My brain is so full of thoughts right now.
Thoughts that are deep.
Thoughts that are not so deep.
Deep thoughts that need to be explored.
Deep thoughts that hurt too much to explore.
Thoughts that need to be written down before my head explodes.
“Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still.” (the message in Dave’s fortune cookie last night)
The weeds in my yard look so pretty right now! If I transplanted them to a flower bed, would they still be considered weeds?
The best Super Bowl halftime show I have ever watched was Bruce Springsteen in 2010. He was fresh. He was real. He looked like he was having fun. Above all, he connected with the audience. Madonna’s act was none of these things, in my opinion.
Dads really care about what their kids have to say.
Dads…really care about what their kids have to say?
Other than pets, I have not experienced death. I don’t know how that feels. Someone close to me is dying right now…even then, I am not sure how I feel about it.
Motherhood scares me because I equate it with misery. So when I see moms enjoying their kids, I feel so confused. Moms really enjoy being moms? Motherhood, to me, feels like the ultimate death to self. I shouldn’t feel that way. But I do.
This is why I find motherhood so confusing.
I want to eat a whole bag of Oreos before February is over. Sugar tastes the best in February.
My last meal on earth would have to include: steamed mussels, potstickers, a tossed salad filled with all my favorite vegetables, pickles, cheesy French bread and pizza. And for dessert: trail mix with a lot of cranberries, pineapple soft-serve ice cream, Thin Mints and Oreos.
“Cats are a representation of the Holy Spirit.”
Grandfather once said this about cats. I don’t get how the two are alike, but I like the concept.
I don’t think I gave myself enough chances to screw up when I was younger. I lived life so carefully through my teens and 20’s. Because of this I am blessed…and bored.
Why do I feel compelled to write? Why do feel like what I have to say is important? It feels wrong to want people to read what I write. It feels selfish. And yet, I still care. I care, dammit!
I should have kissed Paolo.
(Paolo was the bellhop in the hotel I stayed in when I studied in London. He led me up the 54 stairs to my room carrying my bags talking all along the way in a thick Italian accent. I thought he was the cutest thing in the world. Damn! I should have kissed him. If not on the lips, on the cheek. And then, when it was over, I should have winked at him. Yes, nothing like a kiss and a wink to appear intriguing and mysterious.)
I don’t think I have ever come across as intriguing and mysterious. Intriguing, maybe. But never mysterious.
I should have tipped Paolo.
Two suitcases, fifty-four stairs and not a single pence for his troubles. Why did I not think to tip the guy?
Yeah, I should have kissed Paolo.