I wish I was a bear
Wrapped and warm in fur
Hidden away from winter wear
In sleep I would confer
I find that I am bare
Naked without my faith
Exposed and retreating where
Sleep becomes a wraith
I wish I had a bear
Stuffed full of love and hope
With button eyes so fair
Stable against this tightrope
I have all these wishes
And the warmth of friends that care
Full of love their dishes
My heart beats as the bear
I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.
Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.
If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.
So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.
I’m playing a crusader. I had a cool post about but internet crashed. So…crusaders cool, even though I prefer ranged magic, because the wizard is a self absorbed twat. And doing the same thing every time sucks. Have a nice night.
I remember a little way into my first year at college in 1996 I wanted to go home so I pack my shit up and I went. I want to now so bad today, but there isn’t one to go to. I don’t think there was back then either, but at least I didn’t have to worry about bills and grades. Life as a teen wasn’t so bad, but there was always an underlying dark yuck that followed me everywhere I was. Seems it still follows me. Everything is an almost…well almost everything. What do I have now?
- A wonderful healthy daughter
- A full belly
- A full tank of gas
- Rent will be paid next month at least
- A Car I love
- A man I love even if I haven’t told him that full out yet
- Friends that I love and love me
Life is good even if it isn’t perfect. One thing someone with a rough past can almost always say is that things have been worse. And if you are sitting where I’m sitting now you can say they tend to get better.
Home isn’t where the heart is or where you fall back to when you have no place to left fall. It may be for some people, and I guess home is something a little different for everyone, but for me home is where you make it. Just some days it’s a little harder to make than others, but that’s why I’m the Battle Raven.
A few years ago I was standing at a reunion of a family that was mostly not mine. I wore capris jeans with frayed holes in them and became the subject of conversation with a preacher. The standard joke: “I just threw away a pair of jeans like that. Should have had you pay me a hundred bucks for them.” He also asked me why I would want to scar my body in reference to my tattoo. I tried to tell him they were free, but he was far to amused with himself. Honestly it should matter. Petty shit like that from “Christians” made me give up on being spiritually awakened.
At one point I decided I rocked those goddamn jeans and I’d rather be sexually awakened then whatever the fuck they thought they were. These days though I just want to….be. If someone wanted to comment on my jeans (still have them) I wouldn’t care. I honestly don’t understand why they would. It’s just clothing. Here…let me take it off if that helps ::evil grin::
When you are comfortable with who and what you are the “slings and arrows” of society stop bothering you. You don’t get pissed because someone attacks your beliefs or style. You certainly don’t get pissed if someone believes differently than you…even if it’s really fucked up. Difference becomes interesting.
This, I feel, is awake.
“They” say that the witching hour is 3am. Or maybe it was midnight. I don’t know. Hollywood and wild imaginings have mucked it up a bit. My hollow bones disagree.
The witching hour is maybe a moment when magic is easiest to summon. It may be the moment when monsters are most likely to roam. Regardless of how it manifests it is always a moment “between”.
There is a veil that protects us from the between. Most people never even know it’s there. They move through this world as if it is the only one. Some people can hear or even see through it. A few can cross it. Me? I just know it’s there.
I can feel it when the sun dies daily leaving only the strangeness of twilight. I know it in the moments before I lose the last vestiges of a dream. I am positive I’ll find it as I move from life to death so death doesn’t scare me.
I think a part of me exists on the other side of the veil. I think that’s why crows call to me and why I don’t quite feel I belong here. Maybe at one time I was a messenger between gods and men. Or maybe a guide from this world to the next. I wonder why I came here sometimes. There must be a reason. The places my mind wanders…
I was walking through the renfair campgrounds in nothing but a tutu, fishnet stockings and pirate boots. Let’s start with: there’s a situation I never really thought I’d be in. I’m proud to say alcohol was not involved.
So there I was in my little outfit. I will now add I had a simple paint job, including glitter and jewels, across my boobs. On the way back to camp some chick stopped me with “oh my god that’s just paint”. She then proceeded to caller friends back to gawk. Drunk? She didn’t seem it. Seriously she was a girl. I’m sure she’d seen boobs before.
At some point she realized she was being an ass and said she found me impressive. Ok…I guess. It will be a story that makes me giggle until I die though. Not only does her odd reaction make me laugh, but I get to look back and say “yeah…I did that.”
I have TV because my internet is cheaper with it than without it. I was fine without it because I’m pretty sure it sucked my life away. I think I’m right. I listened to my ‘Stop, drop & write’ alarm go off and continued watch it. I only watch 2 channels too. There are probably a hundred I could watch, but I don’t know which of the 1000 those are.
Kind of reminds me of my life.
Every year I get to spend this amazing weekend with wonderful friends and then I have wait an entire year to do it again.
But here I am writing again. I’m feeling pretty good about it. I have a hard time with change. I get stuck in patterns easily which I used to lament. Then I realized I could use it to my advantage.
I used to lock my keys in my car all the time. I started making myself look at my keys in my hand before I got out of the car. It was not easy and I had several false starts (thinking I’d finally gotten into the habit and then forgetting again), but eventually I got to a point where I couldn’t get out of he car until I had my keys in my hand.
I’m going this is what I’m doing with my writing now.
By forcing myself to write at the same time every night I’m starting a routine that will eventually become a habit. And, with a little luck, it will be a hard one to break.
This is the point where failure happens
This is the moment I stop
Perhaps it’s fear that makes me stumble
Perhaps it’s lazy thoughts
This is the point I think I’ve lost it
The moment I’m out of magic
As if you can run out of thin air
The lies we whisper are tragic
So this is the moment I write anyway
Even when this might fail
For the moments that make us are truly small
And this is
a tale to tell