No Function Here, Devistated By Love

I've sat here just 6 minutes to two hours with your phone card flipping over my fat thumbs.

If there was ever a moment where I needed to be embraced, I need you now. Your strong assuring arms to a weak soul. I admit...I'm weak but isn't everyone? It bothers me most that you think that I am not strong enough for you...and that I could never meet your needs. Does it really matter? What if you love me? What if I love you? What if I disassociate myself to fit into your environment? Would you still want to be with me given that I can become the woman you desire beyond the bedroom?

I no longer desire to be that MILF. I want so badly to be myself...........with a man like you.

Take this lonely life away and put me into your soul beyond the distance between 80 Google miles. Sometimes I hate that you talk to me because it messes with my plans. I don't know what to do beyond dropping everything and running to you because when you left me, my body, not my soul, was empty. I wish I could point to a pain to my doctor and tell him where I hurt.

I made plans for my life I can't change.
You play in my sandbox, when I am there. You have...I remember you a long time ago. Little girls dream of being princesses.....I didn't. I wasn't delusional about my life. You were always's there helping me build a sand pile of imagination with my little brothers Tonka trucks. Scooping and dumping into a pile of me as I thought.

Teresa...........P.S. I don't know if this is love but I tell you it hurts. Doug...my lover...my empowermant...why do I feel that the cat peed in my sandbox?

Turning 40

I’m giving up nice and becoming a sensuous woman,
The kind of a woman who wouldn’t wear bedsocks to bed.
I’m giving up going to places like Wal-Mart and the cleaners
And going wherever my appetites lead me instead.
I’ve bought all these books that are teaching me how to discover
Erogenous zones that would make my Aunt Una drop dead.
And as soon as I’ve found them, I’ll go be
A sensuous woman.

I’m giving up good and becoming a seething inferno,
One of those forces of nature mere mortals can’t tame.
Beneath my cotton thong such cravings will smolder
That Uncle John and my mother, if heard, would pass out from shame.
The books say even a middle-class girl from Huntsville
Can fan, if she practices, practically anyone’s flame.
And as soon as I’ve practiced, I’ll go be
A seething inferno for a single name.

I’m giving up sweet and becoming a creature of passion,
A wild thing that nobody ever can fully possess.
I’m leaving behind me a lot of wrecked lives, plus some headache.
[You think that a creature of passion would settle for less?]
My cousin Wendy, let me tell you , does not even know from
The animal needs that the books say I need to express.
And as soon as I need them, I’ll go be
A creature of passion with one man’s name on my lips.

I’m giving up G and becoming an X-rated woman,
With black silk sheets and an overhead mirror too.
I’ve still got some years, between file matt, Acrobat and pension,
To do all those things I’ve been warned all my life not to do.
The books say I’ll learn to stop worrying what my Aunt Una
And Uncle John, and my mother, would think if they knew.
And as soon as I’ve stopped, I will go be
A sensuous woman with one man’s name on my lips.

Teresa.

Adapted from "A Sensuous Woman" Judith Viorst.

Thank you Simon and Schuster for permission.

Lists

I love lists. Lists mean order. Lists mean things get finished. Lists mark passage of time.

Milk
Bread
Frozen peas
Popsicles
Jelly
Dulse
Tea
Nibs

They keep me grounded. I can’t forget things.

Call Dr.
Call Eye Dr.
Call Gynecologist.

They help keep me together. If I don’t write these lists I forget. I will miss something and get in trouble. I can even emphasis the importance with red ink and capitals.

Don't forget:
Prescriptions
Plastic bags
Circular saw
Steel drum
Bleach
Gasoline
Matches
Gloves
Establish aliby

We should be ready to go. Wait, I forgot the duct tape. I can’t have you making any noise on the way there.

REMEMBER DUCT TAPE.
Teresa.

Bathroom Etiquette?

There are people in the world — dangerous people — who are drunk with power (cough, cough, Cheney) but most of them are harmless little weenies whose sole purpose is to drive you nuts with their arbitrary rules, plus the obvious ones now chiseled in stone, so they'll have something to point at when they catch you. I, for one, won't be returning to the newest coffeshop here in South Bay Mouth [Rohr’s], not because the decor wasn't my taste and the and the employees unfriendly, but because of their "Ten Commandments", helpfully posted on the wall. You're basically walking into a nanny state: "Feet off the sofa! We are not a maid service, Clean up after yourselves! No cursing!"

Even better, there's a separate list of bathroom rules taped to the toilet, and if the standard Rohr's code of laws isn't patronizing enough [I'm sorry, I mean General Bathroom Tips]. I thought I should have wiped my feet before entering their latrine, throne of all thrones! Or else I would be arrested by the Toilet Police. I left a note torn from my scrapbook that read something to the like of... "Gee, thanks for the "tips," but I'm fully toilet trained and confident in my ability to use a bathroom without any retarded rhyming advice."

I would've taken a picture of the non-bathroom related rules, but it turns out "No photography" is on the list.

~I wrote this during my last visit to Manitulin Island~

http://www.icbe.org/icbe.shtml
http://www.zefrank.com/thewiki/poop
Teresa

What's For Dinner?

I heard a strange noise.
What was it?
It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice.
What did you do?
I went downstairs, outside.
I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to.
And what did you see, Clarice? What did you see?
Lambs. The lambs were screaming.
They were slaughtering the spring lambs?
And they were screaming.

Teresa.