I'm not really sorry.

I am sorry that I have wasted 15 months of my life on you.
I'm sorry I ever let you into Gunnar's life.
I'm sorry that three of those 15 months were spent doing nothing but waiting for you, and missing you.
I'm sorry I worked so hard to get everyone to except you, and want to help you, and include you in our family.
I'm sorry that I've overlooked everything I've had to go through with your family, just to be with you.
I'm sorry that I built a relationship with your children and included them in my future.
I'm sorry that I opened up to you in more ways than I EVER opened up to anyone before.
I'm sorry that I've bent over BACKWARDS for us to get to see each other as much as possible.
I'm sorry I ever trusted you with my heart.
I'm sorry I never had the guts to break-up with you when I wanted to.
I'm sorry to know that you will be forever living her, lonely and bitter, because you are convinced that everyone is against you.
I'm sorry that you've developed the same mentality that she has.
I'm sorry I ever left Gunnar alone with you.
I'm sorry I trusted you with my home, my car, and my money.
I'm sorry I ever let you effect my decisions.
I'm sorry that I used to stick up for you.
I'm sorry that you will forever have the sense of entitlement that you do, and always think and expect the world to revolve around you.

I'm sorry that you will be alone forever.

I'm sorry that no matter how hard anyone tries, you will never be happy.
I'm sorry that you have a family you don't like and can't trust.
I'm sorry that I ever told Gunnar to call you Dad.
I'm sorry I ever gave him that false hope in you.
I'm sorry you will never get a chance to share the perfect life Gunnar and I will have.
I'm sorry that your life will be hard for as long as you live.
And most of all, I'm sorry that you couldn't see the truth, and that you are making the biggest mistake of your life.

One time someone told me...

One time someone told me that the tears I was crying were 'missin' tears.'
They were right.

One time someone told me that it doesn't last forever and that things would be better soon.
They were right.

One time someone told me to hold on as tight as I could, 'so tight until your arms feel like they'll fall off.'
They were right.

So, for awhile now, my eyes have been all dried up. Things have been better, and I want the better to last forever. I've been holding on, and holding, and holding, and my arms are getting tired. I've said goodbye too many times, that word wells up in my throat and breaths with a piece of my heart. So for now I'll keep those missin' tears at bay.

The things that pissed me off today, and the things that will make it better.

First of all, the bad, the irritating, and the ugly:

Don't tell me first thing when I wake up that I must have been really tired because I didn't hear you get up with the baby.

Stop trying to make me feel bad by taking more responsibility than me.

Quit taking on more tasks than you can handle and then blaming me in the end, it's not fair!

When you are finished eating your breakfast, do not rapidly run your hands over the table making your leftover eggs and pancake residue take up new residence on my floor.

Do NOT make everything about you!!!!!


The deal-makers:

Hurry up and get here, I know you can drive faster than 75mph, and I need some of your hugs.

After 2pm, Gun, snacks, and Backyardigans.

The prospect of moving, ASAP.

Your smell on my pillows being refreshed tonight!!

You should have kept it in your pants.

You should have kept it in your pants if you didn't want the responsibility or as you see it, burden. Then I wouldn't want your money without your rights. And you wouldn't have to wander around always knowing in the back of your head that there is a part of you wandering around too. But a different kind of wander, this is a wobbly, size 6 shoe, drooling, innocent mischievous wander. You'll never get to know how sweet his breath smells in the morning, or how he looks when he tells you with his eyes that he loves you. Here is what you are missing.

My sympathy died with your loyalty to us.

Open Mic Night

We all poured into an artsy looking building. Decorated with words, and hope, and recovery.

We chatted contently to make each other more comfortable. To make ourselves more comfortable.

We made acquantences, that are sure to turn into friendships.

We sat down in neatly arranged chairs; only after indulging in sodas and cupcakes.

We made our own niche, amongst people we didn't know. We were all unfamiliar friends.

We were a mix of different life walks, some new, some old. Some reborn and some retold.

We listened with our hearts, our ears functioning only as a portal to our heavy chests.

We interacted with nervous tellers, first time speakers, and weathered writers.

We noticed the air in the room changing, insides opening up, the purpose was served.



We didn't anticipate what that artsy building would do for us.

We arrived as participants, and left as pieces of that place.

We left our mark on each chair seat, on every wall, with every beat.

Grad school colloquialisms...

As I work my way through my master's program there is one message I seem to be getting a lot, WRITE WRITE WRITE! The bold print is hardly an exaggeration, as the incessant push to put your thoughts down somewhere--anywhere!!--is pounded into my head.

I did not opt for blogging because I am Internet savvy, not in the slightest, or because I frequently follow others' blogs. The only blog I've read before was written by Stanley Fish, and that just made me want to kill someone. I googled 'where should I start a blog' and this site was at the top of the list. Yeah, picking it sort of made me feel like a sheep, but this is about writing, not being inherently different, which tends to be too much work anyway. So here I am.

I always thought getting a graduate degree would come with it a certain sense of Divine understanding...and I was wrong.

Another word resounds within the walls of my thinly stretched, literary theory beaten brain, PUBLISH! Now, I too fell into the category of sorely misinformed, or just ignorant group of people who assumed you had to be somebody to get something published. I now have deeply rooted in each cerebral fold that I, yes me, can get something published. So, I figured, if I need to write for practice, to better produce texts that can be published, I better get on it.

I guess I should preface this by saying nothing within this blog, my blog, will be anything you read that will change your life. This is intended for me, not you, although I don't mind sharing. And I can say that although I don't have anything profound to say, I'm sure it will be entertaining.