Herb Garden in Bloom

I wilt under the pressure of my own potential.
In a long awaited summary: I am the end of my own self.

I suppose this conclusion has some nodding their heads,
Thinking: well, of course, we knew all along, it was obvious.
As I nod along with them accepting my fate.
Sometimes, in moments that seem a little too quiet,
I wonder how it would feel to take so much power into myself that
I could step over the edge towards the end.
In those moments, it does not matter that I am willing to patiently wait for the end to find me.

I watched the chives I planted years ago sprout again in the spring,
Growing taller and more robust for it's neglect.
As fall came upon us the flowers went to seed, gradually giving way to the pull of the earth
And when I brushed by them on some important errand I could hear the seeds pitter-pat to the ground.
With bowed heads the plant shaded those precious seeds and I could almost hear the whispers of encouragement.
I brushed by them again, just to hear the sound as the fell and then it reminded me of sleet against the window
In wintertime.
The air is cold and damp and I am sad for those seeds and that plant, because they
Fell from the raised herb bed and onto a wooden deck; there is no dirt to root in.

Children's book assure me that some of them will make it, somehow, because that is
The nature of these things.
There is hope in there, somewhere, and so
I scatter my words along as
I nod my head.

One more thing I didn't get from my parents

Marc just mentioned to me last night that Google is asking folks to stop using the word as a verb, it is a noun. I wonder if they had parents like mine, who could turn any word into a verb.

I apparently lack this skill, as I tried to think of an example of this phenomenon. Without using "google," of course, because that's been done.

Sometimes, I google your name.

I Haven’t Lost You

When I think of you a part of me goes very quiet inside, as if in some kind of sacred remembrance, though
I know I don't feel it and you don't deserve it.
I wish it would be as easy as placing a phone call and saying "I was just wondering how you are, if you wonder about me from time to time."
I'm trying to remember what is the truth and what is the lie in my history and I can't quite
Sort it out. I've been wondering if you could help me with that.

When I think of you a part of me pauses, as if I have sprinted to the top of a mountain, though
I know I can't feel that again and you are long gone.
On really bad days, I can feel the hint of a tear forming and I quickly cut it off;
I refuse to cry for either of us or those times again.
We were so quick to move away we never gave ourselves a reasonable opportunity to love.
I know; we couldn’t then.

When I think of you a part of me slows, as if lethargy is taking me over, though
I know we are distant now and the spell has been broken.
I’m still pulled down by your abandonment, the way you stripped me of my strength.
How I’ve changed since you had any power; I’m still afraid of succumbing.
I keep thinking of you.

Quick moments, happy ones or bad ones, stolen from something else.
I keep thinking of me, and how I’ve grown and of how you would still recognize me anyway.
I’m secretly relieved you have stayed lost to me.
I don’t want your memories, mine carry me away quite adequately.
Lies are just the truth you choose to believe, and so I think that all memory is suspect.

I wonder if you wonder about me from time to time. I wonder if a part of you reacts at all.
If you do, you should know my heart hurts a little every time you cross my mind.
How I loved you in my own way.
How you loved me in yours.

Hiding

And how true: "Like a coward, I write this hoping you will see it and understand."

From Now to the End

I've been yearning for the past lately.
Like a long forgotten addiction, it has caught me off guard and left me feeling defensive and defenseless.
To be honest with myself, every day I wish for something from some time before, but this has been different.
I've been wishing for things I had thought I had left behind somewhere, and with good reason.

While you and I were talking tonight I wanted to actually talk. I wanted it to be like it used to be, late night conversation about the importance of
Life.
But I was a little drunk and a lot afraid and couldn't find the words to say.
Like a coward, I write this hoping you will see it and understand.
It made me realize that I am afraid. Afraid of losing you.

You see, my feelings have changed. I used to think that I would be in love with you forever but
I was wrong.
You are dear to me, important, and I miss you every day you are not here. But
We've moved on.
That's ok with me, now.
Except.
I am afraid.

I want us to have a present and a future, and not one based on reminiscing about the past.
I want us to have more than stupid jokes that have been said so often we've forgotten the original laugh.
I wish we had more than stolen moments together, like friends who
Just love, who haven't
Lived through fire together.

If you happen to be wondering...

Maybe this little dialogue can somehow sum up a few things in my life right now.

Ari, holding up the food she mooched off me: “What’s this?”
Me: “What does it taste like?”
Ari: “Potato.”
Me: “That’s right. It is potato.”
Ari: “Is it a potato chip?”
Me: “Nope. It’s a fry. A french fry, only cut into a waffle shape. So they call it a waffle fry. It’s made out of potatoes.”
Ari: “Why isn't it made out of waffles?”
Me: “Then it wouldn't be a fry.”
Ari: “It would just be a waffle.”
Me: “Yes.”
After a contemplative chewing moment, Ari muttered: “Pancake!”

Oh yes, my friends, she is only 3. And this was a real conversation. I almost fell off the couch laughing at "Pancake!"

Fly Away Thing

I've been thinking a lot lately. It's got me all tangled up inside,
As this thinking has blown me from place to place.
I can see dark roads twisting through starlight calling me away home.
We were sailors loosed on ribbons of asphalt, not worried about such mundane things as the money to pay for gas,
As we weaved our way along.
Each deep breath carries the smell of coffee and burning nicotine and acts as some kind of
Balm.
And I’m so tangled up inside I barely make sense to myself, and
I know the context of the message.
Every time I think I’ve left those days behind they sneak back up on me and
Give me back a piece of myself.

Indestructible power, Activate!

I just read an article from CNNMoney.com, and I wanted to share. I encourage all of you to click the link http://money.cnn.com/2006/10/17/commentary/mediabiz/index.htm?cnn=yes

and give it a chance. Seriously, I'm asking you to do this. Then in a month from now I can say "Garbage disposals don't chop off people's fingers..." and one of you can pop back with "People chop off people's fingers." Doesn't that prospect alone make you want to click the link?

Click on it. I Dare Ya.

Garbage disposals, Menace: fact or fiction?