Pieces of Me

5 notes

*this is me having a moment*

Me: Gahhh! I just want to talk to him. 

Lady 1: Geez, Mom. Calm yo’ nuts!

Me: My nuts are calm. It’s no different than when you don’t converse with Sir Betrothed for a while.

Lady 1: You’re 35, Mom. It’s gross.

Me: *stares*

*reality checked by a sixteen year-old*

- Reasons I’m Alive

Filed under conversations reasons I'm alive

6 notes

Got the last electric bill for Summer usage and immediately decided I can just live without the stuff. The Amish do it. Why can’t I?

17 notes

*having an alcohol talk with the Lord of the Manor*

Him: Mom, don’t worry. I’m fine.

Me: No. No, you’re not fine. You only think you’re fine. 

Him: *rolls his eyes*

Me: The reason you think you’re fine is because of that seventeen year-old ego you’ve mustered up in the past few months, and that ego will get you killed.

Him: *bored sigh*

Me: *leans over table* It’s like this, you little shit, you think you’re the Incredible Hulk, but you ain’t nothing but a Minion in nice pants.

Him: You’re such a nerd.

Me: Much grounded. So wow. How’s that for nerd?

Him: *goes to his room*

- Reasons I’m Alive (to keep their asses alive)

Filed under conversations reasons I'm alive

26 notes

I miss the way his eyes hid themselves from Mama the summer we ditched the car, and then tried to lie our way out of it. I miss the way his freckles ate the sunlight after a long winter spent playing video games together. I miss the way his mouth would curl to bare his teeth in raucous laughter after getting his lip split in the backyard by a bicycle brake wire. I miss the sleepy way he would whisper I love you, Sissy when he’d call me from boot-camp after talking to his father for a while. I miss his soul. I miss his presence. I miss his being. But, I miss his existence the most. 

Filed under prose I miss you my little brother bear

31 notes

To quote Lady of the House 1: OMG! Totes adorbs!
I’m in the middle of a baby pink giraffe now, for that specific daughter. After that, there’s an elephant on tap. 

To quote Lady of the House 1: OMG! Totes adorbs!

I’m in the middle of a baby pink giraffe now, for that specific daughter. After that, there’s an elephant on tap. 

35 notes

I over-think things. 
I cannot help it.

Case in point: Yesterday, I wrote six poems. Six. Hell, I don’t think I’ve written six poems over the course of a month, but yesterday, it flowed. Where’s the problem in that? Well, I used to not edit or rearrange a single sentence. I would only proofread for glaring mistakes and post them up. These days, however, I’m reading and rereading, rearranging and adding or removing, and it isn’t helping the situation. Last night, I developed a new problem with it.

I scrapped all six. They wait, in pieces, at the bottom of my bedroom bin to be put back together again. And the only reason I scrapped them this time was because after reading them a thousand times, I found no soul-touching fingertips in my words. If I wasn’t personally affected by what my own hands had written, how can I expect anyone else to be? 

There’s a fine line between giving no fucks and handing them out like they’re candy at a parade. There’s a perfect balance there somewhere, and my only fear is hitting people over the head with Starbursts.

Filed under it looks like whining but it really isn't this is a journey this is the real me at the very moment it happens you're all invited to the show