Wednesday Thoughts

“The path to healing and vulnerability is first being open and vulnerable to yourself.”

Because when you write a blog post the best thing to do is to open with a quote you made up, said no one ever. I’m positive I didn’t come up with that. But I can’t remember where I would’ve heard that, so I’m going to leave it. Forgive me, plagiarism officers, if you ever find this.

I have a day off when I would normally work. It’s frightening because I don’t know what to do with myself. Therefore, I simply slept in, finished a book, drank one and a half cups of coffee, wrote things down, and am discussing friendships with a friend. If anyone has better tips for me, let me know. I called a friend the other day, more a father figure, and he suggested the zoo. It’s raining today. I had planned to go kayaking. But it’s raining. And that’s okay. God knows what He’s doing. Here’s another thing for you.

“A favorite mug is a funny thing. It’s a relationship that you can’t manufacture, can’t just say, now you are my favorite. It has to court you and you have to court it and suddenly you are mutually in love.” -SD

(thanks, Sal.)

I’m coming to the startling realization that my posts aren’t posts; they’re simply sentences constructed and paragraphed. There is no plot, no rhythm, or rhyme. Sorry. I remember starting this blog to post poetry. Maybe I should post a poem yet, and call it a day. Then I can go to Walmart and browse the tea section. (Anyone up for Lady Grey?)

I went and looked and nothing inspires me. I wrote this “thing” this morning.

“At home we have a table. It’s scratched and faded and stained. This table has been in use for 20 years, as long as folks were married. When I am home, there are ten people around that square piece of furniture. The tenth is a blowingraspberries baby. Folks sit at one end, the middles in the middle, and the eldest children at the end.

My favorite thing about this table is my brother and I can almost always converse about many diverse things without being heard, minus the one time one of the middlings heard ’something’ and inquired what a hickey was. I wasn’t forced to explain, but now that everyone was staring at ME, I decided the best way to exit the situation was to explain. And explain I did, and embarrassed the poor middling. Thankfully my family is prone to discussing about anything at the table, so this wasn’t anything too unusual. With me there, nothing is too Victorian to be talked about. I’m certainly not a prude.

I’m positive folks have wished they could stitch my flappers shut.”

I hope my family doesn’t read this blog. It’s like being on television and having your mum see you “wearing nothing but the Joy of the Lord.”

(You both turn British and say nothing about it.)

Not that I’ve ever been on television.

This is certainly not what anyone expected when they read the quote at the top of the page.

Bye.