Archive for the ‘Love’ Category


I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was my favorite shirt. I wore it no less than 2 times a week. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves. It wasn’t revealing or feminine and it wasn’t refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung to not just my body, but to my mind, soul, and spirit. It was who I am, inside and out.

The first time I met her, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence, and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way. They live life being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don’t mind so much, because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don’t. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to go up to her, and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello. She took all of me in, and saw in me at that precise moment what I saw when I looked in the mirror every time I wore this shirt. I was grateful.

For many years, she and I were inseparable. She seemed to adore me, even if I wasn’t wearing this shirt. That’s something I’ve never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt had to have magic! This shirt brought us together and it was rewarded with it being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!

I’m not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of my relationship with her. She began to despise this shirt with rolling her eyes, and mouthing, “Oh God, I’m sick of it.“ Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had the shirt lost its appeal, so did our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror. Whatever she saw, she no longer did.

This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there, hurt too much, that I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much, deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down, a part of me wishes we had never met.

A vignette I wrote as a submission for a contest  for the Off-Broadway show Love, Loss, and What I Wore. I don’t think I won, so I decided to post it publicly.



I think I figured something out.  Those who could care less about you don’t wring your heart into a twisted knot.  Those who care about you, even love you, make you feel like shit.  Life and stuff, it never ceases to amaze me.

I certainly see the appeal of being a lonely old maid….

Last week I found myself alone with my thoughts in the ER with a blood pressure of 199/117.  In between  test after test I began to think back to my past journal writings of my deceitful friend, the back stabbing cigarette.  I realized, I really have to quit smoking…. again.  My cigarettes are holding onto me tighter than they ever have before.  I am at a loss at how to shove them out of my life once and for all.  I’m re-posting some pieces I wrote back in 2007 about quitting.  I did quit, but I felt as if I had become the monster my cigarettes had once been.  I  started smoking again in early 2008 and have been smoking steadily ever since.  And honestly, I’ve enjoyed the hell out of it!  But after my results from my test came back…. I know I have to quit.  I am putting a plan into action…. but….. I’m utterly terrified.


Beginning of old journal writing…

I started smoking on occasion when I was 19 years old. I didn’t smoke everyday. The extremes were, a cigarette or 2 a month all the way to a couple of packs a week. I really enjoyed smoking. Every time I would sit at my desk, with pen in hand to write a new poem or story, a cigarette would always take my writer’s block away. When I felt a little lonely, bored or depressed, they were there, always making me feel better. My cigarettes were a kind, non-intrusive friend. They were there when I needed them, but never forceful. If I didn’t want them around, they left me alone until I was ready. It was an ideal relationship.

Over time my cigarettes changed from a kind and patient friend to an over bearing, controlling one. After about 10 years of a wonderful, respectful relationship, my cigarettes became evil. They would no longer sit in the drawer and wait for me to come. They demanded I keep them with me at all times, and that I take up most of my free time devoted to them. They purposely left their scent on me, so everyone would know that they belonged to me. After a time, I became obsessed with my cigarettes. If I weren’t spending time with them, I was spending time thinking about them. Wondering when I would get my time with them and do I have them with me? I could not stop myself from thinking about these things, despite the fact that I knew I would always make time for them and I would always have them with me, as they demanded nothing less from me. I now lived my life as an addict. I smoked around a pack a day even though I could hardly breathe, and I was constantly exhausted. But the cigarettes are tricky and conniving and convinced me that if I have another cigarette, I would feel better. I believed it for awhile. But every once in awhile I would wise up to them.

Once, a few years ago I tried to leave them behind. But as controlling and manipulative friends do, they dug their claws in even harder, they stalked my thoughts, they made me feel out of control. Finally, after only 2 and half days, I took them back…and we were happy, for awhile.

About 7 or 8 months ago I began to see my cigarettes for what they really were. They began to annoy the hell out of me. I couldn’t stand the sight, the smell, or that sizzle sound they make when they’re lighting up. I was tired of them following me everywhere, and all of the time they demanded of me. I thought about leaving again, but I knew how slick they are. This time it would have to be different. I would have to outsmart them. Back door them when they least expect it. It was time to make a plan. These damn cigarettes were going to destroy me if I didn’t do something.

In February,  2007.  I was in and out of doctor’s offices with many problems going on at once.  Surgery was inevitable, but when was in question.  I knew that I would be having surgery, and I knew that being a non-smoker would make the outcome so much better.  But my cigarettes, my friend stood firmly, forcibly by me through the entire ordeal. 

The 5 days I spent in March when I thought I had cancer, my cigarettes were my constant companion. (It wasn’t cancer, thank goodness)  They spent even more time than usual with me, tricking me more and more with every passing minute.  They chanted over and over again that I couldn’t get through this without them, and I was actually stupid enough to believe them.  So, I lit up…A LOT.  I smoked more than I had ever smoked before.  I could literally feel my body deteriorating with every sizzle of another cigarette.

The results from my many test started rolling in.  Every incoming test confirmed that my cigarettes were slowly, but steadily killing me.  My impending surgery would be nothing compared to what was to come if I didn’t throw those damn things out of the door once and for all.

So, begins the plan.  I still spent time with my cigarettes, acting as if nothing was wrong.  But secretly, I was planning my escape.  I day dreamed about not smoking.  I day dreamed about not smoking in different situations that I would normally smoke.  These thoughts caused me to have a lot of anxiety and stress for awhile.  You’ve got to understand, these things, these cigarettes had been my friend for almost 20 years, it is a grieving process.  I couldn’t just throw the cigarettes out without thinking about it first.

After a time, the thought of ditching my smokes  no longer caused panic and anxiety.  Hell, I could do it in my sleep it had become so easy.  At this point, I started practicing what I’d been thinking about.  For example, usually as soon as I jumped into the car I would immediately reach for my cigs.  Instead of reaching right away, I would sing along with a song first…and then smoke.  At first, my cigarettes didn’t know what was going on…but after awhile they began to get suspicious.  As you know, when an evil, vindictive friend gets suspicious of your loyalty, WATCH OUT!!!!

My cigarettes were on to me, and they came after me with a vengeance.  They made my life a living hell for awhile.  They did not leave me alone for a free thought for more than a second, as they were always on my mind.  It seemed they were  controlling my every movement, forcing me to reach for a smoke, not realizing what I was doing until I was putting my cigarette out.  They are sly and they are sneaky, but above all else…they are powerful!  Cigarettes can put Lord Voldemort to shame!

Obviously, I had lost all control over myself and my life.  I knew it was going to be exhausting, but it was time for me to take  control of the situation.  Being a control freak, I  usually enjoy this,  but I knew this was going to be extremely daunting. 

At this point, we are up to about mid August, 2007 already. The war had been going on for about 5 or 6 months, and the cigarettes were beating my ass!    I kicked the fight up into high gear.  I understood the motives of “my friend”, it was going to be a fight for my life. 

For the next 2 and half months or so, I would purposely “forget” my cigarettes, or I would purposely make myself sick by smoking too many cigarettes, or smoking cigarettes that were stronger than I was used to.  I was still thinking about and practicing not smoking in certain situations.  I could feel myself getting closer to walking away and I could feel the anxiety creeping in.  Every time my cigarettes tried to take the power back, and control how and when I smoked, I’d push them away.

On Sunday, October 21, 2007 I realized that in order to give up my smokes, I was going to have to trick myself.  I would take over the roll of tricking.  I gave myself permission to smoke, but I thought of better things to do instead.  If I wanted a cigarette, I could have one if nothing else made me feel better.  It would be a battle of the wills, a competition against myself…and I was, I am, going to win.

end of old journal writing….

My cigarettes are still a manipulative, controlling, annoying friend that I allow to stay in my life.  This friend is slowly killing me….

I hope to figure out how to break this…. and I hope I can find the courage to share it here.  But I have to admit…. I’m a bit embarrassed for anyone to know that this beast is still in my life, and that I’m allowing it to do so.

While listening to the new song I just posted (look below for the Jack’s Mannequin song), I became motivated to post my first random. Not sure what will come out, so….buckle up and lets see where we end up!

I’m tired of being stuck in a world where adults still think like teenagers.

I really want to brush my teeth. I brush too much. It helps my stress.

When things get hard, I shut down.

My co-worker, a 60 something year old guy but acts much younger, whom I have nothing in common with just found out today he has cancer that was caused by second hand smoke. Makes you think….

I gave my life up to a mental disorder for many years. Still use it as a crutch on occasion, but have come out alive and well. BUT, it irritates me when people are unwilling to even fight against theirs.

Since I went to New York, I have not missed a day where I don’t have at least one alcoholic drink. Something about that city made me feel alive…and now…. I feel sad because I’m not there.

I rarely cry…but often feel like it.

I’m way too sensitive and feel things much deeper than I should.

I drink too much coffee….well, lattes.

I saw a preview for the new Jim Carey movie where he said: “Drive faster so if we crash I’ll at least die.” That has stuck in my brain and won’t let me go.

I wish I would stop being so tired.

Whining annoys me.

People I’m attracted to are go getter’s, strong, positive, inspirational, intelligent, kind, love life, innocent, and funny. (Most of which, I’m not)

I wish I could just sit for an hour and absorb the energy of Maya Angelou.

It bothers me when people care more about how they look than how they act.

I’m sad more than I’m happy.

When I write and it feels like it’s working, I get a high that feels like having 4 drinks.

I hate that being a socialist is considered a bad thing.

When people fight, feel bad, feel stressed and it doesn’t have anything to do with me….. I pick up on it, and feel really ill.

The only “blood” family I have is my son. The rest, they either died or I “divorced” them.

The reason I have survived what I have survived is because I focus on the positive. It really, really, really, really bothers me when people choose to focus on the negative, of people and life. I always try to find something, at least one thing I like about someone or something so I can deal with whatever they or it comes my way.

I wish I had more self confidence.

royal blue is my favorite color.

If I had the money, I would be like Jay Leno and have a zillion cars.

Sometimes, I just want to get into the car and drive away without telling anyone where I’m going and stay in a hotel for a few nights.

I’ve never had a dream about a president, but I’ve had 2 about Obama. So weird. I even dreamed that he smoked before I found out he smoked.

My biggest pet peeve? greediness.

I’m actually starting to believe that coffee really is better than sex…. why? click here

I hate that for the last few years, at the end of the year…. I always think to myself, “Wow, I’ve lived the anniversary of when I’m going to die.” I fucking hate that thought, but can’t seem to stop it from coming….

my phone keeps ringing and it’s taken way too long to do this, so I’m going to stop at this.


Carly’s song plays
in my head
I pick up a pen
and begin to write.
My words
cause even though
it is written for me
you will think it’s not.
It really doesn’t matter
what you think,
cause only I
know my own code!
The blue journal
with a star
that was sent from afar,
knows all there is to know.
It doesn’t have an opinion
one way or the other
whether what I wrote
should have been
or not.

thanks for the journal!!! I still love it just as much!!! And the pen never leaves me!!!


Posted: October 5, 2008 in All, Blogroll, Life, Love, MY POEMS, sex, women

Everytime she walks through the door
she leaves
with weak knees,
knowing she’ll come once more


Posted: September 28, 2008 in All, Blogroll, Life, Love, MY POEMS, prose, Thoughts

The cat has been crying
under the window pane
for five nights in a row.
A couple of times
she left a plate of milk,
giving a pat or two
on top of its’ head,
in hopes, it would feel
enough love to move along.
But to let it in
is more than she can bare.
The cat has too many issues,
missing a few teeth
and in a few spots,
scars lay where the fur had once been.
She puts up a wall,
feeling only relief
when the crying stops.

I don’t know why I feel the need to say this because I’ve never explained my written word before. But just so everyone knows and we’re all clear….this is not about anybody I’ve met online. Just a random observation about life. Like I’ve said before….it comes to me, I write it down.