Ahhhh.....sweet, daylight savings time!

Why is that an extra hour and a half of daylight makes all the difference? There's still 24 hours in a day, 14 to 16 of those hours of which are filled with productive activites that one can do while one is awake. But yet...

I love you daylight savings time! However, I wish you didn't exist! I wish the powers that be would just leave time alone. I mean...it's time. TIME. Leave it alone. Let it be what it wants! Let it collide with the seasons and work everything out without us droll humans interfering.

Artists have written great songs about you, dear TIME. "If I could save time in a bottle..." Gotta love Jim Croce.

"Tickin' away, the moments that make up a dull day," Pink Floyd.

We love you TIME, we try to acquire more of you and we curse you when you slip away. We ponder the moments that we've lost and dream about the moments to come. And yes, as we grow older, you seem to move even quicker. You become more elusive.

But we love the daylight. We are creatures of the light.

Thanks for the extra sunlight. We'll take it, no matter how it comes.

Thank God I don't live in Alaska. Sorry, Mrs. Palin.

Mo Was Here

I took a break from the blog for awhile. I've been laying low, trying to combat the blues. I've done a lot of cleaning, the kind that involves purging. I've thrown away more junk in the last week and it feels great. I still have a long way to go, but the process of purging helps unclutter my mind. The problem is that I want to have it all done immediately and have to keep reminding myself that Rome wasn't built in a day. Slow down, girl. Baby steps. The more I do, the more I see that needs to be done. Still...I'm learning that keeping busy, in a productive way, lifts my spirits. Wallowing is a nice place to visit, but I don't want to live there.

As for the blog, I guess I got tired of it. I started asking myself why I do this...what purpose does it serve? When I started, it was experimental. The idea being that it would keep me writing. It's interesting for me to go back and read from the beginning. It's changed along the way, as I've changed. And part of my discouragement is that it's mainly for me. Let's face it, writers want to be read, just like artists want their art to be admired. Otherwise, it's in a vacuum, some nebulous place.

I've decided that it's okay if it's just for me, and a handful of close friends. Just like purging my house helps my soul, so does purging my mind. I don't keep a written journal anymore so this serves that purpose and more. What the more is, I don't exactly know, but I do know that this place will continue to grow and change with me.

And that's a good thing.

Seems every February brings about self-analysis for me. I began to realize after the long rush of the holidays, that I'm tired. The rut of my busy, everyday life leaves so little time for me. I realize I've been neglecting myself. I try to carve out a little bit of time each day to be nice to myself. It doesn't always work out, but the more I try, the easier it becomes. And oh, so necessary.

And maybe that's the "more" that this blog serves. It's a place to go that's all my own where I can completely be, ME.

And that's a good thing, too.

February Funk

I got the mean, ole', low-down February funk. That's me, above, in a photo that I didn't take or pay for, lying sadly in a raggedy ole' doorway. Sigh.

No particular reason. It's February, need I say more? I'm older, fatter, less blond, bored, tired and did I mention bored? Extremely bored.

I hate this month. I hate this time of year. I hate. Wait, I'm a hater! I should start participatin', not hatin'!

I like...coffee.

I like...tea.

I like...

March.

American Pie

Watched a little of the Superbowl tonight. The most important parts anyway...the halftime performance by the "The Boss" and the last two minutes. Go Steelers!

Bruce put on an amazing show! Love that man. Halfway through, my daughter walks through and says "Who's the old guy?"

Old guy, my ass.

Spring, Goals and Procastination

These lovely flowers remind me know that spring will come. And with spring, comes new life. A little late in the new year to be setting goals, but I am the Queen of Procastination.

Here are my goals. I know there's power in writing them down but I've always hesitated to do that for fear that someone would remind me if I don't accomplish said goals.

I'm pretty sure that that, my friends, is exactly the point so here goes...

1. Finish novel that I started with Nanowrimo. My characters are just hanging out, wondering where I've been. I'll be back. I've been thinking about them quite a bit.

2. Refinance house.

3. Repair house with above mentioned refinancing loot.

4. Lost 20 lbs. and get FINE.

5. MOVE...physically, which ties into number 4.

6. By the end of the year, be very, very, close to opening greatest bookstore in all the world with my BFF.

As I close in on the ripe ole' age of 44, I feel as if I'm changing in many ways. I feel like I might actually be becoming a grown-up. There's a lot that I want to experiment with. A lot of areas that I want to grow in. Too many to list here.

Come on, spring. Mama needs a new pair of flip-flops.

On Losing My Mind

Sometimes, it's kind of cool to have a famous person in your dream. They appear out of nowhere and in your dream, the fact that they are in your home, or that they know you, is no big deal. It seems normal. Casual. When you wake up, you feel like you actually know that person.

But, this is getting a little weird.

After the week of dreams I had last week with female movie stars, finally, a male. Carlos Santana.

Me and a group of my college friends, three girls, (college?) were looking to rent the top floor of a cool house somewhere near the ocean. Next thing I know, I'm rooming with Carlos Santana. We had a discussion about his music, I told him about Brian and how he loved Santana, that Brian was also a lead guitarist and musician, and that his favorite group of all time was Pink Floyd. Carlos said he remembered Brian and told me that he had in fact, attended his funeral. He said it was the grooviest funeral that he had ever attended. Needless to say, we bonded after that and became the best of roomies.

The sub-conscious is so very interesting. Carlos Santana? How long has he been lurking around in there and why? I like the man and his music, but really....Carlos Santana?

At least I have my weird dreams to keep my occupied during these long, winter months.

Wonder what tonight holds for me and why isn't Bruce Willis lurking around in there?

Hello? Bruce?

Women...Can't live with

Today has been a female day. All the men in my house were gone for the day.

And I had an epiphany. My youngest daughter, who's 14, hates me. That's not the epiphany. We haven't been on the best of terms for the last few years. This has been really hard for me because as a little girl, she was...well, she was the one who hugged me, kissed me, and told me how great I was. She smiled constantly, took everything in stride and seemed the most well-adjusted kid that I had. She adored me and was so easy going.

We called her "velcro"...she was clingy that way. I carried her everywhere.

Today, she's 14. Different. Doesn't want me to touch her. Confused, I'm sure, and so damn rude and angry. Doesn't know who she is and I admit, I've had a hard time with this. At first, I was hurt. I took it personally and practically BEGGED her to like me. BEGGED her. Trust...it was absolutely pathetic.

Three years later (yes, she bloomed early...the **** hit the fan when she was 11), I'm learning. I am not her friend. Maybe one day. But not today, not now. I have let her play me like a fiddle for too long, she has slipped away with more than her brother or her sister. The baby, my human velcro, it wasn't easy to let her go. And she knows that.

No more. She doesn't need a friend; she's got plenty. She needs a mother. A constant. Someone to tell her to slow down, someone who's not afraid to say no, someone who knows her better than she knows herself. Someone who's completely okay when she hates me because it's my job to speak the truth. To set boundries. To keep her from growing up way too fast. Not easy in today's culture.

Incidentally, but not really, in keeping with the theme, I watched a good movie today, The Women. It's a remake of a 1930's film, shown above, with Joan Crawford. There was not one man in the entire movie. Not one. Don't even think they're were extras, now that I think about it. And it was empowering. It reminded me that I, we, are stronger than we realize and that I want to pass that on to my daughters. They can see me as vunerable, but not weak, especially when it comes to parenting. It's business, not personal. Sometimes, with teenagers, that's the only way to approach it. The business of parenting. Because trust me, they want to make it personal. Always. That's part of their game.

Funny...I have been through a lot of hard times, weathered quite a few storms, but yet, when it comes to my girls, I feel like a failure. It's so different with daughters. Such extremes.

I hope they've learned some things from me. I hope when they're older, they can look back and say "my mother always said (fill in the blank). I hope they see me as strong, not because that pleases me, but because if they have, they will have learned to be strong themselves.

I hope.