I can be the life of the party on the dance floor, or in the yoga studio, but when the lights are out and I’m at home alone, I feel lonely and unmotivated.  Whatever it is, it’s hard to get started.  The book I was going to read, the papers I was going to organize, the laundry I was going to do, they all wait.  Not all the time, but enough.

Today I was fully motivated when I woke up, but by the time I ate breakfast it was gone.  All I had was a smoothie so it shouldn’t have bogged my digestive system down.  That being said, I did go out and dance the night away and got to bed far too late.  Anyway, my list included meditation, swimming, hiking, and writing.  I did go on a lovely hike.  And, I did, and am, writing.  My state of being changes so much.  Maybe I will track it morning, noon, and night to look for patterns.  I am such a chameleon.  What I want to do with my life changes daily.  Sometimes I have trouble starting things and transitions are hard for me.  When I am doing one thing I can be totally there and in love with what I am doing.  But when it comes time to do the next thing, it is tough to switch gears.

It is a lovely cool night.  Feels like fall.  There is a sweet gentle rain and as usual the balcony door is open letting in my dear friend, the breeze.  I just remembered I need to check my bank account balance to make sure there is enough money in there for the rent check I wrote yesterday.  I am sitting on my couch with a blanket over my legs. My income is very limited right now as my ex stopped maintenance payments saying he couldn’t afford to pay since switching jobs and we had talked about it ending after two years.  That’s okay.  I just have to figure out this supporting myself thing which I have never in my life done, so it seems incomprehensible to me.  I am currently teaching 9 classes but some are not full enough.  Not enough to earn a living on.  So I am living largely off the sale of my home but that will only last so long and I don’t want to deplete it.  I am back to deciding what I want to do and how I want to live my life.  I know I don’t want to work a crazy number of hours.  And 40 might be crazy!  I don’t know yet.  I know I love variety.  So maybe several jobs will feel more up my alley.  : )

I am going to go check out Mr. Money Mustache’s page for some advice on living the life you want without working very much and Ok Cupid for my latest message.

So happy you are still out there after my long absence.  I will try to get back in the groove and connect with all of you out there in cyberspace to play catch up.

With love,


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“If we look at it in this way, nibbana is here and now.  It’s not an attainment in the future.  The reality is here and now.”

Ajahn Sumedho


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My Cats are Thugs


My cats are thugs.

I awoke this morning to the two of them ricocheting off of my headboard, then my bookshelves, then around again.  A very effective strategy to get me up for their 6:00 a.m. feeding.  I guess they were thinking~ it’s a tag-team kind of day.  I will have to admit, it was a very impressive and innovative approach to a wake-up call.

I gave them a 10, then wondered, “What in the hell can I throw at them to get them to stop?!”

My teddy bear in hand, (yes I still sleep with a teddy bear) this seemed the most logical choice.  I slung Ted by the leg, just missing Carley.  It worked.  Momentarily. Those two can be relentless.  So I caved.  All the while worrying I was reinforcing this invidious behavior, yet seeing no way around it, if I wanted more sleep.  So, that was that.  A little scoop of canned chicken deposited into two little white bowls, and all peace was restored.

I melted back into the softness, sandwiched between two fleece blankets.  Aaaah, heaven.  Fading in and out of that delicious space between sleep and wake.  Do you know that place?

The window open.  A delicate breeze brushing up against my soft skin.  The intoxicating scent of fresh morning air, complete with birdsong.  This is when, and where, I know that heaven exists.

My thoughts were on my dream lover, as I rested, nestled into my little cocoon.  My dreams had put me in the bed of a much younger man.  I was an older woman in a teenager’s bed wondering what we would tell his mother.  He hadn’t confessed his age when we met on the stadium bleachers, and I hadn’t thought to ask. Now my son was waiting for me, still at the stadium I presumed. We were to catch a plane.  I had disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself, while I followed my passion, my young adorable dark-haired crush.

My son was a teenager himself.  I was worried when I realized he would not know where I was, where I had gone.  He sent me a text, a picture of his childhood toys that he had gathered together and was planning on selling, or giving away.  I took note of each item and felt a bit of sadness.  My friend turned up in my dream and looked at the items in the picture, assessing each one.  I needed to coordinate travel arrangements for myself and my son, considering how I could get out of the room unnoticed, and how he and I would connect.  My new young friend was not any help.

So that was that.  The dream ended there.  I gently eased into a more alert state and began thinking about my day – I would write in front of my open window,  meditate, eat breakfast and drink hot tea, like I used to in the mornings.  If time allowed I would attend my local sangha to sit on my cushion with others and feed the part of me that needs community.  It would be a nice balance to the morning’s blissful solitude.


I love you Dear Reader.

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Damn Titles

I want to eat something sweet and stay up all night dreaming about my high school reunion.

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Her parents never removed the growth from her face.

And she never forgave them.

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Root Canal

I’m glad you never told me you wanted to be the one.

Still, you asked if I wanted to have sex.

Calling it “fun”.

I told you I was scheduled for a root canal.

Then sent you a picture, with the caption ~

“Now this is my idea of fun!”


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Fed up ~ Unedited version (Rated – Adult)

I was just thinking that I would close down my blog.  It served its purpose.  It was there to hold my hand through tough times, change, pain, joy, and much growth.  Although I have not gone blog to book yet which has been a goal for a long time.

I am so excited now that I am back on here though to see this new format!  Sooo much better for writing.  Aaaah.  The format had long been a source of annoyance to me.

But, all of that said, the real reason I am here, now, is I am getting angry.  Angry in a good way.  Angry in a way that I feel that energy propelling me to help make a difference in the world.  If even only through my written word.  I’m feeling kind of harsh.  Usually I am about peace and love but I have been reading and thinking about some of the evil in this country – the U.S. and I’m fed up with being nice.  Spewing love and goodwill to all.  I’m feeling like we need to start cracking down.  Usually I just feel devastated when I think about the sadistic acts of some of the people of this fine country (please read sarcasm into that word – fine).

I am not going to leave it at the acts of the sadistic perps, but also look long and hard at those who give these people a slap on the wrist.  I want to look also at neighbors, family, and friends of these people.  Not as accomplices but just look to see was their a clue that the person was committing or going to commit heinous acts against others.  I’ve also often thought about, do we really know people?  What goes on behind closed doors?  What really goes on?

There is so much damn dysfunction in this country that it’s not funny. It’s down right scary!  I need to check statistics.  I am a little worried though because for me that puts me in a pretty bad place, when I start seeing the startling numbers that aren’t talked about.  The numbers for women getting beaten by their partners, or children being killed by their parents or guardians, or men raping girls, including their daughters, or people kidnapping children and going on about their lives as though they are their own children.  Men kidnapping women and holding them prisoner for years.  Foster parents treating foster kids with abuse then allowing them to starve to death.  Crazy men who nail girls to crosses or shoot to death 50 people in a gay night club.  A crazy woman cutting open the belly of a pregnant woman to get the baby out and steal it.  A young man raping a 94 year old woman in her bed while she had been sleeping, until she died from the trauma.  A couple killing a mother and her daughter just to see what it was like to kill someone.  We live in a fucking sick country.  What goes on behind closed doors? What goes on the minds of these people?  We can’t see that either.  This does not touch on police killing innocent people.  That is a whole other essay.

We have a president who has been recorded talking personally about sexual assaulting women.  How do people overlook that?  How is that okay?  How can this man be ‘cleared’ to be president?  I don’t understand.  I saw a bumper sticker today that said Women for Trump.  How is this possible?  What kind of jacked up place do I live in?  I want to move to another country.  One without all of this illness.  But I don’t think my sons would want to come with me.  And how would a mother leave her children, even grown children in a place like this and bail on them?

How about Mr. President being concerned about these issues?  How about looking at the numbers for the crimes committed in this country every day instead of promoting paranoia about those from other countries.  Instead of wanting to ship law abiding citizens out of the country.  The majority of the crazy whacked out people are of white European descent.  Look at the stats Mr. President.

Help families who are in poverty rise above it.  Help with education, healthcare, social services.

For now, this may seem like a rant.  I will do research and keep walking forward with this one.

To be continued….

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