“My doctor says that I have a malformed public duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fiber, and that I am therefore excused from saving Universes.” –Ford Prefect
Here’s the thing about inner conflict: it’s the heart of everything. It’s the recognition that you are your best friend and your worst enemy. It’s the battle between what was, what is and what will be. It’s the ultimate choosing of right and wrong, of what feeds you or what sucks your soul dry. It’s grabbing your childhood by the throat and saying “enough already!” It’s learning how to take all those chronic character flaws and turn them in your favor. It’s recognizing that there are certain things that you will never change about yourself.
. . .
I’m putting a spin on my forties, when I decided I’d become a martial artist, super mom, Japanese ink painter, personal trainer, officer of the law, marathoner, web genius, everywhere volunteer and organic vegan superfreak. It was all research for writing. It sounds so much better than a midlife panic.
I’m rarely in the moment with other people because I’m in my head, over-thinking, worrying, and analyzing. Those same thoughts and worries also prevent me from initiating hangouts and following up on rescheduling plans. I always assume that if someone doesn’t contact me or has to cancel a plan we’ve made that they don’t like me. I take any kind of rejection, real or perceived, incredibly personally. I obsess about what people say and do, analyzing their words and actions for cues to help me figure out what they really think of me.
Of course, this is the same kind of thinking that they might be applying to me as a result of my quietness and failure to initiate or reschedule. I’m doing the exact same thing that I don’t want them to do to me. It’s too bad that anxiety doesn’t respond well to basic logic.
We turned to face the faint light. As if a few feet would make a difference in the millions of miles that separated us, we all drifted a bit closer to the water in the direction of the already brighter pink sky. In that first light I noticed we had not been alone.
Originally posted on Laura Barbosa's Heart of Art Blog:
Shall I swim with you my octopus, amongst the coral and reef, shall I dance with you my octopus, through the seaweed and sand, shall I dream of you my octopus, forever young we live.
24 x 24″ Acrylics on Canvas (Original)
On Auction for 7 Days, Copyright Laura Barbosa 2015
I’m a walking regret, a truth-teller, a liar, a survivor, a frowning ellipsis, a witness, a dreamer, a teacher, a student, a joker, a writer whose eyes stay red, and I’m a child of this nation.
It’s funny because it’s true. :D
Originally posted on RocketNews24:
There’s a five-frame comic doing the rounds on Twitter that’s got all the ladies talking. Called “The day of period pain”, it’s being praised for authentically depicting that dreaded time of the month and proves that, in Japan, there really is a comic about everything.
View original 145 more words
Originally posted on eASYbAKED:
Oh my, I love the fourth of July! I love the picnics, and pool parties, and cookouts, and fireworks…and the time with family!
My parents have always (like always, for as long as I can remember!) had a giant pool party for the fourth and invited our entire extended family for burgers and brats and volleyball and sunshine….and for a competitive display of our best “at home” fireworks we could find, later in the evening. I have so many fun memories of chasing fireflies and waving sparklers with my cousins (that are all grown with kids of their own now!). This year is different. For starters, mom isn’t here to orchestrate the complexities of the celebration. The house is in boxes and bags- ready to show to whomever might be interested in buying, and the pool and yard are immaculately kept. Pool toys and floats are…
View original 183 more words
A pound each year? O_o
Originally posted on Kite Dreams:
I don’t recall the first time I ate a bug by accident, but it probably happened one summer night when I was streaking across the yard yelling back and forth to friends with my mouth open and my eyes on the flicker of fireflies. I suspect I ended up with as many gnats in my mouth as beetles in the Mason jar.
Then there were the weevils. Occasionally, my mom discovered them in the flour bin. How did they get there? “That’s what happens when the flour gets old,” Mom said. But where did they come from, I wondered. It never occurred to me that the weevils had been in the flour all along and that I had been eating unhatched beetles in cakes and cookies and biscuits for months.
Years later, I discovered moths in the pantry. I opened the door and a moth fluttered out…
View original 910 more words