| Wednesday, May 10, 2006 |
| Beau RED |
My little man is sick. He's feverish and generally pissed off about it. Every time he gets up, to eat, pee or just bug me, he bursts into tears. This is a five year old boy that rarely cries about anything. He has a cheerful attitude about life.
Its two in the afternoon and I havent done a damn thing. I'm at my boyfriends house, because its generally more comfortable than mine, and my sons and I left it a huge mess when last we visited. I told him I would clean it up, because I was so fortunate to get an impromptu day off. So here I sit at his computer, trying to think of clever things to write for you to read.
I got nothin'.
Nothing.
I do not have anything.
I am with out words.
Creativity-less.
Bored.
If I am prized with another son I am naming him Beau Red. I know, mean. Maybe if I get a dog. I can see myself on the porch of a house with blue shutters, white picket fence and greener than green lawn... wearing a pretty little halter sundress with bright yellow flowers on, hollering out Beau RED!!!!! Here Dog!!!! Perfectly applied red lipstick, hair coifed, wedge shoes, cake baking in the oven, dinner planned and ready, a pile of crafty 'projects' laying in wait, sun tea jar reflecting against the sun...
Holy hell, dilusional. I need to find a thermometer, maybe I caught what little man is fighting. Maybe I have watched one too many old sitcoms. My coffee is cold, sandwich stale. I hate being home during the daytime. You got it, I would prefer to wash, wipe, cook and clean for the old and infirm than sit on my butt all damn day... least I am busy without temptation for writing lame assed blogs like this one. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 10:45 PM  |
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| Monday, May 01, 2006 |
| California |
| You know, when I went to California, I said I was going to write about it. In fact, I have been meaning to. But, sometimes things happen and you want what you write to be perfect, defined, to give a sense of what your experience truly meant to you. Some things are indescribable. Sometimes you write, then read it over, and realize you gave off the wrong impression. I dont really like sharing things that are under lock and key within my heart. Sometimes I like to keep these things for personal reflection, like a treasure you take from a drawer and look at every now and again. So for my dear psuedo mam, understand please, while I want to write what you mean to me, I find myself at a loss for words. Because words are rendered meaningless when there is so much behind them. The passion cancels them out. You taught me a lot about absolutely living with complete resolve. Realizing your goals, and MAKING them happen... I love you lady, and miss you dearly. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 1:13 PM |
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