A Single Middle-Aged Woman...

A few years ago I went into my office and found the following poem. I can't remember if I found it printed and lying on the desk, or if the computer was on and the document still open on the screen. As I read it, I remember thinking what a sad little poem it was. There was no atribution and I wondered who in the world wrote this lovely little, haunting poem. Later that day or the next, I showed the poem to my daughter, who at the time was maybe 16 or 17, and still in high school. I asked her if she downloaded it or found it in a book. Much to my prideful surprise she admitted she had written it. That was my introduction to the talent that my child possesses. She is a gifted writer. Moody as hell, sometimes, but those right brain thinkers are a beautifully, weird bunch. I love them all, even the ones I did not give birth to. I asked her if I could share with you that poem titled O She, the Dreamer, and along with it a link to her budding blog. She has many, many journals full of th...

I just left one of those outlet malls. You know the kind where they have all sorts of designer stores with supposedly good deals. My friends warned me to be careful. I argued , "You don't understand. I hate shopping." The deals would be so good I wouldn't be able to pass them up, I was told. I'm not a normal girl. I hate shopping. I forced myself to go into the stores. One after the other. Yes, some of the deals were pretty good. I could have bought a Coach bag, not a wallet, a real purse, for around $100. OUTRAGEOUS price for a purse but for Coach, that's pretty good, real good. I love purses. I actually had the hundred bucks in my account but I'm not one of those girls who will sacrifice the water bill, or gas money to carry an empty purse. I don't care whose name is on it. Besides, I refuse to crawl in that box. You know the one with all the pretty labels on it. No thanks. I'd rather not fit in. I fought back wave after wave of nausea. I asked m...

I'm a little tipsy so keep rhat in mind as I ask, wouldn't it be cathartic when one is out in publix to, for one tme, say exactly what one was thinking? Such as...if one was at a drive in hamburgwr joint,the old-fashioned kind with carhops, and their sign said turn your blinkers on for service. When what they really meant was turn on your hazards, and when they fussed at you for turning on your blinkers,which in actuality one cannot turn on but One blinker at a time, one might yell at them in an uncharacteristically condescending tone explaining the differnce between blinkers and hazards? How's that for the mother of all run-on sentences? By the way, this scenario was merely a figment of my imagination brought about by a sign I read at such a joint and in no way reflects the genuine stupidity of said burger joint or of the author of this email. I fantasize about having the freedom to express, just once in my life, my negativity unfiltered.

Coupla thots... I think it's admirable that you hate to hurt anyone's feelings. It's evident from her unwillingness to communicate with you anymore that her feelings were hurt pretty bad, and it makes me glad to know that you feel regret for that. It's what a real human being, in my opinion, is supposed to feel. I'm sad though, that you cannot realize your hopes and dreams of being with her. It hurts like hell when our options are taken away from us; only they aren't taken away are they? That's victim thinking at it's best. We behave in a manner, make choices based on our own selfish desires, that ultimately result in those options turning their backs on us. I was speaking to a friend of mine yesterday about this very thing regarding being in a relationship with a person again; which at this point in time I see, feel, have no desire for. We were bandying about the philosophy of how anxiety affects our abilities to relate to others. I have suffere...