It has to go somewhere

Some nights, when I am wide awake thinking about how tired I am, yet afraid to sleep because I might dream, I try to imagine what it would feel like to *not* carry my baggage around. This horrible, tired old baggage. I wonder why letting go of emotional baggage can't be like letting go of material stuff. I have no problem tossing junk I don't want. I don't enjoy clutter. Cleaning out a junk drawer always feels so good. Going through stuff, old batteries, pieces of string, twisty ties. All of it seemed like a good idea to save at some point. But you go through it, examine it and realize it can't really serve you. So, you let it go. Just trash it. Gone. It is so liberating. But when it comes to my hurts, my pain. I cling to it like letting go is somehow asking for more. Keeping a tight grip on it is me saying, "No, thanks. I'm all good. None for me." Or maybe I hang on because letting go means I have to forgive first. That's tough. I have had people try ...

I've been listening to Sarah McLachlan sing about my feelings. I think it can be healing when lyrics from a song match your own thoughts so closely. Sarah totally got this one right. ******** I'm so tired, but I can't sleep Standing on the edge of something much too deep It's funny how we feel so much But cannot say a word We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard --Sarah McLachlan

I hate bugs. I think we should ban them. I know that they are God's little creatures and do all kinds of good stuff for the planet...yeah yeah. But I really hate bugs. I tried to look at them and wonder at their complexity, at their beauty. I mean, sure, I get it, they have some cool features. Take bees. Go ahead, Google for facts on bees. There are some cool facts about honey, and rapid heartbeats, the colony and flight patterns. But all I really need to know...they will sting you. Uh huh. Don't really care about a bumble bee's wing to weight ratio when it stings me. And spiders. I mean, come on. Is anyone really buying this whole "good for your garden" stuff? Not me. That sounds like some kind of spider propaganda if you ask me. I admit it. They scare me. I may not scream or faint, but on the inside. I'm screaming when I see a spider. I've seen people find a spider and scoop it up carefully on a piece of paper, marveling at it's majesty and then they...

Occasionally, I actually do have happy, sun-shiny thoughts. One way for you to be almost guaranteed to see me smile...just watch me with my dog, Moxie. Or watch me looking at a picture of her, or watch me talking about her, or watch me thinking about her, or watch me thinking about looking at a picture of her.... Moxie is special. All dogs are cool. And most cute. But, you see, Moxie is love on four legs. There is no better way to describe her. She's perfect. She is little and cuddly. Has big, brown, shiny eyes, a wonderful, little, cool, wet nose. She loves to be held and cuddled. She knows she's cute too. And she works it. Often, when I am getting ready for work in the morning, she turns on the charm and tries to talk me into staying home and curling up with her and a good book. She *says* we could sleep in, rub her tummy, have a nap, eat in bed, scratch her head--you know--all the cool stuff. And when I try to resist, she poses. I will come out of the bathroom and ther...

I am pretty sure that I have had an asterisk (*) following me since I was born. Maybe everyone does, I don't know. This magical little character that indicates an omission, reference or footnote can definitely adapt to whatever situation I am in. I first became aware of the asterisk as a very little girl. My mom would say, "This is Debby, our daughter*" And then a pause and then a little bit quieter, *she's adopted. I have found that usually the mark (*) refers to a shortcoming or something that people need to know in order to understand that although I may be in a category (daughter), I am definitely not flying first-class (adopted). One that I find particularly annoying is the one that I find popping up when I attend church. Now, I know I share this with others at church, but it definitely puts you in coach class. *single-childless-no-prospects-in-sight. Of course, you don't really get this until you are well out of college-age and have managed to avoid some ...

I've been thinking a lot lately about the idea of being authentic. It seems like a worthwhile goal. Afterall, what's the point of interacting with people if it isn't genuine. I'm not talking about full-disclosure. I don't feel the need to share every profound morsel that pops in my head. And it certainly isn't my intention to go about my goal without regard to others' feelings. This is the fuzzy part. Can you be "sorta" authentic? Or is being authentic more about being genuine? And being genuine is about your intention as much as it is about your immediate thoughts. For example, my intention is that I have a loving relationship with my best friend. My immediate thought may be, "gosh...she's really annoying me" What is the authentic action at that point? I'm only asking. I don't know the answer. I do know that somewhere along the path of my life I quit being authentic. I was pretending more than I was being genuine. I was actin...

So, I think it is time for me to explore this blogger thing. It is appealing cuz I have lots of stuff in my head that has got to come out. And, it seems that when you burden people with it, things can get dicey. Some people are better than others, but the gunk in my head can apparently be quite baffling and even troubling to most people. (myself included) So, this could work. I can spill...and people can read or not read. That's cool. Of course, I am worried that certain people will happen on to it and then I will get long critical letters explaining why I shouldn't feel the way I do. I guess I will risk it, but for those of you who are reading and considering twisting my arm until I have crumpled into submission--and agreed to only write sun-shiny things. Watch out. You very well may show up in this blog.