Pen Me a Picture

The air was filled with fireflies though I was indoors. The brick walls all around me were cheering my name. String lights and wine glasses surround. My soul floated a few inches away from my body as it embraced the audience. My knees began to shake faltering and melting into the ground, but somehow I kept standing. I realized this was an adrenaline high.This is what it feels like to do what you were meant to do; to finally submit to your God given gifts.To be fully exposed for all to see your interior paint. I had been stuffing it for so long. This eve was the eve that marked the first time I accepted who I am. As I opened my mouth to sing, outsiders came back inside. As I finished the first song, all I could do was step back from the mic and soak in their faces. They clapped for me and for some odd reason I clapped for myself. I think because my body was telling me to, while my soul was still floating above my head returning to its proper place. I was mindlessly walking away from

I am currently trying to get healthy. I realized that my ass has grown to be twice the size of my waist and that I sit most of the day at work. I haven’t been working out consistently for at least 6 months. None of that matters but the point of this entry is that I am trying to get healthy and I have been working out and my doctor has me on long acting insulin. Needless to say I am struggling a bit with low bloods and that has required me to eat twice the calories that I burn at the gym at late hours of the night. I am currently up at 2am watching Netflix, feeling low (hypoglycemic), and have shoved about as many things as I could get my hands on into my mouth. I ate dinner at 9pm after the gym. I don’t know what to do.This has happened almost all week. I am afraid to go to sleep some nights. Afraid that I will be too low and not be able to get up. I am high during the daytime when I really want to eat, and I am low at night when I shouldn’t be eating. What to do? The long acti

“His Name Is Time” I look at Time and he stares me blank in the face. Like a predator waiting to pounce. Irrationally, I sometimes fear him. Time makes things mean more, or meaningless. Time is the director of our existence. He is also a gift; a bringer of good tidings. If you use him to your advantage,  The world says you are a successful being. When time is misused, the world throws a fit. At a young age, you believe Time is your friend. You soon grow to an aversion A repugnance, toward his demands. The more you get to know him,  The more a burden he becomes. When sadness enters your life,  he is your worst nightmare. Time can change your soul.   His grip runs deep You can’t hide from him. There is a way to manage him though.  He compliments those who use him for good. Those who share him with others,  instead of trying to hoard him for themselves. They are rewarded with gifts of life and soul. Take your Time to work, you get p

The town is old and the air is old. It smells like worn wood and chimney dust mixed with grass and roses. I sniff it all in as I walk down the street in front of the old lamp posts and the old beautiful bank building; marbled, pink, cloudy evening skies above the marble carved buildings. Young people in the old town gather around the gazebo and dance the night away. The air is mixing now into a splendid concoction of youth and age. Voices of wise and unwise, loved and not yet loved, jaded and not yet bruised- sound out the crowd and make for an ambient pulsing energy. It is a luscious world we live in where the two sides of life can come together at any moment with the sound of music. That is why I tap my feet and bounce through life. I call out to the connection, to the fuse that is lit with a few notes and a beat. This old town has a beat like a heart, faster with activity and a slow calm pulse with the quiet. It is alive in a funny kind of way, and music makes it so. (Uptown Whitt

I woke up this morning and told my family to find me a rich husband so that I can just quit my job, quit school and become a housewife and a mother/ goat herder. I wake up with crazy notions of mini trips to the desert, popping up tents, and living out of the back of my car for a couple of years. Disappearing into the wilderness and only coming down for food like wild animals, sounds pretty good. My crazy notions get shot down by the thought that I am a frail human being with nothing to live off of. I could certainly get a job when I needed one in order to feed myself. I could save my money and buy a teardrop trailer, attach that thing to the back of my KIA Soul and "hit the road Jack!" Alas, again my notions are crazy. I would be certifiably insane to go on such an adventure due to the complete dependence I have on a little refrigerated bottle of medicine called Insulin. It is the bane of my existence to have a broken organ. (My pancreas went awol on me.) Some days it'