Just passing through….

Just passing through. So much to do.
But I wanted to say that I really do know some of the finest people. I feel incredibly lucky.
More on this later.
Gotta go.

Peeping Tom.

It’s hard to describe how it feels to be a peeping tom. To be peering into someone’s life; seeing her intimate and most raw and open and personal moments.

There’s something weird, odd, unsettling about watching her go through such hard times – divorce, moving, heartbreak. And at the same time to be experiencing such satisfaction and accomplishment. I don’t know her well. At all, to be truthful. But I worry about her. I hurt for her.

I feel maternal. I don’t want to intrude – to tell her it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to tell her that choosing the ocean view sounds better to me. I don’t want to tell her that I’m so glad she has such wonderful friends to support her. Or that I admire her strength and that, even though I have no real right to, I’m really proud of her.

I met her a year ago and knew her for 6 days. But she had an impact on me. Her spirit. Her fragility. Her immense strength. I really don’t know her at all but she sits in my thoughts.

I want to comment on her status updates and tell her I have faith in her. I want to tell her to be strong.

But I know she will be anyway.

Birthday poll.

So I’m taking a poll.

So far….

Write on his/her wall if we have any personal connection. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. 35%

Depends on the day. I’m quirky like that. 29%

Only write on CLOSE friends’ walls. Seriously. 18%

ALWAYS write on his/her wall regardless of how you’re connected 12%

Never write on anyone’s wall for a birthday. That’s just silly. 6%

Write on his/her wall if we have a work connection. Hey, it’s good for business. 0%

There’s still time to chime in here.

Happy Birthday, Stranger…. (a one-question poll)

When you see a Facebook friend is having a birthday, you…
(polls)

It’s not that I didn’t start out believing I could cook…

It’s not that I didn’t start out believing I could cook…I grew up in a home where I was taught that I could do anything. I was encouraged to take on every new challenge. And, in many cases, I was successful. Thinking back, I wonder if this track record is what led to my eventual downfall.

I’m a terrible cook.

I know you’re thinking that I’m being dramatic. But really? I’m not. Allow me to back up a bit… (wooo eee wooo eeee…. you know like in the movies….)

Read more….

Work.

I am dog tired.

Start again tomorrow morn.

6:30 meeting.

My life is a ship.

Sometimes, I feel that I drift from day to day. But not without appreciating the wonderful life I have.

But we just hit shore.

Andrew and I just got back from the beach. My parents stayed with our teens. They schlepped them to religious school, sports… you know the drill.

When we got home, my mom and dad said that my boys were not only self-sufficient, did their jobs, homework, and more but that they helped out with even more than they normally do. They were ‘perfect’ as my dad said.

Perfect.

Wow. No one is perfect, that’s for sure. But it was a wonderful to come home to.

Corruption

(yet another by that unidentified poet)

A tall bearded man approaches my front door.
Who could this be, coming to my quaint little cabin?
I open the door, and he says, “Hello.”
I am hoping he hurries up and leaves so I can get ready for work at Congress.
Suddenly, he leaps forward, and thrusts his entire six foot body down my throat.
I pass out.
I wake up in Congress, feeling powerfully evil.
Rady to take my role as a corrupt man.

Gold

(a poem by someone I promised I wouldn’t mention by name)

I define lust.
I accentuate power.
I embody Gods.
I epitomize wealth.
I have been fought over for millennia.
Why is this?
Maybe it is the way I shine through their weak, empty souls.