loving my weeds

It seems these days, I exist only ... to do the "right" thing. It seems that my day is completely encased in rules. Go here. Do that. File this. Pay this bill. Seems like everything has two consequences.... a right and a wrong one, nothing in between.

I wake at the right time, gingerly positioning myself to get out of bed the right way, otherwise I might pull a muscle. I get up at the right time, otherwise I might be late for work. I walk to the kitchen to feed my, by this time, verbal cats. Take care to feed them the right amount, otherwise they will get fat and have health issues. I make coffee, measuring the exact right amount into the filter, so as to create that perfect blend of flavor, caffeine and thrift. Coffee is expensive. I think, "I should eat breakfast, cause it's important to my health. I know breakfast would be the right thing to do." I skip it; I am a (choose the right word here...) rebel. Take the right vitamins.

I get in the shower, otherwise I'll stink all day. Wash my hair with the right conditioner to perk up and shine; shave my legs because it's all about lack of body hair these days. Dry and style my hair the right way for my appointments today, because looking your best in business helps people to see your professionalism. Drive the right speed, the right, shortest and fastest way to work. Pay bills on the right day, buy the right insurance, file the right paperwork with the county, state, city and US government... otherwise Iwill be breaking the law and could be prosecuted. Talk to the right people; say the right thing. Go to lunch at the right time. Eat the right, healthy, low-fat, cheap meal. Save the right files. Backup the computer, otherwise all the rightness may be lost. Fix everyone's mistakes that may cost me if found. Everything has a cost. Most people make mistakes. Come home at the right time. Unwind by taking a relaxing walk in the garden, at which point I see tons of weeds. Pull the weeds, manicure the garden, because there are right and wrong plants to have growing in the garden.

Everything has a consequence. And I'm really really tired of paying those consequences, because I am not right. Hell, I am RARELY right. Yet i still try. Holding up the facade of being and doing the right thing is exhausting.

Maybe I just need to relax and let my weeds grow. Maybe I need to love my weeds.

I strive to be right, to save myself from consequences. But I must understand that striving has consequences too. They are inner turmoil, lack of positive meaning in my life, living for society's notion of what I need to be doing an how I need to be doing it. I want my own rightness.

I choose to love my weeds.

it is so much easier to be the underdog

to be the overly analysed team, consciously aware of all the "reviews" saying how large the public's expectations are of you. Just more than a true man can take. To come out with that pressure, takes only a super hero. Super. Hero. that's the story we all buy, want, and yearn for.

Everyone roots for the underdog.

the smell of september.

As I inhale the smell of harvest, I can tell it is less a rhetorical smell and more a physical pollen entering my nasal passages. It is coupled with air wrapped in a thick moisture, swilling into a potent definition of September. It's a harvest moon, full and partially hidden by layers of fog. Standing in the sky, as if saying, "I am here, you are there, and there is a sea of sweetness between us."

the smell of september.

"boo" you

I've been a struggling musician for years now. Not quite sure where to go next. So I step to the left. No viewable progress. I step right. Again, no progress. A little.... but not enough. Definitely, not enough.

Then one fine day I realized, as I watched football fans "boooo" their quarterback after a couple of bad games. He entered the stadium, and booooo's ensued. He shook his head, looking down, pulling his chin deep into his chest.

And I ask myself, “How does he do it? How does he walk onto the field and give it his all for these people, the very ones that boo him?”

 Now THAT is courage.

How awful it must feel to have your own team "boo" you. And as I applied that feeling to my life, I realized, "At least my fans don't boo me. Maybe it is enough.”

So, is it a lie when .....

... when over 80 percent of it is loosely based in truth.
... when it ends with the words, "I love you so much Baby."
... when it doesn't seem to harm the person you use it on, directly.
... when more than five people agree it's the truth

Giving them a chance

I've come to the understanding that I am single because of me.
Not him. Not my parents. Not because of my ex-best-friend's neighbor. Me.

In looking at my perspective, I've seen myself settled into a very synical attitude. I assume all men lie. Yep. No doubt in my mind. They make up little lies to make themselves "think" they are in control. Stupid. Just stupid.

Stupid because I can SEE them lying. Clear as day. And because they can't face the ugly truth in themselves, they hide it. This then forces me to lie about it, which I see as simply living a facade-like life. I want to live. The good. The bad. I want to live it as God intended. It pisses me off my relationships restrict me. To the core, pisses me off.

Then I see the coward.   CLICK.  My light burning for him just went off.  There isn't any bigger turn off for me. The relation ship sinks. We attempt to mend it and "try harder", but it's really too late. I have never, ever fixed a sunken ship. Never.

And I wonder, is it me? Maybe they aren't lying, in a weird sort of way. Maybe, just maybe, they are telling the truth.... from their perspective.... how they see it.

Men are so non-verbal. And I have learned through the years men will SHOW you what they think and feel. They won't tell you. They "tell" you things they are trained to say, to get what they want. Men will say anything to get what they want, because it doesn't mean anything to them. Numb to what comes out of their mouths.


Next installment with be investigating how deep my callousness runs. >>

a smile

can't you smile, a visual perception
without having it be a deception
scheming becomes your joy
though it makes us all your toy.
Your little play things, controlling the minds and plans
yes, I see where you stand.

yelling, screaming, proud with delectations
only to ruin other's expectations

a smile is a wonderful feat
seen in your eyes as only defeat
using it against us, each and every one

but I believe it is I that have won.

the one

It's all a guessing game. Your rules. My ridiculous set of insecurities that keep me locked into thinking someday you might actually be the one. The One. Capital T. Capital O. As in, there is only ONE. Right?

WRONG. There are millions!!

Ode to Gregg

I saw a man today, as I was walking to the pizza parlor. Old, small, barely 5-foot tall with a lot of spunk. He was walking with this wife, she was oddly faceless and walking slower, much slower, than the man.

He spoke out to me with a chuckle, in the heaviest New Zealand accent I had heard since stepping off the plane, “Boy you are a big lady. Twenty one maybe. Heh heh.”

Realizing that I was the only one around, as well as the tallest, I turned and looked at his face. Billliance, rosy, firm, old, knowledgeable, and eager.

“Maybe not twenty one, but definitely ……”, muttering something that was more than indiscernible. “Eh, well then good eh’ lady.”, tipping his hat in my direction.

I smiled, laughed, wished him a good eh’ and was off, never once looking at his wife.

Joy, willingness, passion, eagerness, intrigue.

Letter to Jason

B.
Beautiful, butterfly, breed, bastard, bothersome, boston, booz, bloated, ballet, bouncing, blithe, buttons, bugle, beastly, bidding, bottom, before, balloons, bubbles, breezy, banter, backyard, billow, briquettes, boisterous, broad, blonde, backbone, basic, bland, bitter, beguiling, bewitching, blizzard, blaphemous, bleeding, bonded, blistering, brrrr, bright, bounding, blue, blessed, bend, ballast, balance

Living on the

Having done both, I can tell you, living on the road is a far cry from living on the street. In the english language street and road are two words for basically the same thing. But when it comes right down to "a place to stay", they couldn't be farther from each other.

The road is a lonely place, town to town, but filled with excitement. Meeting strangers, seeing the sights, eating different foods from different cultures.

The street is the easiest hard place known to man. It's easy. No responsibilities. Nobody who relies on you. Just you and the cold concrete beneath your feet. Sleeping can be difficult. But once you find that spot, your spot, that warm spot where you know your neighbors; it can make all the difference