all of a sudden it was fall

I can't sleep, so I guess I better go ahead and write.

the tick tock of the beat of my heart won't even slow down enough to snuggle with my little
nights like this come every now and then
the rain calls to me
outside calls to me
but I can't ever seem to answer its call
until I can't sleep and then there's nowhere else to go but out
the ceilings inside look too familiar
but outside, the sky is brewing something up for me
more rain
to help me sleep
but it wants to make sure I spend a little time with it first
maybe tomorrow will bring floods
and Tristan and I can throw Dixie in a boat and ride off into the moonlight
like I always dreamed we should
or maybe the rain won't make a stop here, just a quick visit to tell me it's been thinking of me
and will try to visit again soon

a postcard slipped under the door if I hadn't answered its call
the loneliness sets in
at least I think that's what it is
I can't tell anymore
where the loneliness ends and I begin
or maybe it's been me all along
yearning to be alone with myself
alone with the rain

nights like this I wish I had my copy of dandelion wine
three lines from that book sets everything in my head back to right
the ebb and flow of the words of a man I kick myself every day for not stalking
before he left this earth forever
to him, our words, what we contribute in the form of written text
is what will keep us immortal

so I write
I try to write
I fail miserably mostly
pictures are my chosen form
at least I want them to be
but the words...
the words...
they always find a way out

waiting

for someone to crash into me.

to show me that all this love I have inside has a counterpart that can't wait to love someone else just like them

to leave this fucking country

to get a book published

to dance with someone without any regard for who may be watching

or when we know no one is watching

especially when no one is watching

for my son to encounter the world in a less stressful manner

for the world to change so that he doesn't have to change who he is just to fucking exist.

for peace

for love to prevail

waiting for the unknown

waiting for this wall to crumble to ruins

for my voice to get a little louder

for my heart and my head to disagree every now and then

but the waiting is sometimes the very best part.

for once the waiting is over, what the hell else is supposed to occupy my time?

worry

I used to worry that the things I said or did back when I was an idiot will catch up to me and that's who I really am.

I used to worry that if my father heard some of the words that come out of my mouth in public, he just might disown me.

I used to worry about whether or not I'd make a good mother.

I used to worry that I would never be attractive to the opposite sex, that I wasn't a good athlete, that I was really stupid deep down inside.

I used to worry about what people thought of my decisions.

I used to worry that I would never get married, that I was too loud, that no man would ever put up with me.

I used to worry that people were always mad at me.

I used to worry that I was lazy, that I wasn't ambitious enough.  That all the decisions I made were absolutely wrong and that I would end up in a homeless shelter or a morgue by the time I was 30.

I used to worry about a lot of things.  I was so consumed with worry that I had panic attacks sometimes when I couldn't find my keys.  When I was little, I used to worry that the boogeyman would get me in my sleep so I would sleep in a sleeping bag and shove every single stuffed animal I owned in there with me so that no part of my body would be susceptible to the boogeyman's evil.  I see now how excitable I was in my youth.

But then, I became a mother and my entire purpose shifted.  Well, it appeared, really.  I figured out that my purpose on this earth was to make it a better place; to make my son's life as love-filled and groovy as possible.  And then, over time, my worry slowly dissipated as I just went and did exactly what I said I was going to do and I became who I am today.  A woman, free from the chains of a past I cannot change, a body that will never look the same as it did before I had my son, and the deep-seated worry that I am not worthy of love.  My father will never disown me because he loves me no matter what I blurt out in a fit of excitement.  I am who I am.  The common thread here is love.  I love myself and those around me, and in turn, all that worry went away and I don't think I could get it back if I tried.

Don't get me wrong; I still worry.  But the only thing that worries me now is a future for my son that doesn't include equality for all.  A world that oppresses women, that attempts to make everyone the same religion.  A world that refuses to step forward and accept all people for exactly who they are.  I worry my work won't be enough.  That my love won't be enough.  But above all, I worry that the faith I have in mankind is a complete joke and that we really are on the way down as a species.  To me, there is nothing scarier than a world full of people that don't love each other.

let the wind take over

my hair tickles the living crap out of me.  it's like it tries to drive me crazy throughout the day; sneaking its way into my food, agitating the inside of my mouth, my cheek, my shoulder...pretty much anywhere within the immediate vicinity of my neck.  while this is all to be expected, it still drives me crazy, but I refuse to cut it.  so this is my life.  struggling with this multi-shaded brown mane that doesn't even know what a blow dryer is anymore.

this evening, just now, only moments ago, after fiddling with the whispy strands dancing in the wind, taunting me with their uncontrollability for over 20 minutes, the thought occurred to me, subconsciously, to just let them go wherever it is they go.  and I did.  and I was reminded why I have all this hair.

so, really, this is my life.  letting my hair do whatever the wind wants it to.

sometimes

Someone bought me a journal for Christmas.  A leatherbound beauty with Gonesh on the front and filled with papyrus paper.  All for me to write in.

It has become the single most fulfilling activity in my life.  For the first time maybe ever, I am jotting down ideas for photos.  Something is compelling me to record all of these ideas in one place so that I can turn it into something later.  I used to think journals were just for writing some long, drawn-out poem or release dribble.  Now, I realize it's there for whatever pops in my head.  I don't have to think about it....it just flows and I look at it later and feel inspired and transported to exactly the place I was  I decided it was beautiful enough to write it down.  Just one-liners.  Filling a million pages.  Giving me the fuel I need to create something larger than myself.

Sometimes, I feel like my son is missing out on me.  I get so entrenched in creativity lately that I withdraw from him.  Interestingly enough, though, he seems more at peace with spending more time with himself.  Last night, he completely obliterated my kitchen, but I didn't care.  He is living his life and exploring the things that will make him who he is.  I see so much of my spirit in him that I can't help but let him be exactly who he is.  The best gift my parents ever gave me was teaching me to be content while I am alone.

But I digress. 

Here, at this very moment, serenaded by my sweet Ray and hypnotized by the crickets that have decided this unseasonably warm February 4th evening is good enough for them to sing me a song, I feel exactly like I am in the middle of a Bradbury novel.  Alone, but oh so very content with being alone.  Because, I am not alone. I will always have two Rays to keep me company.