Something Unlikely

In the recesses of my soul, I fear it’s unlikely for me to find love.

A whole, healthy love.

An accepting, understanding love.

Someone who not only understands me, knows me, but wants me to be in their lives, every day. Someone who finds me important.

Bereft of abuse of any sort.

This is horribly vulnerable and I hate it. But it’s true.

 

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And I think it is sad.

Sad that I am so jaded, so hopeless when it comes to some things.

I think it is sad that I am so filled with such emptiness that I don’t know where to look inside myself to find myself.

I feel I need to peal open the skin on my rib cage, crack open my ribs, and peer inside, hoping there will be a beating heart, to begin with. But beyond that, hoping I’ll find a small, scared, soul hiding somewhere behind an organ or too. Waiting to be found.

Waiting to be accepted.

 

Isn’t that just so human?

It’s not something I obsess about.

It’s not something I even think about too often.

I’m certainly not one of those gals who searches for a man like her life depends on it. I never thought about my wedding. Never fantasized about walking down the aisle, all doe eyed, and plastered in white.

For one, I don’t want to wear white on my wedding day, whenever or if that happens.

And for two, I’ve always been too busy fantasizing about monsters, creatures that could jar me into danger and maddening enjoyment of life.

I’ve never been the kind of gal who had to have twenty friends, surrounded by people all the time, making her feel wanted and loved. I’m not particularly needy. In fact, I need my space.

 

So it isn’t a crazy unhealthy thing.

It simply is. In the back of my mind. Floating along with all those other thoughts or beliefs, I guess, that don’t bother me too often. Or affect me all that often either.

There are simply some things I’m not going to poke at until I’ve worked out where I am right now.

 

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What I’m talking about is the human desire to be loved on a level that only happens when one falls in love.

A knowing and an accepting.

 

I think it’s what we are; human.

We want that other human who we can be 100% human around and still be loved.

 

Did I mention this is terribly vulnerable?

Terribly.

I don’t know how Rara does it!

 

 

This is post #2 in Rara’s #Somethingist challenge. For my original post (which explains things), click  here. And then join the challenge! ;D

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Roaches Everywhere

I don’t want to go to bed tonight.

There’s cockroaches just waiting to crawl all over in it with me.

…..

Have I told you of the roaches?

NO!?

Why then!

*rolls out story teller mat*

LET ME LET YOU KNOW.

 

I am a sleep deprived crazy person already.

Moved into these apartments years ago.

Suddenly?

 

ROACHES EVERYWHERE!

 

Roaches in my sink.

Roaches in my chair.

Roaches in my shoes.

Roaches in my hair!

 

Under my bed.

In my dog’s water bowl.

On my ceiling.

On my paper towel roll.

 

On my shirt.

In the bathroom.

In my underwear drawer.

Killing my vacuum.

 

Covering the stove top.

Covering the herbs they apparently hate.

On my keyboard as I type.

On the rice I almost ate.

 

Hiding on the toilet paper roll.

In my Scooby-Doo mug.

On the spoon I just cleaned.

Hiding under the edge of the rug.

 

Charging for my food.

Running at my feet.

Running up my leg.

Running toward me, let me repeat!

 

Inside my fridge.

All over my eggs.

Inside my bookcase!

Did I mention crawling on my legs?

 

Jumping off the wall.

Into my food.

Interrupting my shower.

Extremely rude!

 

In my nightmares.

I can’t sleep a wink.

Inside my alarm clock.

I can’t afford to blink.

 

Under my pillow.

In my purse.

I’m considering a bomb.

If this gets any worse.

 

I’m spraying mint oil.

I’m cleaning real well.

I’m spraying tea tree oil.

I think I may be in Hell.

 

My cabinets are moving.

Swarming and swimming.

My skin is itching.

My sanity, thinning.

 

And sometimes at night.

If I said I didn’t cry.

While trying to sleep.

It’d be a definite lie.

 

On the computer.

On the tv.

Sitting on the toilet.

Did I mention they’re on me?

 

Crawling along the carpet.

Oh and on my face.

Let me just tell ya.

I’ve got roaches all over the place!

 

 

You want proof that I’m being driven slowly insane by roaches?

I JUST WROTE A BLOODY RHYME ABOUT THEM!

*who does that???*

 

Did you know cockroaches bite? And they particularly like eyelashes?

Yeah.

Creepy crawly things with no fear, and I mean no fear! They’re ballsy little dudes. They aren’t afraid of humans at all.

We’ve tried spraying, fogging, natural determents. They get worse!

The high school, a few different apartment complexes, and hotels around town are all having problems with them. And they’re spreading to the houses that back these buildings.

It’s a nightmare and a half.

So if you hear in the news that some crazy lady tried killing cockroaches in her apartment with a shotgun…. it wasn’t me. I swear.

 

Any advice? Anyone else ever dealt with these nasty things which survive radiation?

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Something Unfinished

Sometimes you find people who are extraordinary.

That would be Rarasaur.

Just reading something on her blog is enough to stir inspiration, gratitude, optimism on even the most sullen, miserable, depressing, painful days. I’m writing this on one of those days. See? Proof.

She recently put up a list, a challenge, of 30 things to do on your social media of choice.

Her original post and first #Somethingist is here. Check it out! And maybe join in.😉

https://rarasaur.com/2016/08/02/somethingist/

And I quote:

I’d love to see your somethings, wherever or however they be…

  1.  Something unfinished 2.    Something unlikely 3.    Something true 4.    Something invisible 5.    Something damaged 6.    Something possible 7.    Something displaced 8.    Something shocking 9.    Something substantial 10.    Something fragile 11.    Something temporary 12.    Something surprising 13.    Something strong 14.    Something illuminated 15.    Something dangerous 16.    Something secret 17.    Something foretelling 18.    Something obvious 19.    Something celebratory 20.    Something repaired 21.    Something terrifying 22.    Something lucky 23.    Something suspicious 24.    Something healing 25.    Something silly 26.    Something far 27.    Something near 28.    Something open 29.    Something closed 30.    Something overdone

Challenge accepted.

 

Something Unfinished

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This is what a writer’s desk is supposed to look like, in my opinion.

When caught in the rush of research.

When fumbling through the folders of ideas, stray thoughts, array of disorderly characters, traces of madness, wee plot bunnies bounding about – all circling your mind. A whirlwind of grounding inspiration and, for me, life blood. I know that last sounds a bit dorky, but it’s true for me.

I don’t’ feel alive if I’m not writing. If I’m not lost in a story, weaving threads through this scene and the next, nosing along this character, watching her take off in leaps and bounds.

Writing isn’t just something I do to deal with life, to cope with my reality.

It is how I live. How I breathe. It’s how I can move through the waters of life without feeling I’m drowning, alone, and no one cares. In fact, some might point and laugh.

Writing rights all of that. All the injustice in my reality. All the pain.

I didn’t realize it until just recently – but writing is what gets me through. My life lights up like something to be lived, to be enjoyed, when I write.

 

Perhaps a writer’s desk doesn’t need to have specifically what I do. And mine certainly changes from day to day. Messy to organized. Binders and books to simply my laptop and an open word document.

That’s not the point.

The point is, there are writing tools on my desk. I am actively using it to expand the landscapes in my heart.

The point, is to write so I can be fulfilled. So I can slip into myself like a spirit into flesh.

The point is to write so that I can become real.

 

And so what is unfinished?

My novel. Blair’s story.

I’ve finally brought myself back to writing.

I’d like to finish this novel. Finish the edits, read it over and decide if it’s solid, then send it out to critique partners. Soon after that, I’ll be sending to literary agents. (Even typing that has me excited all over again.)

It’s an unfinished story.

And that is not something I want to leave in the dark recesses of my soul.

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Starting Simple: Honey and Lemon Tea

So, I’m going to try this new thing.

Homemade tea. Herbal teas, not black or green tea. There’s actually no tea leaves involved.

I started out really simply and really accidentally.

I got really sick and had more phlegm, throat pain, and coughing than I had blood cells and finally took myself to the doctor.

The doctor suggested honey and lemon tea.

My family had been suggesting I try it for a couple months prior for health benefits but I just didn’t think it was for me. But when I felt like dying and the doctor suggested it, yeah, sure I tried it.

*grumble* *grumble* *grumble*

I was hesitant because I figured it’d taste horribly like I just bit into a lemon and it’d turn out that I wasted money on lemons. As if they’re sooo expensive.

Nope.

I tried and it *gasp*

Turns out I actually like it.

Amazing what happens when you try new things, right?

 

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How to make Honey and Lemon Tea

  1. Buy a few lemons. From the store. With money. (Bet you couldn’t have guessed that.)
  2. Put one and a half cups of water on the stove to boil.
  3. While that is boiling, I wash the outside of a lemon, cut it in three pieces, and squeeze one piece into my mug. I leave the rind in the bottom of the mug as well.
  4. Pour the boiling water into a measuring cup, then into a mug. It’s much simpler that way as it doesn’t spill all over the place.
  5. Add honey. You have to experiment with how much, it depends on your particular preference.
  6. Wait until it’s cooled down enough that you won’t become a burn victim upon drinking it.
  7. Then, you know, drink it

When I started out doing this, I just squeezed the lemon juice itself into the mug. Now I cut up the lemon, squeeze in the juice, and place the actual lemon rinds in there as well. Make sure if you do this, you rinse off the outside of the lemon in hot water before cutting it up. I’m going to try shaving pieces of the lemon peel off as well and place them in the tea to drink. I hear that’s even better for you. I just haven’t tried it yet.

 

Health Benefits

Lemons cut through congestion. Used for detoxification and increased digestion. Helps with weight loss.  It has tons of Vitamin C, which helps with your immune system. It also has eighty bazillion other vitamins and minerals like Vitamins E, B6 and A, calcium, zinc, and a whole slew of others. Boosts your energy levels and is supposed to be very good for your skin. Helps ease indigestion, nausea, and suppresses food cravings.

For more in depth (and there’s a lot more) info on how lemons do all of the above, check out the websites I have at the bottom. There’s some pretty cool information!

(And keep in mind that I’m only listing what the ingredients do when taken internally. There are multiple other uses as well.)

Honey soothes the throat by coating it and is said to help get rid of a cough. It’s antibacterial, anti-fungal, and anti-inflammatory. A lot of athletes use it to boost energy levels as well.

Lemon and Honey tea is reputed to help with weight loss, according to almost every website on planet earth. Including some medical ones. I think it’s mainly the lemon doing all the work.

*Don’t forget I’m not a doctor or specialist or anything along those lines. I’m just letting you know what I’ve discovered.

 

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Branching Out

So, turns out herbal tea is pretty cool. My sore throat was alleviated and the phlegm terrorizing me vanished. It’s awesome. Seriously. I drink it all the time now.

What I’d like to do is try more types of herbal tea. (Bet you didn’t see that coming.)

Oh, and while we’re on the subject, I suppose it’s not really tea I’m making. There’s no tea leaves. All I’m using are herbs and honey and fruit and such. But everyone calls it tea, so I’m going to call it tea!

 

 

Do you guys drink lemon and honey tea? Who suggested it to you?

 

Additional websites for lemon health information.

Lemon water and lemon water benefits.

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24 and Learning to Ride a Bike

My sister, who is fifteen, took an hour to teach me how to ride a bike, then happily road around with me until I got the hang of it.

She did a lot of trying not to laugh.

I don’t blame her.

This is basically how it went:

 

Week One

I’m going to die! …

….If I can get this thing moving.

It took me almost a half hour to figure out how to get moving without wobbling off balance. Have I mentioned I have zero balance? And I trip on flat surfaces? And I run into things?

This is kinda cool. Also, I’m going to die.

My thighs are killing me!

My brother joined us and I watched the both of them zoom uphill while I was in the back trying not to fall over. My town goes up and downhill. A lot. Freaking mountains. Uphill sucks. You’d think all the jogging I do would count for something! But oh no.

My butt is killing me!

A straight line? What’s that?

My left leg looks like it got in a fight with a rabid shard of metal.

My munchkins (siblings) left for their dad’s house, three hours away, leaving me to my own devices. (Don’t worry, I don’t die by the end of this post.)

 

Week Two

My butt still hurts from this freaking seat!

This is great, I can go to the store whenever I need to.

I now hate crossing the street.

Oh, hey look, I’m bleeding. When did that happen?

Going good, biking to and from work without incident. Liking it.

Ran into someone’s parked car while coming around a corner. There were people there to see it. *head desk* (I was fine, the car was fine, but I felt like a dunce.)

Did you know biking burns more calories than jogging? I thought that was the best thing I’d heard all month.

I felt great until I almost got ran over and went back to feeling like a moron.

Note to self: Worries me that I’m not scared of getting hurt, I’m concerned with that person knowing I’m a (sometimes oblivious) dunce.

Oh hey – there are rules of the road for people on bikes? Huh. I should probably know those.

There are this many rules!? How am I supposed to remember all of this while simultaneously not falling over, running into people/moving vehicles/buildings and remember where I’m going?!

So… I’ve been biking on the wrong side of the road half the time. Oops.

I followed all the rules! Yay me!

Should I buy a bike helmet? Do I need a bike helmet?

I don’t legally have to have one since I’m over the age of 18, but… I am on a two wheeled death trap, riding around a bunch of twenty-ton machines with people inside them… Maybe get the bike helmet….

 

Week Three

I think going through the embarrassment of learning how to ride a bike in my early twenties was well worth it.

I love being able to get where I need to on my own, without issue.

Plus, its great exercise.

I see people riding their bikes without their hands and texting and it flat out amazes me. But I think I’ll stick to holding on to the bike, thank you very much. I just don’t have that level of balance.

I got lucky too. I learned in the back parking lot of a big building where no one could see me. That takes off heaps of humiliation, I mean pressure.

I’m not even going to go into detail of how I had to figure out which gear to use when, while staying upright, not running into anyone, and following rules.

Oh, and I’m going to be laughing at myself for running into a parked car for quite some time.

 

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Anyone else here not learn how to ride a bike until they were an adult?

When did you learn how to ride a bike? Did you enjoy it?

Run into anything?

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I Am Not Apologizing

I am not apologizing for feeling fragile.

I am not apologizing for where I am at in life right now.

I am not apologizing for how I’ve grown up and for how it helped shape me into someone who has to learn how to walk, so to speak, now, in her early twenties.

I am not going to apologize for not telling the full story.

 

I am not going to apologize.

 

I am so tired of people getting their panties in a bunch because I’m not someone I’m not.

I’m feeling vulnerable, I’m learning new things, I’m building up strength I should’ve been building as a child. I am speaking truthfully sometimes instead of sugar coating.

 

People don’t understand.

They don’t want to.

People, for instance, who don’t understand things they’ve never experienced. Like depression. They just want people to suck it up, get out of bed, knock it off, and change their lives, stop moping. Some people can’t understand.

I’m tired of feeling I have to justify what I feel.

 

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I am not apologizing for someone else’s issues.

For saying no.

 

I am not going to apologize.

For having to learn to allow myself to cry.

For not being fearless.

I think a little courage is what we all need, not to be fearless. Fearless is the toddler that touches the burner even though she’s been warned it will burn her. Fearless is jumping into unneeded danger. Fearless is a lack of common sense. A little fear for the right reasons is healthy.

Courage is being afraid but doing what one must anyway. Working through the fear, the terror, the paralyzing panic that tells me I can’t do this, can’t get through this, can’t muster up.

What I want is courage. And I won’t apologize for only having discovered this.

 

I am not going to apologize for not having a clear direction.

Not understanding what I feel half the time.

I am not apologizing for making mistakes.

I am not apologizing for being different than you.

For learning slower than you.

For having experienced less than you.

 

I am not apologizing for caring about the things I do.

For feeling the ways I do, all at the same time, feeling like my head and heart are spinning madly out of control, spending all my energy on trying to keep my head up.

I am not apologizing for taking baby steps.

For being emotional.

For being unemotional on the outside.

 

I guess I am not going to apologize for being stuck.

For feeling trapped inside my own skin. Inside this cage I no longer recognize but call home. Inside this never ending sadness, feeling so alone, so overwhelmed, overcrowded, helpless.

I am not going to apologize for having weakness.

I am most certainly not going to apologize for just now learning to find my own strength.

 

I am realizing that I don’t need to apologize.

Scratch that. I get it now.

I don’t need to justify myself to others.

I don’t need someone to understand me if it means sacrificing who I am. I want to be understood, to be accepted, yes. Most everyone does. And I don’t need to apologize for that either.

 

I’m not apologizing for changing my mind.

For taking forever to make decisions because its difficult for me to find out what I want, what I feel, what I actually think.

I am not apologizing for being a little lost.

I am not apologizing for needing space.

I am not apologizing for being angry.

Feeling confused.

Being jaded.

Naïve.

 

I am not apologizing for being unfinished.

Conflicted.

I am not apologizing for my honesty.

For needing my own identity.

I deserve my own thoughts, emotions, desires. My own freedom to live and breathe inside my own skin and not to doubt that I’m justified in doing so.

 

 

I am not apologizing for clomping through the muck until I find healthy perspective in the middle somewhere.

Life is messy. Personalities, reasons, ideals, actions -it all collides and mixes together, clashes or matches, whirls past one other. No one has this thing figured out. We’ve all got questions and insecurities and wonderments, confidence and common sense, bad days and magnificent days.

Not apologizing for that.

 

I am going to sit here and quite happily, quite painfully, be.

I am not apologizing.

 

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Something is Missing

This post is mainly going to center around me being a writer. If that irritates or bores you, skedaddle. However, you can simply get rid of the word “writer/writing” and add in your passion. Then it’d relate to just about anyone.😉

 

Do you ever doubt that you’re a good writer?

I don’t mean do you doubt that you are a writer.

I simply mean, publishing material?

Do you doubt that it’s what you’re meant for, what you’re good at, what you’re in love with, what you want to spend the rest of your life doing? Do you ever wonder, would it be better if I gave up on writing as a career path and went for something else? It would certainly be easier. People wouldn’t say I was wasting my life or taking too long to get to where I want to be.

I wonder that sometimes lately.

It comes in these flashes, at the bottom of some terrible episode of me realizing that I’m miserable because I keep forgetting that I’m allowed to enjoy life. That I’m allowed to tailor my life into something I want, the rest of the world’s opinion of me be damned.

It comes when I realize I’m exhausted and bottomed out. Burned out. Tired of fighting against chains I allowed other people to put on me, simply by giving into their mentality. Thinking I should be someone better than I am.

 

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It only lasts a few moments, literally.

That’s the length of time I can even imagine spending my life not being a writer.

And then it’s gone and I see how ridiculous it was.

Because something will remind me.

I’ll finish a really good book and look up the author’s website and get that rush. That unbelievable urge to live life that way. To dive into writing, dive into all that it entails. And I’ll remember the heady craziness that writing is, this lovely terrifying beautiful monster that comforts and loves me and doesn’t let anyone else hurt me.

Maybe this doesn’t make any sense to you. But it does to me.

 

I keep “forgetting” to write. To schedule it in because it’s important to me. Writing is my passion.

And yet, I keep “forgetting” about it.

How does one forget part of themselves?

It’s pretty damn easy, actually.

I took a year off from writing, to get my head straight. (Life has the effect of screwing one’s head on backwards and upside down.) The year is over.

I regained my passion for writing, the urge to write, the desire to write.

I even started working on my novel a few times over the past few months.

But I’m still missing some key ingredient.

I haven’t quite connected all the dots.

At least I’ve wrapped my heart, mind, and soul around writing authentically. So taking the year off worked its magic.

However, I keep having these false starts. I’m steadily (via the false starts) getting through a list of edits, answering questions, and deciding on some changes. Perhaps they’re not false starts. Maybe I’m just starting back to writing really, really slowly.

The key ingredient seems to be finding time to focus on things I’d like to focus on. Easier said than done.

I’ll find that dot eventually, right?

 

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What is your passion? Do you have a problem with fitting it in? Do you ever “forget” part of yourself? Any missing dots?

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