Just blah

I used to love to write, I would write nearly every single day for as long as I can remember.

I just don’t anymore.  Every time I pick up a pen to write, the only thoughts that come to mind are “What’s the point?”

I wish I could snap myself out of it.



Why is it, some of the world’s most beautiful literature is borne of the most complete and utter heartbreak?

My very best writing to date, is because I was mending a heart, broken into a million pieces.

Why can my greatest writing be borne, not of my most joyous moments, but. only of my most grievous, heart-shattering experiences?

It’s a valid question.

Acceptable levels…..

I’ve been reading up on Monsanto, fluoridated water, and various other crap we put in our food and water.
Quite often the words “acceptable levels of…” are uttered in defense of these poisons.
This is the conclusion I have come to: When somebody tells you an acceptable level of whatever the f*ck in your food is such and such, what they mean is that it won’t kill you right away. They can’t maximize their profits if it kills you right away.
As a matter of fact, it will probably kill you quite slowly at first, over a number of years and you won’t die until you’ve suffered through countless rounds of blood tests, urinalysis’, maybe a few colonoscopies for good measure, so that the doctor’s get their share of the pie. Then they have to make sure big pharma gets a nice big piece as well, so, they’ll keep you alive with super expensive drugs for a little while longer, just until you have nothing left and your family is taking out a second mortgage on the house to pay for medical treatment for you, thus ensuring the banks get yet another helping.  
That’s the bright side of the picture, if you don’t have any kind of money or medical coverage or family you can turn to for help, you’ll just go through life in pain, start self-prescribing whatever you can find on the streets, fall through the cracks and probably die of a fentanyl overdose or chronic liver disease, heart attack, or stroke and be buried as a pauper.
Gah. It’s downright infuriating how apathetic people are about so many wrongs in our society.  
I miss having my head in the sand and I want my rose tinted glasses back.

The silence shows me what I need to know

I don’t want to pay for somebody’s friendship.  If your friendship comes with a price tag, don’t call me.

Since I have told you that, I haven’t heard a peep.

That makes me so very sad for you.

Have you ever met….

A person so incredibly unique and so beautiful that you know your life is just so much richer for knowing them, but, you also know you can’t have them in your life?

I have.

First post of 2016

In Victoria, visiting my daughter.

Life is good.

That is all.

2015 – A year of…..I’m n0t even really sure what

I closed my 2013 declaring that 2014 was going to be my Bitch.  2014 showed me who exactly the Bitch was in the hardest possible ways, it nearly broke me.

So, when I was closing out 2014 & being introduced to 2015, I decided instead that I wanted it to be my friend.

This was a year of many mixed emotions, none of which I could articulate enough to put pen to paper – or fingers to keyboard.  I did very little writing over the past year.

My high notes were a camping trip with my kids in May & my Son graduating from High School in June.

It was also about finding my place to be, both in my personal life and work.  I cannot thank the people in my life enough for just being themselves and being a part of my life.

I don’t know if I can say that 2015 & I are close friends, but, we are well acquainted & don’t hate each other – we’re parting on civil terms.  I can only hope she gives me a good reference to take with me into 2016.

So, my dear readers, may 2016 bring you all much happiness and good fortune.  Love to all.

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