The Pearl

She had a pearl. One perfect, opulent pearl. She had been born with it; had never known life without the pearl. When she was young, she hid the pearl from everyone. She didn't  know why she had it, didn't know what to do with it. She didn't know if other people had pearls, or if they had anything like the pearl - one unique, perfect endowment that had been with them as long as they could remember. She was afraid to ask, fearing exposure.

The pearl stayed with her through the years. There was nothing she could do to get rid of it. She felt she would not be the same person without it. Sometimes, that sounded good, when she did not want to be the person she was. She wanted to try on different cloaks, wrap herself in different personas. She felt there was one out there that would suit her better than the one she had.

Still there was this sameness. This pearl. No matter how far away she went, how many different lives she lived, the pearl stayed. It aged with her, became burnished and rich from wear. It suited every cloak she ever wore. It was the perfect accessory to her constantly changing styles. It became more beautiful with age.

If You Don't Fall, You're Not Learning.

*When I was twelve, my snowboarding instructor told me "If you don't fall, you're not learning."
It's stuck with me through all these years.*

Hi y'all. Hi NaBloPoMo. Did you miss me?

No?

Well, I guess it was only yesterday that I copped out. That doesn't give much time for the heart to grow fonder.

Well, I missed you.

I stayed up all night thinking about what I had done. Questioning my decision to back down in the face of adversity. That's not really me. To be fair, I stand by my not wanting to post a bunch of crap that I really don't care about on my blog, but seriously. I just can't throw my hands up and walk away when the going gets tough.

I mean, I'm a single mom, for Chrissake. I would never give up on that. I'm a caregiver to an elder. How would that have gone down, after a few months of being here and realizing how fucking tough that job is, to just walk away? "Sorry, grams. I know I told you I'd help you stay in your home as long as possible, but I didn't realize how hard it was going to be. If I can't do it perfectly, I don't want to do it at all. See you around."

C'mon. I can hardly bring myself to write that, let alone do it.

I'll give you the shirt off my back if I love you. I'll bend over backwards making sure you have what you need to be happy, healthy, and comfortable. I'll push my own needs aside for you.

That's all fine and good, but I need to do those things for myself too. I tend to give up on the things that are important to me, simply because I'm too fucking busy doing things for everyone else, and I don't have the time or energy (or divinity) to do it perfectly, the first time around. I don't like fucking up. Especially not in public. And that's not cool. It kind of stands in the way of being open and learning.

NaBloPoMo was important to me because I set myself a goal that I knew would be difficult. Attainable, for sure, but out of my comfort zone.I've enjoyed being forced to think of things to post about every day. I've loved writing every day. I may have grumbled, but I knew I was working towards that goal. And dammit if some of that stupid novel that's been writing itself in my head, but nowhere else, hasn't been rearing it's (ugly) head. That was exciting, even if it does read like a damn harlequin romance right now. Sigh. It'll get better. That's the whole point of writing every day.

So anyway, here's me, copping out on copping out. I'm gonna make spelling and grammatical errors that I may not catch right away (omg I think I just threw up a little bit), and my blog may look like a scratch pad for the next twenty-two days, but damn if I'm gonna give up on this.

Wish me luck. And finely honed editing skills.

Island#3

The ferry's ancient motor started up and the captain gave a short blast of the horn, warning anything in the way to move. It was merely protocol on a day like this. There would be nothing else out on the water. Not in this weather. The tide was coming in, creating a strong current, and the wind was blowing the chop around, high waves already breaking against the bow. There was a storm coming on.

Another storm, thought Elise.

dodged a bullet there...

I got stuck on a mad click-through binge from my reader and ended up reading this (by a blogger I have come to have a great amount of respect for). I have to say, every time I read shit like this, I am truly glad I'm single.

I don't mean any disrespect to those of you who have worked damn hard to make a marriage work and last the test of time. I truly believe that it is an amazing feat to accomplish. But I know that, with my horrendous taste in men, if I were ever to marry, this is where I would end up. And I don't want that. Not for myself, not for my kids.

In closing, I would like to thank every shitty fucking boyfriend I've ever had (which is all of them) for helping me realize just how amazing I am, how much more I desereve, and how, holy shit, I am so much better on my own. I am truly grateful to each and every one of you.

Another confession

I don't want to spend my precious time writing this blog post. I want to be sitting here passively, reading other people's posts. I want to be entertained, and maybe inspired. No, fuck inspired. I have lots of inspriation in my life right now. It's motivation I'm lacking.

Maybe it's not even that. Chaos is cutting his first molars as I write, and just wants to be held. All day long.  Which makes things like cooking supper and doing laundry difficult. And those things are neccessary. A blog entry a day? Not so much.

But of course, I make it out to be lack of motivation. There's something wrong with me. I've begun another project that I won't finish, and it's due to my own laziness, right?

So I lay awake, thinking of what I could possibly write about, frittering away my precious sleep time until Chaos wakes for comfort and Tylenol in the middle of the night. Now, he's sleeping soundly again (thank g-d) and I'm still up, tapping away my guilt over unfinished business.

NaBloPoMo FAIL. Sort of.

This isn't fiction. It's real life. Sigh.

Tonight, I held Captain Chaos in my arms and rocked him long past the time when he fell asleep. I find myself doing this more often these days. It's not neccessary anymore - at least, it's not for him. But I know this time is drawing to a close, and I find myself wanting to savour every last second of it.

Every day my little guy takes another step (sometimes literally) towards independence. The things he learns and the pace that he's learning them at astound me. I'm so proud of him. Today, when he looked up from his little red barn and took two steps into my arms, he probably made me the happiest person in the entire world.

I watch as he races through his days, devouring all the sights and sounds and experiences (and food) he can handle. It's amazing. Sometimes I scoop him up as he careens past, just for a quick kiss and a snuggle. We play together, and then he's off on another adventure.

I know that he'll need me for a long time to come yet. But this particular ritual, which I've cherished so much, is coming to an end. I can see from here.

 So I sit, just a little bit longer, with my special little guy sleeping away on my shoulder, and I rock.

NaBloPoMo#3 Island cont...

Elise weaved her way back through the cars and headed upstairs to the warmth and comfort of the passenger lounge. In good weather, the passage between islands was only ten minutes, but in inclement weather like this, it could take much longer. She was not inclined to spend that much time getting soaked, getting colder than she already was.

She settled into a seat and looked out the window. Ahead, the island rose from the grey chop, a lopsided mountain peak covered in dark green forest and shrouded in thick fog at the top. It had always been a foreboding place in the winter; isolated, far from the mainland. Far from everything. Elise smiled. Though she hadn’t lived there for more than twenty years, it still felt like coming home.

NaBloPoMo 2: Unheeded

Unheeded, his plea faded away into the white noise of the city. His clothing, the color of dust and uv rays, camouflaged him against the cement. No one saw him dissolving in the rain among castoff coffee cups and yesterday's news. Eventually he was washed away into the gutters, swirling briefly at the sewer grate, for once shining bright in a million stars; streetlight refracted in water.

NaBloPoMo1: Island.

The first thing that came to mind was a cup, no, a carafe of coffee. The second, a pen.

Wind blew sea spray across the bow of the ferry where she stood among the cars, bringing her back with a stinging salt slap to the face. The carafe of coffee and the pen would have to wait until this frigid journey ended.