I've been loved and committment

Okay, so I've already fallen off the commitment wagon and missed two precious thought-filled days of writing. Gosh, what shall I do? Shall I fret and and beat myself up? Shall I cheat and write two extra posts and date stamp them for the last two days? Or shall I just
come up with a better way? The utmost latter...doing this thing before the
toothpaste and morning pee. Yeah, halitosis and bladder denial. This ought to be good...


It's surprising I'm even up this early, but I won't claim that I've done it alone. At 7am, I took 30MG's of Adderall. I'm one of the lucky ones. It's actually a prescription. In my last year of college I was sitting on a gold mine and didn't even know it! Hahahahaha...hahaha..haha..ha...ah-HEM...just kidding. I've been feeling so scattered, smothered, covered, the plea I made to my psychiatrist over three years ago. This transition gets makes its next inevitable stop in less than two weeks now and I'm still looking at the four piles of clothes that need to be packed, petrified of putting them in boxes because that means that it's definite, no unpacking til I get to the other side. These last few days I've toyed with the thought that the only reason I'm going through with it at all is because I already have a plane ticket, sigh... I read the other day (via @saralena) that reports now say that ADD drugs aren't effective after two years and stunts your growth. Fortunately for me, I wasn't diagnosed until the ripe old age of 26 and even if I hadn't been, my Amazonian family genes would have made up the difference. I rounded out at 5'9" so I certainly could have spared an inch or two. And as for the only working for the first two years, I made a pact with myself that I would only consistently use it for a year and in that time learn a pattern of non-smothered-covered life. I was successful at such and now am only on an as-needed basis. Oh yeah, I was needin' right about now. It's funny, when I first told my closest friends (you know, the ones who would still love me though I be clinical) they gawked and thought I was even more clinical for actually taking drugs. But by the eighth post-high school year of my wandering existence, still no degree in hand btw, a string of jobs I left because I was "unfulfilled," countless sleepless nights of mind bantering, I wasn't caring how much chagrin they had, I needed drugs!! Take your local ADD/ADHD sufferers seriously people!! But I digress. More on all that later...

The "earliness" of my awakening, Adderall assisted and all, comes just five short hours after 3+ meaningful hours of conversation with a man who is reminding me, laugh after laugh, "thank you" after "thank you" that I have been one loved somebody. And it is this love we have (re-discovered after 8yrs. of estrangement) first discovered as freshman and sophomore in high school, is the standard by which I should expect no less. "You're beautiful," "You're wonderful," You're awsomeness and cake," he opposes to every silence and interrupts in every self-doubting sigh.

I detailed some of the worst moments, make that long stretches of agony, during my marriage and how/when I knew it had to end. It had been a long time since I unloaded those stories on to anyone and it was healthy to let it out once more. He listened, taking my side, vowing to have never done such things to me. And I believe him, even in the wake of knowing that our most monstrous of capabilities are unknown until our virtue escapes us. But it's the laughing, the ease at which we talk with friendship, respect, adoration and reverence for our one-of-a-kind ability to connect. He's a Gemini, me a Taurus, and the Zodiac tells us that we're the best signs suited for each other. I see why. But even all this, it's not enough to make us perfect for each other in life. You don't mess up something like what we have with that "together forever" stuff. You don't mix obligation and career goals with something that happens so effortlessly. What we have is like pricey pottery. It is to be admired high on the mantle, given homage for it's stunning beauty and it's priceless influence on the life of a room. And though we'll part in sweet sorrow just 12 days from now, he's the life of this room. It's filled with all the accouterments of this season, the bouquets of opposes and interrupts. The drapes of laughter that just rightly shades so I can look out in midday pondering why grass grows so quickly and time passes so slowly in summer.

And you ask, 'Shouldn't you want that in a marriage, a partnership?' Sure, but marriage succumbs to the practical, the routine, the get-it-done functionality of life. It forges walls and wages wars over paper towels and laundry. In other words, it's work!! But how I love it so and fantasize about marrying again someday. There's no greater covenant, I've always said. And with the right person, a convergence of friendship, teachable lovers, proportionate money, and dreams unfurled, a heavenly haven.

Yes, I've loved and been loved in exorbitance, but love in itself is not excuse enough for companionship. It flowers and chills the seasons, teaching you, reprimanding you, buffering you. I read once that the mind should guard the heart because of its recklessness design to love, even those things that scar us. I agree to an extent, but to me, love is not completely to blame. The mind is a culprit too, how it uses love to convince us of the perfection of wrong timing, irrational expectation, wayward motives, unnecessary sacrifice. But I'm glad for all of it and whereas I'm advised of my experiences to never do it again, love has been the best part of my life.

Question of the day: Have you ever had a perfect love with someone that wasn't meant for forever?

Is my ordinary extra?

It's Father's Day and mine has been dead for 10 years now, but I don't miss him. I didn't cry at his funeral and I didn't sing either. He wasn't my real father, but he and his wife, my bioligical Great-Aunt, adopted me when I was seven and three quarters.

Ever since I came to this earth, I've done things a bit differently. Iwas one of those babies where the rest of the family looks towards the expectant mother in disappointment, asking, "What are you/we going to do?" No, my mother wasn't a teenager, but rather an unmarried - make that I don't know who the father is unmarried, schizophrenic with no resources whatsoever to fund a child's life. As far as I know, aborting me was never even considered, but who knows, she may have been too well along before her showing belly broke the news. There are few pictures of me as a baby, but they are all of this one day. I had on a pink outfit, almost looks handmade, and telling by the sweater material, it must have been winter. Every few years, family reunions, death, graduations, I find new pictures of this same scene, different family members cawing over me. But there was a new one I saw recently, one where my real mom was holding me, her cheek pressed to mine. She loved me and would have wanted me to be her child. I've often wondered exactly how she felt, having to give me up all because her mind wouldn't allow her to take care of me.

But I digress, this is supposed to be about figuring out whether I really do have any extra in my ordinary. Let me state again. I'm an opera singer. But I didn't come to that conclusion or self-affirmation until two years ago when I realized that singing was the missing link. I was 26 then and just over 29 now. I'm guilty. Guilty of coveting those who seem to have the easyand clear-cut path, who seem to be born to do one thing and one thing only. But I, it seems, was born to do many things, most of which conflict wtih one another.

Prophecy, encouragement, tearful wishes to see my name in lights. I grew up in community spotlight, southern spotlight. You know the whole debutante, Emily Post thing. Smiles, beauty and poise. It was suffocating. But the real problem was I didn't know it until I came up for air at 18 and moved out of the house to go to college. Playing, singing, dancing, starring as Dolly Levi in Hello Dolly, a role that won me a spot in Huntsville, AL history. But that's where I peaked, somewhere between Before the Parade By and So Long, Dearie. And that's what this transition is all about. Asserting a new peak, becoming more that the circumstances of my birth.

So is that my extra? Perserverence and such? There are no answers, only miraculous births.

Question for the day: Are we determined for extraordinariness from birth or can we MAKE ourselves extra-ordinary?

Let the Lexicons rain down...

Deep breath...look up to the ceiling while typing...I can't belive it's taken me so long to do this. Actually, I signed up a very long time ago to do this whole blogging thing, but I wasn't ready to committ to it. I was intimidated by the task, felt as if my thoughts wouldn't be good, witty enough. And I'm not really sure of how much this intimidation has changed, all I know is that like a dark cloud, I'm ready to purge, to rain down. I mean, for crying out loud, I'm a writer, right? And committment...I sit here teetering between leaving off at any one word and finishing this tomorrow. But if I do that, I'll never really stick to this endeavor. And besides, my current stream of consciousness will be cold and that will only equal another lost set of profound thoughts.

I'm in a transition...the single LONGEST transition of my LIFE!! I never knew transition could be so very long! You've gotta get somewhere at some time, huh? But, it's just the impatience, the knowing I belong in another place, hopefully a better stake in life. I'm and opera singer, and that's my next stop on this journey. A career of costume and melodrama...I tell you, there's nothing like being an emoter of every gesture and phrase known to language. Taking four whole minutes to tell my boyfriend, who I only met five minutes ago, that my name is Mimi has got to make me some sort of exceptional rule breaker. What's not to love?

So here's how I want to run this thing:

I was going to spill and sum my whole life story in this one post, but no, I'll pull it along as lexiconical taffy. Each day, typing out a sticky loop from around the tip of my fingers, hoping that it's sweet and melty to my readers (anyone?). If this is a committment, them I'm going to ground myself in this blogging vehicle and ride it out into the blazing sunset, in a convertible of course, just in case it rains...

I vow to write EVERYDAY on this blog for the next 90 days. The first, uh...however long it takes, I will be narcisistic and detail my life story, that which I think is relevant anyway. Then I will branch out into issues and views, and then, well, by then I hope to be on the other side of my transition and who knows...wow, I just looked at my clock on the stroke of midnight, June 20, 2oo9. Sigh of serendipity...I guess that means from here to September 20, 2009, I'm married to this thing and will be either dying for annullment or forever balled and dehydrating myself of profound lexicon.

Question of the day:
Have you ever been intimidated out of doing something because you knew you were good at it?