6/26/10
This blog entry is dedicated to a long time friend, and fellow adoptee. Brie L. Love you Mama. We are actively breaking cycles everyday....
Also to my beautiful creations- Nicholas and Ava-Victoria.
*I knew a girl who told me, She told me "You don't want to know-You don't want to know all they've done to me". When she was done crying she just cracked a joke. She cracked a joke. And she has a smile for every thunderstorm, She has a smile for every thunderstorm....* ~ Chris Pureka.
It's a balmy Southern afternoon. The move up until this point has exceeded all of my preemptive wishes and blue prints, for a considerably smooth transition. Nick and I were barreling home down the 385 So. towards Colombia. Excited after going to the local IMAX for Toy Story 3.
When we arrived, Pop was in his shop in the garage, doing his thing- tinkering. We walked in to the main house, and it was seemingly quiet. We stumbled across my Step Mom in the office, at the computer. She was lending a strong hand in constant round the clock surveillance for cost effective airfare, to get my daughter out here. This by way of my best friend Kelley. We were trying to wrangle a one way ticket for my 5 y/o old, and a round trip for Kell. I was desperate to get my daughter and best friend to the East Coast. Of course Kelley would have to return to the opposite coast... again. However- Ava was on her way out to complete this process in its entirety. Jackie was writing figures down, one after another. Trying to manipulate a system that supposedly doesn't need the manipulation- when really, in fact... it totally does.
Nick and I were excited, we wanted to motivate them to come out with us, to dinner at a local restaurant in town. The restaurant even had a live band that evening... a 70/80's band. RIGHT UP MY 52 y/o Fathers alley. It was allegedly the only place my Father who was professionally trained in the culinary arts- would NOT bitch about the food. A place that he, a man of few words and conveyed emotions, actually conveyed some "emotion" towards the plated entrees.
The air was thick, there was a prickly energy. All the hairs on my neck, for once weren't pasted to my neck from the sweat and natural exorbitant humidity, instead were erect. This should have been my first signal.....
This friction looming in the wet air, should have been all too familiar. It had been so very long, however something was hauntingly familiar.
..." Jackie, we checked out P Simpsons, it sounds fabulous.... they even have a live band tonight.... What do ya say?.... Lets get you two out of this house for some dinner...."
(J) ...." Awe honey I really appreciate the offer, but I really am not up for it...."
...." You're Pop and I got in to it, over the pool, while you guys were out...."
*(They are putting a pool in for my kids, to weather the heat out here.)*
(Me) ..."Oh No!.... I am sorry".....
Now normally this would not have bothered me. Pop and Jackie have been together half the span of my natural existence. Both very strong personalities in very differentiating ways.
I of all people know what a commonality, a relationship hiccup like an argument can be. Had a few of my own... Some criminally violent and furious give and takes... with my Ex husband. Especially after we buried our first daughter Olivia Noel in November of 02. I know these things happen.
I was a County away, when this particular disagreement between them went down. Somehow though, as I witnessed, heard and felt detachment. The free floating , convoluted attempts at carrying on, in separate directions- like oil and vinegar. This balmy late afternoon was starting to show it's hand.....
(J) ..."You might want to ask you're Pop, he might want to go..."
(Me) ..."Oh, okay..."
A little downtrodden, I walked out to the kitchen, in hopes to snag my Pop in transition from a pit stop in the master bath, back out to the garage.
(Me) ..."Hey Pop, P Simpsons has a great 70's and 80's cover band tonight... You wanna go-....."
Before I could even finish my thought, an assertive "No" came wistfully out of his mouth, as he slid through the slider. Back outdoors to the pool project.
Obvious tension still existed. Both were outside on opposite sides of the property. As I watched out the window from the kitchen, Cold sweating sweet tea in hand. It was like my own little private View Finder.
The little picture window in the kitchen. My own children's toy, a relic. I looked out on the property, I was alone in the house. A creeping solitude, a quiet darkness entered in to my heart.
When we were children we forced that resistant plastic toggle down, anxious to see the next frame. White knuckling that Son of a Bitch at times, out of sheer excitement.... There was no resistance, there was no white knuckling today. At 31 my View Finder refreshed itself involuntarily at times, much to my disruption and befuddlement. This afternoon was one of those times.
As I peered out that window in the kitchen, it succeeded through the frames of some of those most painful moments. Childhood moments...
You see, It wasn't Jackie and Pop's baggage that triggered this windfall of emotions and curdled pain. It was my own. It was baggage from a childhood forsaken, a childhood of rage, abuse and endless tears, of shame.
Now being that I only have fragmented memories of my childhood - secondary to the extreme pain I endured, physically and mentally/emotionally. I would have to estimate the beginning of this emotional and mental abuse started somewhere between 7 and 9.
Yes! At 7 years old the person who forced me to call her "Mom" or "Mother". The woman who would slap me across the face and mouth if i slipped and referred to her as "she".... As if her own hypersensitivity to my early survival techniques of detachment affected her so viscerally- She had to translate and conduct those feelings in to physical assaults on her 7 y/o "daughter".
Yes this woman would "DEMAND!" the respect and title of the most coveted role in life. Then so sacrilegiously and egregiously would spit vile words in to my young ears.
(Mom)...." You are you're Father's favorite..."
..." You are why my marriage will never be the same".....
(both of these ridiculous accusations obviously untrue)
If that isn't enough, shortly after I turned 9 y/o I got the double whammy the old 1-2 punch... the uppercut followed by a left jab for the official T.K.O of my Ego and Id.....
(Mom)....." We should have NEVER adopted you..!!!"
I was never and well, will never be the same after hearing those disgusting remarks. I mean what monster, says that to a child? The child that is forced to play the part, to fit the bill, to keep appearances immaculate and unspoiled. When all she was, was in fact rapidly and aggressively spoiling inside.
This 9 y/o would soon turn in to the 12 y/o that started ingesting large quantities of liquor for "the assist". The assist in detachment and disconnection and survival. The 12 y/o that eventually would grow in to a 29 y/o with serious alcoholism.
So as I stood at the window today, I dug deep. I clawed my way through some pretty ravenous territory. An Area 51 of my own soul- so to speak. A wasteland of oppressed hatred. My View Finder found it all, captured it perfectly. I didn't even have to hold it up to the light. The light shown through on its own accord. The memory fragments flooding my head and drowning my minds eye.... the 9 y/o girl gasping for air, turning cyonotic, trying to scream for help before her last breath.... Squelched.... snuffed out while so, so many just stood back and watched. This 9 y/o would have to save herself, resuscitate her own lifeless body, breathe life back in to her own weary soul.
It is in fact possible to have a weary soul at 9, at 12 at 16... at 31.
I am living proof.
Today my View Finder provided me a hurdle in sobriety. A momentary lapse of superior strength and bravery. It's triggers like these that portion out the most dedicated from the least dedicated.
This shit ain't easy folks. It;s not simply just saying "No I don't drink, but thank you anyway".... or just declining that "First drink" as we say in A/A. This shit ain't as easy as it looks.....
It is a battle of breaking habits of comfort and disconnection. 18 years of learned behavior and detrimental actions. At the hand's of one's own self. Motivated by self preservation of all things.
So I rode that wave of self doubt and question today. I rode it as it crested and crashed to the sandy floor of my inner child. Meeting the toes of those little feet, with cold saltwater. Frigid and forceful. Backing up quickly, as quick as possible. Till the water came no more, till the tide receded and the sand became warm and porous again. Inviting and pliable... forming and fashioning.
I fought so hard to make it this far in life, let alone relentlessly for the last 18 mos of sobriety. I WILL NOT let it slip away like sand through my toes. Not without a holy or unholy battle ensuing. If not for me, for my own two children. I am fighting this battle for the two most important pieces of my life. Nicholas Anthony and Ava-Victoria. I am showing them something different, something brave. I am giving them something I was not given.... I am breaking the cycles.
(To my son and daughter, the light in my soul shines because and for you both- I love you both more than you will ever know. However I will try to exceed you're knowledge of this everyday we spend together...till my last breath.)
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Strawberry Blond with Braids....
06/06/2010
As I sit here in my hotel room less than 24 hours from my departure from the West Coast permanently..... The mecca I have known my entire 31 years. The pollution, noise, traffic, bad attitudes, negative "kill or be killed" energy, inflated prices and cost of living become annoying little pangs- instead of paramount questions of stability in my future. I thought I might find relief like this in bits and pieces as our journey evolved. Never did I think for a second, the comfort level would start its regeneration process this soon. I wake up tomorrow, walk on to a plane and 3.93 cents a gallon is a figment of the past.
Now this by NO means, portrays the fact that I believe all my problems are solved as a single struggling Mother. It does help to be with, or have family that truly care about you and your well being in these unsettling economic times!
South Carolina was birthed from a request by my biological Father David, of me- 5 years ago when I first became a very young divorcee of two. A request for a "fresh start".
It has been a request of personal and moral inventory, damage control and finally conflict resolution. It has literally taken me 5 years to get to a place in my life, that I could even consider moving across country.
Now, I sit here on the eve of this pilgrimage, I look back at all that I have accomplished, I look forward to all that I will accomplish and accept all that will still stay stagnant.
The order of all of these things is dizzying. The tallest of this order, the opportunity to bridge a gap, fill a void, complete a cyclic, familial hiccup!
06/07/10
28,000 feet up, in the pitch black ribbon of sky we succeed for our deliverance, seemingly the only souls in flight we migrate towards our new beginning. A better life, a stronger connection, a hidden answer to our identities. I am reduced to a 6 y/o strawberry blond, with braids. My Nicholas is NOT the only child on this journey. My inner child has been waiting patiently for this... oh so patiently. 31 years patiently.
All of my childhood wishes and unspoken prayers, through many tears, bruises and CPS visits- are being answered. The 6 y/o in me wants to rejoice for I have come full circle, one most adoptees never see complete in their lifetime. This is closure so few in my shoes ever have the circumstance to feel.
As both my Father on my right, and my Son on my left sleep soundly, I write feverishly and fluidly. By the dim and insufficient light of the overhead lamp on this aircraft, I poor my heart out in to my journal, trying to capture ALL of the raw emotion accompanying this amazing experience. Even the most esteemed Authors would find a hurdle of emotion, causing a lack of productivity. Though, as always, I still find myself putting "pen to paper" and hashing out some of the millions of fleeting thoughts I am having.
The 6 y/o strawberry blond with braids, kicking her legs as they swing off the seat she is fastened to, uncannily resembles the 31 y/o adult that occupies the boarding pass and overhead bins attached to that seat.
She has broken wings, a heavy heart and a wounded soul... but her spirit remains abounding with reaffirmed faith- wishes do come true!
As I sit here in my hotel room less than 24 hours from my departure from the West Coast permanently..... The mecca I have known my entire 31 years. The pollution, noise, traffic, bad attitudes, negative "kill or be killed" energy, inflated prices and cost of living become annoying little pangs- instead of paramount questions of stability in my future. I thought I might find relief like this in bits and pieces as our journey evolved. Never did I think for a second, the comfort level would start its regeneration process this soon. I wake up tomorrow, walk on to a plane and 3.93 cents a gallon is a figment of the past.
Now this by NO means, portrays the fact that I believe all my problems are solved as a single struggling Mother. It does help to be with, or have family that truly care about you and your well being in these unsettling economic times!
South Carolina was birthed from a request by my biological Father David, of me- 5 years ago when I first became a very young divorcee of two. A request for a "fresh start".
It has been a request of personal and moral inventory, damage control and finally conflict resolution. It has literally taken me 5 years to get to a place in my life, that I could even consider moving across country.
Now, I sit here on the eve of this pilgrimage, I look back at all that I have accomplished, I look forward to all that I will accomplish and accept all that will still stay stagnant.
The order of all of these things is dizzying. The tallest of this order, the opportunity to bridge a gap, fill a void, complete a cyclic, familial hiccup!
06/07/10
28,000 feet up, in the pitch black ribbon of sky we succeed for our deliverance, seemingly the only souls in flight we migrate towards our new beginning. A better life, a stronger connection, a hidden answer to our identities. I am reduced to a 6 y/o strawberry blond, with braids. My Nicholas is NOT the only child on this journey. My inner child has been waiting patiently for this... oh so patiently. 31 years patiently.
All of my childhood wishes and unspoken prayers, through many tears, bruises and CPS visits- are being answered. The 6 y/o in me wants to rejoice for I have come full circle, one most adoptees never see complete in their lifetime. This is closure so few in my shoes ever have the circumstance to feel.
As both my Father on my right, and my Son on my left sleep soundly, I write feverishly and fluidly. By the dim and insufficient light of the overhead lamp on this aircraft, I poor my heart out in to my journal, trying to capture ALL of the raw emotion accompanying this amazing experience. Even the most esteemed Authors would find a hurdle of emotion, causing a lack of productivity. Though, as always, I still find myself putting "pen to paper" and hashing out some of the millions of fleeting thoughts I am having.
The 6 y/o strawberry blond with braids, kicking her legs as they swing off the seat she is fastened to, uncannily resembles the 31 y/o adult that occupies the boarding pass and overhead bins attached to that seat.
She has broken wings, a heavy heart and a wounded soul... but her spirit remains abounding with reaffirmed faith- wishes do come true!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
This Chapter is Entitled.....Letters from Utah....
Okay folks, I stumbled across this little ditty about a year or so ago. It had been saved, somehow through umpteen moves, and still in one piece. Amazing considering the penned date. I had to take a second look, did my eyes deceive? The right top corner read... Kate C. 1/97. This is a 13 y/o poem. Doing the math quickly I realized where I was at the time of this creation. I was in rehab! Yes... thats right rehab. Suuhweet! (sarcasm)
I was reluctant to read through. I remember those 4 mos. being some of the worst of my life, and some of the best. I had graduated High School a year early, with a 3.8. through independent-home study. I was 17 years old, doing my own thing. In college already-a year ahead of my piers. I worked to jobs-so an overabundant amount of money was at my disposal, I ran my own show at that point in time. I had just finished up doing some hard time in the Cupples Family Detention Center, CLEARLY I earned my booze filled, drug laden life style. Or so I thought. Apparently my parents had been keeping a closer eye on me than I thought. One night I went to bed in my bedroom at 20 Moraga Via, the next morning I was in a car being driven by three very large Mormans, 2 dudes and a lady who threatened hand cuffs- with any funny business... to La Verkin UT. WHERE?
My parents had, had me "kidnapped" in the night, by strangers, literally- and shipped off to detox and 90 day. Fan-fuckin-tastic! I was 97 lbs and 5'8".... I think my parents figured it out. So as I lived with the fact of where I was at, and who put me there....(p.s. it wasn't my parents)
I started to write. I would free write all the time. I had nothing else to do. When the rest of the girls were in school, since I had already graduated, I was cooking or writing. Sounds glamorous no?...... picture beach front property in Malibu, Life Coaches running around every where, disallowing any back pedaling or episodes of self destruction, massages and yoga....organic food, cleanses...
No No... Not La Verkin Ut. When I say writing and cooking, I spent long hours opening industrial size cans of the mass produced CISCO...dumping them in heaping/ we are feeding 223 girls tonight vats. Spraying down those vats, and starting over again. The head chef weighed 320 lbs and made the already seemingly small kitchen even smaller. He looked and smelled like John Goodman in Raising Arizona after the jail break..and I think he liked little girls... ughhhh! Anyway... so if I wasn't with Chef Goodman sweating my ass off in a kitchen, I was in my room writing.
As you can see, I wasn't sure if I wanted to open that can of worms... More than likely it would bring a flurry
of hemmorhagic emotions and memories. However, something sparked my interest...
I remember it being one of the lengthiest pieces I have written to date, so with this intrigue I read it,
The Woman Inside....Kate C. 1/97
She if powerful like the waterfall, deceiving like the eclipse. She runs with the wind, and sleeps under a blanket of mist. Her tears are the dew that adorn the brush, her laughter is sweet
songs of the Morning, being sung in choirs of birds.
Her anger is the thunder that rolls across the plain. the destruction of many storms,
proclaiming her pain. "Ahrora" she whispers, "Ahrora Ahrora live on the beauty of the night
sky"
She Dances northward with a symphony of color, an array of elegance and masterpiece. At
the end of her journey, she dismisses it all. To fall in to a hibernation of melodic mull. Once
again she rises at the break of dawn, regains her strength to carry on. One more day, and one
more night, she will harmonize and take it all in with flight. Over and Over the seasons turn
round, the soft sweet scent of spring, and rich taste of warmth. She realizes her time has
nearly come, to leave the past and enter the present. To live for tomorrow, and resurrect the past, to redeem her being.
She resides to the East and hesitates towards the West, drifts towards the South, but takes a
last appeasing glance towards the North. She envisions a life of freedom and piece, one where pain does seem to cease. " Alas, Alas...." she whispers ..." For this life is done, all of it's
treasures I have won."
The symphony of color the elegance and masterpiece.
"But will my pain ever cease? Or is it true..that as the world spins on it's side peoples pain will still reside?"
Young women know this tale world over, where there is pain, there is always sorrow...
but this makes for a better tomorrow.
Written at age 17, I had been writing since about 13 or 14... this was in fact my chunkiest
piece of poetry written. However, I never did share it with anyone because of the nature
themed metaphor. I was worried it went against my tough girl image :)
I now enjoy reading it, I allow those memories to flood back, if they even do...
I enjoy how the 14 year old blue ball point pen is faded and washed out on the yellowing
paper. It is a piece of 17, my 17......
I was reluctant to read through. I remember those 4 mos. being some of the worst of my life, and some of the best. I had graduated High School a year early, with a 3.8. through independent-home study. I was 17 years old, doing my own thing. In college already-a year ahead of my piers. I worked to jobs-so an overabundant amount of money was at my disposal, I ran my own show at that point in time. I had just finished up doing some hard time in the Cupples Family Detention Center, CLEARLY I earned my booze filled, drug laden life style. Or so I thought. Apparently my parents had been keeping a closer eye on me than I thought. One night I went to bed in my bedroom at 20 Moraga Via, the next morning I was in a car being driven by three very large Mormans, 2 dudes and a lady who threatened hand cuffs- with any funny business... to La Verkin UT. WHERE?
My parents had, had me "kidnapped" in the night, by strangers, literally- and shipped off to detox and 90 day. Fan-fuckin-tastic! I was 97 lbs and 5'8".... I think my parents figured it out. So as I lived with the fact of where I was at, and who put me there....(p.s. it wasn't my parents)
I started to write. I would free write all the time. I had nothing else to do. When the rest of the girls were in school, since I had already graduated, I was cooking or writing. Sounds glamorous no?...... picture beach front property in Malibu, Life Coaches running around every where, disallowing any back pedaling or episodes of self destruction, massages and yoga....organic food, cleanses...
No No... Not La Verkin Ut. When I say writing and cooking, I spent long hours opening industrial size cans of the mass produced CISCO...dumping them in heaping/ we are feeding 223 girls tonight vats. Spraying down those vats, and starting over again. The head chef weighed 320 lbs and made the already seemingly small kitchen even smaller. He looked and smelled like John Goodman in Raising Arizona after the jail break..and I think he liked little girls... ughhhh! Anyway... so if I wasn't with Chef Goodman sweating my ass off in a kitchen, I was in my room writing.
As you can see, I wasn't sure if I wanted to open that can of worms... More than likely it would bring a flurry
of hemmorhagic emotions and memories. However, something sparked my interest...
I remember it being one of the lengthiest pieces I have written to date, so with this intrigue I read it,
The Woman Inside....Kate C. 1/97
She if powerful like the waterfall, deceiving like the eclipse. She runs with the wind, and sleeps under a blanket of mist. Her tears are the dew that adorn the brush, her laughter is sweet
songs of the Morning, being sung in choirs of birds.
Her anger is the thunder that rolls across the plain. the destruction of many storms,
proclaiming her pain. "Ahrora" she whispers, "Ahrora Ahrora live on the beauty of the night
sky"
She Dances northward with a symphony of color, an array of elegance and masterpiece. At
the end of her journey, she dismisses it all. To fall in to a hibernation of melodic mull. Once
again she rises at the break of dawn, regains her strength to carry on. One more day, and one
more night, she will harmonize and take it all in with flight. Over and Over the seasons turn
round, the soft sweet scent of spring, and rich taste of warmth. She realizes her time has
nearly come, to leave the past and enter the present. To live for tomorrow, and resurrect the past, to redeem her being.
She resides to the East and hesitates towards the West, drifts towards the South, but takes a
last appeasing glance towards the North. She envisions a life of freedom and piece, one where pain does seem to cease. " Alas, Alas...." she whispers ..." For this life is done, all of it's
treasures I have won."
The symphony of color the elegance and masterpiece.
"But will my pain ever cease? Or is it true..that as the world spins on it's side peoples pain will still reside?"
Young women know this tale world over, where there is pain, there is always sorrow...
but this makes for a better tomorrow.
Written at age 17, I had been writing since about 13 or 14... this was in fact my chunkiest
piece of poetry written. However, I never did share it with anyone because of the nature
themed metaphor. I was worried it went against my tough girl image :)
I now enjoy reading it, I allow those memories to flood back, if they even do...
I enjoy how the 14 year old blue ball point pen is faded and washed out on the yellowing
paper. It is a piece of 17, my 17......
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
This Chapter is Entitled.....Marbles....
As I have mentioned, my idea/premise behind my blog is to post my "real time" thoughts and also some of my writings from the past....
I am a sucker for poetry... and have been writing it for about 18 years now! Eww my stomach turned seeing that number down on print... ughhh OLDNESSS!!!
Anyway... today I am posting two of my more recent pieces. They are about 3 yrs old. I would like to preface it with the fact that the first, is one of my more simple pieces and shorter ones. It really illustrates for me, my ability to see the bigger picture at times...but also my inability to "let go" of things, also my overabundance of tears. The second is about my loyalty attributes, or you can flip it and look at it from the stand point of how I am lacking loyalty in my life. So with out further a-do, my debut poems.
Words I Never Even Whispered…………
Scattered, the marbles of my life, brightly colored, unique and wonderous. As I gather them I cry...so many to chose from, so many to say good bye to, so many that simply roll away. My Reds, My Greens My Blues. In my hand I hold them all! KF-07'
I Will Be There.....
When the door opens and there is nobody there, when the smoke clears and there is nothing left, when silence deafens......things seem hapless. The world swings tilted,
I will be there......
When the show is over, the ship has sailed or the marbles have rolled away.
I will be there.......
When relationship is relative and gravity bends......when understanding becomes beauty......and beauty becomes an alibi.
I will be there........
When our lives accelerate and combust.......our pieces melt, and when things need to be repaired.
I will be there.......
When the day rallies war.....and the dance is tiring......when the friendship is constant and words are amiss.
I will be there.......
In everything you do.....I will be there.....KF 0/7'
I am a sucker for poetry... and have been writing it for about 18 years now! Eww my stomach turned seeing that number down on print... ughhh OLDNESSS!!!
Anyway... today I am posting two of my more recent pieces. They are about 3 yrs old. I would like to preface it with the fact that the first, is one of my more simple pieces and shorter ones. It really illustrates for me, my ability to see the bigger picture at times...but also my inability to "let go" of things, also my overabundance of tears. The second is about my loyalty attributes, or you can flip it and look at it from the stand point of how I am lacking loyalty in my life. So with out further a-do, my debut poems.
Words I Never Even Whispered…………
Scattered, the marbles of my life, brightly colored, unique and wonderous. As I gather them I cry...so many to chose from, so many to say good bye to, so many that simply roll away. My Reds, My Greens My Blues. In my hand I hold them all! KF-07'
I Will Be There.....
When the door opens and there is nobody there, when the smoke clears and there is nothing left, when silence deafens......things seem hapless. The world swings tilted,
I will be there......
When the show is over, the ship has sailed or the marbles have rolled away.
I will be there.......
When relationship is relative and gravity bends......when understanding becomes beauty......and beauty becomes an alibi.
I will be there........
When our lives accelerate and combust.......our pieces melt, and when things need to be repaired.
I will be there.......
When the day rallies war.....and the dance is tiring......when the friendship is constant and words are amiss.
I will be there.......
In everything you do.....I will be there.....KF 0/7'
Friday, March 26, 2010
And this chapter is entitled: Choices are made.
...."Drive on. We will sweep up the blood later!".....
Katharine Hepburn
At 31 years old, I have a lot of "life experience" shall we say?....More so than many 31 year old females. Starting with my entry in to this world and being adopted- up till present day. This blog will most likely encompass all and glorify few... it is my life... it is my soul....it will be real. If "real" turns you off, read no further. Go pick up a Danielle Steele novel from the drugstore and do us both a favor don't log back on to my blog!
Some of it will be as crass as a cuss word in church on Sunday, and some of it will be warm and inviting, like you're favorite blanket, right out of the dryer. I will post opinions, LOTS OF THEM, I will post comings and goings, to do's and current maneuvers. I am darkly and dryly sarcastic, with a ridiculous amount of cynicism. That just describes my sense of humor, not my writing style....
I will also be debuting some of my oldest, and most cherished pieces as a writer... the poems, pros and fragments of what, at the time, would soon become clearly an apparent talent. My firsts... the foundational experimentations of my penning skills as a novice writer-starting at around 13 years old.
Currently you will probably read more about the mass hysteria of relocating to the other coast with my son Nick- As I prepare to take on one of the most terrifying and gargantuan risks of my life, leaving 31 years of history behind. Giving myself the fresh start I have needed for awhile! The stress and toils of organizing, packing, arranging, orchestrating a relocation of my small family-solo. Mainly the pain and anxiety of my heart's destination with an unwilling choice made. The daily struggles of becoming adjacent to the confusion and disgust of having to be put in a "Sophie's Choice" position. How does a Mother weigh the value of one child's quality of life over another? I will tell you a secret, she sits and stares at their small forms during the night as they slumber. She lets her mind wander down those pathways of what "will be"....she takes her mind in to places and scenarios that some of the bravest of brave won't venture....She takes her mind there, she forces the ambush of terror on her emotions so she can conjugate and equate the circumstances and possible impending developments. The field is leveled and she can see for miles... life becomes very apparent and has a buoyant yet fragile quality...that is when choices are made.
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