was right there, strangling.
When I felt overwhelmed and confused by my mother's strokes? Guilt held my hand.
Joy at my brother's 2 year old face lighting up when I came home from school? Guilt pinched the soft inside of my arm.
Rage towards my father for so many things? Guilt coursed through these veins.
Even in sleep, where unrealized desires and unspoken words prevail, guilt hung like a fog around my face.


Guilt for not being strong enough to give total forgiveness.
Guilt at not being able to force myself to learn to love-again- someone who broke me. Guilt at the rage I feel towards him for this.
Guilt for blaming him.
Guilt when I ease into bed next to my girl, watching her chest rise and fall, knowing I haven't done the best job.
Guilt that I'm breaking her, unwittingly, with my actions now.
Guilt when I hate life, even if for a few minutes.
Guilt at being frustrated with those that are trying to help.
Guilt when I find some joy in my days, selfish or not.
Guilt when I cry, when I ache, when I sleep in to avoid all of this.
Guilt when I wake up in the middle of the night, and for one split second, think I'm back in our first house, where things were fresh and frustrating but mixed with love and hope. Guilt that I can't bring that back, that I can't fix what I didn't break.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

Learning to let go is hard. Learning to say goodbye to someone who has been gone from my life for awhile is painful. Moving on and finding happiness outside of the one person I thought I would be with until my dying day? Unbelievably rough.

And this guilt, this itchy wool coat a few sizes too small, makes it almost impossible to breathe another day.