And so it begins for me at the stroke of Midnite

http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/dashboard


I purpose to write 50,000 words of an original novel by the end of  NaNoWriMo


The glow from the computer screen lit up his face as he sat quietly clicking.  A few minutes earlier he had been puttering around the kitchen, wiping up a spill here, stashing away a dish.  He had a slow slithery manner, almost a dumb witted slowness, that covered a gentle heart.  It made her crazy, his slow gentle ways, his gentle kind heart.  His healing love that she was so careful to never to scratch at or bump rubbed at her, constrained her.



"Thanks you for being patient with me" he said.   She blocked the urge to roll her eyes and snort.  She forced herself to wait out the irritation and formed a loving response.

Patient?  Patient?!  have you any idea how much passion I muffle up and push down, to match your gentleness/  Words she didn't tell him.  more muffled down words.

but in her writing, she planned on soaring.   She would be angry and evil and dis considerate  on the page. Loud and lusty.

It was just a matter of sitting down and slicing open her neck and letting the words flow out.

It is a pig stick.  Just pierce a vein and let the bile flow out.

She wrote and wrote. And wrote some more.  And in the writing she exposed herself.  She came into focus.  For a short glorious time there was clarity.

Seeking Passion and Joy to replace what I've lost in my own life.

So recently in the past few weeks at home, I've been struggling with low feelings and lots of tears and regrets.

which sucks.  


I've been crying throughout the day and night at odd times, it's killing my body to feel all these emotions.  My muscles ache and I just droop, broken.

I"m broken. 

I went out into the garage and sat for a while after a bout of crying and looked over in a cupboard.  There was one of  my precious favorite mugs, set out there, in pieces,  not just cracked, but smashed with chips.


It was given to me ages ago, from a dear internet friend who used to talk with me every day twice a day.  She sent me the mug from NYC, after we got our dear boy adopted from foster care.

It was a beautiful black boy laying in a bed of flowers with animals surrounding him in love.  There were sweet bunnies on him.    She had a bunny as a dear pet and the mug meant something very special to us both.

People are more important than things.  I know this.  This is my mantra.

Dan broke this mug and put it into the garage to hide it from me.  He did this a year ago.  A year ago?

...

I just looked at it.   No amount of super glue is going to restore that thing.

It was so ..so  appropriate to what I have been struggling with.

Both the pieces and the hiding.  I wish Dan had come to me the day he broke it and let me have it in my hands to decide what to do about it.  Hiding it was lying about it, and that  sucks.


So anyway I am going to be writing about passion and joy.   I realized a few minutes ago, what I was doing all this week and last  I was looking for it.

He's not perfect...

He's not perfect. You aren't either, and

the two of you will never be perfect.

But if he can make you laugh at least

once, causes you to think twice, and if

he admits to being human and making

mistakes, hold onto him and give him

the most you can. He isn't going to

quote poetry, he's not thinking about

you every moment, but he will give you

a part of him that he knows you

could break. Don't hurt him, don't

change him, and don't expect more than

he can give. Don't analyze. Smile when

he makes you happy. Yell when he

makes you mad, and miss him when

he's not there. Love hard when there is

love to be had. Because perfect guys

don't exist, but there's always one guy

that is perfect for you.

-Bob Marley