I go to the library daily to think because if I sit home all I want to do it sleep. So I pack my books and journals and laptop and drive myself to the library everyday. But the words are dwindling. Even so I find myself here with hopes that maybe the words will come in.
You are a poet because of the way in which you document your life.
You are sensitive to your surroundings and that’s not going to change. Rather than trying to suppress it use it as a tool to keep moving forward.
I walk in after speeding to get my daughter’s cake which was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since Willy Wonka, and notice the tables aren’t ready. The plates are still in plastic wrap and so are the table clothes. Panic struck me like a piano falling from a third floor apartment. I hate dishing out commands, but it had to be done as quickly and gently as possible. I’m at least trying to have cake table ready because that’s the thing these days. But plastic wrap and boxes and purses keep appearing on there. My mind is everywhere trying to do everything at once. Finally got the table set and the cake table decent. Kids are every where and since it was three or four different communities some kids were left out but so goes life. I finally get the cake table decorated with gifts (which I’m super grateful for). We round up the kids and prepare for the feast to begin which is a giant subway grinder neatly divided between four tables. The tables are adorned with a fairy, blue, and gold theme. You’d think feeding the beast (beast as in a mass of children shoved into a small room) would tame it, but let me tell you I’ve created a monster. My daughter (of course) begins some chant that sounded something like “pop-the-balloon” and you should have seen the fear in the adults faces when they came together in unison. My plan was to keep it moving by lighting the candles on the cake. So I grab the cake which was pretty heavy and lug it over in front of my daughter. The chanting grows louder and there’s an air in the room (which would properly be described as fear) of what was going to happen next. And somehow it shifted, it was no longer about popping a balloon. I pull out a match and whoosh a gust of wind which I think came from the thunderous chanting, blew out the match. I now realize why people can’t light things in horror films. I search the room for my closest friend who mind you has military experience and she gives me these eyes. They were big and I gave her the eyes like Save me. And I waved the matches as if they were a white flag. She (eventually) came to my side and we lit the candles together and the chanting slowed. Because fire does that. And then together they sang happy birthday in a way I was much more comfortable with. Thank God for best friends and creating monsters, because without them stories like these would never be written.
I have a Tumblr account and I really like the the way it looks. I really like the Tumblr platform I just can’t really get into the community. So if anyone is on there looking for some connections I’d love to connect. 🙂
My brother sent me this video and it was a great start to my morning. It’s about unreasonably reaching goals. Figured I’d pass it along since I really enjoyed it.
Love how he ends it.
Behind the scenes, behind the curtain
I reach out a hand stitched together
with puppets of skin.
They roar and laugh and join in in song.
What a masterpiece!
Everybody must sing!
These are in no particular order. And are all tiny pieces that go into creating a masterpiece. “Creating a masterpiece” can be a general term, but ideally the whole thing is a process. Here’s a few things I feel go into my own writing-a-masterpiece process.
- Talking with like-minded people
- Going on adventures
- Research and self study
- Differing opinions/ contradiction
- That one thing that keeps you going
- and for me Tea
Last week’s list