A part of it all – apart from it all.
Strolling along the border of land, sea and sky
with one bare foot on solid ground,
one foot in the water
and my head in the clouds
while watching
Shiny Happy People
holding hands
Shiny Happy People
laughing.
Or is it just an R.E.M. cycle?
In my head I’m always writing things to you that I will never
send and then also in my head explaining to you what I
wrote but didn’t send.
Like writing :
“Let’s just say that between the two of you
I would have more fun watching paint dry
with one than getting naked at the
beach and slippery in the surf and then eating insanely delicious
tacos at that Taco Spot on the beach then taking
A1A up the entire south east coast of the state through
all the little beach access towns and ocean avenues
with the other of you.”
Then explaining (also in my head):
“Yeah. I’d trade the day I had today for watching paint dry.
I really would, even though there was a blue storm
a few miles inland while I was naked in the water
with rumbling thunder and distant lightning. Plus, the tacos
were ridiculously delicious at the beach side restaurant.
Also, there are a LOT of magnificent trees, fountains
and ocean views along the scenic route we took back home.
The day was sofa king gorgeous. I wish you could have felt it.
Especially the cool sea breeze from the open windows
with the truck AC blasting on sun warmed skin.”
I’ll leave it up to you to decide who’s who.
So yeah, I’d rather spend time with you than to have sex
and I REALLY enjoy sex. In fact I think it’s one of the top three
reasons to be alive. The other two reasons are, of course,
eating and the one hundred percent innocent non carnal
pure joy I feel from seeing Luna in all of her fullness just
above the horizon or a big bunch of darkening cumulus
clouds or watching a thunderstorm churning the waters at
the inlet or experiencing a meteor streak across the sky so
close I feel like I can reach up and grab it.
I feel guilty for feeling so strongly even though it ISN’T a
bad thing. I can’t help how I feel but I can keep it to myself
by keeping these conversations with you in my head.
My feelings are not your problem.
Don’t even get me started on your dream visitations.
I’m pretty sure you are fully aware of what you are doing there.
~Kiddṏ
~ Kiddo
When I was a child my ears stuck through my hair and so I was made fun of for looking like a Mon chi chi. I thought Mon chi chi were adorable so I had one….but I thought I was ugly. I began to wear a cloth headband wide enough to cover my ears. I wore a giant rubber band at night to keep my ears flat while I slept hoping they would just stay flat. I had my mom buy freckle eraser from Avon and prayed and really believed it would work. I still have freckles to this day. When I was 14 I was permitted to get a haircut that allowed my hair to be feathered over my ears. I look back at photos I hated my entire childhood and realize that I believed what people told me rather than believing what I saw with my own eyes. When I looked in the mirror I did not see this adorable face. It is so hard for me to believe that these are the same photos I have known my entire life. I recognize the pictures but they never looked cute to me before. I was always self conscious of my looks because I never saw the truth. I walked around FEELING GROTESQUE like I should be hiding somewhere. That feeling persisted for much of my adulthood. I look back at photos from the last 45 years and can’t find an ugly one in the pile. I was 35 years old before I actually felt like I wasn’t disgusting to look at. I will be 45 years old in 1 week and sometimes wish that I could go back and live a life feeling like I wasn’t horrible to look at BUT I compensated for my looks by being clever, funny, and athletic and who knows what kind of personality I would have if I had always thought I was as adorable as I see that little girl now.
In this novel I’ve been reading the main character is bipolar but apparently a long cycle manic depressive because she doesn’t have real episodes for years and usually triggered by something specifically but builds…Anyway it is interesting to read the description of the gradual increase in energy and thought clarity and how reality starts to seem so surreal with colors bright, sounds defined and how she uses her peak time when she feels like her true self for clarity because she knows it’s definitely going to change into a muddled mess and eventually some wild fiction. The wild fiction that seems more real than reality and how she just can’t tell the difference at times and she knows that she’ll inevitably break and then have to hopefully recover. Once she knows how the progression works she can learn how to sort of slow the progression and eventual break. She even describes how it is after recovering to become quiet and more solitary and behind the scenes so that she can just stay stable. Rocking the boat at all when one is newly recovered could begin a quick spiral out of control.
During the rest phase bipolar people know that the funny, life of the party, take life by the balls version of themselves is alone in a room somewhere inside of them just waiting for stage directions so that they can take the stage and make life energetic and interesting again.
I think either the author of this book is manic/depressive or someone very close to them is.
Just realized that I can totally relate to Kermit when I heard him say “You know, when Piggy and I were a couple, I found her unpredictable and spontaneous and quirky, you know? It was kind of sexy. But if you take dating out of the equation, she’s just a lunatic.”
I really want someone to know me completely and yet love me so wholeheartedly that even though they don’t love every little thing about me they still choose me over and over again.
So many situations we find ourselves in these days wouldn’t have been possible not too long ago. Thanks to modern gizmos ‘n’ gadgets I found myself in a pretty surreal situation today. Apparently my phone screen is more difficult to replace than any phone screen in the history of the universe so nearly a month after I paid for my replacement screen I found myself BACK at the Mr. Phone Fixit shop for the third time. Anticipating that I might have to leave my cracked phone at the shop I had brought along my older phone to be used if necessary. After having participated in cheerful chit chat with the other anxious parents in the waiting area I powered on my old device. Even in a waiting area in a phone repair shop it seems odd to just continue to sit in such close proximity to other weird wired people without my electronic sheild in hand. I noticed straight away that I was getting a ton of notifications and that many of them were voicemails that hadn’t been listened to. That wasn’t a big surprise because I very rarely listen to messages. I have fewer unlistened to messages on my new phone because people finally stopped recording them. So without even a premonitory pause I decided to listen for a bit to pass the time. BIG MISTAKE. A deliciously happy, excited loving voicemail from a year ago changed me from being a cheerful stranger in a hopeful waiting area to a shattered person sitting perfectly still so that my pieces wouldn’t scatter all over the place while trying to force my lungs to function. It was very surreal. Sounds around me were muted and it felt like someone had stabbed a GIGANTIC ice sword through my gut. My vision was fading around the edges and I felt like everyone in the room were awaiting my reaction so I had none. I kept all of my reacting on the inside where it belongs.
~Kiddo
Can you believe that I just walked into the wrong apartment? Looking down at my sky map, I glanced at the door handle as I turned it, stepped across the threshold and shut the door behind me and just stood there stunned to be in a small dark space. My eyes slo-mo movie-style focused on a laundry basket on the floor to my right and a cardboard box to my left. Next I noticed a carpeted stairs 2 steps in front of me that was dimly lit from the top. At the top of the stairs was a fluffy cat frozen midstep staring at me with it’s mouth hanging open. I could hear a strange t.v. show and realized that I was either straight trippin’ OR standing in someone else’s home. The cat glances over it’s shoulder toward the softly lit apartment, I glance over my shoulder to the door….the cat sees it’s owner walking toward the sound of the intruder… I see the door handle slo-mo turning in my hand. The cat voices a tattle meow as I step past the EXTREMELY loud squealing door and quick-but-quietly close the door and casual-fast hustle a few doors down to my door through which I quiet-quickly enter through. Surreals ya’ll
I would say that no one could ever be mad at me because I actually don’t exist except for the fact that people are mad at God all of the time and usually for something He didn’t do too. Has anyone ever wondered about the fact that a synonym for ‘angry’ is ‘cross’ ? Me either. I don’t exist.
seeking solace in the horizon of life and beyond
Updates on current Projects at the Siena Art Institute in Siena, Italy. For more info visit our website www.sienaart.org
Poetry and words
Doing What Makes My Soul Shine
writing is sorrow; having had written is sublime
in search of a better us
Fighting Depression, Anxiety, and Self-Harm
Subtitles: Kiddo's Korner, Spinach in Your Mamma's Smile, Mutterings of a Mad Woman, Don't Mention It, Never Argue with an Idiot , Lord Beer Me Strength, Random Thoughts, You Don't Have To Thank Me (It's What I Do) and UNNECESSARY CAPITALIZATION.
MY TAKE ON LIFE.
Mind • Body • Life
A collection of nonsensical words thrown together
adventures of sadie and momma
A "How to Thrive" Guide After Divorce
A Hopefully Formerly Depressed Human Vows To Practice Self-Approval
Not That Anyone Asked Me... 