Bread and Milk

Two slices of bread shredded into small pieces and stuffed into a coffee mug.  Add milk and a spoonful of sugar, and lunch in a mug - seventh heaven.  Six years old and the world was a giant cherry flavored lollipop.  Twelve years old and the lollipop had fractured with half of it lying at the bottom of the storm drain in front of me.  Eighteen years old and the white cardboard stem with a hint of cherry red color on the tip was all that was left.  My sugar coated world had vanished, and the free-for-all to survive for a lifetime began.

Here I am today free-for-alling all over the place, still treading water, still apprehensive about checking out the nibbles on my toes to see if all my digits are still there.  Letting go...easy to say, difficult to achieve; but I've opted for the path of less resistance, the path of non-schizoidism.  Damn all those professors, philosophers, and poets burdening me into thinking my life is terribly deficient if I choose to end all that agonizing over accomplishments that I cannot accomplish.

I live with someone who's a little bit too reckless, tiptoeing on the edge most of the time, the edge of having and oops!  A bit nerve-racking, dangerous, and downright crazy at times; but we're both survivors.  He's accepted another overseas job (I give up) with a company with the embassy in Baghdad.  I'm smiling...I really am. I caught myself almost saying I wish, but wishing is for those who have nothing better to do, and I always have something I'd better do ;)  

This perpetual teeter totter I can't escape...kill the blog...save the blog...I fear I may be all blogged out.  I'm changing the labels to just a few terms, to easily segregate the garden, pets and me posts. That list of a thousand nouns and adjectives was just a bit of an overkill.  I don't have much time for other's posts, and my infrequent visits reflect only that I need more than 24 hours in a day.  I'm dead in the water at this point.  I've not much of anything substantial to expand upon these days, finding myself for the first time in years quite speechless.  For me to be wordless about the gardens; well, let's just say the photos are beginning to look all too familiar and the writing is on the verge of repeating itself of repeating itself of repeating itself.

Disillusioned with the tremendous competition in writing these days, and the outrages costs of submissions in contests, I don't know where the next step will lead in my writing.  I've thought about just letting go of it all, but my mind trudges on creating an outline I first thought was an impossibility for this short story that's expanding into a novel.  I write by the skin of my teeth, not quite knowing where the next page will lead until I write out the rough draft and then begin editing it to pieces.  I think of my life as a bit loveless, yet here I am writing romance.  Go figure.  

Although the furniture in my study (sounds more progressive than that drudge of a word workroom) is tightly space with no room for change, I managed a small miracle and rearranged it all anyway to escape the jaws and claws of a feline with absolutely no respect for my property...the little stinkshit.  I say that lovingly :) The decision was made to use savings to make having my own computer a possibility before the year 2020.  Yeh!  It will be a Lenovo Workstation Laptop that will handle Adobe Photoshop CS6 Extended, with graphics and photo editing.  I need bells and whistles, and the laptop is more affordable than the desk top, soooo I'll live with the smaller screen.

Andee's complaining about dinner not on his plate, so I'm off to feed him before breakfast is due.  Must admit that living with a husband who is constantly surrounding himself with noise is killing me softly with no sleep when I write.  I find myself sitting at this computer into the early hours of the next day, after his bedtime, when all is so lovingly QUIET.  It's wearing me out. Sleeping through the entire next weekend sounds so wonderfully extravagant.