A creature that drives inspiration and passion in the soul of an artist.... Why is she charmed? She has become enthralled with her subject. The artist has rendered her to her knees.
My day yesterday... Had a blast at the beach. A friend shared a song and nostalgia kicked in. I was suddenly whisked away into my high school years. No, this came out earlier... but I have always been a huge Floyd fan.
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from hell Blue skies from pain Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground And how we found The same old fears Wish you were here
I have a fun fact about Charlottesville that I overheard at breakfast the other day and it just made me laugh.
As you know, I live in a very country area... somewhat “Hill Billy” meets “Redneck”
There’s a road that winds through Charlottesville, called Rio road. Now... if you pronounce it like you would think it’s pronounced (Ree-o), the locals will laugh and say, “You’re not from around here, are ya? It’s Rye-o.”
To which I’ve just shook my head and have followed suit, thinking ... “Okay... if y’all say so.”
But I heard this man discussing this at the next table over and he said that Rio road used to be called route 10. All it had on the sign was R 10. I just face palmed right there.
Because Charlottesville is such an artsy little college town with a lot going on... the locals are so proud and somewhat pretentious... and so quick to tell you when you pronounce that road incorrectly!
It’s surprising what one small phone call can spark in the memory banks; like throwing a rock in a pond. Before I start this blog … I will say right off … I am great! All good! Pwomise!
So… I had gone to my Women’s Health Doctor yesterday and discovered that since my uterus has been laid to rest.. they no longer need to peer inside the V! WoooHoooo!!! Yet another added bonus of sacrificing that blighted cursed organ! All they wanted to do was examine my boobies. No problem. I had quietly mentioned (almost forgot actually) that when my nipples were squeezed hard enough, milk came out of them. Of course, they had me demonstrate. This led to a blood test. No biggy. I thought it was sort of amusing and alarming at the same time. I went home home and laid it to rest.
The very next day, my doctor calls me directly (okay, yeah that’d be today). She mentioned hormones and how it ties into the brain and now they have me scheduled for an MRI. I’m thinking… “My Mother cannot know about this. She will flip her shit.” She also has a tendency to blame ALL of my problems on a head injury I sustained in the 10th grade. Both marriages. Both divorces. Every bad decision I’ve ever made had something to do with the fact that I busted my head open on a metal door frame. According to her.
It WAS an ugly mess; I’ll give her that. We had to run a mile inside the field house because it was raining outside. They also had the baseball batting nets up, leaving a narrow corridor through which to run. Single file. Two if walking. I was on my last lap, so I was sprinting. My competitive Capricorn nature drove me to try and beat my best time. I rounded the corner and had to break hard because the girl in front of me did not have the same motivation as I had. There was no room to go around and instead of running on top of her my body sailed into the doors on the right, head smashing into the frame.
I staggered around a bit, holding my skull. I assured everyone around me that I would complete the run momentarily. I couldn’t figure out why they were staring. I thought perhaps I should lay down a moment. So I did. Again, I told everyone I was fine and I’d be up lickity split. And again with the stares… sheesh these people. I started to pull my hand away from my head and that’s when they ALL went bananas. The morning announcements began playing “Welcome to the Jungle”, and I saw all that blood.
My mind drifted to my boyfriend and I dropped my hand. I stole his virginity in the courtyard of a high school in broad daylight on a Saturday. I had sent him on a wild scavenger hunt, that day… to find me.
I have posted the original of this song before, but I’ll do it again for reference 😊.
I was driving home from a doctor visit when I was listening to the song “Add It Up” by the Violent Femmes and I kept hearing him say “hangry” instead of “angry”....
Without further ado.. I bring you... “Ate It Up” by moi.
(I posted the original song here for reference.. that ... of course is by the Violent Femmes)
Day after day, I will find food to sate.
But the day after today, I will stop and I will start.
Why can't I get just one bite?
Why can't I get just one bite?
There may be some things that I wouldn't like,
But I look at your plate and I need a bite.
Why can't I get just one chew?
Why can't I get just one chew?
Believe me, I know what to do
But something won't let me eat all that stew.
Why can't I get some ground chuck?
Why can't I get some ground chuck?
I guess it's got something to do with luck,
But I waited my whole life for just some.
Day after day, I get hangry and I will say
That the day my tummy’s tight, when I'll take a bite and say goodnight.
Oh, y-y-y-yummy yummy yum
Have you kept your eye, your eye on your bun?
I know you have hogies, you're not the only one.
Where’d you put the sugar? You fed it to my son!
Oh, y-y-y-yummy yummy yum
Take a look now cause your cake is done.
I’m walking around to have me some
Went downtown and you left me none!
So don’t leave me without any treats.
Don't leave me without any treats.
My hunger isn’t for you to mistreat.
So don’t leave me without any treats.
So don’t leave me without any treats.
Don't leave me without any treats.
My hunger isn’t for you to mistreat.
So don’t leave me without any treats.
Going down the kitchen at the top of the stairs
Can I mix in some juicy pears?
Share some jam, make a ham, grasp and reach for a leg of lamb.
Foods metabolize, and I like pies.
Pies make me need exercise.
Lucky Charms have the magic prize;
And all that pie goes straight to my thighs.
Oh, y-y-yummy y-yum yum tummy
I would love to have some nummies.
Tummy is restless, I’m ready to eat!
Here in the kitchen, now gimme a treat!
Oh, y-y-yummy y-yum yum tummy
I would love to have some nummies.
Tummy is restless, I’m ready to eat!
Here in the kitchen, now gimme a treat!
I've given you some food to make
Things to do, things to bake.
Just as I’m about ready to cut it up:
I say, "Wait a minute, honey, you went and ate it up!"
Ate it up! Ate it up! Ate it up!
Day after day, I get hangry and I will say
That the day my tummy’s tight, when I'll take a bite and say goodnight.
I found this old ancient journal entry I wrote, sometime between my two ex husbands. It was glaringly elliptical; so I had to edit. My mood feels like it has revisited this place.
Somewhere I lost my momentum.I felt like I was flying high, on a roll and now, Im dispondent. I don't really ache for myself as much as I ache for anyone out there lacking thier own passion; their own personal muse inside. I am not sure what ignites mine when the flames are high, but I know it isn't a person. It is not of this world. (**add**sometimes it can be a person!)
I watch Rachel Brice over and over, studying her movements. In the past I would have compared myself to her and beat myself up about not having a long torso and not moving like I have had all my bones surgically removed at a young age. Now I look at her movements and look at my own and say to myself "Well...the belly rolls are definitely improving" and I work harder....Im inspired. I set goals that I feel are reasonable to achieve.
Writing is a very different animal for me. I am not a writer by any stretch of the imagination, although I find it necessary for me to express myself in this way, sometimes. Sometimes there is something that guides my hand ....and my mind. It isn't really ME doing the writing....is it? When I sense it is, and my ego wakes up to take over....That is where I usually end things.
I was without passion for awhile, and I ached for a very long time, which is why I grieve watching others who cannot seem to touch thier own. Although sometimes I feel near cursed with my passion as it consumes me. I end up keeping it at bay, never letting the flames engulf me completely, always maintaining control. I wonder what sort of art I would produce, if just for one day I allowed myself to drown; If I allowed myself to combust entirely.
Maybe I do ache for myself. I read that invitation thingie by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, and I find a lump in my throat, because I am not quite there. I think to myself, "God I am such a fucking hypochrite....so fake.....so egotistical and worldly....so ugly ...slutty....crazy....emotionally disturbed.... unfit.... unwell.... dishonest......cruel .....Who the fuck am I....anyway....to offer this invitation when I am not even accepting it myself?"
I say all these nasty things to myself and I really feel them, sometimes. Then I realize Im just as fucked up as everyone else; we are all ugly. There isn't a single person on this Earth that is any better or any worse than anyone else. We are all so very very ugly in such a beautiful way. The whole "risk looking like a fool" thing....I do that every day. I need to do it more often though. I think it would improve my relationship with my children. My daughter thinks getting a puppy would do that. Maybe I should get her a puppy. She would charge me seventy five cents for writing this journal entry....as it has three cuss words in it....although ...sometimes....she doesn't blame me for cussing. Sometimes I shouldn't blame her either....but maybe I should get my seventy five cents back.
***note*** Consequently... we eventually got a puppy. My daughter cusses far more than I do, and I’m not all that despondent.***
