Massage Head

sometimes,
the world can be a
frustrating and scary place.
everywhere you turn
it seems like there is something
or someone
ready to pounce,
some situation that
is ready to jump off
causing drama
or
just the stress 
of being with those you love.

so when you find someone
who makes you feel safe,
secure,
calm and relaxed,
a smiling, friendly face that is genuine
with a caring heart so
authentic
combined with the consummate professionalism
of a true artisan
it makes you want to
woo hoo hoo
you know you have arrived
into the calm, zen-zone
of the magic man.

whether you call him
chocolate drop, chocolate thunder
baby boy, or just ronnie
he has this gift
that is way beyond his
large, warm, strong fingers.
his talents lie in the
intuitive soulfulness
that enables him
to understand exactly what you need
when and how you need it.

it may seem simple,
and many massage therapist
may feel like they offer the same techniques
and possess similar skills
but i tell you
it ain't so.

unless and until you have experienced
"massage-head"
a feeling of sublime calmness;
when you are almost
disoriented, your legs shaky
your vision slightly blurred
an overall feeling
that is trancendental in its
spiritualness.

the tao of all chi
and the chi of all tao -
that is where chocolate thunder's hands
take you
and where you
gladly surrender yourself to
as you lie on his table
writhing in the
esquisite torture of the "bows"
as he goes deeper and deeper
pushing into places you had
no idea existed
within your own body
and
pulling out what ails you.

or whether you lay happily and
peacefully, at home,
as his ample hands
slide along the crevices
of your oiled, naked skin
healing you,
making you feel whole
when you felt shattered,
and ready to face the
world,
ready to believe
in the fairie tale
again.

Spring has sprung!

yesterday was awesome,
riding in the car
sunroof open
warm winds blowing
holding your hands
keeping them still
willing my mind to
remember skepticism
recall patience
encouraging my heart to
slowdown.

it is so hard
to live like a mature person
when the summer sounds and smells
are everywhere
and all i want to do
is jump into a
pool of you

i can still feel your fingertips
sliding along my arms
your sexy smile opening
for your perfectly
white teeth
to bite down on that
bottom lip
i love so much

i can smell your soft cologne
and feel the heat that radiates
off your body
as you get as close as you can
without getting inside
of my heart, body and soul
because you are already
inside of my mind.

right now, it is too hard to tell
if the intoxication i feel
is you, or the magic of the season
but whatever
it has been such a cold, winter
i welcome the spring
breezes, rains and blossoms
it feels so good
to get wet sometimes

Exquisitely Painful

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

i am that girl tonight.
the one who cannot escape.
a victim of her own success.

the woman who is jealous
of the illusion she created,
to ensnare another
and somehow caught herself.  dumb-ass.

a moron,
so tired,
from pathological sleeplessness,
exhausted.
my feet hurt from dancing
yet i cannot remove these red shoes
and i cannot stop the dance
as long as they are firmly on my feet

i wish i could remove myself
and excuse myself.
it would be a relief
to give him what he wants
peace and i'm sure (by now)
quiet.

RATIONALIZATIONS ENVY SHAME

yet i cannot leave him more damaged
than he was when i found him
limping along now,
when his gate was strong, before, if not powerful,
when we first became aware of each other

as i recall how he wooed her,
it kills me,
every breath is a struggle
how attentive he was
his thoughts and heart open,
how accessible he was in his courtship.

the illusion that was more real inside
but not outward - yet he desires the illusion
his passion for her trumps me
stumps me,
devastates me.
his desire for her
allowed his instincts to pull something towards him
quickly, stealthily
a catch unlike any other,
but ewwww
a yucky, mermaid was what he saw in his net
when his appetites were
apparently more for fish

still the mermaid that he reeled in
with the expertise of a professional trawler
sang her song only for him, idiot.
her eyes drinking in his beauty,
his form
his strength

even his obvious weaknesses
did not deter her
from seeing what a rare find he was
indeed
they made him more vulnerable.
lovable.
fuckable.

lions, mice, mermaids, birds
no matter the species
they are incompatible
meant to attract? perhaps.
but, never meant to live together.
be together.
yet we are all made from the same thing
theoretically, right?
soulmates? jackass

my mind winces
as it is
prodded with daggers
lanced with pain and hope.
the hope that he might notice me
and remember i am here, was here,
may remain here
waiting for him,
or at least the me that remains,
what he made me
a shell of that woman,

no longer reminiscent of that powerful dreamer
who beat back the incubus who sought to
capture her, enslave her, manipulate and control her
using her progeny as bait and ransom.

now she is a mere mermaid,
yes she can sing and dance, but whatever.
she sits patiently and anxiously
waiting
that he might lose himself
in her song or her dance
and reveal just a tiny part of what he
now hides and holds in abeyance
just inside of his own skin
until a pretty fish swims by.

FURY

when did breathing and hoping
become more painful than dancing?
even the dance of a fool?
a fat mass of contradictions
too convoluted even for me to grasp.

yet it is more piercing
to think.
more agonizing to use my mind
than breath the dead air of a liar.
more excruciating and humiliating than the dance, even

in thinking,
there is the memory.
memories of what they were
dreams of what could have been.

a devastating remembrance
of him
finally letting lose his sovereign roar
ultimately revealing his anger, humiliation and his pain
his disgust.

i don't trust YOU.  i don't want YOU!
you fucking mermaid
WHERE IS MY GODDAMN
FISH?

god, if you are out there
spare him his pain, the embarrasment i caused.
and please spare me from the vexatious, pain of his words

the idea that i caused him harm
is killing me tonight
how could i?
i am but a mermaid, a mouse
so insignificant.
yet i pumped myself up
with righteous glory
and lied convincingly
to him, myself, my maker

i am changed,
once good, pure, kind
now described aptly by one true word
LIAR.
i wish i could exorcise that word,
his words
those words from my mind,
their meaning from my vocabulary
but they are mine; i earned them

his roar drowns out every thought,
when i am still.
so i must dance, and spin, and leap
to soften, dim and reduce the power and
the volume of his roar.

not only the sound that rings through the
timeless dimensions of space - sea - land
but also the quiet roar he reserves
for those moments when he turns the knifes slowly, deeply.
softly,
yet with the accuracy of a surgeon.

I WOULD RATHER STARVE
IN AN OCEAN FULL OF FISH
THAN CHANCE UPON
ANOTHER
MERMAID, LIKE YOU

JUSTIFICATION

years ago, sitting in my tiny bed
alone, i redefined my happiness.
my sense of self and self worth.
i swore i would not let demons conquer me.
the hideous writhing evil could only be victorious
if they changed me.
that i, such a tiny mouse,
could triumph, merely, in being myself
ever positive, focused on the future
never thinking of the past or the here and now

believing that my method of protecting myself
when others could not, would not;
see the dead, terrified, eyes of that small, tiny mouse
would be by controlling what is still mine to control
my soul, if not my will.
a dreamer still, not yet crushed and ruined
but being debased, takes its toll i suppose.

on the darkest days i am aware
i have changed -
tonite, i recognize nothing of that tiny child
that mouse, with her pathetic dreams
her pitiful optimism
fanciful hopes
her faith in goodness, moron.

it is clear she i have evolved
into someone
else,
again.
someone who is untrustworthy
a liar
a fake
a hopeful, fanciful idiot

yet no matter what she i become
it is always herman that holds my heart
saves my mind from complete ruin
he distracts me, soothes me
he is a masterful, beast
he is merciful
he is a consumate hunter
and i have poked the lion again and again,
and i cannot outrun him
is he everywhere?
do i really want or even try to
outrun him?

DREAMS & DESIRES

or is this what "this" is?

"come on, you know what this is."
plays in my head
his soft soulful voice
his gentle embrace
soothes me when my guard is down

my fanciful, mind steals seconds away
to recall the taste and smell of him
his lips sliding across mine
the way it felt to be at home
softly inside of him,
and he barely inside of me
slightly,
lightly within his warm, gentle grasp.

i just needed to know
if he was the one
or if he was a fish
when i sought a lion.

he is so much herman
yet he is himself
quiet, thoughtful, strong, complex
masterful, supreme.
a goofball
in the body of a gladiator.
how have i become that girl
kissing and in love with a fool?

Dear Diary, Soulmates?

Today, started like most others.  Woke up at about 5am walked Milo for about 15 minutes, then back home to get things ready for the week.  I have been off my game lately when it comes to being intuitive about romance and the way love spills on people.  Seems like, suddenly, I am meant to be that person that feels attraction, but does not have my finger on the exact place it is pointed, and sadly it has not been pointed at me.

My impulsive nature has not served me well either, and so I am left to ponder what is meant for me.  What is my purpose? who was I made for?  This is possibly the closest I may come to acknowledging my secret belief (hope) that there are soulmates for each of us.  Not many, or more than one, but one true soulmate that we were each designed for, to love, cherish, protect and honor.  That person you bare your soul to not because you want to, or feel obligated to , but because you must.  There is no alternative because failure to maintain that level of intimacy with that one person, would be like sleeping in a rubber suit.  Holding anything back would feel like you were suffocating and therefore you can totally reveal yourself to him or her.

While I have felt intense attraction, affection, love and sometimes even passion for a person, there has never been a living being that intuitively commands me to share my soul with him.  Sometimes, like today, it is exquisitely painful to feel so separate from him.  A regular day, no special events, just a Sunday, that is so obviously devoid of his presence and the joy and peacefulness I know would be in my heart, were he here by my side.  

I often wonder if knowing who he was but not having him would be better than never knowing him at all.  It is a difficult concept to wrap my mind around, because loving a person who may not exist seems delusional and indulgent.  Yet I persist in the notion that he is out there and not just in here, inside of my small, lonely heart.

Contrived Love. Valentine's Day is for Suckers

The filter through which I chose, evaluate and process my relationship is a bit skewed.  Knowing that helps me understand why certain types of guys appeal to me without understanding what I actually want from those men when I have the full focus of their attentions.  Male attention is a tricky and slippery slope for me.  I developed a little early, that doesn't mean I always had these luscious golden ta ta's, because I was flat as a board till my daughters came,  though I had lots of curves, and great legs from eleven years of ballet (and still have crap rhythm and the grace of drunk stripper).  But from about eleven on, whenever I was in the company of any man, the focus on my figure was a problem for me.  I could see them sneaking looks or outright staring.  I remember once walking across the street in a bikini that had literally caused a three car accident in Va. Beach, VA when I was 16.  Or walking across K Street, not far from GW University with my friend Marc as a cab driver stared at me too long causing him to pull the man out of his car, through the window and fight him in the street as his taxi kept going down the road, not that we were in anyway dating or romantic, he just felt the man had disrespected him, because he could not know the nature of our relationship when he chose to stare at me.  Those days and that body are dead to me now.... but cemented many of my feelings about men in general and their attentions in particular.

Boys and men seemed to notice me a lot when I was young and I hated it. Aside from just being an introvert, I was a tomboy of the highest order.  A full out competitive little, bully, who ran the boys in my neighborhood and my family, like the bossy, busy body, everyone knew me to be.  So getting all of this unwanted attention, created an uncomfortable dilemma.  My father was one of five boys.  His brothers, were and those that remain alive, are still crazy men, who partied hard, and ran with a loyal ride or die type of crew that only seems to thrive in poor, ethnic, urban neighborhoods.  I had always heard my father and mother argue about why my da spent so much time with his friends and brothers.  Usually a quiet, stoic, introvert himself, my father once, stopped right in his tracks, his brown leather jacket still held akimbo, while he looked at my mom's frustrated face, and said simply, I go when they call because any of them would take a bat to the head of anyone who would do me or mine harm.  That would come back to haunt me later in life.

But at eleven years old, my focus was mainly on playing in the creek behind our home, with the boys, catching frogs, turtles and building dams, leading raids, storming fortes, and reading any book I could get my hands on.  I was such a freak of nature, and my entire life seemed destined to be and remain compartmentalized.  The boys I played with, loved the fact that we could hang out and get dirty, watch Bruce Lee, The God Father movies, play pool, ping pong, flag football or whatever yet they never knew, I loved poetry or classical french literature, or that I was developing a yen for Sartre and Camus.  I loved Barbara Streisand more than the popular music my girlfriends wanted to listen to, and would rather listen to Vivaldi than Air Supply. 

My main goal was trying to please the new and impossibly difficult man in my life, Father Francis Pizzarelli, though he was a Brother at the time.  This was no easy feat because my home life was for crap, with my dad allowing the men he was managing in an African Jazz Band to live in our home, the arguments between him and my mom that ensued as she would come home from working two jobs to find men and women in various states of dress and undress, drug paraphernalia, and no food for her and her child were interesting.  I was also trying to rush to complete homework during daylight hours and trying to stay warm in a home without heat, lights or warm water because our bills had not been paid.  Too embarrassed to bring my school friends home, it was always ridiculous that my neighborhood friends thought my dad was a god. 

I was in a constant state of anxiousness that caused devastating insomnia, which contributed to my stress and it all seemed to come to a head by the time I was in seventh grade.   Trying to please Fr. Pizzarelli, and not make it to school late  for the 125th day in a row,  praying the boys would not notice how my ass was filling out my Catholic School uniform and hoping my boobs would never grow.  It was a struggle, and one I fully lost when I got back from Christmas break.  By then this mixed girl had a fully growed black girl butt, and EVERYONE could see it, even the boys I thought I had deep in check were acting crazy, trying to walk me home and carry my books, buy me pretzels at recess, ehhh yuch, it still makes me cringe.  To say, they were dealt with was an understatement. 

One weekend, my mom took me with her to the hair salon, and as I lamented my troubles over how stupid the boys were at my school and how I COULD NOT WAIT UNTIL I began attending the all girls high school the soon, a friend of my mother's agreed wholeheartedly with me.  She did so as she explained to me that she was a lesbian.  I was not familiar with the word or the concept, at the time, but as she gave me a high level explanation, I do recall, thinking she had a perfect solution to a problem that had been worrying me.  How am I going to live in the world, as an adult, if I have to kiss, marry, and heaven help me "do it" with a boy?  It was not that I thought they were gross, though many of the ones I knew were... rather they were just like me.  We spoke the same language, played the same games and had the same interests.  My girlfriends never would have walked 27 blocks to see a Bruce Lee movie.  I was there equal and no way did I want to give that up to be their girlfriend, it seemed like giving up my key to the executive bathroom to become a glorified secretary.   

Would anyone ever understand how vehemently my new philosophy was being codified into my little pre-teen spirit?  Would my parents indulge me or think I was being melodramatic, or simply immature.  Basically my new philosophy consisted of a couple key themes.  My girlfriends were conniving, retarded morons who were starting to loose their minds, chasing, fighting and crying over boys that were not worth their spit, Calvin Klein jeans are not made for a black womans' body, Oreo cookies and Utz potato chips are a perfect pre-menstrual meal, and BEING married looked a lot less fun than GETTING married, so I was O_U_T.  That lasted until I was about 17 years old, when I decided to marry one of my little pals, Smeff  Jynne.  While we dated a bit, he went on to matrimonial bliss with another lucky little lady - and let's just say I dodged the proverbial bullet on that one...

As a teenager, it had not been difficult getting dates, boyfriends, then as an adult, lovers, fiances' and a husband.  As a result, my appreciation for those men, could have been more "appreciative".  But on some level, it has always seemed to me that one of the qualities most men have truly valued in me, besides my figure was how unlike a typical female I truly was and still am.  Mom, if you are reading this, no I am not going to announce at any point in this blog that I am a lesbian, or the name of your friend.  You can stop trying to call/text/email me, calm down and read in peace....

As I was saying, I have never been one of those "what are you thinking?" chicks, or let's talk alllll night long, women, or worse still "you like her better than me" girl.  My telephone conversations had been abrupt and efficient, my lovemaking skillful, but not exactly a cuddler, never liked roses, or candy, so valentine's day was more of Shasta Daisy, Oreo Cookie event for me.  The guys in my life seemed to make a much bigger deal than I ever want to out of it.  Once we were married, Smatt and I had very lovely gift exchanges, but all in all it was still just a bunch of blather about nothing if I'm being totally honest.  Enter DD - Divorce Day. 

This is the day, I officially (in my heart) became divorced from my ex.  It was Valentine's Day, 2008, we were in the kitchen cooking together, listening to R&B, having fun, when the phone rang.  His "girlfriend" calls, drunk, wanting to speak to "her" man on Valentine's Day.  As I handed him the telephone and walked out of the kitchen shaking my head, I was just done.  This was not the first indiscretion, and if you cannot keep your lying and cheating from a wife who NEVER looks through your crap and asks you questions, perhaps that was a bit of natural selection come to call on my marriage.  Either way, that phone call and the image of his little legs swinging from our California King bed, pretty much put the kibosh on any romantic/sexual feelings I would ever have for him.

Now after that happened, he still believed he could and would win me back.  And in all fairness, why not, I had gone back before.  What was different?  Well ask any woman what is different the LAST time she decides to forgive her man.  Who knows?  It just is very, very different.  What I cannot understand, is why after all of this time, he continues to want to make a HUGE deal out of Valentine's Day.  Some years he is sneaking back into our marital home to drop hundreds of rose petals all over the floor, up the stairs, through the hall, into my room, into the master bath, where the tub is run, and cheese, fruit and wine sit under candle light.  That elicited absolutely no romantic feelings whatsoever, all I could think of was who is cleaning up all this crap?  Did you guess?  Yep me.  remember the part about not liking roses, well after trying to sweep up hundreds of damp rose petals off hardwood, carpeted, and marble floors, I like them even less now.

Recently, he arrived with a huge printer, scanner, fax for Valentine's Day, and again, shaking my head, I did not even bother to fake it.  WTF is that? And why are you giving it to me on Valentine's day?  Did I mention I have a printer/scanner/fax?  Aside from the fact that it does not appear he knows me AT ALL, and my response to him and his attempts to celebrate this holiday make me feel like a royal bitch, which I hate,

WHY WHY WHY

Does he not get I NOW HATE VALENTINES DAY BECAUSE OF WHAT HE AND HIS GIRLFRIEND DID? OMG IS THAT SOMEHOW AN OBSCURE CONCEPT? 

So, SMATT, if you are out there, reading my stuff, trying to see what I do on the computer sooo much, please read this.  NO I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR EFFING VALENTINE!

Bend With The Wind

One of the most significant gifts from the universe in 2009 and 2010 was the general awareness, appreciation for and adoption of a new philosophy.  People often talk about their loss of faith, or inability to follow a specific religion or faith.  I myself struggle with organized religion.  But that is only because it is easy to focus too heavily on a religions' inception, rather than it's role in today's world.  We all can benefit from a code of ethics or beliefs, a systematic framework that helps guide our moral compass. 

This is merely our spiritual culture, what we do when we don't know exactly what to do, what we teach our kids, and the basis upon which we judge our peers, friends and family members.  The belief that through discipline, awareness, focus and attentiveness, I have the power to change the role I play in this life.  It seems vain and delusional to believe I can or will change the world.  First, the world is already changing, with or without my participation.

My obligation is to be the change I want to see in the world, by living according to specific principles.  The past couple of years as life and "others" kicked my ass, to survive, I learned not only to understand, but embrace the desire to "bend with the wind".  This approach is  basically, a hybrid of Christianity, Taoism and tai-chi philosophies, which simply means don't fight against life, trust in the universe's purpose for each of us and go with the momentum of your life. That does not mean, abdicate your responsibility and account abilities - it means, stop being petty and focusing on the things that you cannot change, or you did not receive, or have not yet accomplished.  Enjoy something important about each day, remember the many blessings we each have been given, and when you have done everything within your power to help yourself, pray for guidance and strength to endure what is ahead.

I was constantly reminding myself of a quote I had heard, "If you're going to pray don't worry, if you're going to worry, don't bother praying" Thank you mama-Liz.  It helps me remember that I see the frame of my life and believe it is about choices, focus, resolve and resilience.  But inside that frame, it was important for me to have a position not so much about what I need to do, but the way I wanted to get those things done.  In the words of Barbara Walters, "What type of tree will I be?".

Enter Taoism - the Three Jewels of the Tao: compassion, moderation, and humility,  For those of you interested in a more detailed understanding, start here, then progress onto The Tao of Poo, a very readable book that will guarantee you do not take yourself too seriously.  If you are interested in developing an "intelligent" spirituality, pick up "The seven steps to think like Da Vinci every day" http://www.amazon.com/How-Think-Like-Leonardo-Vinci/dp/0440508274.

Tai-Chi Philosophy, or Taoism (also spelled Daoism; see below) refers to a variety of related philosophical and religious traditions that have influenced Eastern Asia for more than two millennia. They also notably influenced the Western world, particularly since the 19th century. The word 道, Tao (or Dao, depending on the romanization scheme), roughly translates as "path" or "way". It carries more abstract, spiritual meanings in folk religion and Chinese philosophy.

Taoist propriety and ethics emphasize the Three Jewels of the Tao: compassion, moderation, and humility, while Taoist thought generally focuses on nature, the relationship between humanity and the cosmos (天人相应); health and longevity; and Wu Wei (action through inaction). Harmony with the Universe, or the source thereof (Tao), is the intended result of many Taoist rules and practices.

The roots for my christian influences are basically, the seven deadly sins and corresponding heavenly virtues.

The Seven Deadly Sins, also known as the Capital Vices or Cardinal Sins, is a classification of objectionable vices that has been used since early Christian times to educate and instruct followers concerning fallen humanity's tendency to sin. The currently recognized version of the list is usually given as anger, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony.


In Catholic catechism, the seven virtues refer to one of two lists of virtues, most commonly referring to the 4 cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, restraint or temperance, and courage or fortitude, and the 3 theological virtues of faith, hope, and love or charity; these were adopted by the Church Fathers.

An alternative list, the seven heavenly virtues, is opposed to the seven deadly sins, and consists of chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility.

APPRECIATION AND SHOUT-OUTS

So I receive quite a few emails from women who want to know how I keep my humor, what helps me stay so upbeat.  First, I believe while you cannot always control WHAT happens to you, you can always control HOW you react, your attitude.  I get sad and depressed like anyone, but I try not to let it consume me.  First, I am too busy to be depressed for long, but I did suffer some very scary symptoms last year.  And when it seemed like the anxiety was simply too great, and I actually had a couple of panic attacks, I figured out a couple tricks to help me get by. The biggest secret to being able to stop worrying about your own situation, is to go out and help others. Volunteering at domestic violence shelters, watching my friends kids, so they could get a couple of hours of peace and quiet during the weeks I did not have my children, and donating boxes and boxes of clothes, dishes, furniture to charity as I prepared to downsize for whatever future living arrangement was coming my way. These were all beautiful distractions that never failed to humble me and remind me that there but for the grace of God... Oh yeah, and don't mistake God's grace, a lot of us want to believe "the answer" is more than it really is, make things more complicated, or more mysterious.  Sometimes the grace in our lives, the thing that enables us to survive when others falter, is our humor, our ability not to tolerate bullsh@#, or just maybe, it's that kick-ass support system we take for granted.  And just in case some of you are still being obtuse, that support system, could be your sister(s) who get on your nerves but never let you kid yourself into believing bs, or your mother who wants you to live up to your potential, or that annoying lady at work who wants you to fill out your college applications and get your life moving FORWARD. you know who you are...

So let me give props to my mom, the most important woman in the universe to me, she is my sun, my sky and my moon. My daughters who remain the beautiful stars that light up my world. My friends, who indulge me and my drive-by cell phone conversations (since the only quality quiet time I have is in my car) Claudette - my touchstone, CK, Kristen, Tahir, Curtis, Stacey, JW, Uncle Dwight, Joe - you all know who you are - thank you for helping me talk through the craziness that almost swallowed me whole this year, and keep me laughing through the tears. My friends at work, "old school crew" Misha, Gerald, Brandie, Linda, Beth,George, Stephen, Mr. P, Karen, "the newbies" LL, Shannon, Mike, Joann Taty, Ronnie aka chocolate thunder and now, thanks to Shannon, Wanda, lol. Most especially to Loren, who always knows how to read me no matter how bright of a smile I paste on my face, whose gentle heart is battered and bruised, yet always big enough to help and love her friends.  To those of you at the house of Ruth, who kept me smiling and sometimes laughing, who help me stand strong, when I did not think I could fight for myself. People who have shared so much when we had so little and teach that generosity of spirit is the key to a long, interesting, life.

Can A Girl Get By With a Mustard Seed in 2011?

Last year was an interesting mixture of the hilarious, terrifying and the sublime. Everytime it seemed as though the gas was out of "The Little Engine" that is my life, just like Tillie, the little engine that could, some how, some way things would work out. At the end of of 2009, I had lost one of my closest friends, I was legally separated and my divorce was kicking into high-gear, my kids were being pulled between two households, one of my dogs had to be put to sleep, my mom was recovering from breast cancer and I was diagnosed a stress related medical conditions.  I was living a bad country-western song.  I was looking for relief at the beginning of last year, hopeful, my "luck" would turn.


During 2010, in between everything else that was going on, I was always working at least two jobs, sometimes three and trying to be a pretty decent, new, single mom.  As this was going on, for some reason it seemed very important not to let my mom know how horribly bad things were, after all she was just getting her health back.  I felt terrible talking about this to my friends because it seemed like there was always some damn crisis in my life, so i just joked about stuff, and tried to evade them whenever possible for fear they would invite me somewhere that I could not even afford to buy gas to drive to let alone pay for when we arrived.


All the while the secrecy was such a burden, especially for a motor-mouth like me.  Trying not to let my family and close friends know how bad things were really getting was creating a chasm between me and my loved ones.  And without an outlet to relieve my pressure, my emotions were running high.  It seemed like the morning was my most vulnerable time, I was wide awake, my brain was skimming ideas, problems, solutions, contengencies and choreagraphing each play like Terry Bradshaw.  To say, I cried on Mr. Pierre's broad shoulders a couple times, would not be an understatement.  But ever stoic, he withstood the tide of my early morning tears, and pushed me back into "the game" with words of wisdom.

During the first 8 months of the year, in my spare time I was looking for a new place to live because my house was probably going into foreclosure, my twins had to leave the school they only school they had known since they were one year old, my oldest was away in college struggling and I was still trying to have some sort of tiny social life to keep from sucking on my car exhaust.  I can laugh about it now, but trust me, there were many nights when I would be thinking about my little Corgi, Maggie-Mae, or my little beta fish Sampson who bit it and think that lucky bastard... he got out.


I can tell you the situation looked pretty bleak.  There are no words to describe the terror you have when you can actually see the walls of your life start closing in on you, especially when you "feel" alone yet are in fact, accountable for the lives of three other human beings and a dog.  But there were a couple of things that stood between me and disaster.  First there was my mom then my uncle Dwight. 

People assume they are push-overs because they are the kindest most tender-hearted people you will ever meet.  What I have learned about them is they truly are an example of a titanium fist in a velvet glove.  No one has taught me more about tenacity, loyalty, love and supporting the people you love more than those two people- and it has all be by example.  My girlfriends were also always there holding me up too, even when they did not always know why or what was going on.  Each day a phone call or a card in the mail, a lunch, a glass of wine, just a sister-to-sister moment, to make me smile and keep me strong.


I wondered so much about what was going to happen.  Something as insignificant as printing the date on a check, or writing a report, or helping the girls with a homework assignment, would send my mind running in a hundred different directions.  What would happen to the girls if we lost our home, what about my mom, what about my other dog, Milo?  He was on the maximum dosage of Doggie Prozac and still had already licked himself bald-bodied, over the passing of Maggie-Mae.  God knows he could not take one more problem without stamping his paw on a newspaper and throwing his body over the deck with a carefully worded - "screw you all".


Do you want to know what happens when your mind gets so filled with fear and anxiety you cannot think straight, literally?  Well I don't know.  But I do know what happened to me.  I developed a new philosophy, well new to me.  I call it the Tao of life - "Bend with the wind".  This approach, actually a hybrid, of tai-chi, christianity, taoism which mostly is to focus on the problems of others, deal with what you can control, and stop fighting against and running away from life's lessons. 


When I began to understand that in every terror-filled moment, there was an opportunity to improve myself or help someone else, each breath became easier to take, each step forward felt a little lighter.  The road I was travelling was not as dark or as cold, because when you focus your efforts outward the universe sends in reinforcements...  Those people I had helped, started helping me.  Some do not even know they did help me or how much their efforts comforted me, or re-fueled me so I could keep going. 

Though it is already March, this is my first real blog-post, "why men lie" was written for Litchell, as an h'omage to the lessons he taught me and re-taught me then taught me one more time in 2010 (I can be hard-headed when the sex is good).  Hopefully, he is a part of my romantic past, because there are a host of new characters already assembling for 2011.  In the spirit of excercising the lessons of the Tao, I am trying to remain focused on the  Three Jewels of the Tao: compassion, moderation, and humility. 

With that in mind, my ex is making a special appearance, and hopefully, we have and can continue to live in some form of harmony.  We were able to keep our home, Milo's hair has started to grow back.  Now with Matt living here it seems like the good, the bad, and the ugly have re-assembled as well.  My biggest epiphany for 2010 was that the struggle is not separate from life, but it is life itself.  That push and pull (yin and yang) makes it interesting, fun, exciting, terrifying and intoxicating.  I don't regret one moment of 2010, but if anyone is listening and there is an opportunity to offer a moment of silence in gratitude, allow me to ever so humbly say thank you.  Thank you for my loving friends (Ms. Needles - special shout-out to you) my family, my exes... my daughters, (the hoochies and cori, my angel and the gentle sweet soul that is always in my heart, even when she is so far away), and my faith, which is as strong today as it has ever been.  That faith in myself, given to me by strong, beautiful, intelligent people who raised me, allows me to always appreciate my blessings in this life to retain my integrity, maintain my sense of humor, and remember everyone deserves the opportunity to be redeemed.  Bless you all.