Weekend Coffee Share 04/23/17


Welcome back to Write On for another weekly Coffee post! I’m so glad you’ve decided to stop by! Today has been a really nice day, surprisingly. Usually Sunday’s are my most dreaded day of the week, it means the end of my lounging and back to the hectic schedule. I did try to take this weekend easier than I usually do though, which still consisted of me doing several loads of laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, meal preparation, not to mention trying to supervise unruly (and quite hyper) children and puppy. All in all, it’s been a lovely weekend though!

If we were having coffee I would tell you that today I discovered a truly lovely travel blog that I am enjoying very much! This surprises me because I’ve never been too interested in travel blogs, not to say that I don’t enjoy traveling, although I’ve only been to a few states and out of the country twice. The blog is called Travelling the World Solo.

Talk about instilling wanderlust in a person! Since I started reading this blog early this morning, I’ve been dreaming of all the places I would love to visit if I had the opportunity to. Australia, Japan, and the U.K. would definitely be on this list! There was a country that the blogger had visited and said that she thought it was unfairly judged (I think it was a Middle Eastern country, although I’m not entirely sure) and I thought that was very compassionate of her. I also think it’s very brave of her to go so far from her home, I’m a big pansy when it comes to traveling outside of my comfort zone. Needless to say, I’m hooked on this blog. If you love travel blogs, you should definitely check it out. Heck, even if you don’t love travel blogs you should check it out. This is the first travel blog I’ve ever read and I absolutely adore it!

If we were having coffee I would tell you that aside from the A to Z Challenge and my Weekend Coffee posts, I haven’t done much more writing but I’m hoping that the A to Z Challenge will keep me inspired long after it’s over. I’m proud of myself that I’ve made it this far without giving up and I’m also proud of myself for thinking ahead and deciding what I’m going to write about for the letter X, which is the letter that got me hung up last year and was the deciding factor of me throwing in the towel. I think I’ve since deleted all of last years A to Z posts. They were just awful, truly awful in my opinion. I think one of the things that made the challenge so hard for me was trying to stick to a theme. This year I’ve pretty much been writing about whatever is on my mind and it’s been much eaiser.

If we were having coffee I would thank you for stopping by, but I really haven’t done much else other than wonder how in the world my two daughters (who are nine and six) can make such a horrendous mess in such a short period of time. I swear I’ve cleaned the living room twice this weekend already and both times the girls have destroyed it less than ten minutes after I was finished. It’s beyond frustrating. Now I must jump in the shower and head off to bed although honestly I’ll probably stay awake and read more of Travelling the World Solo. I hope you had a lovely weekend and I’ll stop by sometime this week to catch up with everyone’s posts. Have a lovely upcoming week!




His love makes me believe that I can do anything. I could reach out and pluck a feathery cloud from the sky, if I wanted to. I could exhale a whispery breath and extinguish the sun. It makes me want to give him the stars, even though they aren’t mine to give. I could crumble mountains and cross oceans, without ever moving.

His love makes me invincible.

His love makes me feel beautiful, like there was no one before me and will never be one after me. Not just an accepting type of beauty, but like I’ve exceeded the standards that I’ve always held myself at.  His love makes me feel confident that what is inside of me is far more stunning than anything anyone has to offer on the outside.

His love makes me radiate.

His kisses are like a gifted box full of chocolates when I’ve only just given them up for Lent.

I crave them.

His love is like committing arson,

when I knew there was a drought,

leaving me burning with the desire to be quenched

with more fire.

I find myself doing everything with him I always swore I would not do.

I let walls down that I’ll never have the time, nor the strength, to rebuild.

With him, I am vulnerable.

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Meet and Greet: 4/22/17

Meet and Greet Weekend is finally here! Come and discover some wonderful blogs!

Dream Big, Dream Often


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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Lying in bed, thinking I must be tossing and turning but knowing I am probably paralyzed from fear, behind my closed lids I know what is about to happen next. Sometimes the faces are different but the heartache is not and something in my mind screams at me to wake up. I repeat his name over and over hoping that one of these times I will somehow let the word slip through my lips in my sleep, that I will say it loudly enough to wake him so that he might wake me but it never happens. Once again, there’s his face, smirking and uncaring, his eyes as cold as a fresh snow and my heart starts to clench, I know it’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces because I’ve had this nightmare before, too many times before. I want to wake up. Heart pounding, broken out in a cold sweat, it feels like something is squeezing the breath out of me, I know what happens next and I cannot relive it. It’s been so long since the last time, I thought my mind had forgotten, had let this nightmare go. Yet here he is, his eyes so accusing and hateful yet uncaring at the same time and he says the words I fear to hear from him and I cannot wake myself, just like every other time I’ve had this dream. I cannot wake myself and I must let the nightmare run it’s course. And after it’s over and my pillow is soaked with tears, this puppy climbs on my chest and licks the tears from my face and I remember that I am loved. She stays there on my chest throughout the rest of the night, watchful, and I tell myself this nightmarish pattern has been broken because I didn’t have her before, she wasn’t there before to remind me of the the truth.




I told myself I could finish out this challenge.

I told myself I was going strong.

I told myself my words mattered, to me if to no one else.

I told myself I would listen to the stories inside of me and share them with the world.

But tonight, my mind is quiet.


Earlier today I said I would distract myself when my coworker started sharing details about her relationship.

We’ve worked together for about six months now, maybe less, and she’s always told me such beautiful things about her daughters. It’s obvious she loves them very much.

I never really noticed that she never speaks of her husband.

Maybe I should’ve noticed that when does, she only speaks about the times in the past when he was abusive.

She says he’s changed now.

Until today, I never noticed the moments of silence that always follow these particular conversations.

But today, I listened when she was quiet.


On my way home after picking the Little People up from school, I thought about my favorite bloggers and wondered what they were thinking about.

I pictured one typing out words on a laptop, maybe drinking something fruity, maybe a tea. I don’t know her preferences. I imagined the other smoking a cigarette, leaned against the window of a skyscraper, looking out over the city. I don’t even know if he lives in a big city. I like to think he does.

I wondered what I would say if I had the opportunity to say something to them. I would want it to be something meaningful, I would hope it would be something meaningful, but I’m not the best at spoken conversation.

I wondered if these two people would listen when I was quiet.


Tonight as I was jotting down ideas about things I might write about I thought about all of the written words I’ve read in the past couple of months and I told myself once again that I would write something equally beautiful, or at least attempt to. I told myself that all good writers think their words are absolute rubbish but that doesn’t mean they truly are. I told myself I should just allow the words to flow from my brain to the paper.

I sat and let something be born onto paper, I watched something blossom and suddenly, my mind went quiet.






I tell him I want one more round before we go. Sometimes I wonder if my drinking disgusts him, most times I could care less. One of the televisions behind the bar plays a football game. Thankfully, the volume is low. There’s a commercial for pizza on another one, a shampoo commercial on a third one. The fourth one is too far out of my line of sight to tell what is playing on it. I briefly wonder if cartoons are on that one. I would much rather be watching cartoons than anything I can see on the other three.

The bartender keeps calling me this guy’s girlfriend and I cringe inwardly every time I hear this word. I live in a generation where relationships mean nothing, even to me. I cannot bear the thought of being tied down to someone, of being responsible for someone else’s happiness and well-being. My date doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m not that type of girl and because he also knows that I know that he’s not that type of guy.

I know my breath reeks of dark beer by now. I try to remember the last time I’ve eaten anything and briefly wonder if it’s in danger of coming up later at some point in the night. I sit still for a moment and try to decide if my stomach feels queasy. For now, it doesn’t.

He’s sitting on the bar stool next to me, his body turned towards mine but his attention on the television in front of him. I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t have a cell phone. In a world that’s obsessed with technology, it’s nice to know that your shining personality and conversation is enough to hold a person’s attention. Even so, we’ve known each other for close to a year and have barely said more than five words to each other. I can’t say that I mind the silence. It’s better than rattling off words that mean nothing. Words that I could be using on something more important, like my writing.

I dip my hand in the bowl of cocktail peanuts on the bar in front of me and pop them in my mouth, one by one, sucking the salt off of them. My mother once told me that bartenders place peanuts at the bar because they make you thirsty and then you end up ordering more drinks. I think about this for a moment and then ask the bartender for another dark, Irish Car Bomb and a glass of water. He gives me a funny look and briefly glances at my companion but ends up bringing me what I ask for. I find myself wondering what time it is. I’m so sleepy.

Eventually I realize that all of the Irish Car Bombs have upset my stomach and I can feel it gurgling. I halfway turn to him and mumble something about getting food later. I don’t feel bad for all the money he’s been shelling out tonight because in reality, he hasn’t paid a dime. I’m a working girl. I’m as independent as I can be. I can afford this. I wonder if that knowledge makes him feel threatened. I doubt it does. He’s probably just another moocher like all the others. This doesn’t bother me either and I wonder if it should.

My eyes get heavier and heavier and I’m ready to go to sleep. I yawn and don’t even try to hide it. I lay my left arm flat against the bar and rest my head on it while simultaneously pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. I attempt to light it sideways and he laughs and pulls the Marlboro from my mouth, pulling out his fancy, silver lighter and sparking it for me. He inhales deeply and I watch the smoke rising in it’s intricate dance. I don’t know how many minutes go by but I become more and more frustrated that he still has my cigarette. I decide to start running a tab on him. While he has his own car, I usually do most of the driving and he lives out of my way- not near to me and not near to any of the bars I like to frequent.

We haven’t spoken since we sat down at this bar over two hours ago. We’ve both been watching the television, watching our hands, watching the bowl of peanuts and our glasses emptying and then refilling, looking anywhere but at each other. I love this pub. It’s one of my favorites and I wonder when the time comes when he and I have tired of each other if I will still love this bar stool, that television, that bowl of peanuts, my Irish beer. I imagine someone else sitting on his bar stool, a lot of someone-elses, and as I stub out my cigarette and he swallows down the rest of his beer, I don’t even flinch when he reaches for my hand and leads me to where tonight will end.