The View From Here

Don't ask my opinion 

Don't ask me to lie 

Then beg for forgiveness 

 For making you cry 

Making you cry 

'Cause I'm only human after all 

I'm only human after all 

Don't put your blame on me 

Don't put the blame on me

--Rag'N'Bone

One of the biggest errors other make, at least with me; is asking for my opinion.  It is something that causes me to pause and always ask, "do you want my opinion as I see things, or do you actually want me to tell you what you want to hear?" 

I rarely if ever think along the same lines as others and while my experiences may indeed colour my views on things in general; my ability to think critically is one of the greatest gifts I have.  I have always been able to see the end picture.  When I was much younger it made me very difficult to deal with, yes even more so than now.  I hadn't yet come to the understand or realization that the process is just as valid and important to many aspects in life as that end result.  Back then it caused me to dismiss many entirely.  Failing to embrace that even in those many cases where I simply knew it would end badly, that the process in and of itself was also filled with lessons and knowledge that could not be earned simply through success.  I do try to embrace the entire process now, as difficult as that may be for one such as myself whom constantly critically analyzes everything and everyone and has the answers within minutes.  Sometimes we have to simply prepare ourselves for the the worst and yet still try for the best, even when we can see that oncoming train of stark reality.  I am told that people do deserve at least that chance to show they are capable of changing their direction.

Many a great thanks to those whom along the way shifted gears and showed me a different outcome.  And yes, just as many great thanks to those whom maintained their course, and in doing so proved me right.  Each was and experience and lesson that only you could have taught me.  

Perfume

Traces of perfume upon a pillow are some of the sweetest ways to awake.  That familiar scent, a lingering trace a home.  A not so distant memory of comfort and completeness, even if only for a few short hours.  The scent of his skin, brings my world to a halt.  We've never enough time, our worlds run in different circles keeping us waiting and waiting for more.  20 years have past and still it remains the same.  We in those hours remain unchanged, we endure, we smile, we laugh, we hold tight for those brief moments; making them last until we connect again. 

Hiking With My Demons

She may walk with the angels, but by the Gods I've also seen her run with her demons.
                                                                                  --my children talking to their father about me.


Admittedly there's something particularly twisted about the fact that my mind immediately goes to dark and creepy places with the most mundane things people say and do.  I was recently hiking, although some would call it a serious power walk trying to keep up with me; (I am however not a runner! Screw that business.) in a local heavily wooded park and sometimes recreational area.   A seldom seen worker came traipsing through in a section that allows for work vehicles to check on things and do mild maintenance and then stopped at a wooden storage unit.  He had a large tarp and a shovel in hand, this of course had me arching an eyebrow and thinking the worst of him.  Was he actually a park worker?  Did his boss know he was out here in the middle of nowhere possibly up to no good!  I observed him for a moment.  Much like one does with Rorschach cards.  I however didn't see ink blots, or bat and birds.  My immediate and twisted thought was, "well that's a truly crappy place to store a dead body." Yes, I am keenly aware that I should probably not be left alone too often or to my own devices.  As has been noted by many, near an far that should I be the voice of reason; shit has gone horribly wrong. 

Now I know the running joke after the testing, which I did for shits and giggles that yes I do carry the warrior gene.  Let everyone be rest assured that I am not a serial killer, at least not yet thanks to my self imposed hiatus from facebook.  My girlfriend whom is well accustomed to my dark and humorous (to me) thoughts, decided to play devils advocate, humouring my tisted train of thought and argued that it would be a good place to hide a body but that it was unfair of us to think that the seldom seen worker was hiding bodies there.  After all he was probably a very nice man wom had a family and went to church every sunday.  As I quirked an eyebrow in her direction and simply muttered BTK, she had to shake her head at me and just laugh at my complete mistrust of human goodness.  So there we sat over coffee discussing, she the merits and I the problematic theory of hiding a body in those woods and in that shed.  Of course upon further inspection of details she realized that I was correct, and that the concept of storing a dead body in the wooden storage unit is flawed and would surely place whomever the killer was in jail in a reasonably short time. 

The larger issue for her was of course was what was worse-the initial thought or the fact that I had taken the time to analyze it.  I maintained that my thought process was sound and would make me a fantastic crime scene investigator,  She for possibly the hundredth time chuckled and added that I would probably make a better hitwoman.  Something about my general dislike of anyone feeling as though they had great authority over my person and that I rarely played well with others.  Which she denotes is due to my being raised by wolves and keeping the company of wolves for far too long.  She might have a point, but my reasoning is still sound.  Thank the gods she gets me.  Anyone else would have run screaming by now.

Tornado Touchdown

Dear Texas Residents,

My heartfelt sympathies to those in Canton, and all area's effected by the tornado touchdown.  We've seen gentler and we seen harsher storms my loves and still we rise.  Hang in there and while I cannot be there with you I am thinking of you. 




Dear Tornado,

Must you always hit those whom don't deserve it while blatantly ignoring my fuckwit of a husband who is right there.  Easy pickin's tornado. E-Z pickin's.  On your next pass through, please just take him!

If I' only killed him when I first thought about it; I'd be out by now.

Time Marches On

Time does indeed march on and as you age, as I am; you will find it's marching with an entire troupe across your face.  My once resilient and impossibly youthful skin has begun to remind me that while I may feel ageless most days, it is requiring some extra care.  Between age and work environment, which in my case is quite a harsh environment my face is freaking the hell out to put it mildly.  Never before have I had to deal with this many breakouts and tenderness from my skin.  About a week ago they moved around a fair amount of stuff at work, thus sending my already irritated skin into a tailspin of "fuck you all, I'm going to turn red, rashy, and hurt like a mother fucker" began. 

I had breakouts as a teen, much the same way we all did when our youthful hormones kicked it up a notch and did their version of Stuart's, "Look what I can do!"  Yet this is completely new to me.  My youthful breakouts were nothing compared to this level of insanity.  For some of you, it will seem like hell; while to others still you'll Z-snap and say, "gurl, that ain't nothin!"  Of course each of our mileage will vary, it's just that for me personally; I'm beginning to look into the mirror and feel as though Keith Richards is staring back at me. 

I've never been one of those girls to have a massive beauty routine.  The entire notion of it bored the life out of me and made me feel like some ridiculous self absorbed princess.  I am in no way trying to turn back the hands of time and look 20 something again.  I had my time, and I lived the width and breadth of it without any regrets.  I am happy to embrace my path towards some form of maturity in all it's glory, I would simply like to do so without red, inflamed, itchy pockmarked skin.  So today, I sit with a freshly activated charcoal washed face, a clay mask now drying upon said face, and a glop of salicylic and glycolic acids waiting in the wings in the efforts and hope that my face will purge all of the ick and just calm the fuck down! 

Here's to the ageing process and seeing what I can do next!

Mid-Life Mom?

Someone told me I was a midlife mom today.  I'm not exactly sure what that means or what they meant by it, but it sounds even less appealing than being called a milf.  Then again I am completely stumped over all of this "midlife stuff" anyhow.  Sure I fully realize that I am in my mid 40's and rounding that corner to fabulous 50's, but everytime I hear someone mention "midlife" it always sounds so negative.  Why do we fight against aging with such ferocity?  We're so arrogant.  So afraid of aging, that we do everything we can to prevent it.  When will we accept that growing up and older into our authentic selves, with or without someone is a privilege afforded to so few that it's something to be cherished not feared?  Let's face it, even if we are all alone, we're all together in that too.

But They're Pink!

Not these one's thank the gods old and new.  These are the Saucony road runners, and they are like slippers with speed.  Yet low and behold I had to buy new runners, and buying just one pair with my dancers feet is not even an option.  You see when you have feet like mine you tend to go through shoes, even the expensive ones fast.  So I hunt for sales and something that isn't fucking pink!

It's always interesting buying new shoes.  At least it is for me with my way ugly dancers feet.  My toes go into a point my bunions are massive and not going anywhere ever.  So when I step on the foot sizing contraption the look upon the poor salesman's (in this case) faces is humourous.  My feet thanks to years of foot binding torture in pointe shoes has ensured that the "one size fits all" approach is not even an option.  So assuming that a B width shoe will work will have me rolling my eyes and shaking my head.  The salesman in this case was pretty good.  He didn't recoil in horror or abject fear.  As has been known to happen in the past.  Seriously.

To his credit he looked me in the eye and said, "you've got the widest feet I've ever fitted.  I imagine wearing heels would be excruciatingly painful for you."  Ahh a young man with a brain!  I liked him already.  "Yes, I can say without any preamble that high heels are a death sentence for me in 99.9% of the cases.  I have to wear something that is actually tailor made for my feet."  When he nodded and added, "any man that asks you to wear heels should be shot if he isn't paying to have them made for you then" I almost threw him to the ground and rode him like a pony.  Alas I maintained a sense of decorum and remembered that he looked to be about 24 at best.  More's the pity for me.

He and I went over what it was that I required in a shoe and discussed the best options with the best price points.  Noting that I had to buy two pairs to ensure I got through the month, he pulled out all the sale items for me, bless his heart.  (Oh that statement...)    Anyhow, we found two of my favourite brands and went with those that would give me the most flexibility around my super wide feet, yet amazingly narrow heel.  Steve brought me out the Saucony's which felt like butter (insert yiddish voiceover right there) and a pair of Asics that had me eyeing him a tad wearily.  "Steve darling, do I look like a woman that wears pink?"  I guffawed at him.  His resounding chuckle and bally's "oh sit your butt down and just try them on for me," was impressive.  Steve had chutzpah.  I like that.

Steve was also right.  Something I like and loathe.  So there I was with a pair of purple and PINK Asics on my feet and quite pleased with them.  Kudo's Steve, until we meet again.  xo The no longer barefoot ballerina.