Meet and Greet: 6/10/17

Meet and Greet Weekend is finally here! Come and discover some beautiful words! 🎉🎈📖

Dream Big, Dream Often

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It’s the Meet and Greet weekend everyone!!  Strap on your party shoes and join the fun!  

Ok so here are the rules:

  1. Leave a link to your page or post in the comments of this post.
  2. Reblog this post.  It helps you, it helps me, it helps everyone!
  3. Edit your reblog post and add tags.
  4. Feel free to leave your link multiple times!  It is okay to update your link for more exposure every day if you want.  It is up to you!

  5. Share this post on social media.  Many of my non-blogger friends love that I put the Meet n Greet on Facebook and Twitter because they find new blogs to follow.

See ya on Monday!!

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Revisited

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I once wrote a story, over 50,000 words and then deleted and destroyed it after a year. It was the most painful thing I had ever written because even though it was fiction, it was based on truth. The words I had written made me relive the past and I think this is when the nightmares started. The past is so painful and it’s hard to learn from it when you’re still trying to run from it. I’ve worked so hard to put the past behind me and the medication had helped a great deal. I’ve long since stopped going to therapy and no longer have anyone to share my pain with, except for You. I can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare, the last time I caught myself looking over my shoulder, the last time I had a panic attack, but today, the thoughts were too much and I don’t even know what started it. My mind tumbled and fumbled over itself, around and around and the anger overwhelmed me. I could feel the paranoia creeping in at the edges of my mind and your face was all that I saw, all that I could focus on. Your face is like that of an angel, although I’m sure you would disagree and maybe even laugh, but your face, it is heavenly. Everything about you sets me free, everything about you is all that I need to keep me grounded while still experiencing the beauty in the clouds. You know my truths and yet you’re still here, you keep coming back even though I can’t understand why. There’s nothing about me that’s particularly interesting, there’s nothing about me that’s particularly unique, yet here you come, once again, setting my soul on fire. Everything about you is all I’ve ever wanted, at least, the parts of you that you’ve let me see. Everything about you is perfect and I’ll never understand why you keep coming back when all I have to offer is Me.

Caged

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Feeling so weary sitting on this couch. I’m exhausted. It’s not a physical exhaustion, although the physical demands play a part. My soul seeks rest. The places that I used to find it hold no comfort these days and I feel as though I am floating from moment to moment, waiting for when I can close my eyes. The anxiety makes all the sounds too loud and distorted, the lights too harsh and bright. I find myself longing for the quiet and solitude of my bedroom, although even then I rarely find some peace. The noise inside my head is the loudest, it will not quiet even for a moment. The thoughts roll around and around, becoming louder and louder and I turn to the words I love so much, the words that quiet my soul. I thank you then for creating for me a safe haven, even when the words aren’t so beautiful, even when the truth is dark and painful and rips open old wounds. I thank you. Your words remind me that there is another way to see this world, another way to see the beauty, another way to find release and this is all I’ve ever wanted.

Weekly Smile #75

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Ah Weekly Smile #75! I’m truly awful with keeping up with these… Let’s see… I’ve been keeping up a little better with my house cleaning, which is a miracle with three children and a puppy and this does make me smile! Work has been going well enough, I suppose. I have my health, my family, freedom, creative inspiration, all of which of course we should Smile about every day but that I sometimes take for granted. This week I’ve tried to remember to smile even when I didn’t particularly feel like it and I think it’s made a difference!

Stained

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When I cannot find the words I admire his face instead. I trace every line, every strand of hair, the depth of those shimmering eyes and I try to mentally will him to cry. Sometimes I think he isn’t human, he seems so jaded by life, it makes me wonder if his mind thinks of the things he has been programmed to think, subconsciously he thinks them, repeats them, never believing them and always trying to convince himself that he doesn’t really think them. Every inch of him is so beautiful and all I really want is to watch him bleed, whether it be his heart onto paper or his pain into tears that roll down his cheeks, I want to witness his weakness. I want to see that he bleeds red just like me. I wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability, as much as I would want to. I just want to see him fall apart, just one time. I want to see that he is real and not something that I have dreamt up. I want to wipe away his tears and feel their weight between my fingertips. I want to see if they sparkle as brightly as the rest of what I love about him does. I want to see if his blood will stain me as deeply as the rest of him has.

The Artist

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Looking at some older photos of him and once again becoming lost in his beauty. He destroys my soul while calling it love and I love every minute of it. His beauty is different. His is a beauty that I initially believed to be a mirage. When I think of him I tell myself that he proved me wrong by showing me how gentle he can be, how he just as much loves to watch the autumn leaves dancing in the golden sunset as I do. He demonstrates this by listening to the whispered conversations of the ocean’s waves, holding my hand while we dig our toes in the sand, the breeze ruffling that beautiful head of hair of his. He smells of cotton and detergent and natural things, not spice and whatever else is put in those sprays for men to attract a partner, a lover, a one-night stand. No, he smells pure. A smell that makes me feel at home. He makes an enormous effort to remember my favorite thing to do on those days when I cannot go on and he does this with me without judgment. He hums his favorite songs to me in a way that makes them sound like lullabies, even when they are the heavier bit that he listens to. He paints me a picture, his easel set up by the French doors that I don’t have, facing the sunlight, or the moonlight (which I much rather prefer), a glass of something strong and amber in one hand, a paintbrush between his teeth, a cup to rinse in his other paint-streaked hand. He paints me the worlds I dream of, the worlds I long to be a part of. He brings them to life for me through his colors, colors that only he can breathe life into the way he does. Beyond that, I’m not sure what he’s like, only that his heart is kind, he would rather die than hurt my heart and his colors are what light the way for me in my darkest of moments. I could be wrong about him. I usually am wrong about people. But this is how I’ll think of him, in those passing moments when I think of him.

Weekend Coffee Share 06/04/17

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Ahh Sunday, my arch nemesis. Welcome back to Write On for another Weekend Coffee Share. I do hope last week and this past weekend have been kind to you. My weekend was long and difficult but I’ll spare you the details.

If we were having coffee I would tell you that the weather in Texas has been extremely, just, I don’t even have a pleasant word to describe it. One day it’s unbearably hot (which is the type of weather I actually quite enjoy) and the next day it’s rainy and muggy and just drab. Today it was hot, I think, I’m not really sure as I was only outside once today and it was not very pleasant.

If we were having coffee I would tell you that I haven’t really written much on here lately but that I’ve started another blog (this is my M.O., to start blogs when I’m unable to think straight and then abandon them once I’m well again.) So far nothing I’ve written on this other blog, Beautiful Things Happen Here, has been particularly light-hearted or entertaining, alas, it is a way for me to release the insanity in my mind as well as a bit about the past that made me the way I am. I only mention Beautiful Things to maybe clarify the reasoning behind why I’m periodically absent from Write On. Oh the emotional turmoil of an aspiring writer. 😄

If we were having coffee I would tell you that my hours at work have been cut for the past couple of weeks, maybe a month or so and it’s been nice having Fridays off with the Mister while the Little People are at school but now it’s starting to wear on us financially. While I’m not particularly looking forward to working Fridays again, financially, we need it to happen. 😕

If we were having coffee I would tell you that I am exhausted. I cleaned the house several times this weekend (although you couldn’t tell it now) and I watched a bunch of movies, one of my new favorites being Crimson Peak. I was surprised that I found Tom Hiddleston attractive in this and not at all surprised that I found Charlie Hunnam attractive because, well, it’s Charlie Hunnam… 😍 I thoroughly enjoyed this movie’s plot and do expect that I will watch it repeatedly for the next six months until I find another movie I can obsess over.

Really that’s all that’s been new with me. I’m exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally and not at all looking forward to this upcoming work week alas, #adulthood. I do hope you all had a wonderful weekend and have a lovely upcoming week. I expect to catch up on posts this week when I have time but we shall see.

Do stay safe, productive, healthy and happy.

💖A.

When It’s Like This

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When it’s like this, it’s almost like being reborn. I can’t help but think of the Phoenix, born out of the ashes. The depression is like this. I don’t know what started it, something in my paranoid mind, no doubt. A spark of something ignited a fire in me. It’s always the same- I’ve seen or heard something that didn’t sit well somewhere inside of me and it gnawed at me and gnawed at me. It’s snowballing. The anxiety blossomed into depression which is slowly dissolving into anger, red hot, boiling rage. I hate it when it’s like this. I hate feeling so out of control. I hate hating the things I usually love. I hate everything. I mostly hate feeling like this. He tells me I need to get some rest, that he’ll handle all of the errands on his own today, but he doesn’t understand that when it’s like this, there is no rest. My mind will keep spinning, my insides will grow more and more blackened by the second until I finally explode. He told me once that he would rather hear the craziness that bumps around in my brain because it’s better than wondering what I’m thinking but once I’ve told him what’s happening he gets frustrated and it makes me feel worse. This is why I’m a woman of few words. People say they want to know, but they really don’t. Not when it’s like this.