The Bag Lady

Life is messy. I should be grateful that it is, otherwise it would be boring.

I commented on a post by https://emotionsoflife2016.com, Writing #98. The subject was burning bridges and I spoke about regrets. We have been commenting back and forth and I started mulling over what I had said, about having no regrets. Then as it always does, guilt creeps in, overthinking which I’m prone to do, and over what, I wonder?

Before you call in the white coats, or care to read further…

I must have been born with the burden of guilt. Maybe it was the forties, after the war and before another began, that caused it. It didn’t matter what it was, if I just thought and never acted, or if someone else did it, I felt guilty. Now why this was I haven’t a clue. It was just a fact. Until I started thinking about the regrets issue, I had been pretty much guilt free for a few years. Of course I have regrets, about a lot of things, we all do. I think my no regrets response was about the last few years being by myself. Living alone you are responsible for yourself and there’s no need for regrets because it’s all up to you. There’s no one around to make you regret what you said or did. Does that make sense? Now don’t go thinking about that too much because it isn’t as obvious as you might think.

When I say life’s a mess, you can believe it is never boring, always a new happening around the corner, some you love, some you despise, and others just interesting.

Today the sun is shining, we’re getting a respite from cold for a couple of days, and the promise of ice and snow on Monday for the start of outside soccer season. So there it is, life.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/messy/

This is so true, numbers five and six for me especially. So funny I had to share it! 👍🏻☺️

The words blurred into one another, every yellowed page like the one before. My eyes were burning, I had been crying for such a long time. I couldn’t help myself from reading it over again. The letter was precious to me, the only one he ever wrote. I’ve kept it all this time and take it out once in a while. I’m usually sorry.

It is torture reading what was and never will be, all at the same time. We always talked, dreamed, but nothing ever came of it, nothing because we were too late in meeting. We had made other commitments and neither one of us had the courage to change. Now the decision has been made for us, the dream is gone and so is he.

I turned the pages over again, reading another time of the love that couldn’t be. I dabbed at my swollen eyes, folded the sheets and put them back in the envelope. It has a special place, a secret hidden part in my desk. I try to resist, but I know I will read it again soon. It’s a bittersweet and painful memory.

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/02/first-line-friday-march-2nd-2018/

Not to put too fine a point on it, I find it curious when someone I hardly know or don’t know at all, asks “how are you”? The usual response for most people is “fine”. If you are just passing one another that answer is fine. But am I fine, are you really fine every time someone asks you? It’s perfectly fine to say you’re fine, but do you really mean it? When you are passing someone do you ask how they are? Do you really care or is it just a habit? I have to smile thinking of the “Friends” character, Joey who had the classic, “how you doin’?

Either way is fine by me, do your own thing. Oh, by the way, I’m fine.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS March 3/18

About the time our illustrious leader

Has his say in the Twitter reader

Someone close is bound to wake up

And have the gumption to stick up

For the ordinary man

And hopefully take a stand

Put those fingers in remand

Start a feud, and demand

He stop his utter tripe

How he thinks, nonstop sipe.

He should look in the mirror

He’s the one causing furor

Apparently not a clue

Of what he’s supposed to do

So he huffs and puffs

Says whatever he finds

In his tangled vicious mind

I wonder just how long

We have to listen to his song

His overly dramatic

Repetitive semantics

Makes no common sense

I’m afraid he’s dense

He acts as if he’s sent from above

Professes all this gun-love

And himself and his money

I’ve had enough, no longer funny.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/above/

I see you there, eyeing me, wondering how long it would take to raise your bow and pierce me with that arrow. I see you, contemplating, but think of this: For my species, I have an unusual memory and you will rue this day for eternity.

My eyes are keen, my feathers swift, and a twitch of your finger and I’ll be off, out of sight.

Then in the night when you think you are safe in your bed, I’ll come calling. Keep your windows locked, for I am a very strong and clever bird. This my final warning.

99 words

March 1: Flash Fiction Challenge

This is very relatable to my life. I’ve had many restarts. From the age of nineteen, moving away from my home to marry and live in a completely foreign land – Texas, to four years ago moving from my ancient home in Colorado to a small apartment in Wyoming.

In between there were many restarts, but probably the biggest was leaving our home of twenty years after our youngest left for college. We moved two thousand miles away. It was the worst thing, being a new person in a new home, without my best friend, my daughter. It was hell. Then after numerous trips back and forth, we settled in Houston where there was a new job, new home and different lifestyle once again.

Skip forward to retirement for my husband and moving home near the grandkids, heaven. Then five years ago my husband passed away from esophageal cancer and a huge restart was required. So I understand this concept. I guess you never want to get comfortable with your life because there is always a new start around the corner.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/restart/

Autumn reclaims leaves

United after winter

For spring renewal

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/02/28/heeding-haiku-with-chevrefeuille-february-28th-2018-reunited/

This morning I did the deed. No not what you think, but that would have been nice….okay, forget I wrote that…

I stripped the king sized bed down to the mattress. It’s not so bad getting it off, it’s getting it back on that’s the problem. Those fitted mattress covers and sheets are a real pita to put on. Spreadeagled from one corner to the other trying to put the second corner on before it inevitably slips off is an Olympic event even when your legs do work.

I texted my daughter asking for help for the reassembly. They are down in Fort Collins, CO, so it was only a couple of seconds before my grandson (chauffeur, drummer, high school senior, soccer player, Christmas tree put upper and take downer, and all around great guy) texted me, saying I’ll be over right after school. He’ll also take a couple of local payments into businesses for me.

I texted him back asking how did he know, did your mom text you? He said yep. So the grapevine is successful here in old WY.

“I Heard It Through the Grapevine” is a song written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong for Motown Records in 1966. The first recording of the song to be released was produced by Whitfield for Gladys Knight & the Pips and released as a single in September 1967; it went to number two in the Billboard chart.

https://rugby843.blog

The night was warming

He came without warning

Mesmerizing look

And then he took

My breath away.

I noticed his face

A devil with grace

But the look in his eye

Did I want to die?

He took no time

Whispering a rhyme

Hearing it late

Accepted my fate

Life never ending

Wasn’t it trending?

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/02/27/photo-challenge-203/