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Or just a mind that thinks too much. |
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A place to practice my writing. Also where I will put my random thoughts, ideas, rants, and whatever else I have to say. ** Image ID #1901871 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1779494 Unavailable ** |
| Last night was a blur. Today's cloudy eyes are clearing up a bit. More thoughts later when the fog clears my head. |
| Thinking of something to write about . Nothing comes to mind. Typing nonsensical things, seems a waste of time. Haven't slept much. My mind is not working properly. The right words I cannot find. Had too much coffee, not enough tea. Overstimulation taking over me. Doesn't feel right if I don't sit down and write. Sleep seems far away, so I will sit and write. Writers block is my worst enemy, I don't think I will win this fight tonight. Yet I sit down and write. Sit down and write. Sit down and write. That's all for tonight. |
| My kid came down with fever last night. Stayed up with him all night trying to bring it down. Trying to get him to take Tylenol was a chalenge. Have to visit the family today. My Aunt is visiting from out of town and my presence is required. Running on no sleep and pure will power. Today should be interesting. |
| There comes a time when a person realizes that he or she simply cannot please everyone. I seem to have come to that realization today. It has been long overdue. I promised myself that I would put aside "me time", yet at the end of the day, I am too exhausted to try. In need of a long bath and a stiff drink. It's been tough for my son this week. He just can't deal with two hours away from me. Getting him dressed and out the door is a grueling feat, and he is waiting for me to crack and let him stay home. If I can squeeze in a decent amount of sleep, I will think clearly enough to find a solution and not just go through the motions to get by. Just one of those weeks I guess. Thing always get worse before they get better right? Can't throw the towel in now. I'm in too deep! Thank God I can swim. |
| Saturday prompt:Either write directly about missing Rixy or write about someone close to you dying. This can be a personal experience or a story or a memorial type item. Whatever you want to do with this prompt. This might seem to hard to do, but I know from experience that writing can be a therapy in dealing with crisis and loss. MY ONLY REGRET My grandfather and I were very close. In fact I was never closer to any other member of my family apart from my sisters. I was his favorite granddaughter. I spent most of my childhood with him. My aunts were jealous and vindictive and my uncles could care less about anyone but themselves and what others thought of them. My mother was caught up in sibling squabbles, and my father worked ten hour days, seven days a week. My grandpa passed while I was eight months pregnant with my second child. I was with my husband and daughter at home when I received the phone call to rush to the hospital. The night before was my sisters wedding and during the reception, my grandmother told me he was going into surgery the next morning. I offered to drive her so I could see my grandfather and she told me not to bother. It was a simple surgery and I could see him afterwards in recovery. He never made it through the surgery. I regret listening to her. I was never able to say goodbye to him. In fact my regret runs deeper. I was going through a bad pregnancy and was in and out of the doctors office three times a week, where I would be strapped to baby monitoring machines for hours at a time. My grandfather would ask me to come and see him because he had a bad foot and couldn’t walk very much. I wanted to see him so bad, but I always stopped myself from going because of my uncle who lived with my grandparents. He had violently beat me into the hospital seven years prior because I was marrying out of my culture. He said I brought shame to the family. His one-sided thinking was deeply rooted amongst my entire family. I was ostracized by everyone, except my grandpa. He met with my husband and found they got along really well. He voiced his high opinion of him to the rest of the family, but was dismissed by their stubbornness and unwillingness to accept my choice. I move out of town for three years, and moved back when I had my daughter. I wanted to be near my grandpa. I wanted him to be part of my daughters life, even if the rest of the family weren’t. He loved her and she loved him. When I did visit him, my uncle would scare my daughter and threaten me. I was scared and angry that I had to deal with things like this just to see my grandfather. In addition to his upsetting antics my grandpa would argue with him until he was exhausted. I hated putting him through that. So during my second pregnancy, I would call and talk to him on the phone and keep him updated on the baby’s health. When I found out I was having a boy, he was the first one I called. I never heard him so ecstatic before. He asked me to come over and I agreed. I drove all the way there excited and overjoyed, until I pulled into his driveway and saw my uncle standing there waiting for me with hateful eyes. I never made it in the house. When I called to tell him why I never showed, my uncle would answer and hang up each time. From then on, I only passed by his home and caught a glimpse of him through the large picture window, sitting in his favorite spot, watching his television programs. Remembering all this brings me great pain. My heart aches for him to know how sorry I feel for being a coward and letting some jerk stop me from seeing him. When I heard his health was failing and that he was possibly dying, I was in denial. I didn’t want to believe that my grandpa, my idol, my mentor was going to die. Even when the distant relatives came from afar to bid him farewell, and the entire family gathered into the tiny three bedroom apartment to be with him, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him ill, when my entire life he was strong and healthy and spry. When I was younger he would have me fetch his pipe and I was honored to be the one chosen out of all fifteen grandchildren. He would let me sit on his lap and watch him clean and stuff his pipe. Then he would tell me stories of when he was in the war. I would listen for hours as he told me about his life and all the things he had done in his earlier days. He would take me with him to work and I would watch with admiration how he would handle customers and get the job done. He would tell me to stick my finger in his tea because I was sweater than any sugar in the world. He called me his little lamb and I called him my big sheep. I loved him more than my own parents and I knew he loved me the same way. Being part of a family that was woven with jealousy, greed, hatred, and competition amongst each other, my grandfather and I were the ones who stood out. We lived our lives with love, honesty, kindness, and honor. I think that is why we got along so well. We connected because we were alike. Even now, as the tears flow, and my regret resurfaces, I know that when I see him again, he will tell me how foolish I was to cry all the time. He will tell me that I should have never been sorry because he was never angry with me. I could never do wrong in his eyes and to remember that I should always forgive someone before they do me wrong. That way I am never angry and I could go on loving them. I miss you grandpa. I am so sorry. |
| Right now my son should be singing songs and coloring on construction paper with his pint sized peers. He should be smiling and attentively listening to the story of the day with his hands folded in his lap like the good child he is. I should be looking forward to dismissal time, where he would run into my arms and show me the latest art project he had made for me. The teacher would compliment me on having the best child in her preschool class, and I would walk away proud while all the other mothers would direct their envious glances my way. Once upon a time when my daughter attended that same preschool class, it was that way. I had no problems whatsoever. It was a wonderful time, back then. I was stress free, thinner, and felt like I had motherhood and life under control. Those were the days. Sigh. This is how things really went down today. My husbands decided on a whim that he was going to be the one to take my son to preschool today. I told him in an extremely calm manner, that the teacher and I had planned for me to come with him today and slowly ease my way out of the classroom while he was distracted. He replied in his " I know everything and you know nothing" tone, that HE would show me how it's done and this coddling s!@# is only going to make our son worse, and that he wasn't going to let him act like a sissy. Taking slow and deliberate breaths I calmly said that I think his way would hinder all the effort I had put into easing him into preschool, and that since this was the last class of the week, I would be more than happy to let him try on Monday. In my perfect fantasy world, he would have kissed my cheek and said, "Your absolutely right honey, I wouldn't want to destroy all the hard work you've put in. I know you care for our son unconditionally and you know what is best for him. I fully support you." And then he would have given me a big fat diamond ring and a credit card with no limit.   So he walks out of the door with my screaming four year old thinking he has everything under control and probably can't wait to hurry back home and throw it in my face how he handled the situation with perfect ease and expertise. He left a half hour early, so I knew I had time to work out and shower. Near the end of my shower I heard my phone ringing and ringing. So much for a peaceful and quiet shower. I finished up quickly and ran to the phone, checking the time before I picked up. It was twenty minutes past twelve, so my son should be well into his class by now. "HI, how did he do?" I said nervously into the phone. "Ah, yes the door is unlocked. Why are you yelling at me? Hello? Hello?" I slowly lowered the phone and stared at the front door with nervous wide eyes. Suddenly my front door is pushed open forcefully and my son shuffles in slowly with his head bowed and shoulders slumped. Behind him and angry five foot nine inched man huffs in ticked off to high hell. I immediately shield my sons ears from the thoughtless flow of colorful words my husband is spewing out while trying to stifle a giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. Let's recap. My husband: "I'll take him to school. I'll show you how its done!" Me: Ok but... Husband: "No buts I know what I'm doing! If you would have done it right the first time BLAH BLAH BLAH." Fifty minutes later... Husband: "He wouldn't stop crying, (insert curse words) he was full of tears, (more curse words) and boogers, (cursing, cursing, cursing) and he wouldn't let go of me, (fill in a curse word please) I've never seen him cry so hard." (Curse) Then he walks out of the door. My husband couldn't bear to leave our son crying and upset in his classroom. Not so easy huh? And I thought I was the weak parent! |
| Today WDC has lost a beloved member and friend to many of the folks around here Rixfarmgirl(89). I am deeply saddened and heartbroken for her family and friends. My prayers go out to them. She will be missed! |
| Been so busy this weekend. Trying to squeeze time for my studies has been utterly grueling. I don't know if it's just me, but it seems every time I sit down for a rest or set aside time for studies, life jumps at me and demands attention. Maybe today will be better. |
| I am hooked on Three Word Mayhem. I find it entertaining and not very time consuming. I have about five minutes between chores and spending time with the kids to either read, write, or stare off into space. Another thing I am hooked on is Percy Goodfellow and Karen's blog. I find myself migrating from my studies to read what Mr. Percy has to say. He brings a charm and sophistication to his writing. What I love most is how he can write about anything, example: mud or poop, and it would sound poetic. I haven't read any of his stories yet. I might never get my work done. Karen, I feel I can relate to in a crazy way. I don't know if our lives have anything in common at all but her thoughts click with mine, and she is so kind to me. She is especially encouraging about my stories and always has a kind word, especially when it really sucks. I am a firm believer that people arrive into your life at a certain point for a reason. There is always something you can learn from them and maybe you have something to offer them. I still ponder what lesson I have learned from this labor day weekend with the crazies. A.K.A family. I keep telling myself to move out of town, but with the current economic crisis I am stuck where I am. In retrospect over the years of dealing with them I have learned not to be like them but i have never quite mastered being around them without losing a micro bit of sanity. I am so upset about this that I find myself thinking about the possibility of abandoning my dream of moving away from them, and coming to grips with having to live with them forever. I would rather daydream. I am going to visit my mother today, because she is ill and I have to make her take her meds and hide her cigarettes. Then to my grandmothers to give her the cane I carved for her with the wood I picked up from the camping trip. They won't say thank you, and they will find everything wrong with all that I do. Then they will visit each other and talk about me, fight, and call me to break it up. Five years later they will tell someone how nice I was to take care of them, and I will hear a weak Chinese telephone version of their appreciation. I think if I move away, I will have to start watching soap operas so I won't miss my family.  |
| My daughter is my biggest supporter of my writing and almost everything I do. She's eight and acts like she is twenty. Reminds me of myself when I was young. I'm still young technically, I feel like I am eighteen sometimes. Sometimes. She is the reason I started writing in the first place. When she was bored I would tell her stories that I would make up on the spot. Then when story time rolled around I would have to repeat the same stories. The problem with that was, I never remembered everything. Well It didn't dawn on me until a year ago to write it all down. It was a forehead to palm, DUH moment! Well, here I am trying to do this writing thing. Nerve wracked, sweaty palmed, hoping that I don't suck to bad, and having the time of my life! Thanks for reading. Till we meet again, Lana |
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