1.176 – The Average Life

It feels like forever since I’ve sat down and written a word. But life has a way of getting in the way. So here’s the rundown of this girls life in bullet points…since I’m too lazy to do paragraphs. Apparently, those take more effort than I’m willing to put in right about now.

  • My new job is a lot of physical work so I’m still trying to get used to that.
  • I just had a meeting today with some very important people who are doing an investigation concerning money that has gone missing. Needless to say, I’m not a thief and I’ve made that very clear. I don’t think they feel like I am a threat so I’m feeling less worried than I was before the meeting.
  • I only got about 20K in words for my June CampNaNoWriMo novel. Yeah, life got in the way. I will probably attempt another novel in August. We shall see.
  • Being able to pay my bills and fill my kitchen with enough food to last two weeks is an amazing feeling.
  • Having a falling out with family members is not something new to me. But this time around, I’ve had a new reaction. I can sit here and sulk and wonder why the hell things like this happen. But I’m not going to. I know who loves me and I know who cares and I know that at the end of the day, it’s not about how much family I’ve got but how I’m going to be family to my son. Staying focused and letting go of excess baggage.
  • In the same notion, I have also realized that people can smile to your face and chirp about how they want to be friends but if they never make the effort to reach out – they aren’t friends. Period. I don’t have the time, desire, or energy to chase bonds that were not meant to be. So I say goodbye and keep it moving. Not my loss.
  • I’ve been having odd dreams lately. Had a whole love story with some guy named Max. I don’t know a Max. Never have. Had a dream I bought 22 gallons of whole milk and had a meltdown trying to figure out how to fit it all into my refrigerator before it spoiled. Just odd.
  • My son is still freaking awesome!
  • Realized I have to work on my book review blog because I haven’t touched it in quite some time despite the fact that I am putting forth a huge effort to read every day. It’s on my to-do list.

So yeah, that’s life right now. It’s not that interesting…but it’s mine.


1.149 – Erotica and The AHA Moment

So, technically, I should be packing…seeing as I’m supposed to be moved into my new apartment in like…two days. But I’m not packing. Not because I don’t want to.  I really don’t want to BUT this particular moment of packing procrastination has been brought on by an Oprah “AHA” moment. (Did she patent that, because if she did…yeah, she can’t take much from someone who doesn’t have squat, right? Here’s hoping.)

Anyways, my “AHA” moment happened while I was putting books away in my new place. I used to be a hoarder of books. Seriously, in the past 4 years, I have visited the library at least 4 times and donated at least 70 books per visit. Needless to say, my current library is slim pickings and yet…I feel like I should be getting rid of more things instead of just transferring all of my garbage from a two bedroom box to a one bedroom box. But moving right along…

The “AHA” moment happened when I held a book called Smut. It speaks true to its title but I only know that from reading a synopsis of the book. I’ve never actually read it. I bought it a few years back during my erotic reading phase. (Aqua Erotica, Master/Slave, Different Loving…all good titles…I’ve actually read these…and FYI to all you bandwagon Fifty Shades of Grey readers – feel free to read Different Loving to understand that Dom/Sub relationships don’t have to be all about hard, rough sex. It doesn’t have to be about sex at all. This stupid craze with this book is going to push some desperate lonely housewives to go out searching for the type of relationship they touch themselves to from that book when in all actuality, it’s not that simple. Period. And now I’m done with that little side rant).

I realize that I haven’t read this book and yet, I don’t want to toss it. And I ask myself why. I’m not reading it. I have no desire to. The price I paid wasn’t a doozy so I’m at no real loss. So what am I holding on to?

I’m holding on to the thought that if I toss it…I will suddenly need it when its gone.

Yep, that was the moment. I just related a smut book to relationships. Ain’t it funny how we hold onto things that aren’t good for us, people who remain toxic to us and our growth because we are so scared that once we dispose of them…we will have nothing? We keep bad friends, relationships that aren’t fulfilling, we stay in marriages that died so long ago we can’t even recall when we liked that person, we master the art of bullshitting ourselves into believing that we need something we really don’t. Instead of having a bookshelf free of useless nonsense that is no longer applicable to the person I am today, I’d rather have a full shelf of things I will never touch. Meaningless, insignificant but full.

Sounds like the story of my life. I’m going to admit that I put the stupid book on the bookshelf. I’m not friggen superman here, people! I had an “AHA” moment, not a friggen personality makeover. But I think it’s still a start.

The first part of letting go is realizing you don’t need to be so scared of having nothing that you’ll hold on to anything. Apply this to your life, relationship, career as needed. I know I am.

1.118 – Searching For Something

The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullshit story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it – kushandwisdom.tumblr

Someone posted this today on Facebook and it caught my attention, with good reason. Self reflection is a bitch. A bitch I don’t like but one that is continuously all up in my face.

The other day, I had an allergic reaction to food I should not have eaten. It wasn’t that serious – easily fixed with three shots. It was actually quite embarrassing. No one wants to be THAT person in the middle of the scene. Jesus H. Christ, just give me a pill and Ill be fine…and stop poking me with shit. No, I don’t want to pay far too much money for a two minute ambulance ride. It all seems very silly – people have heart attacks. People have seizures. My throat burned and tightened up and I had trouble breathing. A couple of hours later and I’m doped up, passed out on my couch.

All I could think about was my son. I’m not supposed to go out like this. I’m not suppose to stop breathing because of a piece of fruit. My son is at daycare and expects my ass to be there, bright and vibrant at 5:30. But the fact of the matter is…if something did happen to me…something triggered by bad footing, eating the wrong thing…a life changing moment unforeseen by anyone…life will go on. With or without me.

I can tell myself that I have all the time in the world to get my shit together. To reach my goals. To pull my head out of my ass and face the demon that is my self deprecating low self-esteem…but I don’t. I might only have today. I might only have this hour. I might only have this minute.

Will I teach my son…will my legacy be that I was a quitter? That his light wasn’t bright enough to push me through the dark hours? Fuck that noise.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what my career is supposed to be. I don’t know if I’m ever supposed to be an accomplished writer. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ever be in love again. I don’t know why I’ve beat the odds as many times as I have. I don’t know why I let my fears get the best of me.

I may never know that magic of love with another adult. I may never get beyond working at the level I’m at. I may never be on a bookshelf. Those are all maybes. But what is certain is that I’m going to die someday. SOME DAY. But I’m breathing today. I have a voice today. I have feelings today. I have thoughts today. I have love for this life in my heart today. I can teach my son something today.

I’m not dead yet. So I need to stop acting like it.

I laid in that ER room and scrolled through my phone, searching for someone to come and get me. “Do you have a ride,” the nurse asked a million times. And I was ashamed. Because I didn’t. Because if something had happened to me…who the hell would they call? Who would answer the phone? Yeah, I’ve got friends. Yeah, I’ve got family. But who would…who could drop it all for me? Staring at my phone…scrolling aimlessly…that was hard. Realizing I havent made that deep of an impression…

But hell if someone didn’t help me out. And I’m grateful. I may not have any ONE person who would drop the world for me. But I have ONE that I would drop the world for. And if that meant walking to my car, drugged up and all, I would have.

I’m not dead yet. So I need to stop acting like it.

I’ve still got time to make that impression. To be the light to others that my son is to me. I don’t know how. But…I want to figure it out. That, alone, is a step toward something.

Something more meaningful. Something connected. Something magical. Something worthwhile. Something better.

1.117 – I Quit

On my way home from work, I got to thinking about my writing.

Where the hell is this going? Is it going anywhere at all?

The answers are simple: I don’t know and no. That being said, I start reflecting on why the hell nothing is going nowhere. And I reflect on my own bitter, emotional moment of the day.

It sucks when you feel like people see you for your negative attributes. I float in the ongoing punchline of me being the mean girl. Maybe its’ funny. Shit, maybe it’s true. But I really don’t want to be the mean girl. I’m just extremely sarcastic and extremely…blunt at times. Label it rude, obnoxious, neurotic. Maybe I’m making up for years of living in the damned shadows…I don’t know.

I’m probably all of those negative things and more. But I’d like to be better. My writing is nothing but I’d like it to be more. I’d like to know more than five people are reading this damned blog. I’d like to see my writing flourish into something worth sharing. I’d like to be considered a talent, a person worth knowing, something more than a late night secret friend. Yeah, I said it. Because I know that’s what I am to people. Someone worth knowing in the daytime at a distance and someone worth talking to late at night when no one else is available. My writing is what people read because…well fuck if I know why people read any of this. It’s about the same as me wondering why the hell people waste their time…AND MINE…talking to me.

It’s all a crock, really. It’s all made up. It’s all a badly written work of fiction. It’s all maybes and what-ifs, coulda woulda shouldas and false precedents.

I want to edit Dream Catchers. That will probably never happen. I want to complete Euphoric Damnation…which is on an indefinite pause because the concept sounded good about 5 months ago but now just seems to be a stupid ass story. I want to write a trilogy called Windows – one story told from his perspective, one from her perspective and the final one being the truth. I want to write a humor piece – one story done in several genre formats. I want to re-write Lullaby – a play set in in the voice of suicide and the victim. I want to write Killing Off Allison. I want to compile my poetry and finish The Dark Room. I want, I want, I want…to write, to write, to write…


I wont do any of it. Because I’m one of those fucking people. I’m all talk. Because attempting at putting these ideas to paper will force me to realize that I’m a fake. I’m no fucking writer. I’m just one of those people who spews out ideas. And the majority of them suck ass.

I want people to think better of me. I want to be valued for what’s in this mind of mine. I want there to be a reason I am the way I am. I thought writing was my justification. But maybe…no, I’m pretty sure…there is no justification. I’m just not what I thought I was. I’m nobody…babbling on about nothing. I’m a con artist – making you believe I’m strong, smart, pretty, artistic, confidant, secure. But I am none of those things. I am a weakling, screaming for acceptance at the top of my lungs. The problem is…no one seems to hear me. Or maybe they do. Which is by far the worst of fates.

Maybe this is just a majorly self-deprecating emo moment. But for the first time in 20 years, I’m almost certain it’s time to give this shit up. My fear of rejection obviously outweighs my desire to live the dream. Story of my fucking life. The self doubt is debilitating. And I’m over feeling like a crippled woman, friend, artist. I just want to fade into the backdrop and pretend it never mattered.

My love affair with writing is over.

That’s it. I quit. I’m moving on. (Thanks Sam Cooke).

1.109 – Art of Love


i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if i have tomorrow

as if there is always more time

i write as if someone will know my story

once im gone

i write as if my voice will be heard from the grave

i write as if yesterday doesnt deserve being said

i write as if tomorrows paint is unavailable

i write as if love will never exist

as if it is unattainable

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if money comes solely from thought

versus action

i write with a filter

as if fear will show true colors

as if silence will formulate into truth

upon unused pages

in unpurchased books

upon undusted shelves

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if i will see another sun

when this moon is my final goodbye

i write as if right now is enough

i love as if there is no one worthy of this love

as if i am undeserving in the wake of mayhem

i write about sadness

as if the alternative is foreign to my language

i write about pain

as if it is the only emotion my heart has known

i write about love

and leave echoes in hallways

stuck in corridors in empty passages of minds eye and pages sight

i do not write. i do not love. 

i write as if anyone could write my words

as if another will be my tongue

i love as if i were not capable to deliver a smile

i write as if i were not capable of delivering thought

i do not write. i do not love. 

i am the unspoken art of a woman

Lost in a haze

wanting oceans

though this forlorn heart is dry

i await the muses kiss

but i fear it just the same.

i do not write. i do not love. 

1.101 – You Never Saw This Coming

Facebook Status of The Day:

Eetsa gonna be manicotti night! Also… Eetsa me! Mario!

Now that we’ve covered that…this post is going to change direction. I’m working through some emotions and so Im turning to my forum to do so. So bear with me for a moment.

I literally just opened a book, recommended to me by a friend, a few minutes ago. I have only gotten six pages in and I feel extremely uncomfortable. I have a million questions running through my head and even more reasons why I want to close this book. Im listing all of the reasons I don’t feel like reading this book. And yet, I know I have to keep going.

I’m trying to be open-minded. To steer clear of the presumption that I know better. In my search for personal growth and a non-judgmental perspective, I have agreed to read The Case For Christ by Lee Strobel.

My mind is racing and I feel really uncomfortable. I keep asking myself why and I keep running in circles. Is this book going to make me see something I didn’t see before? I don’t know. But what if it does. I’m just going to pretend for a minute…that by the end of this…I feel enlightened.

What changes? I dont respect organized religion. I don’t respect the man-made use of religion to spread bigotry, hate and oppression. I could believe in a god…I guess. The hypocrisy, the evil laced in a pretty package, the inconsistencies…I just cant.

If that is the case, why the heck am I reading this book? Do I subconsciously want to believe in something much greater than what I know? Do I want there to be a reason…for everything? Am I already a mindless sheep, willing to believe in anything that will make me feel warm and fuzzy as I sit close to my rock bottom? (Not every person of faith is sheep – so if you’re an existential thinker, don’t take offense to it).

Part of me wants to throw this book aside and move right along. Am I scared to see something new and have new hope? Or am I scared that at the end of this…I will feel no differently. Proof that there really is nothing greater. Am I already setting myself up because I want hope?

And this whole thing is pissing me off. But the only way to truly say “I don’t believe” is to identify what I actually do believe. And the only way to do that is to face every option with an open mind…to let it run through me and to…do something I have yet to figure out.

This post made absolutely no sense. But neither does this blog. Let’s be honest. I rant about shit on here. Shit, shit and more shit. But I guess this random shit is my life. And my life is my art. And my art is what I want to share. Hence…i share shit. Aren’t you glad?

I’m sure Ill post again about this book…we’ll see.

1.92 – The Miserable Artist

I saw this image on cartoonist Tom Beland’s Facebook page. This man is an amazing cartoonist, by the way, and his work is hysterical and compelling. 

I’m guilty of doing all ten. Not one or two but all of them. How terribly sad.

1.85 – My Writing Tools

A recent exchange on Twitter made me consider this:

What do I need to write? What puts me into that place that lets me go to town with the muse? Well, here’s my answer. Everything on this list is not crucial but definitely has put me into that great place.

To Kiss The Muse, I like:

  • Orange Soda. I feel like Kel from Keenan and Kel. Do you love orange soda? I do, I do, I dooooo-ooooo.
  • A fresh notebook. Preferably college ruled.
  • A gel pen. One that makes clicky sounds when I raise my pen from the paper.
  • A good keyboard that bounces back, since I tend to type very hard and very fast.
  • Cheeto’s or Oreo’s. Either of these soothe my munchies and prevents me from stopping…unless I have to take a leak.
  • Music. I can’t emphasize this one enough. Hell, I’ll even add a playlist of some of my favorites!

1. Shark In The Water – V V Brown

2. Halo – Beyonce

3. Runaway – Kanye West

4. Love Rain – Jill Scott & Mos Def

5. Laughing With A Mouth Of Blood – St. Vincent

6. Epic – Faith No More

7. Down Down Down – The Presets

8. Runaway – Linkin Park

9. That’s It, I Quit, I’m Movin’ On – Adele

10. Dragula – Rob Zombie

11. Until The Day I Die – Story Of The Year

12. Push It – Static-X

13. Dibiza – Danny Tenaglia

14. The Garden – Mirah

15. YKK – Fluke

16. Sail – AWOLnation

17. Pon De Floor – Major Lazer

18. Go Back To Sleep – Spatula Castle Remix

19. Bang Bang – Nancy Sinatra

20. Maps – Yeah Yeah Yeahs

21. Skullfuck – Neophyte

22. This Is War – 30 Seconds To Mars

23. A Chore – Tom Vek

24. Piano Tune – Bar 9

  • Oh, and cigarettes. Although I’m hoping I won’t depend on these much longer.

1.84 – My Job(s)

In the previous post, A Crappy Lie, I mentioned just one of the two things that irritated me on New Years Eve. This post is about the one I did not clarify.

For the first time, in a really long time, I am taking the bull by the horns and persistently working to make progress. Whether that be at work, in my writing, as a mother, friend, sister…I’m putting in the blood, sweat and tears to get where I want to be.

I am proud of that. I am proud of my two bedroom apartment, despite the use of the word “ghetto” by anyone I may know to describe my area. I am proud to provide EXCEPTIONAL customer service. I know what I am capable of. I know my strengths. And I shine in those moments of thinking quickly, multitasking and problem solving.

So what annoyed me?

A conversation in which someone referred to my job as if it were worthless, insignificant, not worthy of respect. A conversation in which I was told I “just work at a bookstore,” I “just serve coffee.”

Let me correct that statement right here and right now. I don’t JUST do ANYTHING. I do what I love with passion, conviction, ambition, integrity and enthusiasm.

Quite frankly, your tax dollars could be paying for my sons food, the apartment we live in, the medication he requires. I don’t make crazy dough. I could be on welfare swiping my WIC card at the grocery store, on your dime.

I could be hustling; selling drugs, selling my body, working under the table, scheming on guys to pay my bills. I could be doing many things I’ve witnessed all too often in my upbringing.

Instead, I work at a bookstore. I pay my taxes. I buy my groceries at discount supermarkets. I pinch my pennies. I haven’t bought myself clothes in well over 8 months. I haven’t bought a new pair of sneakers in well over 3 years. I don’t go to a salon to get pretty. I spend my spare money on my son, coupons in tow.  I work diligently to help others in my workplace and diligently to help my son in my home life.

No, I’m not an accomplished writer. I simply work toward my goal of honing my craft one blog post, one revised page, one reading session at a time. I am slowly, but surely, pursuing my dream as I bust my ass to pay the bills.

Yes, I work at a book store. I serve coffee. And I am proud, no matter how much anyone wants to look down on me for my work choice, that I am making it. And at the heart of it – I like what I do.

For the first time, IN A REALLY LONG TIME, I don’t need the validation of others to tell me I’m the best at something. I may never be the best. I’m not trying to fill those shoes. I work at a bookstore. I serve coffee. I write with conviction in my words. I give every ounce I can spare to show my son that you can work to beat the odds. I work to show him that for for mommy – it’s not about being THE best but being MY best.

I work at a bookstore. I serve coffee. I am a writer. I am a mother. And I’m damn good at what I do. Period.

1.81 – The Year To Come

2012. It’s almost here. And out comes the list. The list of hope. Of growth. Progress.

In 2012 I want to…

  • stop smoking. I’ve failed on this quite a few times. But I’ve realized, now more than ever that my health is something I owe to my son. To give us more time. And he will be worth the temporary discomfort.
  • Learn Yoga. This goes along with the whole healthy thing. My body aches so often and I’m too damned young for that.
  • Edit Dream Catcher. I wrote the piece in 2011. 2012 will be my year to tweak it into a completed piece.
  • Complete Euphoric Damnation. This has been my baby for four years and I’m ready to get it out on paper.
  • Submit one piece of work to a literary agent/publishing house with a query.  This one will probably be the hardest for me. I’m scared of the rejection but I won’t know until I try.
  • Read at least 52 books this year. As an aspiring writer, reading is a fundamental part of my work. And it makes me happy. I doubt this one will be a problem with my Nook Tablet.
  • Take Hunter to NYC at least once. I want my son to know his family and it has to be with effort on my part to make that happen.
  • Get a promotion at work. This is going to take a lot of hard work. Probably more work than I’ve done in 2011. Everything I thought I achieved in 2011 has to be done tenfold in the new year to show my potential.
  • Make a dent in debt. This one is not going to be fixed in 2012 alone. I’ve acquired quite a bit due to all of this breast surgeries and moving out on my own. But I determined to work hard and paying back every cent I owe.
  • Create an even better relationship with my sons father. We’ve made progress in the past few months but I know it takes work on both of our parts to be the best parents we can be for our son.
  • Creatie better self-esteem for myself. This one is probably the hardest on my list. This will always be a work in progress. But I know, in order to be a happy woman, in my own skin…I have to accept who I am, work on my flaws and let past mistakes and painful memories go.
  • Be a better sister, aunt, friend. This takes communication and the effort of reaching out.
  • Take down the wall/taking off the mask. This is my defense mechanism, to make sure people don’t hurt me. I’m not saying I want to wear my heart on my sleeve but I know I have to work on being positive, friendly and showing my endearment versus hiding behind sarcasm and humor.
  • Be a better mother. Growing with my son. Accepting who he becomes and nurturing his growth, dreams and imagination. You can never stop striving to be a better parent. I dont plan on ever stopping.

2012 is about being a better me. About living beyond the labels and expectations of others. About honing my craft and embracing change. 2012 is about loving myself for the first time in a really long time.