Category: Entertainment

I know some of you are probably thinking my husband is a total pansy.  What with the Bossy thing, and the rose/love note/laundry thing, and the goat wheelchair.  People, those are just the things I wrote about.  He is sweet and thoughtful and incredibly loyal, but he’s also a manly man.  Can you say “complete package”?  I certainly can.  Like most manly men, he is an athlete.  I’ll tell you a little about his current sport, and that is arm wrestling.  Or maybe you’d like to call it wrist wrestling, and that would be just fine with me. 

So how does one become an arm wrestler?  I’ll give a little tutorial.  Firstly, make friends with a guy who had a cameo in the film Over the Top, because even though he’s got a mullet in the movie, he can teach you a thing or two about arm wrestling.  Plus, he’s got a picture of himself with Sylvester Stallone and that’s pretty cool.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of said picture, so we’ll have to use our imaginations.

No mullet at present, so we’re good.

Before too long, you’ll be learning all kinds of techniques like top rolling, applying back pressure, pulling in a hook, knowing when to go to a referee’s grip, and maybe even a crazy leg wrap.  Although, that might be one of your own creations.

I wrote this when I was 16.  It’s a poem of rebirth – of finding the strength to break through the binds that hold.  It was originally written without punctuation, but it’s hard to find the rhythm of it if you don’t know where to pause.  I’ve tried to punctuate accordingly, but there is supposed to be a slight pause at the end of each line. 

Each day as I wake
from a lifeless sleep,
I wish for a change
or a life I can keep.
How will I know
when my thoughts
are for real.
My sunshine, my light
does it know how I feel?
When my mind opens up
to accept each new day,
do I push it closed,
do I find my way?
Hours of darkness
take all my light.
My heart takes a trip
it leaves for the night.
I’m left all alone
to deal with my dreams.
Do I bring them on?
Do I cause these screams?
Warmth on my face
wakes me from death.
The sun, it has risen.
I breathe my first breath.
Pride fills my heart,
I know it’s at home.
Returned without scars,
it survived on its own.
The feeling of triumph
awakens my soul.
A smile on my face,
this night took its toll.
Another day gone;
another survived.
Though pain may take over,
I’m never deprived.
I know I can make it
if I can stay strong.
Look to the sun,
I’ll never go wrong.
       

The other night my friend Natasha and I started going through my tattered old notebook.  I’ve had it for at least 15 years, and it is where I write story ideas, poetry, and pieces of other people’s writing that has inspired me.  No matter how many journals or notepads I try, my red, falling-apart single subject notebook always gets picked back up instead.

In recent years I haven’t cracked it open much.  Life gets going and I don’t have a chance to do much writing.  Writing – that I can be proud of, anyway – takes more time than I’ve had (or made, if I’m being truthful).  I love writing this blog so much, regardless of my readership, because it’s given me back my voice.  Or helped me to start rediscovering it, anyway.  I’m still rusty, but at least I’m using more than 10% of my vocabulary, which is a start!

One of my favorite poems of all time came from the front of a Dean R. Koontz book, The Bad Place.  I don’t remember a thing about this book, and since I’ve never been a big Koontz fan anyway (other than Trixie Koontz, who is dog) I must have borrowed it from my best friend Rachel circa 1993 or so.  You can go ahead and laugh about my favorite piece of poetry coming from Dean Koontz, but it spoke to me then and speaks to me now on a very personal level. 

In its entirety:

Every eye sees its own special vision;
every ear hears a most different song.
In each man’s troubled heart, an incision
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong.

Stranger fiends hide here in human guise
than reside in the valleys of Hell.
But goodness, kindness and love arise
in the heart of the poor beast, as well.

~The Book of Counted Sorrows

As we read through things I had written and things I had painstakingly copied down in teenage-me’s handwriting, Natasha asked if I had struggled with depression.  The answer, sadly, is yes.  I never felt like I belonged anywhere.  As an adult I know that lots of people have felt that way.  But back then, I was totally alone in the world, because I was a teenager and no one could possibly understand.  All I can say is: my poor, poor, patient parents.  Reading those pages reminded me of how painful my adolescence was, and made me want to give teenage-me a big hug.  Which teenage-me would have resented, I’m sure.

I try to keep this blog fairly light-hearted, but I’m going to post some of that old stuff every now and again and talk about them in the now.  Maybe I’ll even poke fun of teenage-me, now that I’m old enough to laugh about it.  Or not.  We’ll see!