Domestically defunct

My attempts to blossom into a domestic goddess have made me question how I could ever be my Mother's daughter. She isn't a compulsive cleaner like my Aunt, nor is she obsessive like my Father. However, her cleaning abilities far surpass more people than not. I, on the other hand possess little natural ability or affinity to it.

While I myself at times may be disheveled, I appreciate a sense of semblance. Strangest of all, not being naturally tidy (my head alone is a messy place) - I happen to have a near phobic aversion to germy places. For one, murky water makes me shudder. My feet clench at the thought of shower and tub floors (yet I can walk barefoot on sidewalks without hesitation). Xanax and perseverance - are my coping tools. Loose hair and dust bunnies are traumatic to deal with. Grime makes me gag.

Yep, I have issues! Worst of all, I do it to myself. I have the uncanny ability to work myself up. I question if anxiety is cause or effect. Am I creating a source for my already present tension? I could do without the nightmares that make 'Fear Factor' look like a picnic in the park.

I guess everyone has their gross-out threshold. What does it take to reach yours?

Wet dog

We finally got our rain last night. The one night some thoughtless person on the block had the absence of mind to bring their dog inside. It's mournful bark could be heard through the wee hours of morning. I assume it was a dog of formidable size judging by the amplified bark. Perhaps it's brawn will come in handy when it's payback time for the negligible owner. I suppose karma could come into play, causing said person to potentially misplace his or her house keys and become locked out themselves.

Wouldn't that be a dog-gone shame?

Berry Days

Nothing is better than receiving a gift in a jar. Summer fruit lends itself to homemade jams and preserves, a welcome treat to feast on. The intense color of berries encapsulated in glass, much like jewels - a delight for the senses. Sun golden seeds fleck countless red jars waiting to be shared with family and friends. The sour-sweet flavor begs for nothing less than fresh bread. If your lucky, you might have been given a fresh loaf of that too.

Having been presented a jar of such tasty conserve, hubby suggested I make an immediate sampling. Toasted, in time for a before bed snack, we savored the tasty spread. We certainly agreed, nothing can compare to the flavor of fresh raspberry jam.

I recall summers past, busy with picking. What berries we didn't sneak out of brimming buckets were brought into the kitchen while we ourselves were scooted out for the yearly 'canning' process. Strawberry, blackberry, were both common home-spun treats encountered growing up. Blends of Strawberry-banana and other mixed flavors were often swapped between mothers, each proud to impress with their own family's recipes. Crabapple butters, along with massive jars of pickles are just some of the assortment they passed around the neighborhood table. Throw in a pie or two for good measure and the pantry, fridge, and freezer were full of that summer's taking.

I happen to have a surplus of fresh blueberries. I intend to make a treat. Any suggestions?


The heat is really getting to me.

The weatherman keeps eluding to rain, implying that it's on it's way. My hopes have been dashed a countless number of time by quick showers that end hastily, making more room for endless hot days. They do not break the heat. I call them 'Rain Pre-quels', suggesting a heftier episode will follow. Wishful thinking. There's been nothing strong enough to persuade the constant cool breeze that I'm looking for.

I want it to rain outside like it really means it, damn it!
I want the electrically charged air to finally let loose the lightning, let go of it's humid hold. Decline these ever rising temperatures. Break free from a maddening summer heat wave.

Something... Anything to soothe me from the wicked hot sun.

Making the grade

I keep having this dream...
I'm going to school and missed my English final. My major isn't English, if that matters in the scope of this nightly drama. It's the end of the school year and I've done nothing to find out about it. I assume I failed, so I just accept it without even trying to find out the particulars. Usually graduating and getting a diploma make me feel cold. In my dream it doesn't matter, worst I think it's pointless.

In real life it didn't seem to make much difference either. I'm no longer practicing a career in the field I chose. Not even similar. I gave up, gave in, bowed down, and backed away from the negative experience. People can be cruel. I hated the pretentiousness of it. I never fit in. It might as well been school, judging the behavior.

Unfortunately I carried that experience and let it shape my way of thinking. What little I did has now dwindled down to nothing. I couldn't muster the confidence required to go out there, in the great big world anyway. I dare say I have become less than a person, than a human being, and it bothers me. I have no respect for myself, so why would anyone else?

A lot of people think what a person does defines him or her. I guess that would give all this some meaning, wouldn't it?


It's one of those 'writer's block' days. I'm straining at this entry, hoping a few keystrokes start the momentum.Thinking perhaps the aimless typing alone will persuade an entry.

Alas, nothing. Rather than twiddle more time away, I'll try posting later. Maybe then I'll have something to say...
cause I've got nothing.

Stand still

I haven't written anything for the past few days. Most of my time is placating the internal dialog that berates me endlessly. I don't hear voices, other than my own. A constant narrative backdrop when my meds aren't working. Awash with a sloshy sadness that ebbs like the tides, coming and going.

I've been feeling sick, able to feel something more than despair at least. My boyfriend puts up with me, at least for now. My dog chooses to like me even when I'm dispondant. I'm lucky.

It's almost like forgetting how to be happy. Waking up one day and not feeling right. The dark mood impedes any productivity. The less achieved, the deeper the ache.


Teens have a way of getting into trouble.

It's when they go looking for it, begging for more than just mischief - that irks me.

Lets see... where do I begin? I caught one hot-wiring a neighbors truck. Found the traces of another one's drinking escapade (left a beer can inside our car). I recall another from the nearby group home stealing our outdoor light fixture. I could go on and on, but I won't.

My ex would disclose his misbehaving, as if being a bad egg was cool somehow. I thought I could teach him better (silly me). My sister and I, we wouldn't dream of such undertakings. It wasn't a fear of our parent's reprimands that kept our noses clean. No, it was a healthy dose of respect for other people. It's that simple. Which brings me to my latest tale.

Last night a posse of underage delinquents chose to stay out during the wee morning hours poking around the neighborhood. I tend to follow my nocturnal nature and was just going to bed. Laying there, in the dark, guess what I hear? Possibly someone outside our window, causing the dogs to stir. The sound of nearby footsteps creeping the parameters of our apparently vulnerable abode. Followed moments later , by a barely audible whispering, while the voices conspired over whatever evil deed they had lined up next on their agenda.

Next thing you know - the dogs bark, DH wakes up to peer his head out the bedroom window. What does he see? A group of five male and female accomplices gathered around my father's parked car!

So he runs to the front door, witness to no more than the said instigators hurriedly dispersing themselves across the block. The 'game' appeared over, players scattered across the neighborhood yards. Whatever dismal community disservice they were willing to partake - now over.

The grateful lot of us went to bed, hoping for peaceful sleep. My brain cataloged the nights events, holding a spot right next to the previous weeks encounter (Mr. Scary guy knocking on the door, dubage in hand, apparently speaking of said cig. underneath a thick layer of vocal canines).

I suppose it goes without saying - I wish to be spared of such visitors in the future.


It turns out, Speckles is afraid of thunder.

Just yesterday, a storm cloud overtook a deceptively meek afternoon. I'd say it positioned itself right overhead, judging by the intensity of it. The clap of thunder left a threatened feeling. I shuddered from the startle, similar to the snap of a ruler against a desk. The reaction surprised myself. Usually I love stormy weather. Though my mother is deathly afraid of lightening, I've never been. But this time it was different.

Speckles, a dog whose ample size results in clumsy footwork and near chair tipping, had hidden herself beneath my desk. Bizarre, seeing she avoids being in my vicinity (grudging the way I steal her master's affections). Amelie was planted firmly at my side, too. It seems the storm spared none of our attention. We were, a captive audience of sort.

It was my rigid pose that bewildered me. I felt like a scared rabbit! When the power flicked off the dogs and I eyed each other nervously. Tense anticipation gripping us. We were a riot in retrospect. Ninnies!

The storm ended as quickly as it started. My nerves, however, remained jangled for a bit longer...

Even if the only 'Wiz' around here has more to do with puppy bladders than Oz, I'll likely be known as the'Cowardly Lion' from now on.

Little shop of horrors

Why is it whenever I go grocery shopping, I forget most of what I went to get in the first place? I mean, I write a list. However, being my recall is as bad as it is that I need to prepare one, I subsequently forget to take the darn thing with me!

I'm an inquisitive shopper. I read the labels, compare brands, checkout what's new. Being a visual person it takes me a while to absorb my surroundings. I've no problem standing there (NOT blocking aisles, I hate that) and take it all in. Anxiety driven and long term medication slows my thinking.

To say I'm indecisive would be only part of the whole truth. Saying so disregards the significance of my problems and how they come into play with those everyday dealings. It's easy to ignore the strain it is for people like me to do the most mundane things. After all, you take the same duties in stride.

Forgive me while I lump a sum of us together...
If the lot of our type are successful at facing our fears, I believe that on our part, I'd say it's only fair to let us revel in it. You might take little things like going out to the store for granted. For us it's an accomplishment of sorts just to do ordinary everyday things. Rest assured, I understand how hard it must be to relate to such situations.

Most of the time I realize what a chore I can be. If I had to pick a word to define myself, I'd probably end up settling for 'frustrating' (or spend forever making up my mind picking one). I know my company can be quite taxing. Therefore I refuse my right to be offended when people stop being incredibly tolerant of the fact.

So for those who have been victim...
It sucks knowing nobody enjoys these excursions. That I rob time and patience to those kind enough to take me anywhere. Yet please, just try to remember that equally in turn, it sucks being rushed around or resented for failing to meet expectations, as a result just as much. My past is full of being left out, or feeling that way. Theres just no need to revisit those pangs and relive them.


I've recently learned of a special project amongst fellow bloggers. Becoming involved is a simple symbolic gesture that puts everything in perspective...

2,996 volunteer bloggers will join together for a tribute to the victims of 9/11. Each person will pay tribute to a single victim on September 11, 2006 honoring their lives. This is a chance to learn about and celebrate those who died. If you would like to help out and pledge to post a tribute on your own blog, please click the graphic to learn how you can participate.

I surrender!

I raise my Kleenex as a white flag, grabbing a new tissue.
Yep... it's allergy season.

But it's far too hot to complain. I simply can't keep focus on more than the weather. The heat takes my mind off my nasal woes. It's been bastardly hot this season.

Lawns' are more scorched than green. A sunny garden left unattended, in a few hours resembles a cemetery plot. Drooping sad flowers and lifeless green limbs hang in the miserable drying sun. The mortality of our rosemary seedlings provide a perfect example of how unbearable these temperatures are.

Our place feels like a furnace. Slightly better than my sister's condo, which must feel like an easy bake oven. My parent's air conditioned kitchen is barely a sanctuary. The unit can't take on such magnitude. My mom can't sleep at night, much like everyone in the area. It's just too damned hot.

I'm praying for rain, not sure it if it would make much difference. At least our lawn would benefit. I haven't seen so much dead and dying water deprived grass in years.
...Just thinking about it makes me thirsty.

Head trip

Man, do I dream. I mean a lot.

Unfortunately, I've had more than my share of negative ones, even bad enough to cause a major depressive episode (isn't that nutty?). But generally, most of these nightly visual escapades are re-runs. I'm sure many other people share the collective of text book examples. These include: being chased or unprepared for tests, working (they often leave you fatigued before your day's even started), and the odd flying or supernatural one (I miss the magical powers I haven't possessed in ages).

Of coarse, then there are the dreams that set us apart. Unique to our own lives, at the mercy of our manipulative little brains. We conjure up the most peculiar things. A sense of humor seems a basic requirement for that lot.

I sometimes find myself watching, in the form of a movie. Dreams that have all the bells and whistles. Even proper titles, I kid you not.

There's the popular school theme. Those dreams make me wish I could escape the monotony of them, and take a well earned summer vacation. Dreams In which I usually can't remember when my classes start, never knowing what the assignments are, or where the class is located. Ultimately it ends in failure (about as literal as it gets). The clueless nature of which leads to the next catergory.

Consider those memory lapse pangs we all experience. Dreamy fragments of forgetfulness. When simple facts elude us, like phone numbers or locker combinations.

The most problematic dream state for me these days, are a different kind. I become the victim of urgency! I'm speaking of the most frequent type of them all...
The need to pee dream.

When you've got to go so bad and nobody will leave you alone. The event always finds you in a place where a clean bathroom can't be seen or found, which ironically is lucky.
Because if you found one...

You get the picture.

These days, each and every morning I wake with sudden reaction. Every thought I wake to is of the loo. The sudden jolt defies wit, and frankly that perturbs me... Why won't my brain just nudge me awake at the first inkling?

Why must I experience a long drawn out torture only to have to jump out of bed in the nick of time? Maybe our subconscious thinks its funny. A prank on the host and the senses.
Whatever the reason - it boggles the very mind that starts such dribble (no pun intended) in the first place.