In between trying to wake a very sleepy little boy up because of staying up too late last night due to yet another no school snow day, and trying to call and check on our little Josie at the vet, of course I took time to sit down and check my email. Whooptee checking your email, ya say? Well, to my surprise I had a message from someone I have never met a day in my life. Someone that actually lives far away from here. After checking it as spam at first, I decided to delete that move and actually read it and see what it was. Someone has came across my blog and loved it! He talked about how good of a writer he thinks I am (I am not so sure of that statement), and how he found it through many other blogs and has been reading it, and looking for updates nearly every day since. And to add the icing on the cake, he said that he has been sending the word out about it to people he knows that like to do as he does and ready blogs! I'm not sure why this has me so excited? It's not as if some celebrity blogger has mentioned me and wants me to start a foundation with him! :) I guess it all goes back to the beginning... the part where I had received some suggestions to start a blog from people that know me. One my husband, the others were friends on facebook. David has told me forever that I needed to start one... that my stories are extremely detailed and people can vision it happening as if they are there. Pretty darn good compliment to me! But as I started my blog, I found myself not posting the link to it. I was afraid of what people would think, how they would judge, and more or less think it is a joke. Kind of like when you read something someone is talking about and you think "I would never in my life talk about that to the world!!!", and of course when you read something that has every word misspelled and used in poor terms and wonder why they never reread what they write? Oh no, do not mistake me for saying I make no mistakes. I am a klutz and one of the worst. I get confused trying to think about what being confused is. I am the first to trip over my feet while inserting my foot into my mouth. Only difference. I know my faults. And as time went on and I did post the link to this little home-fort blog, I got some good feedback which made me not so nervous to announce the next new blog. After posting the link a few times, I received a message on facebook from someone I can't honestly say "I know him". As I read the email he talked about how he had just went to my blog for the first time and got so swept up into them that he ended up reading everyone of my post. And in the mix of reading this and smiling, I got what I considered at the moment one of the best compliments ever. He mentioned that he was "Envious" of my writing skills. Envious??? I am not sure I have ever had anyone be envious of me.... I didn't know how to react to such a statement! I really didn't know how to react to it being I have never considered myself a "good writer". Believe it or not, writing is something that I only did when it came to portfolio time in high school and venting my daily frustrations out in a journal at one time. A journal that I realized over time was something that made me feel worse. I would start writing and get so tore up even thinking about everything and soon my short essay turned into a full on chapter story. I thought that this journal was helping me to relieve anger and tension that was going on in my life, but all it was doing was letting me escape to the reality of it. The reality of feeling helpless in the situations that were pertaining to my life at the time. Instead of shutting the wired notebook and feeling relieved, my mind would feel even more cluttered, chaotic, rambled, and I would have more anger in me than I ever knew possible in my life at the time. Because of these not so therapeutic feelings, I layed the journal to rest in the tin garbage can in the back yard along with a little lighter fluid and the at the time, glorious spark of a match. I have never wrote in a journal since. And wont. And while reading this, you may think the same as me. What is the difference in a journal and this blog? A journal is a more private look into your life. You can tell it your deepest, darkest secrets and as long as you put it up in his rightful home, it will never tell on you a day in your life. You can write the things you think but could never say to someone. Admit to all your guilty pleasures in life that you seem to think are secret to the world, although people that know you usually already know of these. :) But with this blog, I speak my mind and my heart. I more or less just tell stories of my life and adventures that this crazy world we live in leads me towards. It is something that I do not vent my deepest, darkest worries or feelings out in because obviously this is something for other people to read. To me, this blog has turned into the chapters of my life. I plan on continuing it until it no longer becomes a joy for me. Same as I did with the infamous wire-bound journal that endured the ultimate cremation in my backyard. After the ashes to ashes ceremony, I never really thought anything else about it until now. While thinking of it and remembering it at this moment, it's almost amazing to think that all that time and effort, feelings and emotions that went into that notebook are now a small piece of this big world we live in. Somewhere out there absorbed in the soil, are my writings. My life officially became real to the world around me. It now is a part of the plants in the backyard. Odd when you think of it like that! Back to the saying I say often.. "Everything happens for a reason"... maybe that whole mind warp of a time used to write that journal was for a greater purpose. Maybe, just maybe I did that because somewhere out there, someone or something knew that I would end up burning it and the ashes would be poured to the cold depth of the earth below me. And maybe that someone knew that that was what was needed in order for that certain plant to grow there? And maybe it all happened for the reason of putting me where I am today. Free of the mind that once was a highway of 8 lanes with steady bumper to bumper traffic that somehow managed to Vere into only a 2 lane highway, leaving everything turned sideways trying to cut each other off, honking their horns, and causing nothing but a fatal pileup from the traffic that once was able to roam the roads freely in the widespread of the 8 lanes. After great success of the mind road crew clearing out the roads, my traffic now is able to drive at their own pace and leisure without another car in sight. For the not so deep... I no longer hate my mind. :) Instead of worrying myself to death over childish things in life, I now have the ability to turn it off and on as I please. Almost like when you see a car accident about to happen. You know its coming, and its happening faster than you can even interpret, but at the same time you still manage to have time to turn your head in fear of seeing what is really about to happen. I now turn my head and never look back when I don't like something. A trait I longed for over many years. A trait that has finally became embedded into my DNA. It may seem unrealistic to some, and it very well may be unrealistic to their life. I once thought the same.... but oh, how it is possible to possess! A person can only go through so much in life until they either break or become ironman. Some wish to be the ironman where nothing penetrates through the thick steel and punctures any sign of a beating heart inside. I once wished I was the ironman but I never was. I was the one who got broke. Many, many, many times. So many times I wondered if I would ever truly find every little fractured piece. Imagine when you drop something precious and breakable to you. You instantly start picking up the broken pieces trying to fit them back together as a perfect puzzle with no seams. If you're lucky, at times you can do this. Piece it together with glue and never a sign that it was ever scarred or shattered. And then there are times that it all fits back together, but there is that one itty bitty, almost microscopic piece that is never to be found again. No matter how well the rest fits in place, that one piece makes it very obvious that it no longer is perfect. I once considered myself the one that was obviously broken. Although every time I was mishandled and dropped, and I just knew it was the end of me. I somehow was lucky enough to be one of those picked up by someone with a different eye. Someone that liked the imperfections and thought it made it more artistic. After each drop, and even more glue.. I now am glued together with such the strongest bonding adhesive, that I myself have almost become indestructible. No matter how many times I fall and hit the hard ground below, I keep it together. I tell myself "it could be worse", and it always could be. I know this for a fact. My life now compared to what it used to be is a gift sent from an angel. Something I hold preciously. And although the glue may be holding the outside together for the time being, I know at any given moment it could give and nothing but my heart be exposed to the frigid coldness of the world around me. With that in thought, I am thankful for it. Thankful I never turned into the ironman with only blinking eyes to assure the world I was breathing. Thankful that I never had the ability to act as if it didn't hurt. And thankful to know I have been hurt, dropped and broken all for a greater reason. A reason I once never understood and a reason I now know is the reason I am able to feel the warm blood circulating through the perfectly rhythmic beat of my heart. All reasons that have merely just let me know I have a heart. Something I have often wondered if other people I have encountered ever knew existed. Of course they have a beating heart, or they wouldn't be around me. But have they ever really known the greater power of it? Most of the time, by their actions, the answer is no. An answer that disturbs me. How can you possibly go through life and actually "live" life and not know the existence of a true heart? How can one honestly say they love their life but have no heart at the same time? Love comes from the heart. With no heart, there is no love. Just pretending. These are the people I feel sorry for, and that I am scared of. They are the reason I lock my door at night, glance over my shoulder while walking through dark parking lots, and fear for my child. The people who have no conscious, no desire, no passion. The one's who act as if nothing bothers them, yet the world has caved in around them. The Ironman. It's okay to feel and to hurt. It is a normal part of life. Although a part we wish to never endure, but a part. And it's okay to fall because when you get up, next time you know to go around the pothole, or to take the left instead of the right. And by experiencing these loose footings, tumbles, and scratches, you will be able to recognize stable ground when you walk on it. You will be able to know what is truly a crisis in your heart instead of just a horrible case of premenstrual syndrome. Be able to know what a true beating heart feels like. And last but not least, by falling, you always know what it feels like to be at your worst, and it allows you to be thankful when you are actually able to stand and breathe. The hurt and pain all come in an effort to be able to show you how you would really like to feel and be treated which if you are able to still feel and hurt after being broken, and somehow have managed to not mutate into the ironman, you will be able to do the same for the people around you. With that being said, what more could you possibly want? Being able to love, smile, feel the warmth, hurt, cry, and experience life as it was intended for you. To me, it sounds like something no amount of money in the world is able to buy for you. And that, I know for a fact!!
If this was a bit of a rambled non-sense mess to you, by all means scroll down to the next! After sitting up late with Trenton last night, laying side by side, me finishing up the book The Lovely Bones, and Trenton staying up to date on all the stats of his favorite Pokemon characters and him falling asleep while doing so... I found myself laying there just staring at him. Staring at the innocence of his face while sleeping, the perfect curl in his eyelashes, how soft his little lips look, the sound of him shallowly breathing, and watching the flutter of his eyes wondering what he possibly could be dreaming about. And while doing so, I layed there for an endless amount of time just thinking. Reflecting on what was once my life and what is now. And when waking up beside him this morning, I started the same thing over again which lead to this mighty long, hectic blog. Patience please! :)
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