Reveal...

Writing is a form of communication.
Communication is revealing.
If everyone already knew... everything...
what a deafeningly quiet world it would be.

Sometimes I feel like a slut, sometimes I don't...

Scott said, "I have a request-- Can you describe what it feels
like to be you in minimalist language?
Prose, though, please, just concise prose..."

OK, here goes...

I often feel like a walking contradiction:
I love people, but spend most of my time, outside of work, alone.
I care about what people think of me (those that I care about/admire),
but I shun joining groups and am fiercely independent and value individuality.
I walk my own path.

Music is emotional for me, with or without lyrics.
I am in awe of the vision and talent in all creative endeavors,
whether it be painting, writing, sculpture, quilting, furniture, architecture,
photography or machines.
Emotional response there, too.

I feel satisfied, content and happy to absorb the beauty of
nature, air, light, animals.
I can spend hours just observing, feeling immersed... smiling at it all.
I think of wind and rain as Mother Nature cleaning house.

I value friendship, honesty and trust.
And, I feel pain when any of those are violated.
I worry about disappointing people I care about.

I feel like an emotional trampoline when I try to balance reality and heart.
I prefer to focus on the good in people and ignore the negative, but there
are times when that doesn't work out well. I keep trying.

I love good sex. When there is sincere caring and respect.
A fuck-buddy doesn't work for me. I've tried... more than once.
Porn does nothing for me. The acting is poor and there is no story.
I respect everyone's right to watch it if they like it.

I love to laugh and do it often.
I cringe when someone laughs at someone, as in making fun of.
But, I'm all over good sarcasm.

Until recently, I have always felt ageless. I still feel sexy.
I will be fifty-six this month. Both of my parents died in their sixties, and
I think that makes me feel vulnerable to an early demise, although the rest
of my relatives had/are enjoying long lives. That gives me hope.

Compliments given to me in person make me uncomfortable.
Too many men have ulterior motives, too many women are superficial.
Compliments received through the blog world are taken as sincere, because
no one here has anything to gain by kissing my ass.

Two of the biggest regrets in my life:
My husband's suicide. Not because I blame myself, but because he had the
talent and ability to give himself a good life.
The other regret is not attending my college graduation. I cheated my parents
out of a day that would have meant a lot to them.

I am not impressed by things, but quality matters. I don't need much.
I am not jealous of other people's possessions. I do not drool.
If people are happy with what they have, I'm happy for them.
It makes me sad and sometimes angry when the attitude is "it's never enough".

I would love it if someone put one of my poems to music.

A co-worker recently read some of my writing and said that I reveal more of
myself here than in person. Others agreed.
When I write, I feel a sense of freedom, satisfaction and accomplishment.
Nothing else I've ever done has made me feel the same.

Oh, yeah. The title of this post? Heh... gottcha!


I now have two questions for Scott:
1. What made you come up with your question?
2. Did I answer it the way you meant it?

Thank you...

You guys are so good!

Because of your suggestions and requests, I have several
ideas in process.
I might post something late tonight or tomorrow.

Your feedback here always amazes me... and
I always appreciate it.
Thanks, again.

Suggestions are welcome...

I seem to have come to a screeching halt here.

Right now, I feel like... an anal retention pond.
Full of messy sludge. Slippery, unidentifiable
objects are floating around in my brain.
Can't seem to grab on to anything solid to write about.

Uh huh, it's ugly from this side, too.

Sooooo... any ideas? Requests? Anybody?

I think, therefore... I make myself crazy.

I'll cry later...

Beginning knows
end.
Pain is
waiting.
It's time will
be.
Laughter covers
hurt.
For now.
Biding patient for
that end.
Cannot be
helped.
It is.
Afraid.
You have
but
do not
want.
Because what's
now
will
end.