"There is a woman wearing my clothes and my skin and my smell but it isn't me. Sin is like ink, it bleeds into a person, coloring, making you someone other than you used to be. And it's indelible. Try as much as you want, you cannot get yourself back.
Words can't pull me back from the edge, neither can daylight. This isn't something to get over, it is an atmosphere I need to learn to breathe. Grow gills for transgression, take it into my lungs with every gasp.
It's a startling thing. I wonder who this person is, going through the motions of my life. I want to take her hand. And then I want to push her, hard, off a cliff."

- Jodi Picoult

My illusions

"There is an illusion of safety in movement, the half formed idea that the fates cannot find us" - Dean Koontz

It's true. That's why I run. I'm a runner. Anyone who really knows me, knows that to be true. Most of the time physically I run, leave, that moment, that minute, from a bad situation or emotion. But even when I don't do that, I check out emotionally, put up barriers, make bold heart statements, close myself to whatever, whoever hurt me and turn, move onto something else. I know that I do it, and yet I cannot seem to stop myself. why? some would say I don't want to....

I wish I was better, braver, stronger, more...enough.

To cope, handle, go through, survive without shutting off. But there is a feeling of strength in casting it ALL off, a feeling of safety in leaving it behind, not looking back. As long as you don't look back, it can't get you..

But we always look back, don't we?

I do. Eventually.

Sometimes that's harder than the hurt. Realizing those things, people are gone, at least the hurt kept them there with you, present.

Missing is a whole other kind of pain.

Crazy days and runaways no matter what the memories stay, and the illusion of freedom fades on the walk down memory lane.

Covergirl, yeah, not so much

I have a black eye this morning. So any dreams I may have harbored about secretly being a model have been dashed.

That's right, you read me right. And no, it's not my run of the mill looks black bagged out caused i haven't slept black eye. For those of you that are actually concerned about my physical safety, i regret to inform you that i was indeed the victim of a brutal assault, committed by non other than the fruit of my very own loins.

There I was sleeping (I won't say soundly to avoid this becoming a work of fiction)rather craptastically (tossing, turning, the usual) when out of NO WHERE, two tiny but beastly strong little fists of fury come flying into my face!!

ONE! TWO! ONE! TWO! BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!

Straight shots to my ONE eye (no doubt strategic). Over and over again. I tried to grab the little guns, but she was quick about her buisness. Lethally quick. In an effort to preserve my sight I had no choice but to roll off the bed and out of her reach.

So there I am on the floor, taking a minute to get my bearings. Suddenly this little face peeks over the bed, and with an enormous grin across her face, she waves.

YEAH. WAVES.

GTFO I said under my breath. AS IF. clearly this was NO accident. Planned down to the last punch. I did laugh, until I saw my eye.
Now I have to tell people my kid beats me. It's not pretty.

To add insult to injury, she asked me to play peek-a-boo later that afternoon.

OUCH.

Here's a tip

Dear Overly connected to random strangers Waitress at the bar,

less talkie, more pourie.

sincerely,

still sober enough to write this thanks to you.