This Is Not What I Do

I don't stress out often or worry about things that haven't happened yet. It's just not my way. But, hmm..., I'm stressing now. I think we've bitten off more than we can chew. It's like eating a peanut butter sandwich with no drink. Hard to swallow.



Still happy, though. Stressed but happy. What do you call that emotion??

It's Been A Long Time

More happy than content, a fantastic weekend, an amazing husband, and things falling into place. What more could I need? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What's better than writing bad poetry to celebrate...after all, it's been a long, long time :)

I am not a crier

Or a teller of secrets

And yet...

I do not often speak my mind

Or engage in brutal honesty

And yet...

I am still a wisher

A hoper

A dreamer of ridiculous dreams

And yet...

I find myself filled up, sated, satisfied

To the core of my marrow

And yet...

It is not enough.

I want it spilling from my lips

And dripping from between my fingers

Until I am left naked, shaking, shattered,

My heart bruised and worn,

My head tumbled and confused.

It can never be enough.

And yet, and yet, and yet...

It is everything.

Dear Blog,

I've missed you but I have nothing new to say, nothing cryptic, nothing sad, nothing wistful or psuedo deep, not even any bad haiku!! I've thought about deleting you but I'm just not ready to let you go. *Sigh* What to do, what to do? I think I'll keep you around until I figure it out

The MML

*Sigh*

Why is making the right decision sometimes the hardest thing to do? And am I such a good actor that no one notices I'm struggling? Apparently so. *Sigh*

Wasting Time

It's been one of those days. Grey and rainy and windy and cold. Instead of getting things done I'm reading poetry and daydreaming. Shhh...don't tell.

I've always been indifferent to Tennyson. But I liked this stanza from Maud when I read it today.

Half the night I waste in sighs,

Half in dreams I sorrow after

The delight of early skies;

In a wakeful doze I sorrow

For the hand, the lips, the eyes,

For the meeting of the morrow,

The delight of happy laughter,

The delight of low replies.