This is my favorite “scandalous poem” that I’ve written.  It’s the one that people have mistakenly interpretted to be about an affair.  As its author, I must again say that it is NOT!

I was reading a book by Debi Pearl called “Created to Be His Helpmeet.”

I’ll warn you:  it’s old-fashioned and controversial.    I don’t agree with everything in it, but I do believe that it gives an accurate portrayal of marriage and more importantly, what a woman can DO inside of what already seems like a hopeless marriage. 

It talks about all the stuff that young single women aren’t really supposed to know about yet.  Intimacy, sex, and betrayal and more importantly, how to cope with it all. 

In one section, she talks about loving a man so much that you practically worship him, and how Christian women feel guilty for loving a man this much when they feel like it is idolatry towards God.

I read it right after “he” got married.  I was determined to learn everything I could about marriage.   After loving that deeply, I honestly didn’t think I ever could love that deeply again.  ( I was young, heart-broken, and stupid, of course.)

Many passages made me feel such overwhelming sadness I could hardly handle it.  I remember finishing a portion and then sobbing uncontrollably.  I learned what I did wrong when it came to “him.”  I learned that I also did so many things right…

Debi wrote a poem about her relationship with her husband called “I am his water.”   My heart-broken self felt furious.   I wasn’t anyone’s “water” and I didn’t see how I ever could be.  I realize now that I am already Someone’s bride, and it’s a far more important role than any meger earthly relationship or covenant.   And so, I still had my pride.  A greater pride.

You can read Debi’s poem about her husband here:

www.myspace.com/LyneaTomlinson/blog/354007431

Here is what I wrote in response:

I feel I was your water

but now I’m just an ocean

without a name

And if I’m the ocean

then you

are the waves

They say the pain comes in waves

don’t they?

And as much as the ocean water

might envy

the quiet ripples of a Northern lake

The lake will never know

the passion of the ocean;

or the devastion

of tsunamis.

Nor will she ever be

as deep.

At least,

I’ll I’ll always have the waves;

constant

stubborn

tiny to terrifying

teasing me,

pushing me,

pulling me under

drowning me

in the sweet

music of memories

he and I both hear

in my un-named ocean.

At least until sunset

when he drags home

into the easy lake of suicide

that he chose.

And I , the ocean,

am left violently thrashing

from her persistent storm.

At least until the dawn breaks

and then the mourning.

Sunlight calms me down

and I shimmer

in the gleam of an early rainbow

so vivid with color

that even the waves

seem dull

and I’m reminded

that God

will never again

destroy the world with water.

***

So readers, tell me:
What do you think of the seductive powers of poetry?  Is most poetry powerful for you or does it bore you…or does it depend on the poem?

Has anyone else read “Created to Be His Helpmeet?”  What did you think of it?

What did you think of Debi Pearl’s poem?

What did you think of MY response poem?

Could you relate?

Let me know! 

The following poem, though not all that scandalous, is one of my absolute favorites that I’ve ever written.  It’s an imitation of another poem, “You can’t have it all” by Barbara Ras, and if you look at the original, you’ll be able to see the similarities:  http://www.smith.edu/poetrycenter/poets/youcanthaveitall.html

Of  course, I think mine is better.  Not that I’m biased or anything…

—

You can’t have me

But you can have the pine tree and its sweet sharp needles

that you can feel
when he falls asleep on your arm
and you’d rather die than move it to wake him. You can have
a four-year old with his blonde head in your lap on the church pew,
who, just like you, is sound asleep to the words of God.

You can have the scurrying of your sister’s pet gerbils
and the look from her goldfish that says, If I could live in your air
and you in my water I bet we wouldn’t take breathing for granted.

When it is October, you can have it abundantly so, color and pleasant cold
and sweetness don’t have to go away when the month ends.

You can have love, though it will often be exhausting
like watching the white walls of a hospital waiting room for hours on end.

You can have the life of the soul, shapeless and as searching as a blind mouse
in a maze for the stagnant cheese at the end.

But deep down, you know the maze doesn’t really end.
Deep down, you know you just grow
to love the search.

You can speak your native tongue, sometimes, and it can mean nothing.

You can visit the marker on the grave where she wept openly
and try to understand.

You can’t bring back the dead, but you can have the words try and chance hold hands

as if they really meant it.

And you can be grateful for honeysuckle lotion, and the way it rubs away the dryness and the itchy pain,

half fragrance, half remembering, grateful for Michael Bublé, his timeless voice sending Nanny and me
dancing the Charleston in syndicated rhythm.

Grateful

for a pair of jeans fresh out of the dryer, warm and tight against your cold skin,

and for warmer things, for blankets, for fire.

You can have the dream, the dream of Ireland, the sheep of Ireland and the shepherds

who are so protective,
you wish you were a lamb.

Ireland. Protection. Now that’s a dream.

You can have your mom and dad pray with you over your bed, at least for a little while,

You can have planes and post cards, and you and your words travelling thousands of miles
without so much as breaking a sweat,

and you can have Italian food
and red sauce
like sunset.

You can’t count on success to pick you out of a crowd, but here is your friend opportunity,

and here is a ballpoint pen,

to teach you words, sentences, paragraphs, prose.

Better yet, here is a pencil
with an eraser, to teach you
about mistakes, about trials

and here are daisies, puppies that smile, hopes as real as the throbbing headaches
keeping you up at 3 AM, staring out the black window, peeking at stars
that only twinkle
because of the swimming silent tears too stubborn to fall, to slide down your face

sting and relieve you.

And when adulthood fails you, you can still summon the memory of the brown rabbit hidden in the thick green
grass of your childhood,

the divinity candy your great-grandmother gave you,

along with the slim pink bible you just sacked
with the hamburger you bought for the homeless man.

There is the voice that you can still summon at will,
like that of your very first love; so pure, so brief,

but so real.

You can’t have me,
but there is all this.

So, readers, tell me:

Are you disappointed that this particular poem isn’t more scandalous?

What did you think of the original poem?

What did you think of my imitation?

What did you think of the photos I chose to go along with some of the images within the poem?

Let me know!

She’s getting her Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. 

I have my Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing.

What is the only thing I do with my uber-expensive degree?

I blog.

Yep, that’s where 6.5 years,  thousands of dollars, hours in classes, and millions of tears have taken me. 

 All of those things didn’t take me to a fabulous writing career (do those exist?) but to a hobby that I had undertook long before college. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. 

I don’t sit down to write and do the work. 

I am completely to blame for my non-existant-fabulous-writing-career, thank-you-very-much.

 I respect the hard-core writers out there so much.  The ones who actively seek writing work, who plant their bottoms to chairs, and write…even if the perfect words aren’t coming.  (They rarely do.)

I always thought writing would kind of be my side-thing anyway. 

I feel safe in the arms of my corporate job;  with a regular 40-hour work week, health insurance, and weekends off.  It’s all very delicious really, though I wish the pay was better…

My point is that unlike my friend, I wouldn’t feel right spending more money to learn how to write.  

I wonder what kinds of things I would learn in Grad School about Creative Writing.  How to further refine my writing style?   More ways to get paid for writing?   I guess I’ll never know…

Anyway, my friend puts her poetry up on her blog.  I love the way she thinks.  It’s all very searching and philosophical.  And we all know I love searching and philosophical type-things…

I realized, I’m still not sure if I want someone I know in real life reading this blog. 

I love feeling open and unjudged about my food obsessions and hoarding and insecurities and various other random thoughts…

But I realized, I have some really good poetry that I wrote about that one guy, and since I felt like it was a little too intense to share on my public blogs or facebook why not share it on my “private blog?”

You see, the irony in writing and sharing your writing with the world is that it involves a great deal of courage.  Some one out there is going to read your honest, raw, vulnerable thoughts and judge the crap out of you.  

That’s just how it is. 

Truly honest writing is always somewhat scandalous, if you ask me. 

Vulnerability is scandalous.   

Various desires and various lingering pains are scandalous.  

But, at least they are genuine. 

I’d rather have a little scandal, then a little lie any day…

So, I’ve said all that to say that I’ve decided to publish my more scandalous poems on this here blog.

So much of poetry is images that aid in eliciting emotions.  So much of poetry is imagination.  So much of poetry is story-telling and reflection.

Image credit:  http://ffc521f1101.blog.ryerson.ca/files/2011/10/IL131.jpg

People have mistaken my more scandalous poems to mean that the speaker of the poem is involved in an affair, but honestly, I would never write about that, because the idea of it repulses me.

But does my imagination wonder what an affair would feel like, what it would feel like to be cheated on, what it would feel like to have cheated and feel the sickening sting of remorse?  

Yes, yes it does.  

As a 27-year-old virgin, I’m not sure why my imagination wonders that, but maybe it’s just because I feel like my heart has been emotionally cheated on, and that I have “cheated” others as well, just in less overt ways.  

and so…stay tuned for Itsmeandthemoon’s Scandalous Poetry Files.   and don’t get too excited, because I wouldn’t give any of them anything more than a PG-13 rating.

I said “scandalous” not “gross.”

So, readers, tell me:

 - Do any of you out there have a Master’s or Doctorate in Creative Writing?  How do you feel about your experience?  Worth it?  Not worth it?  Worth it if you’re actually willing to plant your bottom down and write?

- Does any one else feel the need to keep their blogs somewhat private, due to the embarassing nature of its contents?  Or am I just a cowardly freak?

-Do you find that honest writing involves a great deal of courage on your part, especially if you intend to get your writing published?  

If you do, allow me to recommend a great book “The Courage To Write” by Ralph Keyes.  It’s one of my favorite books on writing ever, because I feel like it’s the only one that delved into murky waters of overcoming fear when writing honestly

- Are you still out there, readers?  I miss you.  I know I haven’t been the best reader myself lately, but this post is my attempt to lure you back into my proverbial arms, feed you Turkish Delight, and have you absolutely smitten with my postitos.  

(Sorry, had to steal that from you, Mikalee!    http://mikaleebyerman.wordpress.com/2011/12/13/on-the-twelfth-day-of-christmas-my-blog-friends-got-to-see-this-post/)

So…enjoy these next few days of my old and more scandalous poetry…

Admit it. 

All you can think is “oh goody!” and “yum!”

Due to my own jaded bitterness or cynicism about marriage or SOMETHING, I haven’t been able to truly enjoy many weddings. 

I enjoyed this one. 

I enjoyed this one thoroughly.

It was God-glorifying, humble, beautiful, and FUN, just like the two kiddos entering the marriage union.  I look up to them, even though they are younger than me.  They dated for four years before taking the plunge.   I feel like this was a smart, slow, and wise decision on their part. 

Here is a picture of me and the happy couple:

I feel like I look a little awkward/hunched over in this picture.  Oh well…

Here are the boys, all lined up in blue:

 Aren’t they cute?  And wearing converse sneakers, no less…

Here are some pictures of me and some more boys:

I love boys. 

I love girls, too.

Here’s one of my friend and me.  I think she’s so pretty! 

Here’s another one.  I feel like my body looks really weird in this picture.  Like, hers is perfectly portioned, and mine is all wide and big or something…

 Speaking of wide and big, and since I have a fixation with food, here is what I’ve had to eat today:

1.  Cloverhill Bakery Cheese Danish.  From the vending machine at work.  Microwaved.  It was kind of amazing…

2.  Two slices of Dominoe’s pepperoni pizza. 

It was provided to us for FREE at work from AutoNation Direct.  Check them out here:  http://autonationdirect.com/BuyOnline/ 

3.  Oh.  and some green tea.  Antioxidants, baby! 

As a result, I need to have an intense workout.  Oh.  And eat nothing but this for the next two weeks:

Just kidding.

Well, kind of…

How about you?

What’s the best wedding you’ve ever been to and what made it the best wedding you’ve ever been to?

How do you feel about boys in blue? 

How do you feel about boys in general?

Do you struggle with body image? 

Do you pig out on cheese danishes and pepperoni pizza to cope?

I do…

Would you eat the garden, or are you like me thinking: “it’s just too darn pretty to eat!”

Let me know! 

Here’s a picture of the early hours of one of the THREE New Year’s Eve parties I was invited to attend.   I feel pretty proud of the fact that I was invited to three parties, just sayin…

I call it “Crossed Arms”

I wasn’t feeling well, so I ended up leaving at 9:30 and going to bed.

How’s that for a way to bring in the New Year with a bang?

Personally, I made a lot of resolutions or, as certain other people like to call them, intentions.

“I intend” is a much softer statement than “I resolve” and for people on the low motivation spectrum such as myself, intentions sound less grueling in the long run.

And you know, what’s the point unless you’re going to go in for the long run?

To give an update to my subscribers, I cleaned out my messy car before the whirlwind Christmas trip to Atlanta, but alas, it has grown messy again, so I don’t have any “after” pictures to share with you all just yet.

As far as my room, I did a ton of laundry, but the room still needs work. I want to decorate it more and make it feel more like my own personal space.

One thing I did manage to do was clean my messy bathroom! Yay for baby steps, right?

When making and keeping New Year’s Resolutions, it is always a good idea to have a motivating factors to keep you on track.

One of my FIRST New Year’s resolutions is to be more hospitable.

Now, that might seem like a vague and large idea resolution to make, and it is.

A key to keeping New Year’s resolutions is to make them very specific.

So, my more specific resolution is to make dinner for a family or group of people at least once a weekend.

Having people over that you are trying to impress is a HUGE motivator to get things clean and keep them clean, which is my SECOND New Year’s resolution.

While I did manage to clean my bathroom for the group of 15 people I had for dinner over the weekend, I did forget a couple of crucial details.

All night, people were in and out of my bathroom. At the end of the night, after everyone had left, I had to use the bathroom myself.

I’m wondering why no one bothered to tell me that I forgot to put a fresh hand towel or paper towels in there.

Bless their hearts, and their wet hands…

Also, I left THE grodiest pair of shoes that I own in the bathroom.

I’m sure that really impressed the handful of cute guys that used my bathroom.

To make myself feel better, I had to take one of those super-annoying mirror pictures where people can tell what they look like so they can make sure they look good and then post them as their profile pictures on myspace and facebook. Ew. This picture is making fun of that phenomenon.

*Sigh*

So, how are things going with me and that one guy?

Slowly and surely, just how I like it.

You see, I’m diversifying my accounts in dating.

Or, to put it another way, I’m not putting all my eggs into one basket, or into one guy, if you will.

This accomplishes three things:

A. It keeps me from obsessing over that one guy or ANY guy

B. It ups my chances at learning from different guys about different guys, AND most importantly…

C. It ups my chances of learning more about MYSELF!   What I like in a man, what I don’t like, and which types of different personalities compliment me best.   Diversifying your accounts when it comes to guys is FUN. :)

 I’m also interested in a couple of really cute musicians. One of them has been a really good friend to my baby cousin. The other is someone I met back in 2008.

I like him because he is a good old country boy. He laughs at everything I say in the “you’re-genuinely-funny” kind of way, as opposed to the “you’re-funny-to-laugh-at” kind of way.

Also, my aunt has known him since he was a baby and loves him.

I’ve been very impressed by the spiritual things I’ve heard about him.

And he’s had his heart-broken too, which I absolutely love.

He wrote this poignant song called “Weight of the World” and it is seriously one of my favorite songs ever.

Check out the Barren River Trio here:  http://www.barrenrivertrio.com and listen to their music here: http://www.reverbnation.com/#!/artist/artist_songs/1309867

Their sound is diverse, so give a few songs a listen before you give up on them. Personally, I love them!

—

My THIRD resolution, which kind of goes hand and hand with my first two is to cook a meal for a group of people once every weekend.

I wanted to share the recipe I used for the fifteen people I had over to eat on Sunday night.

 It’s called Max and Erma’s Chicken Tortilla Soup.

Apparently, Max & Erma’s is a restaurant chain? http://www.maxandermas.com/

I’ve never been there.   Have you?

Anyway, here’s the recipe for Max and Erma’s Chicken Tortilla Soup: 

• 2 (10 1/2 ounce) cans cream of mushroom soup

• 2 (10 1/2 ounce) cans cream of chicken soup

• 2 (10 1/2 ounce) cans cream of celery soup

• 2 (10 1/2 ounce) cans cheddar cheese soup

• 2 (15 ounce) cans chicken broth

• 1 (15 ounce) can diced tomatoes

• 1 cup salsa (chunky)

• 1 (4 1/2 ounce) can diced green chilies

• 1 onion , chopped

• 1/4 cup fresh cilantro , chopped

• 4 garlic cloves , minced

• 1 teaspoon red chili powder

• salt , to taste

• pepper , to taste

• 4 chicken breasts , cooked and chopped

Directions: Add all to large pot. Bring to a boil and simmer 1 hour. Can be topped with fresh cilantro, avocado slices, grated cheese, sliced limes, or tortilla strips.

This soup is even better after simmering in the crockpot for a day! Here are some pictures of my results:

My other resolutions include getting up at 6 every morning to take a 30 minute walk, read and study my bible every day,

( If you use The One Year Bible like I do, a great daily study guide can be found here:  http://web.me.com/life_ministry/OYB/Blog/Archive.html),

and type up a prayer journal entry every night.

Does it sound like a lot?

It is.

But I’ve been keeping up so far!

Besides the cleaning of my car and room, of course.  *Ahem.*

Baby steps, people.   Baby steps.

I’ve already made progress and I feel really happy right now!

How about YOU?

What did you do for New Year’s Eve?

What are your resolutions?

What do you think of my clean bathroom and/or my grody shoes?

Did you give the Barren River Trio a listen?

Did you like them?

Did you try the Max & Erma Chicken Tortilla Soup recipe?

Did you like it?

Let me know!

Did you go to church?

Sleep in, make brunch, watch movies?

Get woken up by your children at 4am and want to smack them and then want to smooch them because of their giddy, childish appreciation?

Play board games?

Assemble a jigsaw puzzle?

Work and hate on the general public?

Feel lonely?

Feel like you would give anything to just to get to be alone?

Wonder what everyone else in the world was doing on Christmas day?

Witness sad and homeless people?

Felt a cold chill, be it physical or emotional?

Anxiously awaited the end of another hyped-up holiday?

In spite of my anxiety, my Christmas trip to Atlanta was absolutely wonderful, if not somewhat exhausting and fast! 

 My friend, (we’ll call her Marla), drove up with me for the eight hours up to Atlanta on Friday night after work.

This accomplished two things:

1. I wouldn’t have to make the long drive by myself alone to arrive in Atlanta at 2:30 in the morning. (I generally am not at my most alert at that hour.) and…

2. So that Marla would not have to spend Christmas alone.

Her family lives out in Idaho (read: literally 2,804 miles away from where we live in Florida) and this would be her first Christmas away from them.

Since Marla is one of my best friends and I so know how that whole working around Christmas time and being pretty much alone feels, I thought it would be nice for her to get adopted by my family for the long weekend.

(Yay for her! She managed to get those 3 days off from work!)

It was really nice. She is an amazing pianist, and she frequently shared her music with us.

Something about showing your family to “an outsider” really makes you appreciate them. It also helps that they tend to be on their best behavior knowing “an outsider” is there to share the holidays.

Has anyone else been a visitor with another family during the holidays for whatever reason?

How did you feel?

What did you do to acclimate?

Marla and I ended up at my grandparent’s condo at around 2:45AM on Friday night/Saturday morning.

Even though I don’t feel the same about their condo as I did about the comfortable house where we would spend a lovely week about three times a year growing up, whenever I visit my grandparents home, I always sense an overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety.

(My grandma sending off my grandpa to on some last minute errands early on Christmas Eve morning.)

Unlike my mother, my grandparents were never concerned if I ate too much. In fact, they were more concerned that I might eat too little. I always felt fed and nurtured at my grandparents.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother did feed us growing up, but she placed way too much emphasis on maintaining a slender figure and therefore I somewhat felt deprived when it came to food.

When I “grow up” and hopefully have my own family, food is going to be viewed as fuel and nutrition.

It will be something that my children understand as the energy that will help their bodies function at their best. I never want my children to feel deprived just so that they can obtain some kind of physical ideal whose sole purpose is look good to others, and specifically to those of the opposite sex when they become teenagers.

I want my children to be healthy and happy, and of course, I never want them to become obsessed with food!

How did you feel about food growing up?

Did you ever feel deprived because certain foods or larger amounts of food were kept from you?

Did you ever binge later on in life because of difficult financial situations growing up?

 —

Besides feeling nurtured physically at my grandparent’s home, I also always felt nurtured emotionally and spiritually.

They are old-fashioned and God-fearing.

Christmas is not a big deal to them, simply because they dedicate their entire lives to serving God.

*bookshelf filled with hymn books*

To them, it would be silly to remember Him in a special way on just one day.

They remember Him every day, and pray to Him several times a day, and try their very best to love other people as He first loved us.

That is yet another reason why I feel so safe when I am with them.

God isn’t just called upon in desperate times of trouble in this home; rather He is called upon and thanked all the time.

He lives there, and to me, there is no safer place then where my loving, powerful God lives.

The entire side of my Dad’s family are all bible-following Christians.

My dad is in a genealogical line of four generations of preachers.

I realize this is kind of unusual.

But I also realize that this is kind of cool.

Throughout the Bible, readers are told that God blesses His followers trickling down to several generations.

(In this photograph of two photographs, the picture below is of my grandparents last two grandchildren.  The picture above is of their very first great-grandchild.)

He gives one condition: as long as they follow His commandments, He will bless them.

While that might sound legalistic to some of you, if you closely examine the Bible, you will see clearly that God also showed mercy to some very mistake-making humans!

(He understands that we will stumble many times. But He can help us obtain a better way of life! Take a look at Hagar, Abraham, and the woman at the well for just a slim picking of biblical examples!)

 Let me just say that none of the men in my family are perfect. But they are all humble and try to learn from their mistakes.

It is my personal belief that God can do absolutely anything with a humble heart!

How about you?

Agree?

Disagree?

Not sure?

How have you been affected by your family’s religious convictions?

Do you feel isolated from them because your convictions are vastly different? Do you feel connected to them because you have found truth in the traditions of your forefathers and foremothers?

Do you hate all-things-religious thanks to some bad experiences growing up?

Let me know!

In my opinion, everyone needs written directions. My aunt gave these to us.

And God gave the Bible to us, so that we might know where, how, why, and when to go…

I find that vulnerability and honesty are what draw people to you.  Pretending not to have struggles and covering up who you truly are only resolves to push people farther away.

So, I want to give a huge THANK YOU to all of you readers and new suscribers!  It makes me feel SUPER happy just knowing you are out there!

In the spirit of non-obsession, I want to focus on things I’m passionate about; women, self-esteem, poetry, and photography.

Speaking of women, let’s talk about Adele.  I love Adele.   At this point, who DOESN’T love Adele?  She started out as an Indy Princess and is now a queen of the radio. 

 Image Credit:  http://www.billboard.com/news/adele-s-someone-like-you-atop-hot-100-passes-1005405372.story#/news/adele-s-someone-like-you-atop-hot-100-passes-1005405372.story

Admittedly, her songs have gotten a little too much playtime on stations.  I hate when that happens to genuinely good music. 

Does anyone else agree with me on this, or could you hear this song a million times and never grow tired of it?

Speaking of songs by Adele that have gotten a little too much playtime, I think everyone would agree with me that “Someone like You” has entered that land of too much playtime and I don’t think it plans on leaving anytime soon.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I feel like most women can relate to the sentiments of this particular song.  Whether she is thinking of a good guy she rejected in the past, someone she loved who rejected her, or just that amazing guy that she never had the opportunity to get to know, a woman can certainly relate to that feeling of wondering if she’ll find “Someone like You.”

Lately, however, whenever I hear this song, I just want to scream! 

I want to sit Adele down in a dimly lit coffee shop while it’s raining outside, like she’s my best friend.  I want us to both be wearing soft gray or black or brown sweaters and I want us both to be in the mood to open our hearts to each other, like we’ve been the best of friends for countless years.

I want to look into her eyes and tell her;

“Adele, you are so amazing, gorgeous, and talented.  This stupid married guy that you keep pining over is an absolute IDIOT for not choosing to be with you.  You WILL find someone like him, and most likely, someone even BETTER than him.  He’s married, hon.  Stop pining.  Just let it go…”

And then she would nod slowly, thank me for being such a good, honest friend, and go on to write a best-selling single about the NOT-MARRIED-BETTER-MAN that pursued the crap out of her so that she simply could not resist his over-whelming love for her and that made her completely forget Mr. Someone-Like-You.

This will never happen, of course.  But I can dream…

—

I have this passion for poetry that I haven’t shared with any guy that I’ve ever cared deeply about. 

I’m not sure why I’ve never cared deeply for a guy who was as into poetry as I am (do I feel like he’s way too similar to me?), but I kind of love it, because poetry has always been an aspect of my life that is completely and entirely my own.

 I never feel detached from it when my heart gets broken.  If anything, I only feel more deeply seduced by it when I’m feeling vulnerable and alone. 

It has been my comfort and my escape, and I hope that it continues to be.

How about you?  What’s something that is solely yours and stays with you no matter what happens in your relationships? 

Is it music? 

Art? 

Sports? 

Bible stories? 

The color blue? 

What keeps you grounded when you’re sharing so much of yourself with another person?

I recently recalled this poem that comforted me greatly during a hard time.  It is absolutely vivid, haunting, and perplexing.  Enjoy!

Aristotle

BY BILLY COLLINS

This is the beginning.
Almost anything can happen.
This is where you find
the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,
the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.
Think of an egg, the letter A,
a woman ironing on a bare stage
as the heavy curtain rises.
This is the very beginning.
The first-person narrator introduces himself,
tells us about his lineage.
The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.
Here the climbers are studying a map
or pulling on their long woolen socks.
This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.
The profile of an animal is being smeared
on the wall of a cave,
and you have not yet learned to crawl.
This is the opening, the gambit,
a pawn moving forward an inch.
This is your first night with her,
your first night without her.
This is the first part
where the wheels begin to turn,
where the elevator begins its ascent,
before the doors lurch apart.

This is the middle.
Things have had time to get complicated,
messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.
Cities have sprouted up along the rivers
teeming with people at cross-purposes—
a million schemes, a million wild looks.
Disappointment unshoulders his knapsack
here and pitches his ragged tent.
This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,
where the action suddenly reverses
or swerves off in an outrageous direction.
Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph
to why Miriam does not want Edward’s child.
Someone hides a letter under a pillow.
Here the aria rises to a pitch,
a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.
And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge
halfway up the mountain.
This is the bridge, the painful modulation.
This is the thick of things.
So much is crowded into the middle—
the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,
Russian uniforms, noisy parties,
lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall—
too much to name, too much to think about.

And this is the end,
the car running out of road,
the river losing its name in an ocean,
the long nose of the photographed horse
touching the white electronic line.
This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,
the empty wheelchair,
and pigeons floating down in the evening.
Here the stage is littered with bodies,
the narrator leads the characters to their cells,
and the climbers are in their graves.
It is me hitting the period
and you closing the book.
It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen
and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.
This is the final bit
thinning away to nothing.
This is the end, according to Aristotle,
what we have all been waiting for,
what everything comes down to,
the destination we cannot help imagining,
a streak of light in the sky,
a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

What are your thoughts on this poem? Personally, I’m in love with it.  If I could marry it and have its proverbial babies, I would.

For some reason, I wanted a black and white photograph of a bridge to accompany this poem.  I love roads and bridges, specifically because they take you from one place to another.  While you are on a road or bridge, you are in a kind of delightful limbo of not knowing, but simply enjoying the moment.

Image Credit:  http://www.wineonthekeyboard.com/2008/02/15/black-and-white-challenge/

 Any other bridge fans out there?

In case you were wondering, I barely got any cleaning or anyTHING done last night, because when I came home, my roommate and her friend were in the middle of a Taylor Swift party. 

 They wore Taylor Swift T-shirts.

 They watched her Tour DVD.

They drank sparkling grape juice and proceeded to girl crush all over Taylor.

And let’s be honest.   It’s difficult not to girl crush all over Taylor.  I mean, she’s so real, you know?

What are your thoughts on Taylor Swift?  Love her?  Hate her?  Feel nothing but sheer apathy towards her?

Let me know!

He worked hard to get her attention, not knowing that he had already had it since pretty much the beginning.

At some point, they grew closer.

She proceeded to freak out, get scared, and push him away in a manner that was oh-so-subtle.

He grew confused and insecure.

He was in high demand with other girls and he knew it, so he tried to move on.

 She wouldn’t let him.

She grew brave, cleaned up her mistakes, and opened herself back up, even though she was terrified.

He paid attention again, but it was like they had to start over and rebuild what she had torn down.

She hopes that she hasn’t ruined something that could have been completely wonderful…

 — Folks, this story is about me, and this is where we are at the moment.

You see, I’ve never called anyone my boyfriend.

I’m 27, reasonably attractive, and quite wonderful.

Yet I feel humiliated to admit this truth.

Though my parents have been married for 30+ years, I’ve never seen marriage as a good thing. I’ve heard of more problems, heartaches, and terrible situations than I’ve heard of any joys, teamwork, and blessings.

I’ve seen my friends make what I consider hasty and unwise decisions when it comes to marriage.

I’ve had my heart ripped open watching a man I loved marry someone else, suspecting strongly that he had serious feelings for me, but never feeling secure enough in myself to “know” for sure.

I’ve been to months of counseling about my “issues.” I’ve read books, blogs, purchased self-help programs, and most of all prayed-like-crazy trying to figure out why I can’t seem to let a guy get close to me without majorly pushing him away and breaking both his and my own hearts.

I found my answer through relationship expert, Rori Raye.

I totally have a girl crush on her, (read about girl crushes here: http://www.divinecaroline.com/22052/107245-she-s-that-girl-crushes) or maybe I just secretly wish that she was my Mom…

Anyway, I found the answer to my “issues” stated simply and heart-breakingly in one of Rori Raye’s blog posts.

Here, my friends, is the answer to all of my questions about myself:

“You are extremely attracted to people who reject you. It seems that the more you are told that you are not right for that person, the more you want to prove them wrong. You may even begin a process of changing who you are in order to become more like what you think that person wants. When you meet someone who is attracted to you and likes you for who you are, you are not interested in that person. You may even feel that person is not worthy of being with you as it would be too easy to start a relationship with them. You prefer a challenge and like the chase, but lose interest when you get the prize.

In the last scenario the problem lies with a sense of worthlessness and an inability to receive.

This person seeks that rejection because that is what they feel inside. Often times when they are in relationship with the person who does love them for who they are, they will sabotage the relationship to prove that they were not worthy of receiving love and acceptance. The desire to prove themselves worthy to the person who rejects them is really a desire to prove to themselves that they are worthy.”

Read more here: http://blog.havetherelationshipyouwant.com/attraction/self-acceptance-is-the-key-to-feeling-loved

Keep in mind, I most definitely DO NOT agree with everything that this particular blog site suggests, promotes, or implies.

Because of my moral stance on things (and I believe that my moral stance has saved me from SO MUCH heartache, though admittedly, not all…) there are certain things that I will and will not “do” in non-marital relationships.

However, most of Rori’s advice has been absolutely invaluable to me, and I highly recommend her, especially if you are at a horrible, vulnerable, and seemingly hopeless emotional stage in your life.

I may or not have been at a horrible, vulnerable, and seemingly hopeless emotional stage in my life.

Within the past year, I was therapist/self-diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

No, I do not feel the need to wash my hands 300 times a day.

 Rather, I’m kind of a slob.

I can be rather disgusting.

I am, as the website suggested, a hoarder.

I feel extremely comforted being surrounded by messiness, and cleanliness and order tend to make me feel empty, uncomfortable, and stressed.

I know, I’m weird.

But it’s a real deal! Check out some of my issues here: http://understanding_ocd.tripod.com/ocd_symptoms.html

I love this website because it categorizes and includes many symptoms that are not known or typically thought of when discussing OCD.

Now that you’ve read that, I need it to be known that I have A TON of cleaning to do before I leave for my trip tomorrow after work. To give you an idea…

I feel humiliated sharing these, but the bottom line is that I’m tired of hiding my struggles and I’m tired of hiding who I am.

So, I’m “coming out” to you, my blog readers who don’t know me, first, in hopes that it will give me some kind of courage to “come out” to people who know me in real life, but only on the level that I will let them see.

Just to prove to myself and to you, that this is not a hopeless situation, I plan to post “after” pictures, hopefully by tomorrow because “There is only one part of your life that you cannot change; your past.”

I know that it may or may not work out with the guy I wrote about it in my introduction.

He is amazing, from what I can tell.

He has pretty much already told me that he likes me (late at night in the car on the way back from a road trip.)

That resulted in what was “I kid-you-not” a full-blown panic attack on my part.

(You would think I would feel giddy, happy, and excited kinda like he seemed to be as he realized I like him too, but no…)

I prayed so hard, dug deep, re-read things that had helped me, and tried not to obsess.

Difficult for someone who is not on medication with OCD, let me tell you…

 Regardless of whether or not this works out, I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I will be okay.

If my heart breaks again, it might even be good for me.

 I will grieve.

I will learn.

And I will grow into an even more amazing young woman…

—

He and I were in a large crowd of crazy people one night, watching a historical reenactment, and I was amazed at how kooky the people were behaving.

I just kept looking around and muttering: “People are nuts. People are so crazy. MAN, people are crazy!”

He turned around and looked at me with his big blue eyes and empathetic understanding of OCD (I overheard once that he has it too.)

And he said; “Leah, WE are people.”

I think that was the moment I really fell for him…

—

So, readers, if you got through all that, tell me:

A. Did YOU ever have an insecurity panic attack when entering a new relationship?

B. What do you think of Rori Raye? Any girl crushes developing? How about wish-she-was-my-mother complexes?

C. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst, how bad is my current grodiness?

D. Or, on a scale of 1-10, how much do you love the word “grody”?

It’s such a 10 for me!

Oh well.  You don’t care, right?

Today is just one of those days that I NEED to write/blog/reflect.

—

Did you know that I once referred toFlorida(where I’ve lived for the past 6 years of my life) as the armpit ofAmerica? 

—

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about where I am and why I’m here.

Why am I still in Florida? 

Why isn’t my life moving in a more forward direction?   (hint:  it’s my fault.)

What exactly am I supposed to be doing in my life right now? 

Why did I stay here again?

 Before, I always had “big important” reasons.

 First, it was finishing school. 

 Image credit:  https://fyc.usf.edu/FYCRubric/

And then, the reasons became more relational.

 I wanted to support a friend through a difficult time.

 I couldn’t leave my baby Christian sister to fend for herself.

 And now? 

 I’m not sure what my reason for staying here is.

 I know I don’t like change and that I don’t like to move.  (though I love travelling and coming home again.)

I still miss New Jersey, the northeast, my city kids, my home congregation, my family.

 A huge part of me wants to embrace my freedom, to try to make a new place my home, to feel that acute and desperate dependency on God that comes in that unique way when you start all over again in a new place.

—

 I look at my married friends and their new babies.

I long to be a mother, and yet I’m terrified of being a mother.  I wonder if I have what it takes…

Sometimes I feel like I long to be a mother more than I long to be married.  But of course I won’t do the former without the latter…

—

Sometimes life flies by so fast; it’s like a car speeding by, whooshing past you.

In the driver’s seat is someone you love who has just left you forever, and you realize with finality that it’s pretty much your fault.

The weird thing is that you don’t even realize he’s gone until you feel the aftermath of the speed. 

Specifically, you suddenly feel the chill in the air.  You feel the stillness. 

You’re only half-aware, as though you’re dreaming. 

You sense the slowing down of the spinning, spiraling, disturbed leaves as they fall slowly back onto the road.

And you wake up.   

—

Reality is a welcome change from dreamland. 

It’s vivid and real and piercing the senses. 

You can see, hear, touch, taste and smell again. 

You are in the now, and now is all that has ever mattered.

—

I spent the evening alone again last night, but I didn’t feel lonely.

I felt comfortable, cozy, open, and beautiful. 

I drove to Starbucks and splurged on the most delectable Peppermint Hot Chocolate I have ever had.   Not sure why it was the best one I’ve ever had, but I promise, it was…

Image credit:  http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lv7zzgD2uC1r3yj5ro1_500.jpg

I rode around the local neighborhoods in the 60-degree air, admiring the Christmas lights and anticipating my trip toAtlantathis weekend, with all of my fears, anxieties, anticipations and excitements regarding yet another whirlwind trip up there.   

And I realized that I still don’t know much of anything.  I’ve forgotten so much of what I thought I’d figured out.  And I realized that it’s okay.  Because as long as I’ll admit that I don’t know, then that is as long as I’ll be open to learning.   

And it never ends…

OH MAN.  

 I forgot to post yesterday.  

Here, I’ll make it up to you…

Look, a Christmas lights display!  EVERYONE loves a Christmas lights display?  Right?  Right?

Look!  A fuzzy felt Christmas card!  EVERYONE loves fuzzy felt Christmas cards?  Right?  Right?

I’ve decided that I am incapable of keeping the blogging goals that I set. 

Readers, I ask you, what importance is there in setting and keeping blogging goals?  

All it does it make you feel good about yourself when you keep them. 

I feel pretty good about myself.  I mean, most of the time.

Setting and keeping blogging goals also maintains readership to this here blog. 

Speaking of readers, I love you, guys.  

I know that we’ve never met. 

 So, how can I possibly love you? 

Well, when I started this blog, I wanted to re-discover who I really was.  

 I didn’t want to be paranoid about a reading audience who personally knew me in real life.  

 I didn’t want to have to filter or censor or feel guilty about all of my thoughts and feelings.  

Wait, why would I feel guilty about all my thoughts and feelings? 

Why would I need to censor anything? 

There is nothing wrong with who I am! 

I am a beautiful, complicated, spacey, caffeinated, silmuntaneously shallow and deep woman.  

And you know what else?   

I genuinely enjoyed reading the Twilight series!

   I don’t know why I’m embarassed to admit that!

  New Moon was one of the single most comforting books I’ve ever read. 

 It spoke to me, right where I was, back in the Fall of 2008.  

The way Stephanie Meyer described heartache? 

She like, understands, yo. 

“Time passes.  Even when it seems impossible.  Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise.  It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does.  Even for me.”

And you know what else I’m not afraid to admit? 

I still, I mean still, have a hard time watching the scenes in New Moon where Bella is having nightmares and wakes up screaming and crying.  I seriously cannot watch them without tearing up.  I love how her Dad, Charlie, tries to comfort her, even though it is clear he doesn’t understand her pain.

It’s 9:37 at night on a Saturday in Tampa, Florida. 

I’m alone in my condo.  

My grandparents, and this lady that I don’t even know sent me checks in the mail tucked inside truly lovely greeting cards. 

 The note that the lady I don’t know sent me made me cry. 

She was talking about how much my grandfather means to her, and about how much he helped her son.

I’ve been feeling so weird towards my Dad lately. 

I wish he was there more growing up. 

 The bottom line is that he was there, more than a lot of Dads out there.  

The bottom line is that he tried. 

The bottom line is that all of that is in the past. 

 No matter what is happening now, no matter what I’m feeling now.  

No matter how much I miss him, even now.  

 He’s over 100o miles away in New Jersey, but we can call, we can write, email, he can read my non-anonymous blog, and we can facebook.

 I don’t know why I have so much pain inside of me, but God, I need to let it go.

I’ve been watching entirely too much Gilmore Girls today.   Season 5.  The plot circles around relationships, heartache, and snow.

I miss snow.

You know how I said that that thing where guys who have girlfriends suddenly really want to hang out with me when their girlfriends are out of town? 

Well, it happened this year too. 

I should’ve knocked on wood.  

But, instead of stuffing my feelings down and becoming ridiculously angry for something that really only upsets me because it happened with a guy that I really loved and the woman to whom he is now married, I just talked to the guy about it. 

 And I think it went okay. 

It is always better to talk about it when feelings and events are fresh, I have learned.  

I have a beautiful older sister, did you know that?

I love her probably more than I love most people in this entire world.

I lose my faith sometimes too.  Did you know that?

Yesterday, I didn’t blog, but I kept listening to this song.