Time Is Just an Illusion

After much contemplation, I’ve come to the conclusion
that time is just an illusion.
For once my years marked ten, growing took twice as long,
and age turned all wrong.
So at fifteen, I felt but twelve.. And a half,
and the rest is just a laugh.
Because I didn’t turn fifteen until I was twenty,
and I won’t make twenty until I’m thirty.
Though age demands I take responsibilities,
my heart is still full of possibilities.
I may have a mortgage, insurance, and a loan—
all the proof I’m a woman grown—
I still feel as if I need adult supervision
and someone to give permission.
Perhaps I’ll have to wait until I’m fifty
to feel like an adult at thirty.
I must conclude that once I’m seventy and preparing for an ending,
I’ll be but forty and still beginning.

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Shadows, a Caffeine Induced Tale of the Night

Sitting alone in the dark, awake because sleep has fled, the shadows live. In the corner of your eye, a figure passes the window. Or is the cat on the ledge? What is it that lives in the darkness? Is it a nameless whisper that grabs your ankles when you’re awakened by a dream? Is it a lonely creature that only wants a friend? Is it a hungry swarm that leaves haunted skeletons, endlessly echoing their final words?

No.

Listen, my friend, for I am the nightlight by your bed. I watch over you as you sleep, and the shadows are my children. Without me, there would be no shadows. They do not come to harm, though much they do hide. The velvety cloak of night masks the world to set you free. When blinded we are by hard-edged light, we cannot see potential. We only see what is. The black canvas of the night paints many pictures, both good and bad.

The shadows are the possibilities of the night bleeding into your world of light. Do not think of them as fiends and specters, but mischievous sprites, determined to mislead or enchant, it matters not which. If you take their hands, what dreams you may have! Is that shadow in your eye a monstrous nightmare? Or a fairy tale sneaking you off to magic lands? Who knows!

Changes

So recently, a friend of mine, from Twirling in the Rain, reminded me that she had a blog, which, in turn, reminded me that I have a blog. It has not yet been a full year since my last post, so I don’t feel too bad. But anyway.

The impetus for this post is a poorly timed coffee, the insomnia brought on as a result, my very nature, and my whirling thoughts.

I’ve said before that I’m an all-or-nothing sort of person. Either my life is completely falling apart or it’s completely put together. Right now it’s on the “completely put together” end of the spectrum, which includes picking up the things I’ve neglected for way too long (i.e., my blog). But in putting my life back together, I feel as if I tried to take off running without realizing that I’ve had my feet tied down—like in a slapstick comedy where the hapless hero or bad guy falls flat on his face.

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Finding Your Own Voice

I’m going to suggest a completely absurd thought about writing, here. You might unfollow me for this and say that I’m no real writer.

But have you ever considered the absurd notion that what you wrote might just be absolutely fine the first time? That maybe, just maybe, writing doesn’t need to always be this arduous process of endless writing and re-writing and slaving over several versions of the same piece and trying to decide which one is best?

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A Picture of Loss

A friend asked me if I ever plan on writing anything deeper than what I usually write. Aside from the fact that I prefer to make people laugh, and that I strongly believe that continuously pointing out the problems in the world without endeavoring to offer a solution (which I don’t exactly have) only adds to those problems, I usually just write about whatever’s going on in my life and the thoughts that come of that. For example, “Limited Social Capacity” was motivated by the fact that I was going to take a walk with a friend and then she invited one of her friends to join us without giving me advance warning (the time appointed doesn’t count as advance warning), much to my chagrin.

Unfortunately, recent events have been a little bit too deep to share in a general blog like this one. Hence the lack of posts for several weeks—or however long it’s been. I had things to say, but I just didn’t want to explain them as fully as the context demanded. However, there is one deep thing that I am willing to share.

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In Defense of “Said”

When you’ve expressed interest in writing, especially on Pinterest, you get a lot of suggestions for writing in your feed—writing prompts, tips and tricks for overcoming writer’s block, and do’s and don’t’s. Writing prompts are fun (a friend of mine semi-recently wrote a blog post about How to Use a Story Prompt, which I think is important information, though I never had that misconception myself), and tips and tricks can be useful depending on who you are, but the do’s and don’t’s?

Poppycock.

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Scheduling

A friend of mine who also blogs, puzzledustblog, told me about her blogging process. She starts a bunch of drafts and doesn’t finish them, and on posting day, she finishes one and publishes that.

This was a practically unheard of practice to me. Yet it makes so much sense if you want to post regularly. And now, just like that, I have 3 drafts and 4 scheduled posts (those numbers may change once I finish and schedule this post). Not sure how that happened. Previously, I’d written all of my blog posts and published them once I finished them, all on the same day. Must be a hold over from writing papers. Because 90% of the papers that I have written were written the day/night before… or, in some cases, the morning of. I’ll never forget the day that I wrote a 5000 word research paper in the 24 hours before it was due.

Who knew that you could write things ahead of time?