Sleep won't come

The light does fades and I
begin to yawn and stretch.
I rub my eyes and pray to God
for sleep to come tonight.

I brush my teeth and wash
my face and swallow pills
with hope.  I look myself straight
in my eye and will myself to sleep.

I lay me down on cool white sheets
and fluff a pillow, soft.  To sleep I
pray, bless me, bless they.
I close my eyes, Amen.

Tick tock the clock downstairs will
chime each hour passing, long.
One, two, then three, and still
I wait for sleep to come to me.

I think of all the work I will be
far too tired to do.  Fear stalks
my thoughts and seems so huge.
Oh sleep why won't you come?

Then, the bliss of thoughtlessness,
sleep has found my brain.  Awake,
I hear my dog cry loud.
He needs to go outside.

My best friend

I met up with an OLD friend the other day.  Haha, old friend, as in long-time friend, 'cause she's the same age as me (ok, six months younger) and I'm not really old yet.  It was a great day.  I totally understand why a long-time childhood friend is one of the six friends every woman needs.  Can I say it again, it was a great day.  What did we do?  We talked.  And talked.  And talked.  Oh, and we drank.  So we could talk some more.  We walked a lot while we talked.  Can we say this was aerobic exercise?  It was wonderful to catch up on her sisters, my brothers, her parents, my parents, old high school friends, reunions that there is NO WAY we will be going to, hopes for the future and, of course husbands and children.

It is true when they say the childhood friend just "gets you."  She told me such nice things about myself.  She reminded me of the girl I was with all the hopes and dreams and promise for the future.  We remembered the days we were seriously carefree.  The biggest issue was ditching school or staying out after curfew.  I could barely remember those days, but while I was with my friend all these memories came rushing back.  Isn't it funny how we can remember the words to the songs we sang in the car while we were in high school.  We can remember crazy escapades we took when we should have been in algebra or English.  We can remember old boyfriends that dumped us or those we dumped.  But, we can't remember the difficult days with our children, now grown, or the arguments with a husband when we were frazzled by toddlers or teachers.  The memory is a selective place to visit.  It lets you travel back through some of the back passages, but blocks you from others.  I'm glad this time spent with a childhood friend opened the gates to the cherished memories of youth.

My memories of her were always the best.  She was the sweetest friend.  EVERYONE liked her.  But, I was her bestie and we always hung out together.  She always wanted to have fun and go anywhere.  She was brave enough to knock on a door of a house of people we didn't know, but had heard had a bathroom with a toilet shaped like (or hidden in) a flower pot.  We did it.  We knocked on the door.  We asked to use the bathroom AND... indeed the flower pot toilet existed.  I had the balls, she had the sweet smile that got us in the house.  So funny.

I can only hope I was as good a tonic for her as she was for me.  She told me she remembered me as smart and self assured.  I loved this.  Ever since my son became a teenager I've been told I'm not too smart.  Hee hee.  I've become a woman in my 50's and the wonderful generation of those young people in their 30's have reminded me I'm "past my prime" and really not too sharp anymore.  I work at a college, so I'm used to being around kids and being invisible because I'm irrelevant to them.  It's amazing how we see ourselves as time passes.  It was so good to hear a positive word about me.  (I'm not saying my husband doesn't compliment me, but from him, I know it's foreplay.  :))

Oh, and for anyone who read the post I wrote about my dream a couple weeks ago I have to share this little tidbit.  The valet at the hotel my friend was staying at offered to keep my car in the front driveway for me while we went out for dinner and before I would need it to drive home.  This, I hoped, would save me a little money (it didn't) and save me some time in retrieving my car when we returned (it did).  Paul from Nigeria, as his name tag read, told me I didn't need a valet ticket for my car.  He would remember me.  My car would be Just Fine.  Here's the thought bubble over my head, "What!?! No Ticket!?!  Should I give him my car keys and not have a ticket?  Am I NUTS?"  Yeah, I gave him the keys.  My car was Just Fine.  See, my dreams don't come true.

What's the point

of blogging.

I've been thinking about this lately.  Why am I blogging?  Why do people blog?

I've been looking over my blog and the blogs of those bloggers I "follow."  It gives me pause.  When I started my blog it was to record my thoughts and my journey to a positive mental attitude.  I looked back and I could see I've made great strides in that direction.  Yeah, I'm feeling much happier.  I'm happier at work.  I'm no longer so fearful about making mistakes and "getting in trouble" at work.  I mean, really, what can they do to me?  They could fire me or kill me, but they can't eat me.  I'm pretty sure someone would put a stop to that.  I'm happy with my marriage.  But I don't really think this has been an issue since I started blogging.  My sweetie and I have found our "happy place" and life is good.  I worked through a painful issue with some women I was in a bible study with.  I've forgiven them and have really put it behind me.  I'm not saying it doesn't sting when I think about it, but I don't think about it too much anymore.  I'm working on my relationship with my son, but I hesitate working it out on this blog.  It's private and I really CAN set SOME boundaries.  :)

Surprisingly, I started dabbling in poetry or verse or whatever you want to call it.  I found some blogs about Christian living and they just so happened to have poetry in them.  Not only was there poetry, but there was a "link up with me" day.  So I started linking to Emily's blog.  She was so encouraging of my writing.  I started with haikus.  I started there because of the form.  They were short and relatively easy to do.  And, they made me stretch myself in my writing.  Granted, the stretch wasn't very far, but for me it was a start.  Then a funny thing happened.  By linking to Emily's blog folks started coming to my blog and leaving comments.  And then following my blog.  I was so surprised.  I should have known it would happen, but I still didn't expect it.  And, I liked it.  A lot.

I still like it.  Maybe too much.  I've started getting a bit addicted to seeing if folks are looking at my blog and seeing if they are leaving comments.  I've started getting addicted to noticing if more people look at what I've written this month than last month.  I'll tell you, the little stats portion of the blogger dashboard can be addicting.  I don't think this is good for me.  I've even started feeling competitive about it.  I know this sounds a little crazy, but it's true.  I look at the blog that gave me an interest in blogging.  I remember when that blog put up ads and the blogger declared they were going to start "making money" off their blog.  I remember seeing how many followers she had.  Not many.  I remember seeing how often she blogged.  Not often.  I started investigating making money on my blog.  I had more followers and I blogged more often.  I read articles like this.  And, I decided not to do the Amazon monetizing thing.  I wasn't going to make money and it was going to look tacky, in my humble opinion.  I always wonder if she makes any money?  I've decided my blog isn't about making money.  I'm no Pioneer Woman or Flylady.  (Btw, I knew Flylady when she was just Marla and hadn't given herself the handle yet.  Those were back in the Slob Sister chat board days.  Long long ago.)  :)

Another blogger I follow has parlayed her blog into writing an actual ebook.  She no longer blogs about her family adventures.  She now blogs as a life coach.  Sure, she's trying to drum up business for herself in the life coaching department, but why not?  It's as good a "talk therapy" as anything.  She is also VERY involved in sustainable living.  (she uses reusable tp, ... 'nuff said)  I don't think this is a direction I want to go.

What do I want my blog to be?  What is the point of writing my thoughts every day or so?  I'm going to stay with the initial premise of having it be a journal of my thoughts about various subjects and a tool to steer me in my journey to a positive view on life.  I'm going to work on my obsession of looking at the stats.  I need to ration the views of the stats WAY DOWN.  Looking at this isn't doing me any good.  I'm going to keep trying my hand at poetry and different writing styles.  I don't think I'll be a writer, but it will help me improve my writing without having to spend the money to take a writing class.  I'm not saying I'd never take a class, I just don't want to do that now.  I thought I'd like to add posts about cooking, but I don't think I can do that half as well as some of the REAL food bloggers.  AND, I don't have a cool camera.

I'm sure I'll review my motives for blogging again throughout this process.  I haven't been blogging very long and I still consider myself new to the blogosphere.  There are TONS of blogs out there and I'm happy to have the readers I have.  I have the MOST encouraging readers.  :)

Thanks

Johnny can't read

Tell me what it means
To leave no child behind?  It seems
A problem for Johnny cannot
Read a book he's never seen.

He's a bright young guy
With a mind so fly
He memorizes all the words
Ever heard read aloud to him.

When reading's this hard
Life can be rough
In the schoolyard.

Friday Flash 55 for Gman

Jealous

I know it's been said before and again
these thoughts spin relentless, my wheels won't
catch purchase.  I'm stuck in rut, I'm
grinding it deeper.  These are my thoughts as
sleep avoids me.  Resisting the urge to run
screaming or drinking the last of the gin.

The mud globs I sling as I rev up my engine
in cycles as wheels spin in circles.  It sprays
everywhere, everyone in my pathway.
I'm sure they don't know I don't mean any
harm when I sting their ears and their
eyes with my barbs dipped in poison.

My pain and my fear of a life in the future
in darkness, unknown, outside of a plan. I
suffer inside force a smile to my face so
someone won't see all the junk inside me.
Your enviable life of perfection is galling.
Boys growing strong with no struggle at all.

Embarrassment floods my face with blood
leaving a stomach bloodless and sick with
lost hope of a friend in this struggle.  Life is
much harder when done with secrets, alone
and lying and hiding inside.  Open the sealed
door of my pride and spill fear to the outside.

Fear spoken aloud is a chance worth the
risking.  This cycle and circle of living, a
mystery shared by the forgivable.  We
all at incremental points on the journey.  I
trust compassion is out there for me.  Here
is my cheek, you can slap it as well.