I can’t move my fingers.
They are reluctant to obey me.
My brain refuses to churn out any sort of ideas and words simply won’t come. Playlists don’t work. Word sprints don’t work.
Nothing will come.
“What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?”
I sing this randomly during the day. It was from a hulu commercial and got stuck in my head. I sang it once in my high school choir. I think I blocked out the memory because it wasn’t until I got to the chorus that I even remembered I had.
Darn Ear Worms. But at least it was something good, right?
I have a shameful secret.
I’ve read 11 books in two months.
That’s not shameful though. What IS shameful is that I’ve read them on my Kindle. My brand new Kindle that I swore up and down I would never own.
The Kindle that saves space and trees and has free books I can save to my account on Prime and Good Reads. The Kindle that has page-free convenience, which also means hands-free, which means snacking and reading at the same time.
The Kindle I bought a special leather cover for that was made to look like a book.
It was blue. Dark blue. A color I don’t normally gravitate to. Beauty and the Beast blue.
I don’t know if I could ever live in a Tiny House with my family. If I was by myself or with a partner then yes. If we could travel together then definitely yes. I could see myself in a Gypsy Caravan.
I have too much stuff. Too many clothes. Too many crafts.
No that’s not true about the crafts.
But the stuff, yes.
I either want a big sprawling house with four bedrooms and a large, lush yard or a Tiny House. $430K or $30K.
Man I wish I could afford either. Instead I’m in government housing in southern California.
I like looking at Wedding Dresses. So many fabrics and styles. Ugly, beautiful, intricate and plain.
Somebody dreamed those up. They took the images from their heads and put it on paper and then sewed it into a dress. The completion of an artist’s dream and the pinnacle of a bride’s dream.
I like looking at women in wedding dresses. No matter what they look like or where they came from, they all share the same shining hope. They have the sparkle of a woman in love, dressing up in the most beautiful outfit she’ll ever own, to walk toward the partner she wants to spend the rest of her life.
Every lady deserves to feel like the star of the show; a modern day princess, at least for one day (although it really needs to be more).
Even if most wedding receptions suck unless you have thousands of dollars to spend.
I am so grateful for my cat. I’m glad I didn’t get a dog.
She’s brought so much joy and tranquility to my home. She’s affectionate and hilarious and protective. She loves music and having her shoulder blades scratched and she doesn’t mind so much when I pet her belly anymore. She doesn’t even mind when I call her Fat Girl. Winter was good to her.
(Thanks mom, for the extra food!)
When I call her, she comes and maow’s at me, blinking up at me with her yellow-green eyes.
She knows where home is and she doesn’t let any other cat near. Or dog for that matter. Unless she doesn’t have a choice.
She loves her collar. She won’t let me take it off to change it.
Sometimes she’ll sit at my feet when I’m at the computer and reach up with her claws and hook into my thighs until I rub her head. And keep rubbing until she can’t hold on anymore. My skin has permanent claw pricks. I’ve gotten used to the sting.
I get slow blinks and I am often a snuggle partner when we read together on the bed. She sleeps between my husband and I find myself pressed up against the wall in the morning to give her maximum room.
She loves new blankets more than anything, especially quilts. Fresh out of the laundry and folded as thick as they can get is preferred.
Sometimes I miss being in choir.
I couldn’t read a lick of music. I just knew when a dot was higher on the line, my voice needed to go higher.
I could match pitch though. As long as there were others to match with.
Never did I ever try out for a solo.
I liked being part of a group, working toward the same goal. I liked the music and the way my body felt after singing.
Like it was vibrating.
Like a bell.
I still want to punch my high school choir teacher in the face. Or maybe in the throat. What an asshole. Chipmunk man.
I’ve sadly lost my singing voice to age, child birthing and obesity.
I tried a karaoke game with my kids and I couldn’t even get through 5 songs without my vocal chords seizing up.
I’m sad I’m an alto/tenor now. I miss my soaring soprano voice.