It's somewhat confusing
The way you hint indirectly
around important things
but demand the trivial
so explicitly
It's possible that I
don't know at all what's important
(much less what isn't)
and that your hesitation
(or your ultimatum)
is a result of your perception
of my needs
rather than the
immediate gratification
of your own.
Either way, it's a mystery
regardless, an enigma
One I haven't time
to figure out
So ask for what you want
I hope you'll beg
for what you need
And I'll spend less time guessing
and more with alibis
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Las Tortugas
The tortoises are awake! Spring is here!
This is Broccoli and Hibsicus, a brother-and-sister team of 6-year-old California Desert Tortoises. The California Desert Tortoise is an endangered species, and these two are registered into our protective custody by the Department of Fish and Game. The tortoises can not be purchased - we aquired these as hatchlings for my daughter's 9th birthday from another registered custodian.
We are only guessing at the sex of the pair, as they are still too young to be certain... but Broccoli is developing the concave plastron that is the sure-fire tip-off of being male. He's also an asshole and takes all the food, so we hypothesized his XY nature long before his plastron began to change.
Desert Tortoises hibernate during the colder months, and it's always a special day for me when they wake up and start their endless foraging, digging, and exploring. Though they aren't the most exciting pets to own, they are beautiful in an ancient and mythical way, and they do have distinct personalities. Surprisingly, they are also quite social and become noticably excited when they spot a human bearing fruit.
We can't pet them, or sleep with them, or play with them... they don't run to greet us at the door or give slobbery kisses... they're not excited at all by the laser pointer... and it's a constant battle trying to keep them out of the dogs' mouths.
I love them anyway. I can't help it. It's like having dinosaurs in the backyard.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Obsessive-Compulsive and Still On My Mind
Let me say right off the bat that I know I am not an easy person to live with. I hold those I trust to an exceedingly high standard, a step down only to that I hold for myself. I will be the first to admit that my expectations may seem unreasonable to those unwilling to strive.
Let me also say I have never compelled anyone to maintain relationship status with me, through any means. Anyone in my circle is at liberty to come and go as they please. In other words, if you can’t stand the heat, feel free to get out of the kitchen. Leave the cooking to me.
Recent “conversations by comment” reminded me of when I first began posting to this blog, and what the “topic du jour” often was. It occurs to me – almost like an epiphany – that my definition of “dishonesty” differs from the common view, which explains much of my lifetime’s frustration. This realization led me to ponder whether or not my expectations have been unreasonable in this regard.
Here’s the sticking point: lying is lying. A person can have the greatest and most noble motivation imaginable by offering a “little white lie,” but it is – no matter how you paint it – still a lie. And lying is the most purely selfish act one can commit and still live to tell about it. Let’s face it: no one lies for the benefit of others. There is no altruism in deceit. If someone is lying, they are doing to serve their own interests no matter how they choose to justify it.
By the way, lying by omission – much to my daughter’s chagrin – still qualifies as lying. And no one is doing me any favors by doing it. If I ask you a question, I expect the truthful, complete answer. If I have to interrogate you to get to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.
Yes, I know. Believe me, it’s been made copiously known how unpopular this view is. Doesn’t change the facts, homie.
For me, though, it comes down to this simple truth which has been previously stated herein: lying to me can mean only two things. Your decision to lie to me means that you either think I’m too stupid to know the difference or you believe that I do not love you enough to accept your truth and help you with the consequences – either positive or negative – of it… and both assumptions are patently and thoroughly untrue.
Let me also say I have never compelled anyone to maintain relationship status with me, through any means. Anyone in my circle is at liberty to come and go as they please. In other words, if you can’t stand the heat, feel free to get out of the kitchen. Leave the cooking to me.
Recent “conversations by comment” reminded me of when I first began posting to this blog, and what the “topic du jour” often was. It occurs to me – almost like an epiphany – that my definition of “dishonesty” differs from the common view, which explains much of my lifetime’s frustration. This realization led me to ponder whether or not my expectations have been unreasonable in this regard.
Here’s the sticking point: lying is lying. A person can have the greatest and most noble motivation imaginable by offering a “little white lie,” but it is – no matter how you paint it – still a lie. And lying is the most purely selfish act one can commit and still live to tell about it. Let’s face it: no one lies for the benefit of others. There is no altruism in deceit. If someone is lying, they are doing to serve their own interests no matter how they choose to justify it.
By the way, lying by omission – much to my daughter’s chagrin – still qualifies as lying. And no one is doing me any favors by doing it. If I ask you a question, I expect the truthful, complete answer. If I have to interrogate you to get to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.
Yes, I know. Believe me, it’s been made copiously known how unpopular this view is. Doesn’t change the facts, homie.
For me, though, it comes down to this simple truth which has been previously stated herein: lying to me can mean only two things. Your decision to lie to me means that you either think I’m too stupid to know the difference or you believe that I do not love you enough to accept your truth and help you with the consequences – either positive or negative – of it… and both assumptions are patently and thoroughly untrue.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Just Had to Post It
You know you're a cop if...
1) You have the bladder capacity of five people.
2) You have ever restrained someone and it was not a sexual experience.
3) You believe that 50% of people are a waste of good air.
4) Your idea of a good time is a "man with a gun" call.
5) You conduct a criminal record check on anyone who seems friendly towards you.
6) You believe in the aerial spraying of Prozac and birth control pills.
7) You disbelieve 90% of what you hear and 75% of what you see.
8) You have your weekends off planned for a year.
9) You believe the government should require a permit to reproduce.
10) You refer to your favorite restaurant by the intersection at which it's located.
11) You have ever wanted to hold a seminar entitled: "Suicide...getting it right the first time."
12) You ever had to put the phone on hold before you begin laughing uncontrollably.
13) You think caffeine should be available in IV form.
14) You believe anyone who says, "I only had two beers" is going to blow more than a .15
15) You find out a lot about paranoia just by following people around.
16) Anyone has ever said to you, "There are people killing other people out there and you are here messing with me."
17) People flag you down on the street and ask you directions to strange places...and you know where it's located.
18) You can discuss where you are going to eat with your partner while standing over a dead body.
19) You are the only person introduced at social gatherings by profession.
(ISN'T THIS THE TRUTH)
20) You walk into places and people think it's high comedy to grab their buddy and shout, "They've come to get you, Bill."
21) You do not see daylight from November until May.
22) People shout, "I didn't do it!" when you walk into a room and think they're being hugely funny and original.
23) A week's worth of laundry consists of 5 T-shirts, 5 pairs of socks, and
5 pairs of underwear.
24) You've ever referred to Tuesday as "my weekend", or "this is my Friday".
25) You've ever written off guns and ammunition as a business deduction.
26) You believe that unspeakable evils will befall you if anyone says, "Boy, it sure is quiet tonight."
27) Discussing dismemberment over a meal seems perfectly normal to you.
28) You find humor in other people's stupidity.
29) You have left more meals on the restaurant table than you've eaten.
30) You feel good when you hear "these handcuffs are too tight".
1) You have the bladder capacity of five people.
2) You have ever restrained someone and it was not a sexual experience.
3) You believe that 50% of people are a waste of good air.
4) Your idea of a good time is a "man with a gun" call.
5) You conduct a criminal record check on anyone who seems friendly towards you.
6) You believe in the aerial spraying of Prozac and birth control pills.
7) You disbelieve 90% of what you hear and 75% of what you see.
8) You have your weekends off planned for a year.
9) You believe the government should require a permit to reproduce.
10) You refer to your favorite restaurant by the intersection at which it's located.
11) You have ever wanted to hold a seminar entitled: "Suicide...getting it right the first time."
12) You ever had to put the phone on hold before you begin laughing uncontrollably.
13) You think caffeine should be available in IV form.
14) You believe anyone who says, "I only had two beers" is going to blow more than a .15
15) You find out a lot about paranoia just by following people around.
16) Anyone has ever said to you, "There are people killing other people out there and you are here messing with me."
17) People flag you down on the street and ask you directions to strange places...and you know where it's located.
18) You can discuss where you are going to eat with your partner while standing over a dead body.
19) You are the only person introduced at social gatherings by profession.
(ISN'T THIS THE TRUTH)
20) You walk into places and people think it's high comedy to grab their buddy and shout, "They've come to get you, Bill."
21) You do not see daylight from November until May.
22) People shout, "I didn't do it!" when you walk into a room and think they're being hugely funny and original.
23) A week's worth of laundry consists of 5 T-shirts, 5 pairs of socks, and
5 pairs of underwear.
24) You've ever referred to Tuesday as "my weekend", or "this is my Friday".
25) You've ever written off guns and ammunition as a business deduction.
26) You believe that unspeakable evils will befall you if anyone says, "Boy, it sure is quiet tonight."
27) Discussing dismemberment over a meal seems perfectly normal to you.
28) You find humor in other people's stupidity.
29) You have left more meals on the restaurant table than you've eaten.
30) You feel good when you hear "these handcuffs are too tight".
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Just Be Real
I won't bore you with details of the last 48 hours, but I will summarize by telling you that during that time I have driven 1000 miles and slept only 7 hours.
Last night, as I lay in bed at the hotel with a pounding headache and the flickering hope that I would be able to finally get some sleep, the couple next door decided to make me (and others, I assume) privy to their latest round of coitus. Not a new thing in my experience with hotels, but with a twist:
The female part of the couple was performing the most alarmingly awful faking of an orgasm I've ever heard.
You're going to ask how I know. I know because nothing got loud until the guy got loud, and because the whole loud part, from start to finish, took less than 10 seconds. Also, there was no real passion in the voice. Also, it was "staged" to happen at the same time. How romantic.
Which was so profoundly affecting that I felt compelled to make this blog entry:
According to Jeanette Harper, surveys have shown that 75% of women surveyed over a period of several years stated that they fake an orgasm every time, 15% fake it most of the time, and about 9.5% said they occasionally fake it. That leaves about 0.5% who say they've never faked it. Those of us who are keeping it real are a decidedly small minority, yes?
(Just for the record, surveys also indicate that anywhere from 20% to 25% of men have stated that they've faked an orgasm at least once in their life.)
Men, empower yourselves with knowledge and hear me now and well: There is a 75% chance that your woman fakes her orgasm every single time. If you are like the poor hapless fuck who was the recipient of the marvelously bad fake last night, it can be assumed that you don't know the difference. Let me enlighten you.
No muscle spasms, no orgasm. If her pubococcygeus muscle is not contracting in a rhythmic fashion, she is not having an orgasm. If you don't know what that muscle is or what it feels like, use your finger (up to about the second joint), and ask her to "squeeze" it. You should be able to feel resistance all around your finger (in a normally functioning vaginal tract).
Or, you can Google it. There are some nice pictures on the web of the muscles of the pelvic floor.
Also, for those of you perhaps more adventurous than the norm (apparently, given the number of clueless men that seem to be out there), why not get to know your friendly neighborhood vulva? I mean, really know it. Because it undergoes some pretty significant changes at the height of sexual stimulation, changes that would be a sure tip-off to impending climax.
Just a thought.
Ladies: you could help a brother out by just keeping it real. Eh?
Last night, as I lay in bed at the hotel with a pounding headache and the flickering hope that I would be able to finally get some sleep, the couple next door decided to make me (and others, I assume) privy to their latest round of coitus. Not a new thing in my experience with hotels, but with a twist:
The female part of the couple was performing the most alarmingly awful faking of an orgasm I've ever heard.
You're going to ask how I know. I know because nothing got loud until the guy got loud, and because the whole loud part, from start to finish, took less than 10 seconds. Also, there was no real passion in the voice. Also, it was "staged" to happen at the same time. How romantic.
Which was so profoundly affecting that I felt compelled to make this blog entry:
According to Jeanette Harper, surveys have shown that 75% of women surveyed over a period of several years stated that they fake an orgasm every time, 15% fake it most of the time, and about 9.5% said they occasionally fake it. That leaves about 0.5% who say they've never faked it. Those of us who are keeping it real are a decidedly small minority, yes?
(Just for the record, surveys also indicate that anywhere from 20% to 25% of men have stated that they've faked an orgasm at least once in their life.)
Men, empower yourselves with knowledge and hear me now and well: There is a 75% chance that your woman fakes her orgasm every single time. If you are like the poor hapless fuck who was the recipient of the marvelously bad fake last night, it can be assumed that you don't know the difference. Let me enlighten you.
No muscle spasms, no orgasm. If her pubococcygeus muscle is not contracting in a rhythmic fashion, she is not having an orgasm. If you don't know what that muscle is or what it feels like, use your finger (up to about the second joint), and ask her to "squeeze" it. You should be able to feel resistance all around your finger (in a normally functioning vaginal tract).
Or, you can Google it. There are some nice pictures on the web of the muscles of the pelvic floor.
Also, for those of you perhaps more adventurous than the norm (apparently, given the number of clueless men that seem to be out there), why not get to know your friendly neighborhood vulva? I mean, really know it. Because it undergoes some pretty significant changes at the height of sexual stimulation, changes that would be a sure tip-off to impending climax.
Just a thought.
Ladies: you could help a brother out by just keeping it real. Eh?
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Let's Get This Straight
In order for you to “pay my salary,” you’d need to have a job, ensure your children are attending school, and own a home. In other words, you don’t pay my salary – I do.
(Seems I’ve finally achieved my dream of working for my self.)
If something is important enough to do, it’s important enough to take responsibility for. Don’t do one if you can’t do the other.
Don’t call me collect from a pay phone to ask if you have a warrant. If you think you have a warrant, you do. Turn yourself in or have the good sense to stay gone. Otherwise, don’t be surprised when you see I’ve recommended the full term.
The time to decide that you don’t make a very good parent IS NOT when your child is 14. And no, I’m not going to take responsibility for him just because you’re finally reaping what you’ve sown.
Think before you speak. Take as long as you need. I will hold you accountable for every word that comes out of your mouth. Only you can make it worthwhile.
I don’t care who you know. Laws and Court orders are not negotiable. If you “know the Chief will want to hear about this,” feel free to use your one phone call to advise him.
I’m only going to tell you once. If you choose not to comply, don’t cry about how I “ruined our trust.” If you want to see the rehabilitative side, do as you’re fucking told.
The pen is mightier than the sword. Remember that when you think you’ve gotten away with something because I didn’t come looking for you right away.
You don’t scare me when you demand to speak to my Supervisor. I’m thankful to be able to pawn you off on him so I can get back to doing my job.
Yes, I’m “serious.” It’s a safe bet that I know more about the law than you do, especially given your current circumstance. Asking the same question over and over again is only wasting your time and pissing me off.
If you think that forced submission to a Fourth Amendment waiver is “unfucking fair,” then go ahead and tell the Judge that you’d like to serve your full term. Fine with me.
Contrary to popular belief, supervising your submission of urine samples for drug testing does not get me hot. Given the number of less-than-hygienic and usually prostituted female genitalia that I see during the course of a day’s work, it’s a wonder I still have a sex life at all.
If you’re wearing the pants, they’re your drugs. End of story.
(Seems I’ve finally achieved my dream of working for my self.)
If something is important enough to do, it’s important enough to take responsibility for. Don’t do one if you can’t do the other.
Don’t call me collect from a pay phone to ask if you have a warrant. If you think you have a warrant, you do. Turn yourself in or have the good sense to stay gone. Otherwise, don’t be surprised when you see I’ve recommended the full term.
The time to decide that you don’t make a very good parent IS NOT when your child is 14. And no, I’m not going to take responsibility for him just because you’re finally reaping what you’ve sown.
Think before you speak. Take as long as you need. I will hold you accountable for every word that comes out of your mouth. Only you can make it worthwhile.
I don’t care who you know. Laws and Court orders are not negotiable. If you “know the Chief will want to hear about this,” feel free to use your one phone call to advise him.
I’m only going to tell you once. If you choose not to comply, don’t cry about how I “ruined our trust.” If you want to see the rehabilitative side, do as you’re fucking told.
The pen is mightier than the sword. Remember that when you think you’ve gotten away with something because I didn’t come looking for you right away.
You don’t scare me when you demand to speak to my Supervisor. I’m thankful to be able to pawn you off on him so I can get back to doing my job.
Yes, I’m “serious.” It’s a safe bet that I know more about the law than you do, especially given your current circumstance. Asking the same question over and over again is only wasting your time and pissing me off.
If you think that forced submission to a Fourth Amendment waiver is “unfucking fair,” then go ahead and tell the Judge that you’d like to serve your full term. Fine with me.
Contrary to popular belief, supervising your submission of urine samples for drug testing does not get me hot. Given the number of less-than-hygienic and usually prostituted female genitalia that I see during the course of a day’s work, it’s a wonder I still have a sex life at all.
If you’re wearing the pants, they’re your drugs. End of story.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Fooled (Again!!)
Rebuked again, and only days
past your last attempt to bind me
your terse words meant to
place me firmly back
into the silent stasis
where you can find me
when you want me
but don't have to ever
really acknowledge me
Amazed again, how easily
I offer my wrists for the rope
and how quickly I'm
forgotten when I'm
bound and gagged and immobile
in your mind's darkness
and body's light
knowing that you should
love me or
let me
go
past your last attempt to bind me
your terse words meant to
place me firmly back
into the silent stasis
where you can find me
when you want me
but don't have to ever
really acknowledge me
Amazed again, how easily
I offer my wrists for the rope
and how quickly I'm
forgotten when I'm
bound and gagged and immobile
in your mind's darkness
and body's light
knowing that you should
love me or
let me
go
Friday, March 09, 2007
Combat Zone
As if working in law enforcement isn't toxic enough, I have recently been assigned more cases than my file cabinet can contain. Not just "some" more. A LOT more.
And thus my cubicle became a combat zone.
I had files stacked on every available surface, including the floor. Files looming over me in sinister poses, stacks curving gracefully and ominously toward my solitary chair, manila folders rubber-banded together in a malevolent camaraderie that appeared focused and intent upon the hunched oppression that became my body at work.
The files shouted,
"Open me!! Stare at me intensely and develop a case plan!! Review my contents and make decisions!! DO IT NOW!!!"
And I, blatantly and foolishly refusing to exercise the better part of valor, held them at bay with short shanking motions from my blue and leaking pen and muttered,
"Not now."
Soon, the files allied with unfiled notes from meetings, solicitations from wannabe community partners, forgotten Court missives, and tasks deemed "unimportant at this time" and strengthened their position to an extent that was unknown to my intelligence until this morning, when in an unprecedented and completely unexpected post-dawn sortie, they attacked.
With a ferocity borne of several bad hair days and yesterday's misguided reprimand from my erstwhile and frighteningly grandmotherlike Supervisor, my counterattack was launched without any significant preparation and with a simplicity that guaranteed success: Armed only with a suddenly available extra filing cabinet, the files were subdued and summarily incarcerated. All ancillary insurgents were tracked, located, and eliminated. Tactical Dust-Off was liberally stationed and all quadrants were sealed with swipes of disinfectant solution.
I've taken back my cubicle. La Victoire de l'Harrison.
And thus my cubicle became a combat zone.
I had files stacked on every available surface, including the floor. Files looming over me in sinister poses, stacks curving gracefully and ominously toward my solitary chair, manila folders rubber-banded together in a malevolent camaraderie that appeared focused and intent upon the hunched oppression that became my body at work.
The files shouted,
"Open me!! Stare at me intensely and develop a case plan!! Review my contents and make decisions!! DO IT NOW!!!"
And I, blatantly and foolishly refusing to exercise the better part of valor, held them at bay with short shanking motions from my blue and leaking pen and muttered,
"Not now."
Soon, the files allied with unfiled notes from meetings, solicitations from wannabe community partners, forgotten Court missives, and tasks deemed "unimportant at this time" and strengthened their position to an extent that was unknown to my intelligence until this morning, when in an unprecedented and completely unexpected post-dawn sortie, they attacked.
With a ferocity borne of several bad hair days and yesterday's misguided reprimand from my erstwhile and frighteningly grandmotherlike Supervisor, my counterattack was launched without any significant preparation and with a simplicity that guaranteed success: Armed only with a suddenly available extra filing cabinet, the files were subdued and summarily incarcerated. All ancillary insurgents were tracked, located, and eliminated. Tactical Dust-Off was liberally stationed and all quadrants were sealed with swipes of disinfectant solution.
I've taken back my cubicle. La Victoire de l'Harrison.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Day Three
Today is the third day I've had to stay home from work with the Conjuctivitis Kid. For some reason she is not responding to treatment (perhaps her conjuctivitis is viral this time?), but I can't take her back to school until her eyes stop seeping. School personnel wouldn't believe the "viral" thing anyway, even if it is true.
Believe it or not, she is as unhappy about it as I am. I think she has a crush on her teacher. Yesterday (thinking the new treatment would take care of the infection in short order) I foolishly promised that she would be able to return to school this morning. There was an awful teary scene - complete with betrayed proclamations of "But, Mama, you PROMISED!!!!" - and several attempts at renegotiation of terms. She has also missed softball practice and stands to miss an important catcher's clinic this afternoon if I can't get someone to - in writing!!! - clear her.
After all, I've been in very close proximity with her for three days straight and haven't shown a single symptom. But I digress!
Despite the fact that there is never a good time for me to be away from work, planned or not, I have to say that I could get used to being at home every day. I used to think that being a stay-at-home mom would bore me to death, that I would be a terrible mother because I would be so resentful of spending all of my time in service to little demands.
Ha ha ha. Look at me now. But there is a retirement involved!!
And sadly, I did not win the 370 million dollar MegaMillions jackpot last night. So unless I can pull off a serious financial coup, I'm quite job-saddled for the foreseeable future. I'm not disrespecting public service, I'm just finally able to see the ongoing merit in private service.
I've been sacrificng myself to the god of security for a long time, never stopping to wonder why it never seems to be enough. And I have to admit I'm weary of working for others - others who don't necessarily share my worldview, my enthusiasm, or my autonomous code of ethics. I long to be surrounded by creativity, by "let's do this!" and "why not?" instead of the apathy and resignation I see in many of my co-workers. I crave a more sensical schedule, one that allows me to take care of my home and children first. Especially since it seems that I'm not going to get help from my male spousal unit regardless of whether or not he's on the same continent.
I don't want to be anyone else's boss. I'd rather just be my own.
Believe it or not, she is as unhappy about it as I am. I think she has a crush on her teacher. Yesterday (thinking the new treatment would take care of the infection in short order) I foolishly promised that she would be able to return to school this morning. There was an awful teary scene - complete with betrayed proclamations of "But, Mama, you PROMISED!!!!" - and several attempts at renegotiation of terms. She has also missed softball practice and stands to miss an important catcher's clinic this afternoon if I can't get someone to - in writing!!! - clear her.
After all, I've been in very close proximity with her for three days straight and haven't shown a single symptom. But I digress!
Despite the fact that there is never a good time for me to be away from work, planned or not, I have to say that I could get used to being at home every day. I used to think that being a stay-at-home mom would bore me to death, that I would be a terrible mother because I would be so resentful of spending all of my time in service to little demands.
Ha ha ha. Look at me now. But there is a retirement involved!!
And sadly, I did not win the 370 million dollar MegaMillions jackpot last night. So unless I can pull off a serious financial coup, I'm quite job-saddled for the foreseeable future. I'm not disrespecting public service, I'm just finally able to see the ongoing merit in private service.
I've been sacrificng myself to the god of security for a long time, never stopping to wonder why it never seems to be enough. And I have to admit I'm weary of working for others - others who don't necessarily share my worldview, my enthusiasm, or my autonomous code of ethics. I long to be surrounded by creativity, by "let's do this!" and "why not?" instead of the apathy and resignation I see in many of my co-workers. I crave a more sensical schedule, one that allows me to take care of my home and children first. Especially since it seems that I'm not going to get help from my male spousal unit regardless of whether or not he's on the same continent.
I don't want to be anyone else's boss. I'd rather just be my own.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Being a Mom Means...
... that you stay home with sick kids. Doesn't matter if you're the primary breadwinner or if you have something excruciatingly important going on at work that day (or both). Mom doesn't get to say "I can't" (at least not after that initial knee-jerk reaction, anyway).
... that from conception onward, your body no longer belongs to you. Ditto your time, money, vehicle, and "alone time."
... that you become an overnight expert in medicine, economics, social planning, logistics, bicycle repair and maintenance, sanitation, mental health crisis intervention, and creative plumbing. Among other things.
... that the line between "flush" and "broke" becomes creative... that the line between "cause" and "effect" becomes blurry... that the line between "yours" and "mine" becomes invisible... and that the line between "clean" and "dirty" becomes negotiable.
... that some McDonald's commercials will actually make you cry.
... that you will replace your Art Deco knick-knacks with clay candy dishes shaped like little hands, wall sconces that are cockeyed and misshapen, and everything that you'd never have believed could have been constructed with macrame.
... that the meaning of the phrase "I'll be right there" changes with every nanosecond.
... that time becomes the most precious of resources.
... that you never have nothing to smile about... that you never have nothing to do... that you never have time on your hands... and that you never have to be alone.
... that from conception onward, your body no longer belongs to you. Ditto your time, money, vehicle, and "alone time."
... that you become an overnight expert in medicine, economics, social planning, logistics, bicycle repair and maintenance, sanitation, mental health crisis intervention, and creative plumbing. Among other things.
... that the line between "flush" and "broke" becomes creative... that the line between "cause" and "effect" becomes blurry... that the line between "yours" and "mine" becomes invisible... and that the line between "clean" and "dirty" becomes negotiable.
... that some McDonald's commercials will actually make you cry.
... that you will replace your Art Deco knick-knacks with clay candy dishes shaped like little hands, wall sconces that are cockeyed and misshapen, and everything that you'd never have believed could have been constructed with macrame.
... that the meaning of the phrase "I'll be right there" changes with every nanosecond.
... that time becomes the most precious of resources.
... that you never have nothing to smile about... that you never have nothing to do... that you never have time on your hands... and that you never have to be alone.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Allow it to be Easy: A Channeled Message
Dear One,
These are Universal Truths.
Speak these words aloud...
I allow it to be easy.
I allow it to be easy.
Living from my Soul has a healing domino effect.I experience compassion for my Self and others...which leads to accepting my Self and others without criticism or judgment...which leads to peace flowing through my mind, body, and spirit...which leads to healing my mind, body, and spirit.
I allow it to be easy.
I allow my Self to be one with Love, Peace, Joy, Healing, Passion for my Path, my Soul Self, my Spirit Guides, my Angels, the Masters, Mother Earth, andthe Infinite Source.
I allow my Self to...See the Truth,Speak the Truth,Hold the Truth in my Heart,Walk the Path of Truth,Know the Truth of my Emotions, andBe Based in Truth.
I allow my Self to be in the Present Moment.
I am Free-Spirited.
I am in Faith that Spirit wants and provides the best for me.
I am aware of the Flow of Coincidences in my Life.
I am grateful for all that has happened in my Life.
I am grateful for all that I Am in my Life.
I am grateful for all that I Have in my Life.
I am grateful for all that is to Come into my Life.
I Allow it to be Easy.
And it is so.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Today I'm Grateful For...
*Excellent training
*A refinancing that sorta maybe kinda might happen
*A moment of peace
*A day without my desk
*Ten opportunities at 267 million
*Productive networking
*The weekend none too soon
*My daughter and soon-to-be-son-in-law's new home
*Enough to buy a new Canon and a little left over for beer
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