I’ve been thinking . . .

There’s a difference between stepping outside your comfort zone, and, intentionally depositing yourself into an undesirable situation; discerning between the two . . . well, that takes practice.

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Wordy Wednesday

If a heart were a mosaic I would take you out.

Risk my own undoing.

With less of you, there would be more of me.

More of He.

You paint me with a sticky sadness; leave a residue I wouldn’t chew, even

if you didn’t taste like ash and mortar—and a little like a bad memory vividly remembered.

Carefully, I would rend you, digging, lifting, ripping.

And if that didn’t work, I would plunge my nails into your center and . . .

leave you be.

You filthy thing; you always did belong with me.

Shall I contend with you then?

Yes, I speak to you, dearest.

A stately sort of grace you bear, with your proud top hat, and centur-ree of dignity.

Been there. Done that. What else have you got?

It is by-and-by, I decide, that you, Sir and Madam may have wizened your wisdom;

for you’ve gone blind. Lost

your sighted sight, in return offered a slight, in which you insult the very foundation on which you stand.

On stilts you wobble to and fro, looking for what’s new and bold—something shiny to throw.


Is it LOUD that you seek? Repulsed by the passive and meek? I dare say you’ve missed the whole.

And so a quarter will have to do. You

keep what’s near and dear, and I’ll continue to sink, because,

at some point rescue is imminent.

And then where will you be?

Charmed, I’m sure, no wait . . .

that’s me.

But a lady I am. I bid you adieu most cordially.

Agreeably Disagreeable

You all recognize this precious little angel, right?

She is most famously remembered for this quote, in which she shrieks at the top of her lungs:


And if you didn’t give it to her . . . oooo, boy, did you have it coming.

And really, can we blame sweet, dear Veruca Salt? Transported into the magical kingdom of Wonka Land, bedazzled and blown away by the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells, well . . . I can’t imagine I would be in much control of my wants. And truly, my own candy dish — does it still count as a “dish” if it’s an entire drawer? — has been known to send me into a saccharine induced tizzy. Maybe a sugar-high is to blame for Ms. Salt’s lack of decorum and self-restraint.

Or, perhaps not.

In my 29 and 9/10 years on earth, I have never experienced anything more difficult than . . . wait for it . . . it’s coming . . . a few more seconds . . . any minute now . . .

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Now, that’s a head-scratcher . . .

Take a walk with me, will you?

. . . perhaps you are wondering why I have just shown you these quite uninteresting pictures. Rest assured, it will all make sense in about three to four paragraphs.

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