My Thoughts

original date 7/27/2015 Everyone deserves to be the hero of their own story. It is a concept that few people truly understand,  yet they strive to accomplish.  We seek the glory, honor or fame that will create in the minds of others a hero legend. I read the book " All my Puny Sorrows " a couple of months ago and the idea of each person being the hero of their own story was presented in a way I had not conceptualized.  Neither had I had thought about the concept of each person a hero in her / his own story  prior to that novel; but I have thought about it quite a bit since.   Being the hero of your own story is like being the jolly good fellow: you are the center of a story; you're the central focus -  the main person - the protagonist.  This sounds brilliantly clever, doesn't it?  I think all too often many people live with this ego-eccentric belief.  Sadly, if a person lives with this ideal, then to be a hero, you must have...

original date 7/18/2015 A couple days ago, my ex-husband turned 50, and I was transported backward in time to when I was still married and thought about all the great ways I would plan a memorable 50th birthday for him.  It's crazy that I thought about all that long ago planning when we've been apart almost as long as we were together.  Almost as quickly as the thought of the celebration entered my mind, so too did the tragic ending of my marriage.  It was tragic because it could've been saved with a bit of intervention.  All this time later as I have sought understanding and acceptance, I am provided with healthy opportunities to grieve the loss:  the loss of potential and the loss of innocence for a 32 year old mother of 3 small children. One of my ex sisters-in-law told me at the time of the initial separation that the family had hoped I would be strong enough to handle the ex. "To handle the ex" - code for handling the effects of mental illness without...

I had that dream again last night, and oh, my soul mourns this morning that the dream could not last.  He was there, again.  He loved me, again.  That haunting feeling lurks, just inside the veil of morning creeping over the horizon. We were young attorneys - he from the good family, me from the trailer park.  It's a classic Southern Gothic theme, and one I have not experienced in my dreams before.  Normally, I exist on an equal social field.  Curious! Maybe there is something in this new theme.  As he stood his ground with his father and with his fellow attorneys from similar social backgrounds, my heart soared; I felt truly loved and wanted. I have never experienced that feeling in my real life - wanted and loved. I have always made compromises to believe in something wonderful; compromises that eventually weakened and revealed the fragility in the relationship.  As I woke this morning, the feeling of desire, of love and acceptance linge...

Tossing and turning and trying so hard to sleep - I could hear mom and dad arguing down the hall. I wish they’d stop, because the boys might wake up, and I’m just too tired to get them back to sleep.   Dad is telling mom that she has to stop drinking and using the rent money, and I know she’s crying. Geeze, I’ve heard ‘em all, excuses from behind that damn door. From behind the closed door creeps the sounds of poverty , echoes in my head  I think how great that would be for personification, so I grab my journal to add that note. My pen’s stuck in the crease of a poem.  I wrote this in class today as Ms. Patel droned on and on about the beauty of poetry and the deeper meanings it contains. Ms. Patel, sometimes poetry is just lines with meter and words that may or may not rhyme.   Sometimes a phrase that you may think is a simile or metaphor is just a reflection of the reality of the poet’s existence. These were the introductory remarks I wrote in class....