If life had a reset button

For what it’s worth, it’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit... start whenever you want... you can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that stop you. I hope you feel things that you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again. -Benjamin Button

I had a headache, repaired a storm damaged fallen fence, broke the garage door, have a phone that won't let me communicate, shopped at a mall, caught a loose canine who splattered me with mud, took down my favorite Halloween decoration that the rain has now ruined, took my baby for cardiac testing after a fainting spell and was diagnosed myself with a tortuous case of tendonitis that makes EVERYTHING painful to do...including ALL OF THE ABOVE LISTED THINGS.

Then I came home and watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It should really be called How to Put Your Shit in Perspective.

There is still beauty:

♥This week started my new job description, new shifts and new hours: Social Work Monday to Friday 6:45am to 3:15pm. It's lovely. The work is soul~feeding and the work day is done before I'm all used up.

♥I learned to love and honor me...to say NO when I want to say YES because I love me too much to settle for less than I deserve. Self~love is warm and snuggly.

♥I have love, time, money and energy to put into all the things listed above...and know when which one calls for which thing to throw at it. Love all around. Money sparingly and energy only where it will serve the purpose well. Time saved by tossing some of that green stuff at professionals. Then more love.

Projecting beauty

♥I just bought this dress (on clearance even!)


♥to wear when this beast



♥takes us to this place


~sigh~ less than one month...

To Do:

I've been writing lists
Keeping track
but never keeping score
of anything for anyone
at least not that I'll admit...
lists that limit and lists that organize
musts and hopes and needs and more.

I've got
Lists that remind
prioritize
habitualize
lists that tell stories
and lists that tell lies
about a life
with no distinguishable reason or rhyme.

I'm so tired of these lists.
Tired of maintaining
a farce of pretense, subterfuge and resiliency
all part of being this grown-up
who has got all the answers like
bright colored balloons
tied up in a ribbons of capability.

I wanna let go
and let the answers fly free
far away and not worry
about how those bits of
latex, truth and lies
affect the balance of nature
the endangered birds or the killer bees.


They affect MY balance
and sometimes
it has to be about
an individual
this individual, alone
and a screw-up for nature
can be a right-on for nurturing
a single soul.

~Tara Jane Watkins, flu induced poetry 10/21/10

I really didn't have a clear idea of what a control freak I can be until I've had to channel massive amounts of energy into simply be-ing and trusting and allowing things to unfold as they are meant to.

Massive.

Amounts.

Of.

Energy.

Just.

Being.

...which should be kind of like sitting in neutral with your foot off the clutch. Not in this girl's world. It's more like trying to hold a pitbull on a meth/steroid cocktail on a leash with a bloody brisket just out of reach. Shall I go on?

Growth is painful and the more valuable the lesson, the harder it is to breathe through the growing pains. I'm breathing...and appreciating. Allowing. Accepting.

And still not able to let go of the hoping.

Ok, and visualizing...but that's okay, RIGHT!!!???!!!

Freddy, move over...

As long as I can remember, I've had the same nightmare. It's simple and not really that scary...and as I've gotten older, it's seemed more silly than anything else.

I'm perpetually 4 years old in this nightmare. I'm sitting alone in a solitary chair pulled up to a small child-sized table that actually existed when I was 4. It was blue and black on top with shiny silver legs that folded so that it could be stored under momma's bed. Those folding legs were always waiting to pinch my little bitty fingers...and sometimes would get them, leaving blood blisters that healed just in time for the next pinch. I didn't care...I loved that table. It was my vehicle to imagination land. A sheet over it and one of mom's knee-high stockings tied around my head and I could be anyone, anywhere...an Indian in a teepee or a genie in the desert or sometimes even a princess in a castle. I would make clay sculptures on it or turn it on its side to block me from the enemy's sight.

In my nightmare, there is a single daisy in a vase on the tabletop and I'm sitting very properly with my hands folded. Then there is a noise...a humming kind of like a vacuum cleaner. The humming gets louder and the flower petals begin to shake. Then the flower flies out of its vase and I watch it get sucked into what I've always thought of as "the carpet machine" and I'm not sure why...is there even such a thing as a carpet machine? If there is, I'm sure I've never really seen one. Next in the dream, my chair begins to shake just like the petals on the daisy and I know that I'm going to be sucked into the carpet machine just like the daisy was. I know that when I do, it will be the end of me. Little 4 year old me grabs the table to hold on and the legs collapse, pinching my fingers and in reflex I let go. Then I'm floating and it's a really amazing feeling until I realize what is happening and what is going to happen to me. The dream ends with that mixture of butterflies in my belly from floating and dread mixed with fear creeping in. I wake up frozen, half smiling with tears slipping from underneath tightly closed eyelids. The feelings wane and I fall back to sleep...usually not remembering that I had the nightmare until later the next day.

The nightmare used to come with terrible regularity but as I've gotten older, it makes rare appearances that I'm aware of. I haven't had the nightmare in a good year.

Then today...today the carpet machine snuck into reality...sort of. Today I was reading a friend's blog and there was a short animated video about a bunch of birds on telephone wires. I watched the video and smack dab in the middle was firmly clutched by fear. The creator, Eran Hilleli, took the carpet machine straight out of my nightmare detail for detail and placed it in his animation...and 26 second into it, the poor bird is sucked into the carpet machine to an untimely end.



I'm a little sick to my stomach now. It's that same mixture of dread and fear in the pit of my belly...and I'm not sure if I love Eran for being the only other person I know with a carpet machine in his head or hating him for bringing it out in the open.

I'm filing this one under "weird" and at this point, I'm not just a little afraid to go to sleep tonight. I'm a lot afraid. All of the sudden it's not a silly dream, it's scary again.