The lives of the mega rich are so very different from our own. Privileged women like “Heather”, who thoughtfully married two rich men (consecutively, though concurrently would have been far more efficient) don’t even have closets. All new clothing/accessories acquisitions go straight into: “Heather’s meticulously organized wardrobe area” – Harper’s Bazaar
Having an award winning poet as one’s mother is sensational. You grow up knowing a special secret: the world is wholly abstract, yet interconnected, and far more open to interpretation than most people realize. Life is a game of picking out signs and assigning them meaning.
My mother recently told me she had made up her mind about moving into a larger apartment. What clinched her “yes”?
Mars, Val Kilmer, and a car battery.
It’s a long story, and you’d have to have poet blood to understand any of it : )
I’m showered, dressed, combed, and brushed. I tie my shoes and put on my jacket. My hand is on the doorknob. But wait. I’ve forgotten my watch on the nightstand.
I tip-toe into the bedroom, careful not to wake the big lump under the covers. As I wrap my watch round my wrist, I see that a slipped comforter has left a peachy pink cheek exposed and vulnerable. I dive in and kiss that special spot, just past the corner of your eye, where (in these last few years) the delicate skin has begun to crease. My lips find all the heat and softness and comfort they’ll need for the day in the half-second we connect.
I notice another “cheek” is exposed ; )
So I smack it.
Perfect way to start the day.
Every girl has one…
…that boy who swept you off your feet then dragged you through a lovely, spring fresh field of land mines. You know, the one boy you can’t resist, even through he’s put your heart/ self-esteem/ hope-for-the-future through the shredder too many times to count. I’m sure he was one of your first loves too, and you two just “got” each other right from the beginning. ya ya
I have one of my own, of course, but I’m not ready to him dredge up from the bilgewater of my grade 9 memories. The charmer you see in the picture above is kryptonite to a friend of mine. She’s been trying to break free of his toxicity for almost a year. Part of growing up is recognizing the poison people in our lives, and having the courage to cut ourselves loose. Step back, let’s try taking a look at our relationships from the outside. Are red flags waving wild to get our attention?
I read a great line yesterday: “(paraphrased) if you’re trying to get to the reality of your relationships, try imagining one of your discussions as verbatim dialogue in a novel. Do you have new empathy? Do the characters surprise you? Disgust you?” (note: disgust is always a bad sign)
And speaking of bad signs… If your kryptonite boy (or girl) chooses to post a picture of himself similar to the one above (this pic is from my friend’s charmer’s myspace profile page), the case is already settled. Don’t bother plugging him into dialogue or asking yourself “is he an energy vampire?” Most pictures say a thousand words. This photo says one… run. Ok, maybe two… run… fast.
Stop whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re doing it. Take a moment and appreciate the simplicity of your life: the next few hours are mapped out with (mostly) achievable tasks; you’re comfortably dressed, in warm (dry) clothes. Go ahead and smile. Breathe deep and savour your bliss.
I was once like you, young and innocent, so happy and carefree. I never stopped to appreciate how darned good I had it. Until, just mere moments ago, I turned on the tap in our office kitchen and sent a 360 degree deluge of turbo charged spray out into the room. Yes, life was so much simpler back when napkins were plentiful and clothes were dry. sigh.
Pop in the plate. Set microwave for 30 seconds – on high. Press start.
You keep your eyes glued to the glass. “It’s only 30 seconds,” you say. “It’ll go by so fast.” And it does. Congratulations, you’ve just spent 30 precious seconds of your life watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. Way to go. And here you thought TV commercials were wasting your life.
Ah, man. And here I am writing about watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. But suddenly, I don’t feel so bad. You’re here reading about someone writing about someone watching infinitesimally small….
(I jest, I jest, please keep reading)