I heart P!nk so effing hard
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Just One of Those Days
Yea those ones.
Most days I wake up and go through the daily morning ritual: Turn the computer on, put on a pot of my favorite fresh ground Pike Place Roast, do a few small chores around the house, change clothes, take the dogs outside for a short walk, have breakfast, and sit down to start work.
Most of the time I work fairly diligently, with a short break here and there. I love “busy work” and my job has quite a bit of that on any given day. I also love to feel like what I do matters, and my job has plenty of that as well.
Today was different. Today, because I needed to be logged on and working earlier than usual, I skipped part of the ritual.
A night owl should never, ever, skip part of a morning ritual.
I turned on the computer and the coffee pot and took the dogs out. Done. Sat down to work. Within 3 hours, I was pretty sure my eyelids were made of 100 grit sandpaper, and I had just walked through a cloud of chalk, though I didn’t remember anybody smacking erasers in my house recently.
Another mug of coffee did not rectify the situation. No no, another mug of coffee merely made my already weak and tired limbs feel jittery and out of my control. Another mug of coffee made my sandpaper slats blink even more rapidly over eyes that by then were burning so vehemently any sane person would have called the doctor to have them checked for VD.
I was able to continue to perform some of my responsibilities. I returned some emails and completed a few other minor tasks while struggling with race-brain, randomness, and channel surfing (yet the television remains untouched, as it has all day). Still pajama clad, I can say with certainty that all in all, it was a pretty unproductive day. Tomorrow will be better. And tomorrow is Hump Day. BOOYAH!
Lesson? Even if I have to get up a little earlier than usual, live the ritual. Do not waiver.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Strength
When I originally wrote this poem, all I had in mind was the beautiful calla lilies outside my bedroom window, and how amazingly strong they are. My dogs would trample them, the wind and rain storms would take them out, kids would saw them off, and they just kept coming back. After several rough drafts, the poem was finished and a friend read it for me before I turned it in. She noted how much she enjoyed the symbolism of it. I don’t know if subconsciously that was how I meant to write it or not, but now as I read it that’s all I see. Read in iambic pentameter and enjoy.
Not ev’ry girl has got a lily bed
at home. Of flower flutes of white and gold
to reach with strength and poise, without a shred
of flimsy petals falling from their hold.
Soft wind caresses giant leaves and stems
against her window by her bed, they dance
as one, the sway of nature’s morning gems.
She thanks the gods for giving her this trance
inducing sight. Reminding her that she
is blessed, they wake her with each morning’s light
‘til August heat. They sleep when cool winds flee,
returning with spring rains in March, a fight
with hurricane force winds and sideways rain.
But there they are, these blessed gifts, again.
at home. Of flower flutes of white and gold
to reach with strength and poise, without a shred
of flimsy petals falling from their hold.
Soft wind caresses giant leaves and stems
against her window by her bed, they dance
as one, the sway of nature’s morning gems.
She thanks the gods for giving her this trance
inducing sight. Reminding her that she
is blessed, they wake her with each morning’s light
‘til August heat. They sleep when cool winds flee,
returning with spring rains in March, a fight
with hurricane force winds and sideways rain.
But there they are, these blessed gifts, again.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Violent Lullaby
Tiny White Spiders
Dance at my toes
They scurry up from the sand
Scuttling past me
from the death of the wave
which waits for the next before it descends
and they fade into another.
Dance at my toes
They scurry up from the sand
Scuttling past me
from the death of the wave
which waits for the next before it descends
and they fade into another.
A lonely gull dives and glides
like a kite through the wind
He cries above me,
as we breathlessly watch
the magnificent body,
the crashing crests of grey,
green, white, and blue
as the ocean rocks a violent lullaby.
like a kite through the wind
He cries above me,
as we breathlessly watch
the magnificent body,
the crashing crests of grey,
green, white, and blue
as the ocean rocks a violent lullaby.
A burst of mist steals a sigh
from my lips
She kisses my cheeks
my eyelids and forehead,
twirling my hair
around her fingers
leaving a mess of damp ringlets
around my face.
from my lips
She kisses my cheeks
my eyelids and forehead,
twirling my hair
around her fingers
leaving a mess of damp ringlets
around my face.
A buoy howls deep
on the horizon.
He sways and rocks,
bobbing from swell to trough
singing mournfully low
directing each ship
a safe passage
into the harbor.
on the horizon.
He sways and rocks,
bobbing from swell to trough
singing mournfully low
directing each ship
a safe passage
into the harbor.
Written by Jessica H.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Perfect
Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. ~ Marilyn Monroe
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