Day 213: Lost in my Mind

 

I have this person inside of me who is a judge, a stern judge, who questions and
reasons continually. He or she, or whatever it be, is relentless in their
search for truth, even when I plead that there is no truth. This entity
scrutinizes everything and everyone, even as I sit back from behind and shout
for him to stop. It as if he must dissect and find connections to
make sense of what he sees. As if my world is not enough and must be recreated
and categorized.

Nothing is easy for him. Nothing simple. Nothing plain. All is
complex. Even the eyes of a stranger are a deep hollow tunnel to dive into and
explore, to be lost from a near glance, and come out unquenched, only to dive
in again and again, to find nothing but the same. To feel depleted at every
turn because the answers don’t come readily, and when they do come they lead to
more questions.

It is an exhausting ride with no end. There is no coming up
without diving back down. There is no stopping. My mind is that rollercoaster
where the hands are up and you are screaming in glee, and then the turn comes
that makes you queasy, or the fear sets in, or the wheel make the sound that
pierces the ears, and you want to get off, you don’t want to ride again and again,
but you can’t get off, not because the belt is buckled, not because the wind is
fast and you face is slapping against it, only because you have forgotten you
are on the ride, and keep spinning round and upside down with no way to leave
what you don’t know you are on.

I can’t explain it. It is too complex and deep, and a mystery to me. I can see a forest, and getting lost in a forest, only to
awake and see that you are in a forest fast asleep dreaming of another forest,
but you are standing watching yourself sleep. It is a complexity so intense
that I am lost in my own world.

I don’t understand why others don’t see things
as I do, at least most others. How they can round a corner and think of nothing
but rounding a corner. How they can focus in a conversation and not feel and hear
and sense the thousand other things happening. What of the dust particles in
the air. The ticking clock. The grime on the couch. The fibers of the carpet
bent. The voice in the head rambling about woes. The tingling of skin. The
thoughts of the next word, and how the word carries a thousand different
meanings.

How can you talk to me and use these words when each word carries
this potential energy and meaning. Don’t you worry that I don’t understand you
exactly? Can’t you see we are not even communicating, really. That what you
sense and experience is not what you are conveying directly with words. That
what you are, whom you are is this huge collaboration of the way your body
moves, the way your eyes search, the sound of your voice, the pitch, the volume,
the breath, the sigh, the everything. How can I sit and be with you, when you
are communicating to me a fleet of ships in just one syllable, and all you
think I see is a row boat on the shore. No, you are a myriad of images.

I am a
vessel that collects, with every sound spoken and every thought unspoken, I
sense you with a sense I cannot pinpoint. I know you more than you think,
perhaps more than you know yourself. I can sense your sorrow, your insecurity,
your worry, your lies—the way you lie to yourself and corner yourself. I can
understand the depths of you while you remain on the outskirts in the shallow,
I swim in your deep.

And thusly, I do the same with me. I dance inside myself,
but not with joy, but in this tangled intertwined string, all twisted and
distorted, unable to tell one feeling from the other, because I am bombarded
all at once with experience upon experience.

To you a doorbell is a doorbell. A sound. An announcement. A door to be opened. To me a doorbell is a lion. A
ringing warning of what’s beyond, the thousand upon thousand possibilities of
one sound, one notion, one voice.

No, when you speak to me I do not hear your
words, I see your journey, I see your past, I feel your pain, I feel your joy. You come carrying the grand gift of you, wrapped and rewrapped, and hidden, and
haunted with ghosts, and you expect me to sit and take the crumb of you, the
one piece, when I see the monster lurching behind, the one that guards your
secrets. And he sees me. And he hungers after me, because he knows I can see
your treasures and truth. And out he comes to attack, to protect, to steal my
gifts. For he is fear’s gatekeeper, and I am fear’s mistress joy, and I wish
nothing but to help you see the beauty within.

I am stung by the wasps of you.
I am stung each time we talk, each time our eyes meet. For I can see you swarming
with truths you dare not whisper. I can see the bees behind you. Each carrying
a part of you, and yet you present yourself as single flower, and want me to
simply sniff and be gone.

How can I walk in this world when everywhere are
these bees, this noise, this stinging, whilst everyone pretends the flowers are
falling from the sky. How can I show you what I see when your eyes can only
reach to the horizon, and mine dig deep into the ocean sky, and swim beyond the
universe into you. I sense your depth. I sense your deep. I know you so well,
as reflection of me.

I know where demons hide and shadows and dark. I know
where light dances. I know the journey within the journey, but I am left to
smile shallow and speak a whisper. To bypass all the stories you carry and
wonder if by chance we shall meet again and you will let me swallow what is you,
so I may feed off of your loneliness and become one with myself.

Can you not see
we dance in isolation, this game of communication? Can you not see me standing
at the wall waiting for your hand? Can you not see we do not have this time,
this patience, this waiting. Now is now, and if you do not bleed for me, if you
do not purge yourself and throw up upon me, then I am left to drown in your
mire, fending for myself, while you walk blindly to your ways.

You bombard me
without knowing. You crush me. You crash upon me with your energy. You paint me
with your past, your future, your present, and your worries. You feed off of
me. You eat what you want and leave, all the while thinking you have merely
said Hello.

~ S. Craft, August 2012

Day 212: Joy in the Morning

Joy in the Morning

I kiss joy in the morning as thoughts of you bow down in gentle gratitude

And affection she dances lightly through the bedcovers, spreading rose petals, red above

How sweetness falls upon the day, fresh crimson, rainbows soft

And handsome tiptoes through merriment, his puckered lips smiling

Beauty she blushes, and gathers love in baskets woven by the twinkle of dawn’s amber eyes

Feathered pillow springs forward and welcomes tickles from hope, chuckle laughs wearing a shy pink

And bold blanket, he harnesses the voluptuous dream of the night, his treasure to marry

The floor becomes ocean and reins in a guild of seahorses made to roar with indigo passion

Folded in dreamland, bed castle winks and mattress plays cymbals in orchestra duvet

Strong faith appears, in this space between, where wishes wear sparkling ruby crowns

Tomorrow, she laughs and splashes butterscotch clouds at strawberry-popcorn glee

While always and forever tango close beside the groom of starlit night and bride of chamber music

Come find me here, beneath the giggling moonbeams and peek-a-boo painted bed sheets

Come find joy, before reason slips beyond the kaleidoscope guard and sleeping disbelief awakes

~ Samantha Craft, August 2012

Photos and Words by Samantha Craft. All rights reserved.

Day 211: There Once Was a Little Girl Named Sam

There once was a little girl named Sam.

She spent her day in the wilderness amongst the walnut orchards and the towering oak trees, playing in the fields of tall grass. She was friends with all creatures grand and small. Every part of life was fascinating. Her own skin soft and delightful. The pink of her dog’s nose poking through where the black had worn away, a wet treat. The ants she watched with fascination. The wind she breathed in to catch. And the sky was her endless dream.

Nothing was missing or out of place. Everything moved as ordained in a perfect circle of give and take. Every part fit into place to make a glorious time, much as the intricate makings of a clock. All moved to produce one. All moved continually, and changed, and came back again. Returning to the eyes of the beholder what always was.

This little girl, she loved to dance and be. She could sit for hours and play inside her imagination whilst amongst nature’s gifts. Her bounty was the fallen twigs beneath her feet, the pebbles in her pockets and the taste of nectar on her tongue. Love was all about her, especially in the song of birds and the dipping of dragonflies as they danced reflecting the light with their transparent wings.

If colors were her world then the spectrum was grand—a thousand rainbows intertwined to form hues uncommon to the adult eye; colors that danced their own symphony producing brilliant songs from voices of angelic creatures.

There wasn’t a want or need. Just the simplicity of moving as one with the rest that danced. She was as a caterpillar set free upon endless green, nibbling at the gifts before her.

Until the rain came.

With the rain caterpillar ceased and butterfly was born. Butterfly was lovely, detailed and sketched in nature’s beauty, and able to fly and reach heights previously unimaginable. However, now she could dance outside her realm, her place, escape what she once knew as the only existence.

From up above, her angle changed. Her world became smaller and larger, all at once. Things she knew not of before appeared, and visions, she once believed in, vanished all together. As she watched and flew higher, she began to see where she’d been was nothing but a patch, a broken shattered fragment that with enough distance simply disappeared from sight.

When she returned and touched down, everything was altered, as her new eyes could not, as hard as she tried, see the terrain the same. All was different. All tainted with logic and reason and this undaunted inquiry.

That which was once simply existence, now was struggle. That which was once simply peace, turned to question after question. Her own beauty, that she had never doubted before, or even considered, now faded with her thoughts. And how those thoughts twisted within the others, creating a band so thick the toughest warrior could not break.

And now there were warriors. There were enemies and fighters. There were people who spoke untruths and hurt. There were diamonds that were stolen, treasures destroyed, and secrets kept. She knew then that the butterfly world was not where she belonged. Though she was butterfly.

She longed to return to the land of caterpillar. She longed for her old eyes, her old ways, her happiness.

She spent her days searching for kindness, for the place that once existed inside of her that was pure and innocent, the emerald of hope and faith that others now seemed to pierce and stab so often that she’d had to hide this essence out of fear of destruction.

And so she hid, inside herself, in this place.

When she was teased and admonished, she hid.

When she was tortured with looks and words, she hid.

When she tried to be as others wanted and she still was not enough, she hid.

And all the time she hid, she cried and wept for this land she knew before, where the birds sang and she only heard their music, where the wind blew and she only felt the air.

Now, with everything came explanation and reason. Now, with everything came doubt. And here, in this land of butterflies, she wished nothing but to pluck off her own wings and wither, if only to return to a part of her own self that could not fly above and see.

She’d wished for death, like so many misplaced butterflies do. Not death from her own being, but death from the world about her. To black out her surroundings and apply a fresh coat of white and paint again, a new picture, the one from before the rain came.

But still she remained butterfly.

As butterfly, she attempted to rebuild a cocoon, so she could crawl inside and wake up transformed to the time before.

As butterfly, she attempted to fly so high so she could leave behind all that was below. As butterfly, she tried to protect herself in armor, to shield her from the coming arrows. As butterfly, she tried to smear herself in masks and makeup, to pretend.

She tried and tried to no avail, and remained but a butterfly broken and alone, who knew of this land of before, when all about the rest had seemingly forgotten.

Until the time came.

And she heard an echo from the depths of her. And whispers poured in as the dew and quenched her unyielding thirst. She was shown then the way to caterpillar land. She was shown then how to bring peace to the butterfly. She was given the secret, the promise: a ray of hope so slender and tender that only this butterfly could keep safe.

And she did, inside of her deep, carried the ray day and night through years. Until the time came, and she knew what to do.

And so, with the coming season, with her heart knowing, as the light called from within, she set to spinning her ray, set her thoughts to words, so the world would know of the caterpillars, of the butterfly, of how the journey of broken, was also a journey of hope.

And in her weaving, the light shined and shined so bright from within, that the other lost butterflies found a way to this little Sam. And soon there were so many butterflies collected, that their wings together moved to carry them. And they moved and moved together, at last returning back home to the land of caterpillar, to the place they remembered of innocence and love, to the place of unreason and truth, to the place they could dance again in the spectrum of light united in their beauty. In a place where everywhere they looked they saw a reflection of self, and in so seeing realized the butterfly, though lost, had been found.

And so they danced, because of the promise of who they were, because of the place inside they kept all these years, they danced. And slowly they let go. Slowly the armor came off.

And slowly the light of the caterpillar shone through each of them so brilliantly that the world began to see that butterflies don’t have to let go of the caterpillar to fly.

Day 210: Almost First Kiss

It was low tide and the sun had almost tucked itself beneath the waves of flickering cobalt. After a quick introduction, idle chit-chat and three or four bouts of nervous giggles on my account, a cute dark-eyed boy pointed to me, and said with a wink, “I choose you!”

I leaned in closer to Renny and grabbed hold of her warm hand.  I knew instantly, out of the three boys, I liked this dark-eyed boy the best.  Even as my knees knocked and my mouth grew dry, I was beginning to think that the whole meeting-at-the-beach-in-secrecy-plan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

I crossed the fingers of my free hand, just as my favorite boy approached and casually brushed his shoulder against mine.

Yes, this would work.

I began dreaming about my first lover’s embrace.  I imagined this boy would want to know everything about me, then perhaps stroll me  home and ask me for a good night kiss.  As my mind played out a romantic episode, more suitable for an after school television special than real life, I heard from a distance my boy say, “First you.”

I looked to my side to find him tilting his head sideways in the direction of the shack on the edge of the concrete pier.  I was processing what he had said, when he spoke again.  “And then her.”  He pointed straight at Renny.

All of the sudden, I wished I had bigger boobs.

I crossed my arms across my chest and then heard the words Oh Crap shouting in my head.  Renny curled into herself with a blushing giggle and the boys appeared to be salivating.  Oh Crap my mind repeated.

Soon the circled boys shouted, “I’m next!”

Okay, so by now I was in a bit of trouble, but before I could think to say anything, my boy gleamed his full set of braces my direction, grabbed hold of my trembling hand and led me swiftly down the concrete pier.  For a fleeting second I believed he loved me.  Right up to the point, that is, when I glanced behind and eyed two boys nodding their heads, barking like sea lions, and flaunting a huge thumb-up.  Right about then my stomach, as well as my hopes, dropped a good ten stories.

The thought of slut crossed my mind, roller-skated back and forth, and then plopped down with its wide butt and sat there.

Out on the edge of the pier, with the sound of the waves crashing, I shook crazily inside the dark shed.  I tried not to breathe too heavily.  And I tried not to move my feet on the tacky floor.  There was just enough light trickling in that I could see the boy’s tinsel-smile.

With the door shut, the boy shuffled forward and set his hands on my shoulders, from there he slid them down my side to my waist.   His scent was that of the beach air: the smell of cypress, suntan lotion, and salt.

This is it

This will be my first kiss

I let out a deep breath and the boy’s hands touched down.

I felt him there, touching my hips, caressing me through the layers. In the next few seconds I forgot all else.

But then, something inside shifted, and my heart started beating so fast I could barely breathe, and I’ll I wanted to do was escape.

I pushed his hands off of me, and without thought yelped an adamant, “STOP!”

On my word, the boy leaped back, almost tripping.

I could see  his eyes narrowing and his left brow arching in question.  And I could visualize my pitiful look as I bit down on my bottom lip and made a sound like a puppy that had been stepped on.

I counted ten hard-heartbeats.  Then the words stumbled out of me, bumping here and there, so my voice sounded uncertain and unnatural.   “I can’t because…” I paused for a split-second.  “I can’t because our…”  I thought as hard as I could, so much that my head hurt, and then I closed my eyes and said, “Because our braces might get stuck together!”

That was all I said.  All I could say.  Because before the last syllable left my lips, I opened my eyes, burst open the shed door, darted up the pier, sprinted past the astonished boys and Renny, and raced the entire two-miles back home.

Day 209: Checking Out Men

I was going to write about this awesome salad I made…….that’s guacamole along the edges, and beets I peeled and steamed, and all organic!

Or my adorable Violet (aka Spastic Colon) that I overfed with people-food so much that she threw up all over the house. This is her looking at me wondering why I didn’t take her on my walk to the lake. It was 95 degrees outside, that’s why. And you, Violet, poop out after one lap when it gets over 70 degrees. You no longer like the sun. She didn’t understand.

Well, I guess, I just did write about both, but not at length. Here’s the real scoop….

I’ve been walking around the lake near our house, once or twice a day. While I’m walking, I practice eye contact. Eye contact is not something I learn naturally, and not something I ever feel comfortable with. Not something I enjoy. And not something that I like practicing.

I “taught” myself how to make eye contact with strangers at the age of thirty-five. I realized I was having a hard time at it (eye contact), and needed to make a change, the time I was attempting to look up at a male sales clerk at a local take-and-go pizza parlor, and I got so nervous, that I wrote a check for $400 instead of $14. He wasn’t eye candy or even close to my age. But pretty much all males under 80 and over 10 make me nervous. I didn’t realize the error in my ways, until the establishment cashed my check.

I get nervous looking at anyone I do not know well. Especially men. I have become much more comfortable with women my age and older, small children, and senior citizens. They feel safe to me. Every other age group, when I think about locking eyes, I squirm inside from nervousness.

I now set my eyes just beyond a person or on a person’s forehead, in an attempt to appear friendly and approachable. I’d say I make eye contact with 80% of the females I pass (like in a store) and about 40% of males, well maybe 20%.

Lately, I’ve been wearing sunglasses when I walk the lake, and a plastered on real-looking smile. I listen to music and this helps me smile. And I remember all the smiles I’ve been practicing in the mirror and on camera. My face fidgets all over the place, while my smile tries to find a home. I am more comfortable with my mouth closed. Though I think my teethy smile is prettier. So I probably look perplexed and intense when I smile.

My hugest practice-smiling comes when a man my age approaches me while passing me on the jogging/walking trail at the lake. There are typically a couple dozen of men my age any given day that pass me. I have learned, through trial and error, to stare down the female, if a couple approaches, before I glance very quickly at HER male with a smile. If I smile at the male first, I tend to get a very shifty-darty eyed look from the female. I find this interesting, but logical.

I have also found that men about ten years my senior or more, tend to smile at me first, and even nod or say hello, while men my age look suspicious. This could be me jumping to conclusions. I wonder if I should start taking notes.

With every person that passes me,  I stand up straighter, glance slightly that person’s way, and then look at the forehead. With sunglasses on, I can hover there longer. Sometimes I get nervous and move down to the chest or legs. Which in retrospect, maybe isn’t such a good path for my eyes to follow. The whole time I’m looking I have a cheesy closed-lip smile and I hold my breath.

I’ve been practicing really super hard, and was feeling fairly pleased with my progress. Until tonight. Now I’m going back to the proverbial drawing board in my mind and trying to connect the eye contact dots.

At the lake, on my last loop around, a man my age approached me. He came up real close. I think he ran up to me from his car. He said, “Hey,” grabbed my wrist gently, and placed a folded small piece of paper in my hand. Between the “Hey” and hand grabbing, I figured this guy had special needs and needed my help.

He didn’t. But that was my first thought—trusting soul I am.

And so I smiled big, wanting him to feel safe, if indeed he had special needs.

As he stood there, I unfolded the note and read it quickly. Kind of in shock, and not fully comprehending what I’d read, I fell back on habit and manners, smiled again, and said with a giddy voice, “Thank you!”

The note??

James. Phone number.

I saw you checking me out!

Text me your name.

Hmmmm…..I think I might need some more practice….

Day 208: Attention: Nutter Virus! No Cure!

 

Nutter: Brit slang for a mad or eccentric person

YOU may be a Nutter if…….

1)      You have lost the desire to fix because none are broken

2)      You reflect authenticity in your words and actions

3)      You forgive all and everything

4)      You take the path of least resistance

5)      You accept your being as perfect and divine

6)      You understand that you do not have the answers

7)      You utilize discernment and release judgment

8)      You seek to know another’s ideas and opinions

9)      You are comfortable with those who do not share your point of view

10)   You  convince none to see  your way

11)   You feel unmoved to defend when you hear beliefs you do not uphold

12)   You are dynamic in your soft and gentle ways

13)   You are a child at heart

14)   You understand that right and wrong are naught

15)   Your self-importance has yielded, died, and been reborn as acceptance

16)   You understand popularity shifts like the sands in an hourglass, depending on the time and angle

17)   You have no need to share your accomplishments, to brag, to boost your esteem, to show off

18)   You desire for all beings to be at peace but know you must begin with you

19)   You sense the energy behind words, actions, and thoughts

20)   You understand the more you feed the lion with anger, the more he grows in rage

21)   You understand the more you feed the ghosts of desire, the louder they haunt

22)   You see your reflection in every person

23)   You see the light which blinds illusions of darkness

24)   You experience letting go

25)   You have a difficult time remembering what to worry about

26)   You know that nothing is real beyond your thoughts, though intangible they be

27)   You see yourself watching your self; step back as the observer, to observe the observer observing the observer

28)   You forgive before the thought of anger arises

29)   You have urges to talk to strangers because they exist

30)   You pray for humility and love

31)   You willingly sacrifice your happiness to assist one

32)   You love the unfamiliar man as much as the familiar son

33)   You love the unfamiliar pain as much as the familiar joy

34)   You recognize there are no boundaries outside of self

35)   You realize your life is a reflection of your desire

36)   You know that it is easier to smile than to frown

37)   You no longer pick yourself up; you simply roll over and smile at the moment

38)   You embrace all life in all forms

39)   You hear the trees whisper

40)   You release expectation

41)   You rejoice in the moment

42)   You see the layers of your mind

43)   You know you are no more or less than all

44)   You give fully and completely

45)   You focus on what is working

46)   You encourage joy and happiness

47)   You find yourself looking for beneficial news

48)   You see through others’ eyes

49)   You speak to connect

50)   You count and share your blessings

51)   You cease searching for flaws

52)   You are stable even as the singular mind ebbs and flows

53)   You know you are interconnectedness

54)   You are calm in your unfolding

55)   You do not require validation of your worth

56)   You have sudden urges to create without need of recognition

57)   You can hear your own voice cheering

58)   You listen to the voice beneath the voice, the need beneath the need, the want beneath the want

59)   You move in the world without manipulation, ill-will or deception

60)   You shine bright and bold

61)   You radiate acceptance and provide a safe haven

62)   You know suffering cannot be categorized

63)   You remove all pride

64)   You no longer dream of success

65)   You embrace all emotions and all facets of being

66)   You hunger for knowledge, until you accept there is only the still voice within

67)   You have moments of overwhelming joy interwoven within an abiding inner calmness

68)   Every sound is your symphony

69)   Every person your story

70)   Every word life

~ Samantha Craft, August 2012

 

Day 207: My Words Put to Music: Traits

Traits of Females with Aspergers (words by Samantha Craft)

I did not make this video.

My Words Put to Music

Hello you, who longs to be loved and noticed

You know everything is okay? Right?

You know you are just experiencing emotions

Nothing else

You are not flawed

You are not wrong

You are perfect in your feelings

It’s okay

You don’t have to pretend anymore

It’s okay

Show all your colors

You are most beautiful that way

Share what you have found inside of you

This truth

That even in your frailty and fear, you are beauty

There is no shame

In being real

We all get scared

We all get worried

We all believe someone might steal something or someone

But they can’t

They are just borrowing

Just basking in the collective wisdom

Remember nothing in this world is yours

You know happiness is not found in possession

So today give what was never yours

To a world that is you

And let your words be put to music

~ Samantha Craft, August 2012

And I say my favorite daily mantra: How could life get any better than this!

Day 206: Hot Dog! Bikini Shots!

I have written about going from Prude to Sexy in prior posts .

In pure delight, I have reached several of my goals regarding Prude to Sexy, including the guitar purchase and kayaking. I still desire to take those guitar lessons and start belly dancing. Might trade in the ankle tattoo idea for a belly button ring, though….

My middle son is convinced this is all a midlife crisis. My husband is quite smitten. And my dog, well she is happy as a clam with all the walking we’ve been doing. I’m averaging five to seven miles a day of walking, and hope to continue when the rain makes its way to my town and sticks around.

My BIG GOAL of bikini purchase and wearing the bikini in public was achieved last week at a lake with hundreds of people!

Although, in all honesty, my bikini is really “boy shorts.” But the attire is skimpy enough to qualify as bikini in my book. I haven’t worn a bikini or anything like it in over twenty years. My stomach hadn’t seen the light of days in decades.

When I wore my bikini at the lake, I spent the whole two hours processing with my husband about my bikini and my body. I still harbor some childhood bleak memories of naked grownups at nude beaches.

And I’ve been revisiting the past, some of the haunting tauntings that occurred in my freshman year of high school on the east coast, where kids called me slut and such because of my figure.

I’m learning to embrace my body….and reprogramming thoughts I have about words like voluptuous. 

It’s taken me over a week to post my bikini photo, and this IS a thumbnail size photo. But it counts! OH, and did I mention, since February, I lost 21 pounds?

And for those of you that want the Full Effect…..here you go!!!!

Day 205: What my Husband Hears

What my Husband Hears (aka: Why my Husband is a Saint)

Words I spoke today during our time together. Mostly on our walk through the forest. 

1. Do you think I look slutty? Are you sure? Do other women dress like this? Is this shirt too tight? I don’t think I should wear this shirt in public? Does it make me look fat? How do you know I don’t look slutty?

2. Look at my eye again. In the light. Can you see the pink in my eye? Does it look better? Are you sure? How do you know it is better? What if it gets worse. I think it feels better. Do you think my eye will be okay? Can you see the dry skin in the corner? What do you think it is? Look closer!

3. I am taking so many photos. Thank you for being patient. This is more of a leisure walk. We are stopping a lot. I’ll have to walk more later around the lake. I haven’t walked in two days. These shorts are too big. You are right. I should buy some new shorts today. I wonder if I am a size four yet. These are too baggy. Yes, they are too baggy.

4. Take a photo here. Oh, stop here. Oh, look there. Oh, look at that tree. Oh my, look at that. Oh, look, look! Look up. Look at the spider web. Look at the water. Take one of me from uphill. I look better if you stand uphill. Not so much of my chest. You are showing too much of my chest. How do I look? Do I look okay? Can you tell my eye is pink?

5. I ate too much caffeine. I had that tea, and chocolate bar, and the chocolate gluten-free cake. Feel my heartbeat. Is it beating too fast? Are you sure it’s not? I think it’s too fast. I’m okay, right? Feel here. I need to rest. I am tired. It’s so fast. I have to stop here and catch my breath. This walk is not enough to burn off all the calories from the cake.

6. Oh, we should go this way, and when we get to the fork in the path then we’ll need to go up and to the right; otherwise we will end up on the wrong street. These maps are not designed well. We are educated and intelligent people, and we can’t even figure these signs out! How are other people who aren’t as smart supposed to figure them out? I don’t mean that we are smarter than everyone. Well, you know what I mean. Maybe we should turn and go the other way. What do you think? …..I told you this was the wrong way!

7. Are you staring at my butt and smiling. I can feel you smiling behind me and staring at my butt. You are staring at my butt. And you are picturing grabbing it. I can see you. I am psychic, you know. This proves it. You are staring, aren’t you?

8. Oh, it’s a little Toto dog. How cute. Look at that Toto dog. Oh, he is so cute. Did you see that little dog?

9. I think I would like to have relations with a ninety year old man to give him his dying wish. Is that wrong to feel that way? To want to fulfill a man’s dying wish like that? It doesn’t feel wrong. But maybe it is.

10. You know if you cheated on me, I would forgive you. It would be okay. I know it would only be out of lust, because I know I am sweet and you will not find anyone as sweet and kind as me. So I know it would only be a physical thing. And by me saying this, it will probably make you less likely to cheat, because part of the reason men do cheat is because it is a no-no and forbidden, and you are not supposed to. So, really, since I’m giving you permission, it takes the danger element out of it. But if by me saying this to you makes you want to cheat more, then I take it back. You don’t want to cheat on me now because I said that, do you? Should I take it back?

11. So there are different types of men I am noticing. There are married men who stare and I think oh they are thinking they don’t want to be with their wife and are sad, and they wish they were with another woman. But then there are men who look, but love their wives, and want to be with their wives, but they cannot help but look at other women. You’re a man. All men look, right? And I understand if you have to look. All men look at other women, don’t they? You look, and that’s okay, but you do it in a sly careful way. Some men aren’t careful, and that would be hard. But if I was ever single, I would never meet the type of man I am attracted to. Because I’m not attracted to the men that stare in an obvious way. I’m attracted to the men who don’t look, or look really fast, and I would never know they were looking at me; so how would I ever know they liked me? You see it would be hard for me, because I like the shy guy who is a little insecure and doesn’t know he is handsome, and those are the type that would never approach me.

12. What’s your type of woman? Is that your type? How about her? You like women who are more like me, now, right? Before you liked tall and blonde. But not anymore. Do you know which of your friends I used to be most attracted to? Do you know why? No, not him. He is not my type at all.

13. If I die this is where I want you to spread my ashes. Right under this tree. Right here. Remember, okay. Here or Mt. Rainier. But this is much closer to home. Don’t you think? This would be a good place. This is just as pretty as Mt. Rainier and that is a wonderful tree.

14. I used to date the most handsome men, and it was so difficult. I would never do that again. They were handsome but not very smart, and I’d walk in a room and all eyes would be on them. And people would come up to me and say how handsome they were. And I knew those guys cheated. They had all theses chances. It’s no good dating a man like that. No good at all. Don’t you agree?

15. Oh, you are a good catch. As you get older, you out shine more and more of the men that are getting old like you. You are aging well, and they aren’t.

16. I’ve loved you through thick and thin. Mostly thick. Except for those two months you paid all that money to lose that weight. Other than that, mostly thick.

 I didn’t know my husband was taking the photo. The trunk of the tree was so lovely.

I took a photo of this trail. Then my husband did. His photo was much better. He won the contest between us. I told him my photo would be better. I was wrong. The photo below was not taken from uphill. Still not too bad. And you can’t tell I have a cold in my eye. Or can you?

~

(This post was originally marked day 125….that’s my mistake…from a combo of after midnight, dyslexia, and too much caffeine. It’s day 205. No way am I going back 80 days!)