A Dry Spell

It seems as if my writing lately comes in waves. I'll have a period where there is so much to say that I can't say it all. Then there are times when I have absolutely nothing to say. Then there are times when it all seems to fall in between. Those are the moments when my mind is running a mile a minute, but I can't really make much sense of all the bits and pieces, or I've made perfect sense of everything, but for privacy reasons or because I care way too much about what people think of me I'd just rather suffer and keep it all to myself. Today I'm experiencing a little of all of the above, which really is no better. . . . .

Gossip 101

I'd be lying if I ever said that I never gossipped about someone. I'm sure that most of the general population can remember a time when they had something not-so-nice to say about someone else. But it's like I always say, there is an art to everything, and that includes gossip.

In this case you better know the tricks of the trade, unless you want to get caught with your pants down. Honestly it's not that I know these things because I have extensive practice in the art of gossip, but really it's more or less common sense. To do anything less would be as The Second says, a rookie move:

1. Volume control - nobody likes a loud mouth gossip
2. Never talk about the subject at hand with one of their friends present
3. Never talk about the person right under their nose
4. Never talk bad about a Yankee
5. Prepare yourself for the repercussions of your actions
6. Listen carefully
7. Be sure your sins will find you out

Saving The Best For Last

As dorky as it sounds, I'm one of those people who saves the best for last, or at least what I perceive to be the best. Dessert, that's eaten last. If I receive a letter in the mail I'll sit it aside and read it at the last possible minute.

Sometimes doing things like this can be the difference between an already bad day, and one that is vastly improved. Does the waiting bother me? Never! It makes it all the more worthwhile.

The Sound of Music

It has to have been at least 3 years since I last listened to that CD. I remember the day very vividly. We were in Wanda, windows down, flying down Jenkins, sun shining, just Mag and I. During the 2 years that we lived together I made it my responsibility to educate her on the finer sounds of the late 80's and early 90's. So of course I was not surprised to hear her singing along, word for word, above that raspy, ever sexy Bryan Adams' voice. I kept the beat with my left foot and pushed down on the excelerator with my right. Life was starting to make sense again, except I could not fool myself into ignoring the slight ache in my heart as I sang along. That was the last time I listened to that CD, till just this last week.

It's not that we had "a song" per say. We both just really appreciated that CD. He'd even sing to me some mornings - I need somebody, somebody like you. . . There were already other things that I had erased from my life, in a vain attempt to forget. I stopped eatting at Moe's, unless Vicky was visiting and insisted we dine there. Under The Second's advisement I'd thrown away 2 bottles of my favorite lavender lotion, which I'd kept in stock under the bathroom vanity. But I was hellbent against throwing away this CD. There was only so much that I was willing to sacrifice. There are only so many detours you can make. If I had to erase everything that ever reminded me of one person I might as well erase myself. Regardless of the potential danger, I kept it, hoping that one day I would be able to hear those harmonies and think nothing of it at all. A week ago today was that day.

While weaving in and out of traffic I sifted through my CD case looking for something that would fufill my musical appetite, and there it was. I didn't even hesitate. Immediately, as if it were 3 years ago, those songs blared from Bianca's windows as I flew down Ringgold, and I sang as I'd never sang before, as if those songs had been stripped of those old meanings. They were new songs. And not once did my heart ache as I kept beat with my left foot. Not once did I see that face, or crave that kiss, or long to hear that voice singing those lyrics to me.

It's moments like this that I rejoice, for I truly know that he really hasn't stolen all my joy. I've learned to overcome and move on to better things, because this CD is a keeper!

The Truth Of The Matter

Yesterday I'd commented on the genetic nature of my perserverence. Today I noted a comment that my older sister left for me. She insisted that it is not perserverence that makes us unique, but our ability to love that differentiates us from other people. She could not be more right.

For the most part, between the three of us (Dolly, myself, and Vicky) we have this unlimited supply of love. According to some there are different "types" of love. There is parental love, which is shared between child and parent. There is familial love, which really I suppose is the same as parental love. And of course, there is the love shared between a man and a woman. I don't want to label this as martial love because of course it is possible to love someone and not be married to them. But then again there is martial love, which I really believe is different from the before-mentioned love between a man and woman who are not married. I'm sure that after living with someone for about 30 years, there is a special love that only married individuals can describe or even begin to understand. Of all the different types, I feel that Dolly was referring to our ability to love men. In my whole life, never have I seen people who can just give, and give, and give, of themselves to a man.

I like to think of myself as a very passionate person, although I almost hesitate to use that word. It almost seems taboo, as if being passionate automatically makes you reckless and irrational. I'm sure too, that some people will read this and laugh at the idea of me being passionate. Unfortunately I think that my overly bashful nature suppresses those feelings from being outwardly expressed, and maybe also to prevent me from embarrassing myself.

I've only really truly been in love twice in my life. So far I'm 0 for 0 as far as being able to get them to love me back, but that never really stops me. And I'm not convinced that either person could ever really fully appreciate the extent of my feelings. If I didn't love outwardly I'm sure that I would drown in it all.

Yes, truly what we do best is love. We love, we hurt, we heal, we love again. It's certainly genetic. Now if only we could conquer it. If only we could find that person willing to reciprocate. Unfortunately that seems to be genetic too. . . . .

Crash and Burn

You really can only ride a high for so long, and inevitably when it ends you're more than likely going to find yourself down in the dumps. It's like the adrenaline rush that sweeps over me after a code 99. During the madness I have total access to all the energy that my little body requires to get the job done. Afterwards, all my body systems take a complete and utter nosedive leaving me feeling like sleeping, vomitting, or crying. The latter usually wins that battle just simply because it seems to be what I do best.

Earlier this week I'd blogger about my serotonin high caused by all the wonderful weather. I'm sure that there was something else that contributed to those giddy, lighthearted feelings, but I'm still not sure what that something was. Hopefully it'll return to me and stay for a little longer. Unfortunately the high has long since ended.

Tuesday, being my worst day in awhile, I would have cried my eyes out if you'd even looked at me crosseyed. Which actually wasn't even necessary being that I was home alone and found myself crying my eyes out anyway. Luckily all the tears were not in vain and I actually slept a little that night.

Wednesday was another bright and sun-shiny day which I spent downtown, taking pictures of the sights and pretending that I'm good at it. It was one of those picturesque days that I could bottle up and keep in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets only to be released on one of those horribly rainy days that Tennessee is oh-so famous for. Despite the beauty around me, I felt a little under the weather, surrounded by people and things, and yet all alone.

Thursday brought me back to work and into the routine again. I'm starting to feel like my old self again, not so high up in the clouds, or down in the dumps, but more like I'm resting on level ground.

Tomorrow's another day, with challenges all it's own, and hopefully a few surprises as well. And so I trudge on, with my chin up, and my brave face on, because after all, I am a Porawski, and this is what we do best, one step at a time. . . .

It's Me

About a week ago I blogged about the new bathing suits that I had bought for this up and coming summer season. They arrived in the mail a few days ago and honestly, the only thing that is itsy bitsy, is me. I guess I'm smaller than I thought, or else the company sizes run a little on the big side.

For a few days now I've debated as to whether I should just return them and get my money back or be brave and make the necessary exchanges and see if I feel better about the whole thing when they actually fit me. So today I called Victoria's Secret and arranged to have the smaller sizes sent to me pronto.

In the meantime I decided to break myself into being more comfortable in the tops which actually fit me, and thus pranced around my apartment for a few minutes in the tops and my pajama bottoms. I'm sure the neighbors across the way enjoyed that. Oh well. . . .

The Weatherman Says. . . . .

Put on a tanktop, shorts, and some flip flops and soak up some of this near 80 degree weather! Spring is coming to Tennessee, and on a day as beautiful as today you won't find me wearing long sleeves. I can almost feel the surges of serotonin!

This One's For You

A few nights ago, as I was trying to ward off my usual episode of insomnia, I found myself watching what essentially is stand-up poetry. Apparently it seems to be something that is aired quite often on HBO and I've just not run into it yet, or maybe I have and just never gave it a chance to catch my attention. Either way, I found it to be really quite moving.

The first act is what really stuck with me. The poet was a young guy, and as you listened to him recite his poetry it became evident that he was talking about love, heartache, and unfortunately things that we discredit men as capable of feeling.

I'm not going to deny my tendency to "man-bash" at times. But really when it comes right down to it, women can be just as awful as men. In fact I have seen some really respectable women (or at least women who I'd always viewed as respectable and honest), break a man's heart worse then I'd ever seen a man do to a woman. And the worst part is that it never really phased them. They walked away and continued to live their life as if he had never been a part of their life at all.

Point and case, this rather young, male poet stood in front of an audience and in plain English informed all the foolish men and women on this earth that men suffer too. Men feel pain just as strongly as women. Men can cry themselves to sleep at night just the same as your local Suzie Bag o' Donuts. Men have hearts. Men feel pain and heartache. They just have their own unique way of showing it.

The whole experience was really almost an epiphany for me, although I know that somewhere inside myself I knew that men can love and suffer just the same as a woman. But as with anything written out of passion, it just touched me in a different way. It was beautiful and powerful and almost heartbreaking in and of itself.

So for all the men out there, this one's for you!

In Dreams

They say that girls dream of their Prince Charming. Me? I dream of Barbara Streisand. Let me explain:

Lately I've been having an awful time trying to sleep. I used to feel so sorry for insomniacs, and now that I've become one myself, I have a whole new respect for the millions of Americans who lay awake at night, tossing and turning as I do. I used to think that it was because I had something on my mind, but as I previously blogged, there's really nothing that should be keeping me from sawing some logs.

Last night seemed to be one of those nights. Try as I might, I could not sleep, even if you paid me. Funny thing though, all that tossing and turning trying actually wears you out, and I finally fell asleep, only to have the weirdest dreams ever. I'm still not sure if they were the result of sheer exhaustion or the Cherry Pepsi that I drank prior to climbing in bed. Either way, I suppose it doesn't really matter.

Dream #1 :

I was sitting in the back seat of Mom's Ford Explorer next to my nephew, Connor, who was no longer 2 going on 3, but about 6 months old. We were in PA of course, driving past the Mobile which is now the Luk Oil. As we approached the piano shop (which has been there for as long as I have been alive and I can't for the life of me remember the name of the dang store!) I looked out the window and gasped as I watched a funnel cloud form in the distance. I immediately pointed out the black and grey monster to Mom, who really seemed to care less, and just kept right on driving toward the tornado. As I continued to watch in horror the tornado began changing colors. It took on a golden hue. As we neared the piano shop I was surprised that really there was no wind or storm at all. As I glanced behind the store, there stood a movie crew with lights and other equipment, making the tornado. Not long after the shock of the whole thing set in, I woke up. . . . .

Dream #2 :

Shortly after the tornado dream I fell asleep again, and had an even weirder dream. I found myself at the Montgomery Mall, back in PA, shopping for diamond tennis bracelets at one of the many jewelry stores. The woman showed me a number of different bracelets and then took me by the hand and guided me to a glass-top case. "This," she said is what I was looking for. After unlocking the case, she pulled out what looked like a penny that had been shrunk down and put on a chain. I was flabbergasted. I tried to tell her that this is not what I was looking for, but she wouldn't hear of it. I got so mad that I left.

Next I found myself wandering into Victoria's Secret. But it wasn't so much the fact that I was there, as what I was wearing. Dressed in knee high leather stelletoes, leggings, and something else that I'm sure is just as equally embarrassing, I looked more like a Pussy Cat Doll then myself, but I digress.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Barbara Streisand who immediately complimented me on my "hot bod" but then added that she didn't like my smile. She never sang really, just followed me throughout the store. Suddenly Dolly appeared and we shopped for some dresses, which I specifically remember costing $160.00. I was so shocked that I'm sure that's what woke me up. . . . . .

I'm not sure what it all means, but I think that's the last time I'll drink Cherry Pepsi before going to bed!

Confessionals

It seems that this week has been officially deemed the week for confessions, (not necessarily bad confessions, but confessions nonetheless). Being that it's Friday and we've all unloaded our deepest, darkest secrets I can only hope that everyone else feels as liberated as I do.

I'd felt like I trudged through the last 7 months or more with a 10 ton weight on my back, that only seemed to get bigger with each passing day. I'd debated laying it to rest and coming clean but I hadn't mustered up the courage yet, and felt too, that maybe I had a little more strength left. Maybe I would be able to carry this one for just a little bit longer.

But there always comes a point when one can no longer pretend that their back isn't breaking under the pressure. I've always been the kind of person to dread regret. I'd rather feel a fool or stick my foot in my mouth, (which really is a regularly occuring embarrassment) than wake up one day and realize that I've made an irreversable mistake, or in this case, omission.

Needless to say, I've come clean to the necessary parties, and although at moments I still question my overall decision to come clean, I cannot deny the relief my heart feels.

Happy Birthday Bianca!

One year ago today I sat with my head resting on the edge of Ed Emerson's desk, the head financer at the local Toyota dealership. He preceded to ask me if I was, "Okay?" But I didn't let my nerves get the best of me that day. As one of the most independent actions of my entire life, I signed about 50 papers therefore making me the very proud owner of a brand new 2006 Corolla Sport, whom I most affectionately refer to as Bianca.

I remember the euphoria as I laid in the middle of my living room floor after driving her home that night. No more worries of whether I was going to make it to my destination. No more summer trips where I lingered on the boarders of heat stroke. No more pulling over to fill the radiator with water. No more!

Not that I my days with Wanda were not also at one time filled with joy as I recall speeding down Jenkins with Bryan Adams blaring out the windows. It's just so much more liberating to not have to carry that burden of apprehension asking myself, "Will I get there?"

Currently I'm about to turn over the 15,000 mile mark, which means that Bianca is in need of a birthday tune-up. The timing could not be more perfect. So here's to you Bianca, my faithful steed! Thanks for a great first year and all the joy you bring me even, though you're just a car. There's plenty more where that came from!

Another Good One

Dolly always teases me for what she calls "advertising" certain musical groups over my blog, but really I can't help myself. I love music. And I've noticed that as I get older I listen more to the lyrics and what the song itself is saying. I really like this song. The first time I heard it I had to laugh because I thought it was a little silly, but I guess it grew on me because really it's just a love song and that's what I crave. Plus you can dance to this one. Enjoy!

Here In Your Arms

I like,
Where we are,
When we drive,
In your car.
I like,
Where we are,
Here.

Cause our lips,
Can touch.
And our cheeks,
Can brush.
Our lips can touch,
Here.

Where you are the one, the one,
Who lies close to me,
Whispers, "Hello,
"I miss you quite terribly."
I fell in love, in love
With you suddenly.
Now there's no place else
I could be, but,
Here in your arms.

I like,
Where you sleep,
When you sleep,
Next to me.
I like,
Where you sleep
Here.

Repeat Chourus. . . . .

- Hellogoodbye