Yesterday I wrote a poem “Too Drunk to be on a Bicycle’. It’s going to win me that there Nobel.
I don’t care for competition dance. It’s like being forced to watch a recital for people I don’t know. It’s dance for the sake of “Look what I can do”. It doesn’t move me, but it does surprise me and I guess that’s why I always end up watching clips from youtube.
I guess I feel the same about reality tv.
I forget I have an audience. I forget people are reading this. Hi reader! I hope your day went well. I’m writing to find my voice, but it seems you’ve found it as well. Thank you, and remember, like myself, this is a work in progress.
I’m ready for the home that exists in my mind. The one where we live somewhere with seasons and we can survive happily in all of them. The home with the studio for all the art projects I don’t have time for now. The home office that will bestow upon me magical powers of organization, focus, and will power. The home gym where my husband and I will regirously maintain our firm young bodies with dedication past child rearing and well into retirement. The home that will be so easy to care for that the two to three children that will run through it will never be scolded for muddy footprints. A home with space for two dogs, a cat, a pot bellied pig and a few chickens and goats in the yard. The home that is centrally located, rural but not far from metropolitan delights. A home that is our and we’ll never have to worry about the hassles of renting ever again. Oh and the mortgage that will one day prompt laugh when we think of what we’ve paid in rent. Where the fireflies light up the night but mosquitos are only a problem on vacation. Oh the home that will never break, never mold, never fall down in the middle of the night or be hit by a tree. THe home that is in my mind is where I’m longing to be.