#thebigME

The biggest problem with me 

is something so simple 

that it’s impossible to miss. 

Can’t not see it, 

you know? 

So glaring, so obvious – 

almost grotesque, 

but you can’t ignore it either. 

Terrible and unkempt – 

I didn’t want to look, 

not even glance a smidge, 

but I also couldn’t 

keep not acknowledging 

this hideous issue that I should have seen 

a mile away. 

It’s me. 

You know – me, myself, I. 

I figured it out a while ago, 

but I wanted to keep passing the buck 

because that’s a lot easier 

than trying to carry all that baggage. 

I can try my best 

to blame someone else, 

anyone else – 

till the cows come home. 

Or kingdom come. 

Or whatever keeps that mess

at bay. 

But when the words are done, 

and I am finally alone, 

I still see it. And I hate it. 

But what can I do? 

Keep running to the ends of the earth? 

Or at least until I run out of idioms and colloquialisms. 

But luckily, 

it’s not just me. 

#enoughisenough

I am enough – 

all of me, 

not just parts, 

not pieces that you can pick 

and choose 

and patch together – 

fashion into something 

socially acceptable so everyone 

will smile with approval. 

But nope – 

that’s not my bag. 

I don’t want to be acceptable anymore. 

I don’t want to check off 

someone’s list and get a seal of approval. 

I want to be me. 

Just me. 

No additives or fillers. 

Nothing artificial to make me look right 

for the pictures. 

Took a while, but I finally got it figured out – 

I’m totally unique and 

not made to be in the regular flow. 

Because I have my own, 

I am enough, 

and if you don’t like it, 

then you’re out of luck for anything else. 

I’m done moving myself 

around to fit into everyone – or someone else’s mold. 

Been there, 

did that enough that I don’t want 

any more t-shirts. 

I am enough. 

Nothing else to say. 

Peace out. 

does a body good

It’s amazing what you learn when you’re not expecting it.

Apparently, writing is good for you. And not in a “creativity helps my soul” kind of thing, but it’s actually beneficial to the brain and body.

Presently, my professional writing consists primarily (almost entirely) of creating marketing copy. And more specifically, social media marketing copy. My clients (through my employer) range from carpet cleaners to home repair to real estate to business coaching to solar panel installation. It’s interesting (sometimes) and I learn a lot about things I didn’t previously know through research.

Skip to today: I am writing for one of the business coaches and the topic is gratefulness and journaling. Apparently, gratefulness is also good for the brain and body. Really good.

But journaling – even as a writer, the idea of journaling never appealed to me. I remember having a diary/journal as a young girl, but I grew out of that. I worked at a Christian bookstore a few years ago when journaling bibles became all the rage – it never grabbed my attention.

However, according to my researching, expressive writing is shown to improve the body’s immune system. For real! It also reduces stress and improves memory functions. Amazing, right?

I realized two things: (1) I never cared about journaling because I had poetry through which I expressed myself. And I had my blog. Sometimes I discuss really personal things, but not too often; but the very act of writing help me work things out. (2) I haven’t written expressively in a LONG time. I have done spurts here and there, but not consistent. My life changed when I married a few years ago and inherited a live-in MIL, so a lot of things were pushed to the background.

Sadly but truthfully, these days, I would rather spend my free time playing Stardew Valley. It’s terrible, right? In my defense – it’s still kind of like writing my own story without actually writing.

But I do miss the writing, and apparently, so does my body. I need to get back here. I miss the spontaneity that came with a poem when it dropped into my head. (Sigh) I need to work on this. AND be more grateful.

The bottom line: Be grateful and help your brain. Write and help your body.

Hello Sand

Ever feel like you need to draw a line in the sand? Even if no one else is demanding it or even cares – you have to do it for you?

So, this is my line…the blog and the internet is my sand.

I’m a Christian. I love God. I believe that Jesus is the Son of God. I believe the Bible and I choose righteousness over everything else.

I’ve been a Christian my whole life, just not overly vocal about it. I didn’t deny my faith, but I also didn’t proclaim it all that much. I didn’t want to “preach at” people. I didn’t want to upset people. I was way too worried about what people thought. I was actually scared of negative reactions. I could blame it on being an introvert, but really – I was a coward.

I have always loved God, but I was also way too willing to compromise to fit in. It makes me sad to think of all the hurt I went through because I wanted people to accept me who really weren’t worth it. And I denied the one person who loved me more than anything – Jesus.

I’m not going to preach at you every day. I’m not going to judge you or criticize your life. But I also don’t care anymore what you think of me. Jesus is more precious to me than your opinion.

I’m not trying to live for God anymore…I’m just doing it. Do/do not – there is no try.

That’s all. Have a great day.

woe is me-ish

I’m waiting for my client to get back with me about whether the house I’m supposed to describe is a duplex or not – so I’m typing here in the meantime.

I haven’t posted any prose in a while – not because I don’t have thoughts or anything I want to say. And not because I’m clogging up my Facebook page with those words. I finally decided to try out Instagram a few years ago and I mostly post pictures of my cat Blu. I don’t know when or if I will ever dip my toes into Twitter or TikTok. I don’t think it’s an age thing (I’m almost 43)…maybe it’s a writer nerd/grammar Nazi thing?

I barely remember to post here anymore. It’s terrible. I’m a writer who barely writes. I was introduced to Stardew Valley last year by my now husband and I am hooked. We have started 4 different co-op games and played hard until we completed all there was to complete in less than 3 years (game time). He gets bored in games with no immediate tasks, so we would take a break and then start another game.

Now I’m doing a solo game and it’s taking up a lot of my time. And life is also taking up a lot of time. I feel like a brat complaining about not having any alone time anymore because most people/couples my age haven’t had much alone time for at least a decade or more (yay kids). I don’t have kids, but I do have two dogs and my elderly mother-in-law who lives with us and requires a fair amount of attention.

So, writing has suffered. I got lazy. I have an MFA in creative writing and the extent of my creativity anymore is how to describe stone counters with the right balance of adjectives and “feeling”.

I still write poetry sometimes though. I still find myself in awe of lovely writing. And I still imagine how the worlds of character continue after I step away from the book or movie. So I’m not totally jaded.

And back to my farm – I have multiple spreadsheets set up to chart my progress with the different quests/tasks/etc. It’s a little ridiculous. I still haven’t chosen a spouse, but I have to do that to get the kids. Boo.

#loveisstrange

I never believed in storybook 

romances,

and it’s a good thing

since that’s not 

what I ended up with.

I did try –

got myself all the right butterflies 

and found the perfect shade 

of glasses – 

for seeing the guy

in the absolute best light, 

no matter 

the warnings that kept blaring.

One, two, three strikes.

And then some foul balls that

looked good at first.

That’s all I know about baseball 

and dating,

summed up together.

Then I found it – 

right where I didn’t expect

Probably wouldn’t 

make the best Hallmark movie, 

but still my favorite.

I’m hooked, snores and all.

#thesearenotmine

Someone else’s memories 

are in my head – 

has to be theirs, 

can’t be mine. 

It’s like I found this 

strange channel 

out there 

in the airways 

and I’m invading 

another brain. 

Right? 

That has to be it. 

There’s no way that was me.

Was I really that 

sad, 

stupid, 

shy, 

simple?  

Did I really make all those mistakes?

No way.

Can’t be me.

Has to be someone else,

and I feel really bad for that person.

FaRther

“Father” – 

only one letter away 

from “farther.” 

Seems especially fitting now 

since that’s where 

you are – farther – 

away. 

From me, from here, from life. 

It’s not like we’ve ever 

been close, 

even when you were on Earth. 

Sometimes it was okay, 

and sometimes it bugged me to not 

be the one 

who had all the “dad” memories. 

But you were still Dad. 

My dad, by blood, 

and that had to mean something – right?

Plus you were the only one 

I ever had. 

I had some stuff that 

kept me close — 

crooked smile, early gray hair, long legs, 

weird sense of humor, 

and also 52. 

Now you’re farther away than ever, 

but at least you have 

someone to keep you company. 

Father. 

Farther. 

But not always. 

#pretendingnottofeel

Let’s just pretend 

that nothing ever happened, 

since nothing 

has officially happened anyway. 

At least not on your end. 

It’s all me. 

I’m the one who noticed you 

and let myself think 

about the possibility of anything 

more than this 

pre-friend thing we have 

right now. 

Sure I want the friend part, 

but I also want more. 

Looking at you 

makes me think about that 

and I can’t help it. 

But right now, 

I’m ready to just say uncle 

and be done – 

because it’s also reminding me 

of those old scars 

that I can usually not think about 

too much. 

I have enough of those 

and right now, 

I’m just a little too scared 

of accumulating more. 

#dontknowwheretobegin

I don’t even know how to start, 

or where to start,

or even if starting is the 

thing to do. 

People always say to begin 

at the beginning, 

but I’m still trying to find that first

set or tracks.

I know it sounds like I’m rambling, 

but maybe that’s how we 

work this stuff out. 

Maybe we have to unravel our brain 

to locate all the knots. 

Maybe we need to just pick a direction 

and follow to the bloody end. 

Or rather, 

bloody beginning. 

Sometimes we have to go backwards  

before we can move forward. 

So, where was I?

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