It's A Gypsy Kinda Thing...

Moving around isn't what it's cracked up to be...at least not for me anymore. With moving comes a feeling of adventure and starting anew. It also consists of mounds of work, uncertainty, and other similar unsettling feelings.

I guess there will always be a "gypsy" tendency in my personality. I seem to run away instead of running to. I know exactly what I want, but don't know how to get there...too many winding forked roads. Bad timing is my worst enemy; an enemy that I haven't seemed to conquer.

You guessed it...a new place again. Work hard to make it a home; comfortable...pleasant to the eye. I wonder if I've done it again???? All of this work only to walk away and leave it for someone else to enjoy.

The gypsy life isn't for me...an adventure now and then is good...but at the end of the day; I'd like to just simply go "home".

Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves
Cher

48

Just a quick edit to my profile page. Had to add another year to my age in the name of accuracy. Drum roll please~~~~~~~~~from 47 to 48. Funny thing; I'm not a bit wiser today than I was four years ago when I started this blog. Now ain't that the shits??!!

Palms Of My Hands

I recently had my palms read on Venice Beach in California. Curiosity led me to her door on the boardwalk. A young woman emerged from her apartment...sits down...motions for me to also; and focuses on my palms. I wore my sunglasses through the entire reading so my eyes wouldn't give anything away. I told her nothing about myself.

She told me how many kids I have; that I had been married once and may be married once more. Presently I was going through a "healing" time and to be patient. My life is in a state of transition. She told me to focus on myself regardless of it sounding selfish. This young woman told me the profession I had recently worked in... counseling. She described me as a person with "people skills" which made counseling and psychology a good fit for me.

My life line carried me to my late 70's or early 80's. She urged me to let go of my regrets of the past and move forward. The first of the year is to be a time of renewal for me; job...finances in order... and independent again. Until then no decisions or major changes should be made...allowing myself time to fully heal.

She described me as very mature except in love and suggested a man older than myself to lend the maturity needed in a relationship.

The reader of my palms concluded with a warning... she stated that there are people in my life that pretend to want me to succeed when in fact they really don't. They act interested to gain information or walk away in a whim. I was advised to be careful who I trust.

She was on target with everything she said...it was amazing...is amazing. Skeptics are in abundance I'm sure, and I'm not here to change anyone's mind. I am here to tell you that it is truly an odd feeling to have a perfect stranger describe you perfectly...by looking at the palms of your hands.

The Back Of Your Hands
Dwight Yoakam

Obsessive Compulsive Dingbat (OCD)...

My brain is full... el comprehendo. Information tumbles around around and around... never to be disposed. This causes me to think and rethink even the pettiest of shit. To avoid further overload I've begun ignoring; this way the info is never processed in the first place. Pretty smart, huh?

This compulsiveness isn't exclusive of thoughts. I will listen to the same song for hours, days; straighten things; wipe off counters. It drives me freaking nuts. And bc powder--good grief--I keep them in business. I can't remember when I take one so the rule is to grab one everytime I walk in the kitchen. Seemed brilliant to me until my stomach got pissed.

If you want a meaningful conversation you might want to look elsewhere. I bore easy and will have the subject changed before you know what's happened to you. Of course the subject will be one I've discussed many times before since I'm an obsessor.(is that a word? it looks funky... it can be my word if it isn't...k?)

The song of the week is Gravity by John Mayer. The unplugged version on VH1. I couldn't have written a better song about myself if I'd tried. NOW... who left that crumb on the counter darn it?????

Gravity
John Mayer

Hole In One

Sunday was Father's Day and my oldest daughter's boyfriend's birthday. (pause while the 's sink in). Attention should be focused on them and their special day. Of course that was accomplished even though my daughter literally stole the spotlight unintentionally.

You see, I never know what type of adventure I will hear about next from her. Softball team, football team... the list goes on. Sunday she played in a golf tournament. The child never touched a club until she moved east.

Yep you guessed it! She got a hole in one! Incredible. She received $50.00 and the flag from the green (which will be framed by sweet boyfriend).

Father's Day, birthday, and hole in one day!!!! Way to go girl!!! F-O-U-R!!!!

Have A Nice Day
Bon Jovi

Cry Baby

Now that’s something that no one has ever called me… I’ve been called lots of other things though. Oh I cried. Alone; never in front of anyone (with the exception of death).

During my marriage I would get in the car and take a drive in the country so I could cry in solitude. Towards the end of my marriage I started to cry in front of my family every now and then.

Today. I cry everyday… everyday. I’m so frustrated with the panic and anxiety that I’m walking a fine line— cry or rip up everything in sight. And believe me… the line is fine. I managed to come to a logical conclusion… Cry Baby or Maniac… Cry Baby doesn’t sound so bad to me anymore. I do need to work on this hateful thing I have going; it’s very unbecoming… but feels pretty good (oh hush you know it does too).

I’ve been told on numerous occasions what a good baby I was; didn’t cry; giggled a lot . Guess I’m making up for it now. Lately I have become attached to a throw (blanket); sleep with it every night; snuggled up close. Regressing I guess… hey! Maybe I’ll get it right this time. (crossing fingers).

Cry Baby
Janis Joplin

Mrs. Carnell

Second grade. She was my teacher. I didn’t understand Mrs. Carnell which gave her a mysteriousness that a second grade mind could do wonders with. I don’t remember her ever being mean; being mean would have made more sense to me. She took on the persona of being connected to the dark spiritual world. I imagined her concocting brews and potions after school hours to use on bad little kids; therefore I was angelic to escape her spells.

My memories of her were always in black with a Bible close at hand. Bible/dark spiritual world?? I was seven for goodness sake, the contradiction made it all the more eerie. She wore black lace up shoes with a boot look to them and support hose. A very matronly woman to say the least.

I remember her emotional nature. Very stern until one of her students crossed the line; then she would begin to cry as she tried to drive her point home of the importance of good behavior. Looking back I believe that teaching was a real passion for her. This made controlling her emotions difficult at times. She also had difficulty controlling the number of times we had to write our spelling words weekly. Jimmy Gunnels and I would race to see who would finish first. The end result was the same; a very sore hand from writing. Every student that passed her class is a good speller to this day. It’s incredible.

In high school I began having a dream; a recurring dream. In the beginning it was a nightmare; eventually I could talk myself out of the fear and focus on the details of it after having it several times. While sleeping, a pair of black lace up shoes with a boot look to them would walk into my room… no person… just shoes; inching closer and closer to me. I instantly knew whom they belonged to. My closet door would open and close; items move around in my room. Then the closet door remained open… instead of a wall enclosing the closet there was an opening to the backyard. The black shoes walked to my bed and a broom floated into my hand. My only means of escape from the shoes was to make a run for it through the closet opening. I ran holding tight to the broom as the shoes followed me. I felt a weightlessness and looked down at my feet—-they were no longer on the ground… I was flying. I abruptly woke up shivering.

I continued to have this dream on a consistent basis. In time I realized that the black shoes never once tried to hurt me. I no longer had a dread of the black shoes. The shoes became familiar to me and I would talk to them as though Mrs. Carnell was standing before me. The flying became incredible; stealing my stomach as I would swoop through the air.

Maybe those black lace up shoes were never chasing or threatening me; maybe they were coaxing me to FLY. Could that have been Mrs. Carnell’s intent way back in the second grade, but being misunderstood got in the way? I like to think so anyway.

Fly Away From Here
Aerosmith

Slowin' It Down

I wonder how much beauty we miss each day simply by not "seeing" what's right in front of our eyes... Slowin' it down for a bit and taking in the beauty around me.

 
 

Have You Ever Seen The Rain
CCR