After some further speculation:

A decision, mainly.
The balance which is too delicate even to speak of, has been thrown. Throated.
In any case, what is left beside the expanse of breath, the hole. It is the same space between lips, where He lays whispering to the soil. He is spraying seed into the throat of delicacy, spilling beauty and filling our stomachs with it. The mind screams, piercing graves of the angels, raising them. The sound of a scalpel splitting a hair. The angels move across a field, stooped over. Old. Their white hair dragging the soil, entangling Truth with it. A second movment brings the rain, and sorrow is blown out over the water. Not to dissipate, merely regroup. The command, dilute. What else may melt away the gloss. Truth, Beauty, all things...

Two things on my mind...the power of words, my confrontation with a tree.

Words are power...no matter what people do to them, how they are arranged, they will inevitably produce power. Such is the idea that must feed my fingertips. I am cowardly. I waste my words or hide them lazily in my mind, refusing to birth them. Which leads me to my next thought...where is my tree? Will it not grow in the wild of my mind? Must it be tended to, toiled over? Fantasy tells me that my tree will come naturally, effortlessly into existence, after all, am I not made of soil? Is not soil the womb of thought? Trees, or at least, MY tree cannot be kept by fantasy. I am here, outside of that place, and I trace it only in my slumber. My tree must have been cut down for the wood long ago. Now I am lost. I gave my tree away, it is finished. But I know...and that is all that matters. I must chase away the fantasy and bend to the ground, using my very blood to water this place. Then I will have what I seek.

No rain this week.

I will say that I have learned some things this morning...one is that people, no matter what, will ALWAYS disappoint me. I used to think it was because my expectations were too high. For example, I expect people to do what they tell me they are going to do. And that's just too much to ask of those other people...I now know that my standards are not too high, I just happen to live in an imperfect world, and EVERYONE is affected by that. Though people are supposed to always do what they say, they can't...thank God, because if they did, I might rely on them for meeting all my needs and fulfilling my desires. Unfortunately, I often find myself trying to rely on people for those things in spite of my knowledge about their inherent failures. Which is what brings me here this morning. I tried to rely on my mother for happiness and love. Granted, she DOES love me, but not as fully as I want to be loved. By her, or really at all. My only inexhaustible source for love is my Savior. He gave his life proving that. I take for granted the greatest love of my life, while impossibly expecting this love from watered down sources. Then...actually being disappointed when the truth is upheld, and the weaker loves prove dissatisfying. Not to downplay love as I know it here on earth. Because, I myself am only capable of providing a cheap imitation of the love God has for me. I am sinful and selfish by nature...more selfish than I can even tell you about. So, anyone or anything I love is tainted by my lurking selfish desires and ambitions. I DO love, though. I love so much, more than I thought I could. The goodness in my love comes from God. He supplies me with anything tangible and worthy to give, including my love. So, why should I look to any other source for fulfillment? Instead, may I endeavor to be grateful for the love (from God) that I find in other hearts. May I be pleasantly suprised when God graces me with love from my family, friends, or total strangers. May I not be foolish enough to believe that love, REAL love, comes from any source other than the Lord.

P.S. Johnmark wants to repaint the bathroom.

Ok can I just say that I am also abusing my blog. All I do is complain. It sounds like I am not a happy person. I am though. In fact, to prove it, I will tell a recent funny occurance in my life that shows that happiness does in fact permeate my existence. Johnmark, my husband, wanted to paint our bathroom. This bathroom is cursed, but we didn't find out about that until later. The way it originally looked was so hideous, I can barely describe it. The cieling sagged from water damage, the light fixture resembled something out of a Frankenstein movie, the mirror also. It (the mirror)was goldish coppery and had a huge frame around the edge. Turns out the mirror is also a medicine cabinet, so replacing it meant tearing out part of the wall. Which was okay, since we already had to tear out the cieling. The sink was in an ugly wooden cabinet that made the already tiny bathroom feel more like a miniature jail cell (from one of those prisons run by the fashion police), so it had to go. Sinice we were replacing the sink, we thought, hey why not also replace the toilet, since it is losing its porcelin finish and looks like a big black poo smeared across the side and no one ever wiped it off. Now, to the walls...these were the most bizarre, ugly things in our ENTIRE house. They were, and I use the term loosely, sponge painted an "interesting" shade of blue. Something between royal and navy blue I would say. YOU DO NOT SPONGE PAINT THIS COLOR OVER WHITE WALLS...EVER. Anyway, the reason I say "sponge paint" is because I don't think the same person did all four walls, or else they were kind of learning as they went. One wall was mostly white, one mostly blue, the other two somewhere in between. On top of this, there was a border. Of course, the border did not go at the top of the wall, where and sane person would put it...and yes, the border was wallpaper, and it was hung around the middle of the walls (I suppose it was meant to be a chair rail, but there was no trim or anything, just the wallpaper randomly halfway down the wall) IT was hunter green, pink, and blue diamonds, with some gold little design at the top and bottom. Now, do not be fooled, the blue in the border was NOT the same blue as the wall, not even kind of close. My favorite feature of this bathroom, however, must be the pink "sponge painted" trim and back side of the door. Now, when I say pink, I mean like a deep Pepto Bismal shade. SPONGE PAINTED on the TRIM and the DOOR. Not the whole door, mind you...just the recessed panels of it. This made scraping the trim and door quite necessary, which led to another surprise. Someone had painted the trim and door with oil-based paint, then covered that with water-based paint. This means that you literally have to peel the paint off but cannot use any type of paint remover to help you. What a pain. Ok...so this bathroom needed some work. We chose a nice powdery blue to repaint it, got a pedestal sink, a new toilet, hung Davey board (white wood panelling) and replaced the cieling and fan. Now, I won't go in to all the problems with plumbing that went on in the bathroom, but be assured there were several. Well, the blue paint dried and turned purple. We didn't want purple, because that is already the color of our bedroom. SO, Johnmark wanted to paint it again. Yellow. I like yellow, it's a great happy bathroom color. My huusband HATES yellow. I cannot imagine why I agreed to letting him paint the bathroom yellow. But he went and got some yellow paint and boom, it was yellow. Johnmark walks into the living room, paint roller still in hand and says "I hate it. The bathroom looks like a baby nunrsery, we have to repaint it." OK, so I suggest that since we haven't got any more money to spend on another gallon of paint, that we ask the people at the paint store to add some color to our yellow paint and make it more cheery, less pastel. Bad idea. We got them to add some color, came home and re-repainted the room...now it looked like Big Bird swimming in an ocean of bananas. Now we both hated the bathroom. Ok, well, we painted our guest room orange, maybe if we sponge paint some orange over the yellow, it will tone things down. So we try that. Now it looks like Big Bird ate too many candy corns and exploded in our bathroom. So, Johnmark now wants to paint the bathroom silver. Fortunately, he had used up all his bathroom idea coupons, and I was able to stop him. Now the bathroom is green. Green like our living room...and we are going to paint words all over the walls with a cream color. So, it's just possible that the bathroom WON'T look hideous and possessed by Monday. I'll let you know, and, by the way, I'm not holding my breath...

I just want money...all the dang time. I think about money all day, how we don't have any (even though we have all we need). I am just a stupid selfish person that can't trust God to provide, though He does whether or not I believe He will. I wouldn't provide for my ungrateful butt though. God is way better than me.

Tabitha is growing, growing, growing. I can't believe how big she is. And so beautiful. I am so blessed to get to stay with her all day. Sometimes it doesn't feel like a blessing, but I know it is. It's amazing how easily I fall into sin. I should be so joyful about getting to stay at home and not having to work a 9-5 job. Instead, I focus on the negative, how I am stuck here and it's soo inconvenient to have a baby along with all the housework. What an idiot. I feel sorry for my poor husband who is working two jobs in ordr to provide for our family right now, and give me the privilege of staying home with the baby. Bah on me, I suck.

I am afraid of work. I don't mind moving furniture, scrubbing toilets, writing papers, traveling, cooking, making a book, taking pictures, selling clothes...I can do all of these things well. What I am afraid of is actually the phone. Calling people on the phone...people I have never met. Asking them questions, trying to talk fast enough that they don't hang up or have time to think of anything other than what i am telling them. Hoping they will want to buy my talk, but more afraid that if they do buy it, they will ask me something I can't answer. They will tell me I am worthless for calling them and hang up. No, I have no reason to fear talking to these people...they may hate me, but they'll never tell me that, because I live in the south where manners supercede logic. But I still feel nervous each time I pick up the phone and hear the expectant dialtone. The toll of death... then I know I must push the numbers and wait nervously for some secretary to answer and tell me that I can't talk with whomever I am calling because I am a salesperson (they're in a meeting, can I send you to their voicemail?) and they are paid to keep me out. Like a phone roach, I am an unwanted dirty pest that no one can get rid of (not even congress) Bah to me...

Death

The spiders have now, for the most part, experienceed it. Where are their spider souls wandering right now? Who really cares...I am certain it's not heaven or my house, so that's all that matters. OR, if it is heaven, it must be in the special spider section of heaven. Although, these creatures have to be resultant, after the fall.

Fall...my husband loves the fall. I have never been a huge fan, I would rather roast forever beside a blue swimming pool in the hot Georgia sun. But, I love watching him love things, and so because he loves fall, I now have a growing affection for it. My mind is boggled today by the presence of fall on my front porch. Wasn't it just the other day that I was married?? Has it really been a year? How is it that time is going more quickly for me than it is for my friends? We experience the same 24 hour days; yet, somehow time is rushing by so for me that I can't even relate to my college friends. Their time is spent leisurely and needless of sleep, that it doesn't even resemble time to me. Or perhaps it's the other way around.

It's the stupidest reason, really, that I am even thinking about this. But I must share it because that's what blogging is all about. This morning in the paper, I was perusing the week's events and perchanced upon the Brumby (a college dorm) beach party. I remember going to that party my freshman year of college and running into this guy David Talley, whom I had met a few weeks prior at my orientation. I remember when I saw him, wondering if he would even remember me, because so much time had passed since our last meeting. How funny. That was five years ago. It feels like a few months. It wasn't a particularly important moment in my life, either. Nothing like the birth of my child, which was less than two months ago and feels like a lifetime. Here is my life, flying away like my favorite season, which I swear never lasts all three months. Is it the mercy of God? That the pace of time is just slow enough to cope with, but quick enough to nip at my ankles and make me zealous for a full life. At the same time, this same passage brings me closer to my eternal home.

"And if I weep, may it be as a man who is longing for his home"

Spider War: Day 2

After spending about 20 minutes on the front porch squishing and squishing the guts out of nasty spiders...I am pretty much nauseated and ready for a shower, because I am so sure that I missed one and it maliciously crawled up my pants or something and now it's biting me and spinning webs all inside my clothes.

After the shower:

I really hate spiders, and I think killing them is about as bad as letting them live. As if they know about my challenge, suddenly I am finding dozens of hairy spider sacs (spider eggs, if you will) hidden all around my porch and gutters. They are stockpiling their offspring, but now that I'm on to this little scheme...beware. If all else fails, I'm getting a chiuaua. They were originally bred in Mexico to be spider hunters. So, as often as I have made fun of these goofy, stupid, yipping kick dogs, I would now like to own one. The neighbors have pledged to help me hide it from my husband until he gets used to the idea. HE won't...I think it's because I call him Chiuaua man when he buzzes his chest hair in the summer. As weird as that is, I must respect his decision, because I have no clue what a hairy mane like that must do to body temperature. Just as he has no idea what bearing a child does to body temp (and sex drive) in the summer. Back to the mat...

The simplicity of the gospel...

Today I spent some time talking with a friend about quality time with God. How neither of us feel like we have enough, and here's the funny part. It's not because we just can't find spare time for God, it's that we feel guilty for not doing what we know we should be. How ridiculous. Like a marriage where the wife only spends time with her husband in painfully boring, short sessions all the while knowing she ought to love him or something. Why are they even married, those poor fools, we might wonder. Of course my relationship with God must be based on my desire for God. What I mean is, I can't love God unless I want to know Him. I can spend time with Him, but I must enjoy this time in order to genuinely portray love. God wants romance! He wants my heart. What makes me love Him more? The cross, of course. When I truly understand His great sarifice of love (that goes beyond anything my husband ever did), then I love Him madly, I love Him shamelessly, I yearn for His presence, for His touch. How often does Johnmark come home with me panting for his time and attention. It's been only 4 1/2 hours since I've seen him, and yet I can't wait for that little kiss and the loving gaze into my eyes when he says he's home. THAT is how I ought to desire Christ.

On another galaxy away subject. I am determined to kill all spiders in this house! The porch and garage count. This is my warning and my challenge...Spiders everywhere, listen up. You will be dead in 7 days or less. So pack your bags and kiss your loved ones good-bye. I hate you all and none of you will live. Including, and especially, you big hairy ones that keep buiilding webs over my front door. You will die a slow, agonizing death that I will rejoice in performing upon you. Mua ha ha ha ha!

well, first of all it's tuesday, the most common day for me to blog. i don't know why subconsiously i have chosen this particular day to grace the world with more of my random speculation, but tuesday it is. i have been wrestling with some pride this morning. some aspiration to greatness that will never come to pass. i was thinking about how great it would be if, after i die, someone finds my blog and publishes it. then millions of people would read about my semi-boring life and be inspired and amazed, not because i am so terribly interesting to read about, but because this semi-boring life has been so well written. amazing the lengths to which my mind will go in order to be self-glorifying.

moving along, i was thinking about making bagels today. yes, from scratch. yes...i know how to do that, well mostly know...at least, i have a recipe. it sounds fun anyway, i'll probably destroy my kitchen and burn the bagels, which my husband will obligingly eat and tell me they're better than his moms (omitting the fact that his mom never made bagels before, although she probably has because she is super-human). what is so unfair about my super-human mother-in-law is that not only is she as close to perfect as is humanly possible, she is also unbelievably nice and helpful and wise and all the things women dream of having in a mother-in-law. so i can't hate her, because she is not hatable. i can only never come close to being as wonderful as she is, knowing all the while that my husband grew up with her as the pattern for his future wife...how he got me is baffling, but he is quite color blind, so maybe he is wife blind too. he says it's because i have such big boobs (not exactly the most romantic comment, but hey, it's better than having really small boobs that he has to lie about liking)

wow, what a meaningless digression...i hope they don't publish that part of my blog until WAY after i am dead. although, i know they will never puublish my blog now that i have written about publishing my blog, because it just doesn't work that way. they only publish things that people never intended to have published, so, if anything, they will only pubish the part i just wrote that i want left out of my blog novel. Bah...people suck (except my mother-in-law)

My husband has too much free time.

On another note, I am suddenly tempted to write silly things about my life that are ultimately of no consequence, but would be (for the moment) interesting to random blog perusers, whom I could make jealous of my uncanny ability to amuse them with my life experience. I opt, instead, for the following:

This morning I came to the conclusion that breastmilk is not the perfect food. In terms of eternity, that is. Saints have the benefit of the living water of Christ, which is the perfect food. I understand what the woman at the well must have meant when she asked for this water. I already have it, but so often I find myself (and my stomach) seeking something else for satisfaction. Don't I realize that one day I will stand on the edges of Jordan, eternally secured by the Savior's love and filled with the glory of God? I get that! I don't deserve that, but it dwells within me even now. And this same PROVIDER is my Father today as well as on that one. What an amazing truth this is. Far more satisfying than the milk I give my daughter to eat.

Back to randomness...
A Big Hunk Of Love is the most obscure, ridiculous excuse for an Elvis song that I can think of. No one has heard of this song...ever.

I tend to write on my blog when I have checked my friends' blogs and see that they have written something new on theirs. Is this a subtle form of peer pressure?

After a long weekend filled with old friends, old struggles, and a new baby...I am tired. Yesterday was an adventure in errand-running. I took Tabitha to Earthfare, Target, and the park. This is her third time in a park, although she has no idea of that, because she slept through this trip (along with the previous two). Today she is sleeping again, largely because she decided not to do so last night. But I forgive her, because today is her 4 week old birthday! Yay! I can't believe how quickly the past four weeks have gone by. Much faster than the last month of my pregnancy, that's for sure. I am so thankful for the relaxing pace of my days since she has been born. I have someone to share the house with now during the day, and a forced schedule that makes me so much more effective in housekeeping.

Finally, I would like to say that I am so blessed to have such a great marriage. I love my husband, and he loves me. God provides for us, and there is no need for me to fear the future. Praise God for Johnmark, because he has been so amazingly equipped to lead and love me through this life. God's grace is evident in his life in so many ways. I am overjoyed to come to breakfast in the morning and see that he has spent time with God there, and to listen in the evenings to him worshipping the Lord with songs and hymns. What an awesome God we serve!

First of all, I would like to state for the record: I like lentil soup a lot. There, now that that is settled...I would also like to state (not necessarily for the record at this time) that I do not like fighting with my husband. In fact, it really sucks.

The amazing thing is that he probably doesn't realize that we are fighting, so honey, if you are reading this today...WE ARE FIGHTING right now. I am mad at you. I am pretty sure that you are mad at me too. Neither of us really know why, you least of all.
Maybe I can spell it out for you. I am selfish, and I like sleep. You deprive m e of both things. Therefore I get mad. Kissing and making up are scheduled for 5:30 p.m.

Bleh...that's how the past 24 hours has been. Tabitha has mysteriously been kidnapped and swapped out with some evil child that needs no sleep and wants to eat as often as she blinks. I am tempted to put her photo on milk cartons, but I don't think they do that anymore. I am living the parenting nightmare of no sleep and visitors on the way to further disrupt what is left of the "schedule". And I am having the worst cramps of my life. So, on the flip side...this experience has taught me to be truly grateful for the good child I used to have. I realize that many parents live this same nightmare, well, nightly. I have been blessed with a three week old who typically enjoys sleeping through the entire night without a peep. So, it could be much worse.

I have been thinking about the wrath of God today. How I am so unaware of its magnitude. Ignorance may be bliss, but it's still ignorance. And yet, is it that I ignore the wrath of God? Well, I must say that I probably do. As foolish a statement as that may be, for, anyone who genuinely encounters the wrath of God certainly cannot ignore it. Which makes me wonder, how am I to honestly fear something that I can't encounter? That wrath intended for me was poured out on Christ. At the same time, reading about the fate of people in the Bible who did meet with God's wrath, I am fully aware that they all ended up dead (at best). So, by intellectual consent, I do fear God. How silly of me to believe that emotional fear is what God is after. Oh no, He wants much more than that.

I must say I am having one of the most bizarre and yet stimulating conversations with my husband today. I often wonder if circumstances or creative energy are the catalyst for these things. Perhaps some of both. Either way, I am feeling extra alive today. It might be the shirt I am wearing. It's a pre-pregnancy shirt, and it fits, except it's a tad short, so it shows a tiny bit of skin, which I think (in spite of the zebra stripe that remains on my stomach) is just a little sexy. And since I am only bumming around the house today with no planned visitors...it's really nice to feel somewhat sexy. And it especially gives me hope for the future (our one year anniversary is coming up and just maybe I'll fit into that black corset again...whooppee!!)

Ok, I suppose that is enough broadcasting of my sex life for today. I got caught in the rain this morning on my daily walk with Tabitha. This was both meaningful and exhilirating for me. I love to get caught in the rain, pair that with my baby girl and it's ten times the joy. Don't worry, we didn't get too wet, just enough to matter.

Speaking of Tabitha, I had the nicest thought about her last night. I realized as I was pondering the smallness of her fingers, that inside of her body, there is already a planned future. Her appearance is, for the most part, mapped out. And significant portions of her personality and tastes have been decided already. I am so amazed by God when I think of these things. She's so small, yet, she is equipped already for her life. There are memories just waiting to be made. All that remains is the passage of time. Then I wonder if every mother realizes this. Did mine, when she stared into my little curled fist, think that one day I would be standing here with a daughter of my own, unprepared and full of anticipation the way she was?

Today will have to be a quickie, which is better than yesterday, which was a no-show. My baby bear decided not to sleep AT ALL today, so I haven't been able to get away. Granted, she hasn't been fussy, just...awake.

I can't believe how beautiful my daughter is, even when she cries. Her blue eyes shine like glass, reflecting the light that she is always looking at, and trying to figure out. I guess light is one of the greatest differences between in the womb and out of it. That and the leg room. She takes advantage of both regularly. But I love to watch her sleep, with her legs all tucked up like a tree frog. It comforts me somehow, realizing that that is how she laid in my womb. What a gift from God she is...

Hopefully, this will soon become habitual activity for me during Tabitha's afternoon nap. I took her for a walk this morning, and she really seemed to enjoy it. I think she got a bug bite, though, on her left knee. This upsets me greatly, but there's nothing really that I could do about it.

Anyway, I must confess that since my declaration of two days ago, I feel sort of nervous about simply rambling through my daily blog time. I suppose that I will write whatever is most important to me on a particular day, so this time will be quite a revealing account of my life priorities. I was also thinking about telling some people in my family about my blog. But, I do write about my sex life on here, which strangely enough, I am totally comfortable sharing with my friends and even strangers, but totally UNcomfortable sharing with my family (with the obvious exception of my huhsband).

Here is what has been on my mind a good bit over the past week. A simple analogy, and one that I have never truly understood until last week sometime. I don't know what brought it to my mind (perhaps it was our bug infested shed out back), but I was thinking about Jonathen Edwards and his sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" The most famous segment of the sermon deals with the analogy of a spider, and so as not to embarass myself terribly, I think I will have to quote the actual moment for accuracy and poetry's sake:


The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes, than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment.

So, this analogy however basic it may seem to truly be, has never fully sunken in until the other day. I realized something about spiders that I have always believed. They are completely loathsome. I HATE spiders. I rejoice in killing them, I believe I would actually like to watch one burn to death in a fire. Call me cruel, but that's just how I feel. With that in mind, I now consider myself in the eyes of God. I am (or was at least) a giant, hairy spider. Nothing about me appeals to Him, I am a disgusting, bloodsucking, creepy pest. But...for some reason (which I now know to be the overwhelming mercy of God) I have not been cast into the fire to justifiably die for being so generally nasty and gross. And, it has nothing to do with me...and THAT, my friends, is mercy. Mercy like a flood, and it covers me now whenever I think of it. I think it must have been my own pride that prevented me from "getting" the whole spider analogy before. As if I, Taylor, could be compared directly to a bug. How foolish of me...and praise God for revealing the truth to me. Because now I can rejoice even more in the Merciful God whom I serve.

I love Jane Austen. I suppose every woman does...

In the case of Pride and Prejudice, I think what is so timeless is the unfolding of a true love affair. In a way, we all long for the excitement of love...the paradox of it. Lizzy Bennet is passionate in her search for the truth, and when she does find it, she is unexpectedly wrong about everything. However, there is grace for her in the eyes of the beloved Mr. Darcy. Yay for romance!

Well, my husband now has a blog...and since he is probably the only person reading mine, I will now take the time to pout. (The reason I am pouting is because he is keeping the location of this all-important blog a complete secret, telling only our infant daughter who can't yet talk) Life is so UNFAIR!! How can I go ON?? Not knowing all the deepest, most intimate details of my beloved's life is so unnerving that I just might not be able to face another day. sniff* sniff*
Ok, well now that THAT's over...

It has been a while, and as I said over lunch (perhaps to myself) I need to start writing every day again. Writing is such a simulating activity, though I really must guard from too much self-exploration. Not because I find myself boring. On the contrary, I am tremendously interesting to myself, which is the true problem. I am inherently sinful, and can easily convince myself that I am the most interesting thing I can think of...which would lead to immense pride and selfish ambition. So, instead I would like to write in order to explore and uplift other things, such as the Cross and the glory of my Savior, without whom I would never have known what a selfish, sinful person I am. And that, ironically enough, is one of the main reasons I am so eager to love and write about Christ. Because now that I know what I really am, the idea of Him loving me enough to die is completely mind-boggling. Much more worthy of in-depth contemplation than anything about ME I am quite certain.

For a person who spent at least four years of their life learning the art of composition, I am awfully lazy about actually doing it. Amazing how undisciplined humans are. Maybe just Americans. My Chinese friend was complaining the other day about how his little girl had no homework assignments to complete in the summer. I can't believe how lazy Americans (myself an actual real live one) are. We suck.

On another note, the baby will be here in about a month. I think it will be next week, but I also believed she was a boy for about the first three months of my pregnancy. Which means, she'll be three weeks late or something crazy like that.

On Day

I believe it began with red
however
the sensation of taste may appeal
that conception
as I objectify my love for you
over a suspect umbrella dance
perhaps defying the color scheme altogether

as it is
you cannot be a color
although vegetables are permissible
(I happen to prefer zucchini
over tomatoe).

Happy Birthday to me...Happy birthday to ME!

Addendum:
Being apart sucks. I amnot alone in this sentiment. Fortunately I have only a week of torturous seperation, hopefully followed by great sex (see previous entry). Unfortunately, it's my birthday tomorrow and I am pitifully alone. Not really, I have Tabitha. Even though she is constantly trying to beat me up in her little bubble, I know she really loves me and what she is trying to communicate is how glad she is that I am her mommy and that i am turning 22 tomorrow. Or maybe she is hungry.

P.S. The rain is (apparently) here to stay, but I am okay with that as long as it continues these crazy spastic downpours. Kind of reminds me of my life. And of God's grace.

Sex is so much better after a short absence. I am also glad to see my friend the sunshine once again. Tomorrow I will be a homeowner, with my very own street to go for a walk along whenever I want. Life is good.

I return to say that I wrote that poem, however since only my husband is reading these blogs, I suppose it is silly of me to do so, because he knows that I wrote it. I told him. On the other hand, I am nursing a secret hope that maybe some other person could stumble across this space and read my poem and wonder whether or not I wrote it. I did. :-)

The first reality

what comes out is the line
she traces along the inside
of me though her touch is inevitable, to say that
perhaps destroys its beauty (for Some)

my life will be erased by those hands
the ones that Some would call
dead. Would call rubber. In the mornings it is
always the same, I am awoken from nightmares

by touch, I have been beaten all night, or drenched
in salt (preserve my hands) and the sun rises
and the raspberry leaves beckon
me into the kitchen

...although not soo contagious today. I had to go outside in the cold dreary, which does NOT inspire me to dive in to the mood of melancholy that is this day. I suppose it isn't Thursday and that is why but no one should make excuses for bad weather, so I'll stop there.

The lime, electric green of the April sea
off Ischia
Is just a thumb-rub on the window glass between here and there:
And the cloud cap above the volcano
That didn't move when the sea wind moved;
And the morning the doves came, low from the mountain's shadow,
under the sunlight,
Over the damp tops of the vine rows,
Eye-high in a scythe slip that dipped and rose and cut down toward the
sea;
And the houses like candy wrappers blown up against the hillside
Above Sant'angelo,
fuchsia and mauve and cyclamen;
And the story Nicola told,
How the turtle doves come up from Afric
On the desert winds,
how the hunters take the fresh seeds
From thheir crops and plant them,
The town windows all summer streaked with nameless blooms.

The landscape was always the best part.

~Charles Wright, The Southern Cross

I wish I could rebegin at the actual beginning, instead of fostering some false desire to write the first things that come to my mind. they have come and gone already, although no one realizes it (besides myself and maybe tabitha). The rain outside inspires me to feel differently than I wanted to when I woke up, but of course...the rain always wins that battle and I find myself slipping into the dreary tranquility of the morning, with no desire outside of apathy. I feel like Charles Wright, perhaps, just before he composes some of his blue poetry.