Friday Night Writing

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A very unhappy writer sick for the third week in a row.

First Friday in weeks that I have been home.  First Friday in weeks, I haven’t been sick although truthfully, I am not completely well yet.

My first thoughts on this evening entailed going to bed early and rising in the morning with intent.  Instead, I played some Fallout Shelter, practiced my Spanish and tried to see what dog I would be on Facebook.  The results of that particular quiz will not be shared.

There is writing to be done. Writing and editing that has been on my to do list for over a month.  Writing, I want to do, but somehow whenever I sit to do it, something else always pulls me away.

My favorite pair of boots died, today.  The soles are coming falling off.  Some glue may fix them.  There is money to replace them.  Funds that my brain says should go else where.  My mind was considering all the sensible options when the phrase “Fuck my life” popped into my head.  I’ve heard it more than a dozen times something goes wrong and suddenly everything goes.  My shoes aren’t a big deal. The deal comes in the fact that I just played off a credit card, this is the second pair of boots that have suffered damage this week that will be need to be replaced, along wit some other expenses another new set of boots would drip the budget in red ink. Combine those thoughts with the ones where I am no good at my job, a fraud who is about to be found out and dozen more demons poking around in my noodle.  It would have been easy to say “Fuck my life”.

Not justified, but easy.

Easy to think that everything is crap, because life has a way of doing that just like my cold turning nasty and spending that couple of weeks sick.

Life is still pretty good. Actually, it is damn good.  While I am not where I want to be and far from accomplishing my goals and dreams, I am a good place. A place, where I can write on a Friday night undisturbed.  A place where I can make mistakes and work way back to where I want to be from where I am.

 

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Becoming….

Recently, I read “Becoming…” by Michelle Obama and it has helped me to not only see the former First Lady in a new light, but look at my own story with less judgement and more honesty.

How did I become a woman who not only embraces her curves but also her gray and silver hair?  How did my fourth decade on this earth become the one where I feel more at home with myself, my past and my pain?  How did I become a person who takes selfies at the gym?

One blog isn’t going to answer that question.   Ten blogs won’t, but that isn’t the point. Becoming or being my true self isn’t about reaching a mystic destination.  It is about excepting where I am, where I’ve been and working on being the best version of myself.  My New Year’s blogs were about goals.  Goals are about getting closer to the version of myself that I wanted so many years ago.

There is a TED talk about being the person that you needed as a kid.  I am not sure the person I was then would have had the strength to listen to who I am now and who I am becoming.  So much of my life has been defined by lost.  Something I learned to do from those around me. The lost of loved ones, a home, innocents and so on.  It is a long list.  I don’t know if she would have been able to conceive of actually living life closer to her Aunt Judith’s life than the one her mother and grandmother lived.

I love the life I have right now. I love going to the gym after work with my little brother. I love living in a house where we eat dinner together several times a week and walk the dogs around the high school track.  I love waking up and being able to see the mountains.  I love how the moonlight touches the corner of bed at night and how even though depression and anxiety are still deeply entrenched in my psyche, I am better today than I was last year.

Last night, I challenged myself to write a hundred words on the current project after having spent the last three days sick.  I did it and a bit more. Today, I went to the gym without my little brother and pushed myself to complete our normal routine.  Tomorrow, I am not sure what I am going to do, but I will do something.

I have become… no, I am becoming the person I needed to be when I was younger. The one that pushes through the mental muck and finishes what she started.   I do it little by little, with a plan, but also with a mirror.  One that reflects the whole me not the me that I want to be or the me that I fear I am, but one hundred percent me.  The good, the bad and the depressed.  All of me including the scars is beautiful.  And it is that me that isn’t going to stop working towards her dreams and goals.

I may get sidetracked by cold or by a hectic day at work. I may given into my personal demons from time to time.  Still, I am not going to stop working or becoming.

Thank you for reading.  Please feel free to share your thoughts below.

Love,

Lu

The Good with the Bad

The day began with insomnia

drifted into lateness

and fell into despair

One found dead, the news feed reads

the reaper’s  prize

at last

sorrows grips friends

still other silent cheer the end of the road

two kids in a doctor’s office sick with the flu

 

two strangers cling to life

victims of happenstance

attended by the best

No news is good news or so the fellows say

No news is bad news worries the friends

beloved ones

Victory arrives late

lesson learned, acceptance obtained

a child born

new shoes,  credit extended ,

then end of an abusive relationship

 

No clever words need

or cliques expressed

Just another day

the good with the bad

the bad with good

perspective the only means of definition

 

 

The end of the line, no more changes

chances or extra turns

no more thoughts of redemption

last minute saves

you used all the rope that you have been given

used it up tying knots to keep yourself from falling

but you keep slipping further and further behind

you need to save face and do what you got to do

things just pile up and weigh you down

you never get a head and everything ounce of dust

that lands on you is the one that breaks

more than camel’s back

better get going

cause the good has already got gone

April Page 8

Six days, six pages and a cold. This morning, I so wished badly not to have to get out of bed and go to work. Even as I type this I am contemplating how badly I need to go to work this evening. I am thinking that I made a mistake coming to work.  My body is now screaming at me. I need to go to sleep. I want to go back and go to bed.

But, I am not going back to bed.

Not now and not for at least a couple of hours. I am toughen it out. It is actually easier for me……

Well, days 6 and 7 were eaten by the cold. Completely eaten.  Nothing at all is left of day 7 and all that remains of day 6 is above.

By lunchtime, I forced myself to go home and rest. There was no point in pushing myself and there I have been for the last two days. In bed. In a sorted pjs and comfy clothes. The only part of I enjoyed was having a milkshake for lunch and getting to read whenever I wanted. The spirit was willing but the flesh was contaminated.

I could have and maybe should have stayed out and extra day.  But  I made it to the end of the day and I am back on track with my pages. Tomorrow’s page will be different than the previous days, less journal and more fiction.

Luke explaining to me why this is his side of the bed.
Luke explaining why staying in bed is good for me.

 

Contra

No power left to protest

only tears to weep

just trying to stick to the plan

the dream

the lie told to all children

come to bittersweet fruition

otherwise known as adulthood

If you’d like more information on Lucinda’s work subscribe to this blog, follow her on Twitter or like her page on Facebook.  Her new novella, Blood Child is available on Amazon.

Casting Off

I was a broken girl

tattered by the love you toss away

Used my scars and tears to build myself

Now

the past is gone and you still live there

calling of all my love obsession

no that’s right

and I would hate to miss quote you

all my love was just a delusion

a silly fantasy

nothing to cry to about

Just one more silly girl broken by your love

 

I was a broken girl

running from my heart ache

ran so much

ran straight into womanhood

left you behind

never really living

tell love found me begging

and I learn my to love myself

and say those magic words

taking my time rolling them off my tongue

 

No!

 

No!!

 

No!!!

 

They are so sweet to hear and

even sweeter to say

 

I was a broken girl

just a little thing cowering

from all the thorns you toss my way

twisted from my own need to be needed

Saying all the right words

but never understanding that my power lies

in my hips and lips

all fueled by

the soul that animates them

 

I am woman, rebuilt from all my heartbreaks

more than a lover, a thinker and action taker,

dancing through the rain of my own memories

splashing in every puddle and laughing all the way

knowing that when I stand up for myself

casting off the labels

casting off delusions

imposed or otherwise

I am the woman

I am meant to be