Pretty In Pink... Perfect In Paisley!

** Let's see where they are at... and what is going through their minds.** (From My Book... "When He Had Her") So it had seemed they had been here before. He laid in bed still sleeping while she sipped her coffee. The night before was easy it was like trying on that glove one more time. Nothing fit so good. His hands knew exactly where to go on her slim curves and her legs knew exactly how to fold around him . It was not rocket science... Like numerous times before, hitting the road and expanding outside their territory was what they did best. She had him all to herself. There were no distractions from his derelict friends and no interruptions from pets, kids and or anyone else that demanded his attention. It was why she loved these little jaunts. She had him to herself... all she ever wanted. His attention... Gazing out the patio door staring at the lake, the early morning steam lifted off the cool waters. Tablerock was a beautiful place. It was their place...

The gift of being eccentric comes with a lonesome cost it often stands out in an arena by itself. I find myself pivoting among people who don't get it. I can't explain the damage... For a matter of my whole life, I have tried to fit in where I do not belong and I have gone against my grain to be a part of something where I feel I do not have a place. I wonder when I really became the loner? Was it after mom died? A little girl saddened with grief where I just withdrew...or has been since my last relationship where there has been apprehensible, irreversible heartache and abuse. I have gone deep into a place where I have formed this sense of make believe creating and teaching myself to observe instead of participating. Lonely is the child that has been orphaned and lonely is the adult that has no sense of belonging. It is excruciatingly difficult to be forced to fit in... I have delved into my story lines where I have found it is easy to write scenarios where there is vera...

Randomly as I sit here each and every Sunday morning (which I am trying to be consistent) contemplating what I will write about. I persistently hone in to keep up with my writing skills so that they stay in tune with everyday occurances and to help clear these messy mindful cobwebs of mine. All the while hoping to entertain my audience (Ha!) for a wider broader appeal. The life of a writer... an artist... an entertainer, you memorize everything that happens to you. You replay and go over every bit of dialogue that you have had with whomever. Not wanting to divulge too much personal information but yet offering a little insight (reader interest) to make them think... I methodically rethink, if  it floats forefront in my mind, questioning and blatantly roaring, I want to ask, Who in the f..k are you to judge? I want to blurt with no intended niceties, "have you looked in the mirror?" We each have a story and we each act the way we do because of it. Instead of people askin...

It Ain't Over Til it's Over...  Where one situation ends another begins... Where one struggle ends another is created... Where there is life and or any sign of it... there is gonna be complications. Nothing is easy... but if your heart, soul and "health" is involved in it... " It ain't over til it's over." and some struggles worth the fight. It is not easy living with a chronic illness. Each day is a different kind of struggle. It has been an enormous mental strain and an emotional upheaval of wits. Combine that with extreme heartbreak and a person would wonder why I even bother to get out of bed but I do, each and every day... maybe a little more mentally strong because I have to brace myself on how I am going to feel by mid morning, mid afternoon and mid evening. Oh, the struggle is real. Challenged by tiredness, I get up. I go and I pretend a lot. I force myself to find the energy to just go do! A few years back while having a conflicted rel...

In a recent conversation with my sister, she said, " It shouldn't be this hard. "  In regards to what our heart feels and what we have lost over a series of years.  A running joke amongst us girls, "It's the Carmen Curse" I will tell, Carmen was our mother. Her pursuit of men and fame came with a very heavy price. It took her life. Like the poets all say, it was the thing she loved that killed her . I laugh, shaking my head listening to the haunting words from my grandma... on love, life and reality. " Do not rock the boat. If you can avoid an argument do so.  Love somebody who loves you more. It is just as easy to love a poor man than it is to love a rich man." These little wit-isms go on and on and on... Probably my favorite... " Kit, you don't love him you feel sorry for him ." (that was her take on my grade school / high school love) Looking for signs of life... At almost 55, the pursuit of happiness has had its challenges....

"Lessons In Life Are Repeated Until Learned" The truth has a way of surfacing. It is what eats at the conscious. Looking in the mirror, he thought, "it is what it is. " Even if he could go back and fix it, he wouldn't know where to begin.  It was one big mess and he had created an awful lot of collateral damage. He missed her. There was no denying that. There were parts of that relationship with her, he could not replace with another nor could it be forgotten. She was not one easily to forget. She carried herself differently. She had a certain class that could not be explained... and mostly no words to put into phrases that defined her character. Not quite a mystery but never  understanding or putting a heavy finger on why he loved her? Why else over all of these last couple years did he still try to reach out to her? A restless guilt. Actions he could not explain.  He could not let go, there was an attachment.  In his distorted perception of  love, ther...

And what doesn't kill you along the way, drops you to your knees and sucks the very breath out of you! Often times, I have gasped for air hoping at some point I will finally be able to breathe with ease. Catching my breath while hyperventilating is not an easy feat. It is only when I have fallen to the floor and I have cried hysterically because I could not  figure anything out, exhausting every single emotion, to only find it was time to stand again and just go do anything. Resilience is a remarkable trait. It's the one thing I have in common with a rubber band. I keep trying to bounce back a little stronger...stretching myself as far as I can to find direction, purpose and meaning... and a whole other road to travel. I realized I had ... had enough when I took my last road trip.  It finally all came together... I was grieving the loss of many years with someone I had put my life stock in. In the years after his disappearance, I desperately was trying to regain my healt...