Sunday Morning

I want Sunday to start with a little "s", as if that way, I could trick the following day into not noticing it's turn in line. When did I begin to worry about tomorrow? When did I buy into Monday being a poor broker of time, the bastard child of an incomplete two-night stand, some sort of uptight nanny? I digress. Remembering to center around the self, rather than run headlong into the tragedy of self-centeredness, I find myself ever talking a big game and slipping behind smoke and mirrors with an "I know I'm gonna get caught" grin and a craving for a cookie. Or 12.
Sometimes I think it would be better to think before I speak, but mostly I am either exhaling the impetus in my chest or putting it on lockdown, ears burning - metaphorical fuming galore. Once in a while, there is a memory....of not being willing to suffer....a calmness, that reminds me no thing matters but this, now, and breathing.
I'm either pulling a Ghandi or stirring up sh*t. Balanced between the two is the little me that's at last unaware of my size. I betray her though, in writing....desperate to give longing a voice...melancholy a microphone.......desire a dance partner.
Three hours into Sunday - sunday - sun day....here in Santa Monica in a canopy of fog...thinking about church and GOoD, how capitalization ruins everything, space.
If I've told one person about the insatiable whole of being, i've told a thousand. Trans-versing back and forth between Me and me and I and i and obviously, not yet having had a moment free.
Then there is you. YOU. How the silence between us is enough. How your quiet soothes me.
I never wanted to be in love. I wanted to be filled.
Who would've thought it was the emptying that mattered?

Fighting the fighter

Shunning sickness, i lay in bed popping chinese herbs and homeopathic remedies...tylenol pm in the am......soup all day long. i dipped two large chuncks of hersheys dark chocolate into the peanut butter jar and wondered if it were really true that "they" were starting to genetically modify sugar (like they have with corn, hence corn syrup for so long) and how that meant every time i reach for one of my favorite health foods....sugar...if it is not organic...i will most likely be reaching for something that has been grown with the round-up gene in it. that is just wrong as is being in bed on a beautiful day with the mountain out your window calling. only in times like this - on day two of being contained in the casa on a self-sentenced "time-out" would I conjure up both the time and the thought (in synchronicity) to start the blog i have threatened to start for 6 or 7 years. time does not flee - it takes off its fucking shoes and runs like its had the bejesus scared out of it. i knew i would not get away without swearing. i tried. hence, the x-rated bs monitor when you first click on my blog. i can no longer edit the mania within. too hard, day in and day out - being a mom of small ones...trying to keep the compulsion to jump off the roof top in a tutu and fishing waders when picking them up from school contained...and instead... demurely smiling in dazed accompaniment with all of the other couture-laden mamas. i digress. envy and disdain are sisters. love is nicer.
know that my keyboard is shot and letters are left out randomly and with total disregard to meaning. eaing. menaing. see? does the laptop, hot on my lap, really have anything to do with the fact that there has been a 25-50% increase in testicular cancer since the introduction of laptop? Coincidence? hmm? I pick up these stats here and there - could be imperfect. something to consider. like, is anyone out there really mean or are they just trying to be someone they are not? they suck in more ways than one. if i get saved by jesus, will I have to give up my dirty mouth and my passion for pointing out all the little things ...in the minutae...that are kind of fucked up...and in being kind of fucked up....are kind of beautiful? does god care f i swear?