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Passions in Poetry

serenity's interactive journal

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Sunshine
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375 posted 03-28-2004 09:26 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

The excitement was in her voice, and I had already heard her father’s reaction to the news.  Now she tumbled over what she had told him.

“Mom, we’re moving.”

In a few brief seconds, having seen her father’s face, I knew he was unhappy with the news, not so much because he would miss the grandchildren, but his disappointment was more of a “what are they doing now to screw up their life” kind of reaction.

“Oh honey, that’s great!”

Saying words I didn’t feel.

She chattered on and on about what they were going to do, the homes they would be looking for, the schools they would be checking in to, and I heard a little of the cart before the horse type of talking, and felt the glare of eyes in my back.

“Let me know what I can do.”

The calm words kept coming from me.  

Granted, only 45 minutes from my heart, as the crow flies.  But three young smiles, six warm armed hugs, millions of kisses yet to be given…

“I’m sure you’re going to make everything work out just fine!”

That was yesterday.

Today?  I want to be selfish and all I can do is not let anyone else know how long the tears fell, or how much my heart aches.

It’s only 45 minutes away.

From the next gusher.


[This message has been edited by Sunshine (03-29-2004 01:37 PM).]

vlraynes
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Somewhere... out there...


376 posted 03-28-2004 11:50 PM       View Profile for vlraynes   Email vlraynes   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit vlraynes's Home Page   View IP for vlraynes


Karilea?...

I wish I had a story tonight...
I feel as if I need one...

But the story, tonight, isn't mine...
I can feel it, though...it's unsettling...
Something, tonight, just doesn't feel 'right'...
or maybe I just need sleep...

Hugs...and a peaceful night to you all...
serenity blaze
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377 posted 03-29-2004 07:38 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Hugging sunshine.

I can do that here and not get burnt.  

Ah, it's Spring...

and I spent the weekend enjoying the fact of that. Spring in New Orleans means azaleas and crayfish, St. Joseph's altars, and daffodils so early they die overnight. (I admonish those early blooms, and dig the bulbs to freeze again. I'll trick 'em into a second bloom come June or July.)

Spring in New Orleans...barbecues and outdoor jazz as the musicians start tuning up for our International Jazz & Heritage Show. (We've already splurged for David Bowie tickets--in the Saengar Theatre too!)

I love the Saengar.
http://www.saengertheatre.com/history.htm

Designed to mimic a Greek (er, ITALIAN--pardon) amphitheater, there are only a few stairs, and yes, all carpet and brass, and if you get good seats on the floor, (and we did) you get to sit beneath a faux painted sky, complete with twinkling "stars". The sound there is acoustically perfect--and while I can't say that I've never seen a bad show there, I will say that I've never had a bad time.

Hmmm...Memories. We saw DEVO there--Frank Zappa, The Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, Jethro Tull, Genesis, Talking Heads, and once, we even caught three nights in a row of STYX--the Mr. Roboto thang (don't ask... ) yes, I'll be smacking myself later for all the others I've forgotten to list.

And?

Spring in New Orleans means...ROACHES.

Big flying suckers too.

We go through this every spring as we live by the woods, and these "roaches" are actually palmetto bugs, and right behind our house is...you guessed it. A wooded area filled with their green leafed namesakes.

I knew it was that time, Friday night, when I heard my normally manly fourteen-year old son shreik, "MOM!" from the bathroom.

I wince thinking of what happened as I heard all the banging and fumbling about in there.

Then he came out, blushing, saying with dignity, "It looks like the DISCOVERY channel in there!"

Uh Oh.

I went in there and discovered that the insect world had joined the rest of us in the rites of Spring. FOUR of them, on the wall--MATING. Sigh. I killed all four of them, imagining a slaughter of the potential of thousands. I sprayed the one that got "away" with RAID--and I grimly shut the door.

"Keep it closed." I said unnecessarily. My children already know the rule of using spray pesticides on the flying palmetto bug. All that stuff does is make them devious enough to fly at you, while they take their time in the dying. Another thing? Flying amongst roaches seems to be contagious. When one starts? They all go for it. It's like a flying insect MOSH PIT. It is Hell, for the uninitiated.

grin...beware, good tourists. Springtime in Paris--it ain't.

The rains started up today, with one of those unexpected thunderings that lingers and threatens to weep the tears of the world in one fell swoop. I liked it though.

I was sitting beneath a tin porch roof when it broke, and I was astounded at how quickly that stifling pregnant pause of a front pushed through. I'd forgotten how good "release" could feel. I got wet too, running to the truck, and I was grouchy before I ran, but something cleansing happens running through the rain--and I climbed into the truck, laughing, remembering that I'd been born wet.



It's Springtime in New Orleans, and I'm sitting here in the dark. (The sun goes down so slow behind clouds.) I've got an old sandal ready to thwart the springtime principles of certain insects, and I am hoping somewhere, someone, has a story of spring to share with me.
muted
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378 posted 03-29-2004 08:34 PM       View Profile for muted   Email muted   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for muted

i just have to poke in my little voice and say you tell a darned good cockroach story! LOL...if you ever feel the kids need more exercise, spray a few of them roaches and lock the kids in the room with them...will have em' running in no time flat!
```````````````````````````````
this is a lovely place to rest, and learn, and smile and cry...and all of you so graceful
Nightshade
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379 posted 03-29-2004 08:56 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Hello Karen me love! Ah, yes, spring. Brings out the roaches in New Orleans? Yuck. Remind me to tell you about our summertime visitors...the wicked earwig family!!
  Anyway, getting back to spring. Reminds me of when I was little, or should I say, young? Yes, young.      Easter meant "big sister-little sister" dresses and white gloves, black patent leather shoes you could see your face in, and those little ankle socks with the fold down lacey cuff. Nancy Lee and I looked like we just walked out of a scene from Leave it to Beaver or The Donna Reed Show. lol.  And hats! Oh, we must not forget our Easter bonnets. Sometimes they were actually decorated by our grandmother with "odds and sods" as she used to call her assortment of bows, buttons and artificial flowers etc. Everything was picture perfect....perfect....hmmm. But, we could always count on the Easter Bunny to bring goodies. Whenever I think of spring, I recall the new skipping ropes, hula hoops, bubbles, kites, and ooooh.....batta-ball....remember them?!! The ping pong paddle type thing with the little ball attached to it with elastic? You had to try to see if you could hit the ball as many times as possible. I never got past one or two....but my sister was great at it. Made me soooo angry. lol. Must not forget either, colouring eggs. The smell of vinegar and oh, the pinks, blues and yellows and greens. Ah.
   At our house though we had real rabbits. The basement had families of them. My father would give them away in his magic act. One became our pet. He was black and we named him Midnight. He was so sweet. He would come up from the basement, knock on the door to be let in, then go to the refrigerator and beg for it to be opened. Carrots....carrots were in there. Well, he liked more than just carrots!
   One time we all had to go out of town for some type of magic gig. We didn't realize until we returned after a long day, that we had forgotten to close the kitchen door which led down to the basement. The basement and ..... Midnight. He had had the time of his bunny life. My mother's plants had big bite chunks out of their leaves, the ones that were not toppled over. Rabbit droppings left a raisin-like trail all over the house. The oddest thing that Midnight took a liking to that spring outing, was my doll buggy. Not the buggy part itself....but the tires. The rubber on the tires. Yes, Midnight had eaten chunks of my buggy tires!! Now when I took my dollies for a walk, their eyes almost shook out of their heads from the wobbling due to lack of tread. LOL.
  After that, Midnight was never quite the same. It must have been a mixture of exotic ivy gorging, or ravenous rubber ripping. Whatever....he went mad. Crazy I tell ya! I went downstairs to play with him shortly after that and he had a tiny patch of fur missing I noticed. Should have known something was wrong. He used to love to stand on his hind legs and play boxing with me. This time his eyes looked glazed and instead of just hopping around with his little front paws poking at my small fists, he showed his teeth and lunged for me!!!! I was horrified and ran screaming upstairs, Midnight right at my heels. Luckily he never got the chance to bite me. The once loving black rabbit, disappeared not long after that incident. I don't think he was made to disappear through "magic."  
  I have another rabbit story, but that's for some other day. Spring....yes, spring.
serenity blaze
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380 posted 03-29-2004 09:30 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....


she is actually John Irving.

gleeeeeeeeeeeeeee

This IS John Irving material.



Somebody oughtta tell him, huh?

Write the book, chrislane...
serenity blaze
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381 posted 03-29-2004 09:41 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

And?

""big sister-little sister" dresses and white gloves, black patent leather shoes you could see your face in, and those little ankle socks with the fold down lacey cuff"

Do I have to ask?

(of course)

we want PICS!!!
serenity blaze
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382 posted 03-29-2004 10:05 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Shhhhh...now come with me?

I know this little place...the omelets are good. C'mon...

There are times I like to try to capture the essence of the music that I write to--I like the explosion of jazz jets singing alone against the stark bassline barely breathing, the way the cymbals somtimes snap, like-that,  like a twig too hot in the fire--there are times I'm so lost in the jazz I give birth to demons, rising and pulsating codes under my skin, looking like my pulse- but no, something new is being born--or else I am the memory of the ultimate
and damn ye damn ye for that, I'll sing and push my hips from thier boned place and jut, just like that last note did, slightly out of place but oh-my-baby? Did you see the contrast?

I know a few jazz places...if they're still there, we'll go.
Enchantress
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383 posted 03-29-2004 10:18 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Loving this thread...loving the memories.

Yes, Spring, and Midnight, the man eating rabbit, and Easter.  Somewhere there is a picture Karen of us in our big sister, little sister dresses.  But, it was also Mom as well, in the same dress!! Well, not the same dress but the indentical one!  A mother and her daughters emsemble!  Oh good grief..what a sight we must have been!!

And, sweet Nana who made us our Easter bonnets.  Things she made were really neat, even after her eyesight went and she still made us dolls and stuffed animals..one arm or leg would be much shorter than the other, but we loved them anyway.

And, of course brother Joey the dummy had a new Easter suit as well.  We think he liked it, couldn't really tell with that same smile on his face all the time.  

Know what I remember about Easter morning?  And, I'll bet Chris remembers as well.  I do believe it was our first real look into the world of poetry.

You see, on Easter morning we would awaken to a note at the foot of our bed from the Easter Bunny.  It was always a little poem which included hints as to where we could find our next surprise.  Off we would run and along with the surprise was another rhyming hint, another surprise and another hint.  Awww, what fun we had. Something that I carried on with my own children and I imagine Chris did as well with Heather.

Yup spring...and everything was new and exciting.  Like a new trapeze in the basement! Oh, that's another story.

And that bat-a-ball thingy?  I never had another one until last year when I won one at our friend's cottage...and I can still make it go a hundred miles an hour!

Gee...I hope Chris doesn't find that picture of us in our dresses.

Karen...I'm ready to come with you...wait up!!
Sunshine
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384 posted 03-29-2004 10:27 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

Oh, I hope she does, and if she does?  
I'll share mine, too!

I want to visit those places where jazz is birthed, Serenity...
save me a seat...

and now you all have sparked some new memories...

Such are the lives of the storytellers...
Nightshade
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385 posted 03-29-2004 10:34 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

I wanna go to a jazz place with ya Karen!

Nancy Lee.....I don't think I have any of the Easter pics. Gee....did they have camera's back then? LOL. Yes, of course, Kodak Brownie Cameras!! Oh, another memory! Those clunky box type cameras. Black and white photos....ha hahaaa. You know, I was just thinking....Dad used to eat those darned boiled, coloured eggs! Was that a safe thing to do?
serenity blaze
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386 posted 03-29-2004 11:34 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

"wild women don't worry--wild women don't get da blues..."

Sunshine
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387 posted 03-30-2004 06:18 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine




With love....
Sunshine
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388 posted 03-30-2004 09:23 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine

I am procrastinating, and in the act of putting off what needs to be done, have reached the level of finding an excuse.  Mark Twain is always good for an excuse.

quote:
There are some books that refuse to be written. They stand their ground year after year and will not be persuaded. It isn't because the book is not there and worth being written -- it is only because the right form of the story does not present itself. There is only one right form for a story and if you fail to find that form the story will not tell itself.


It is March, 2004.  In March, 2002, I started a small piece of prose.  A couple or more of well-intentioned poets/writers/artists-in-their-own-right said, “more, please.”  Hey, I like pleasing people.  So after about 20 such responses to the “please, more” requests, someone said [I won’t name her, I will thank her, but I won’t name her, she knows who she is… ] “this is too good to stay on here – get it off before someone steals it, and get the whole thing written.”

Good advice.  Ron, dear that he is, helped me out because that was before I had universal “poofing” powers, and removed all 20 some posts.

And so the story grew.  Life being what it is, I would walk away from it because, heck, poetry seemed a little easier, and a lot more fun, interaction and reactions being what they are.  Every now and then I would send some updates to my “Dingers” [poets who wanted to be notified of updates], those who said, “let us know how it’s going to turn out.”  Encouragement abounded, all the way around.

Time went on.  There were some days when the novel seemed to take on a life of its own; hours would disappear into the daylight, and chapters would just..appear.  Some generous muse was apparently bored with what it was doing elsewhere, so for amusement, would visit me, and fill my mind with schemes and lines so fast my fingers could barely keep up.  

When life kept me from getting back to the book, I fretted.  When I had time, but no muse, I fretted.  

And when January 4, 2004 came along to close the final chapter of the book?  I fretted.

In a display of complete trust, I gave the book to three individuals.  One copy when to my trusted friend, mentor, advisor, and subsequently, editor, Louise, to read, and edit.  Then another copy went to a wonderful couple who live in Houston, and I didn’t fret that I had to watch their faces as they read [or didn’t read] the four hundred plus pages.

In the hands of others, I knew my rough draft was safe.  It was like a mini-vacation for the mind, knowing I didn’t have to get to it; and alternatively, it was a mini-vacation from my child, and I didn’t know if I would survive the holiday.  I was sure my child was glad I was no longer fretting over it, but wondered if it missed me as much as I did it.

And then it was returned to me in two ways.  The first way was to get some much appreciated feedback from my Houston friends.  Objective feedback, at that.  “Supplement this person’s life; create a little more tension; no, you’re fine there, but add this here…”  All good thoughts.  They weren’t mangling my child; they were dressing it for a command performance.
Then, Louise returned my original baby to me.  Unsure of how much to slash and cut, she was kind and “learned to read” in my voice.  As we discussed her thoughts on it, my own thought was; she’s my friend.  She was “over-kind” to me, and didn’t even use a red pen.  So we discussed some of the suggestions made by the Houstonites, some nodding and shaking of heads occurred, and my “baby” came home.

That was the first of March.

Now?  Now I’ve gone through eleven chapters and yes, the novel is undergoing a full re-write.  I think I shocked poor Louise when I told her I was taking my voice “out”, and putting “everyone’s” voice in.  I have a lot of friends around the world, but in reality, if this book IS ever picked up by someone who says “yes, we may have found a , then I know it’s got to be readable by those who do NOT know me.

So tonight, I’m procrastinating.  I think what has happened is I am wondering if I am slashing, adding, editing, revising TOO much.  Or, it’s going so smoothly, and making too much sense, that I could soon be at the end of the re-writing process, and the time to find an agent will be upon me.  I will have to write a proposal and sell myself, as well as the premise of the storyline.

If I were a bride, I would call the syndrome, cold feet.

But I’m a middle-aged, twice-married, professional woman who is wondering why I cannot simply say to myself:  You have a good job, you are respected in the community, you give of your time to this and that and your grandchildren, your mother-in-law, your husband, your friends; you are not super-intelligent and you are not naïve.  So, why are you pushing yourself toward possible failure?

Because I can?

Or,

Because I must?

My heart is pounding.  I know I am at a cross-roads.  If this adventure finds success, I know it will change my life.  I’m weighing how much change I can afford to take on.  

I’m looking at Twain’s quote again.  This book did not refuse to be written.  It seemed, for the most part, to be telling of, and writing, itself.  

There.  I think I’ve talked myself out of this period of procrastination.

Thank you, Serenity.  I don’t know that I could have put down these thoughts anywhere else.

Yes, me too, you.
Nightshade
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389 posted 03-30-2004 09:53 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Karilea, dear lady, you write:
"So, why are you pushing yourself toward possible failure?"

I was taught..."there is no such thing as failure, only results."

The "results" tell us "brava, you done good kid." Or, "hmmm...well what did you learn from this honest try?"

You will let your "baby" out of the nest when the time is right. Then let's all watch it fly!!!  Hugs, Chris
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390 posted 03-30-2004 09:56 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Karilea...?

You know, that I know, the time is just about right!

Love ya lady!
Nightshade
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391 posted 03-30-2004 10:19 PM       View Profile for Nightshade   Email Nightshade   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Nightshade's Home Page   View IP for Nightshade

Nancy Lee....and you know that I know, that you know that she knows. Ya know?
Enchantress
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392 posted 03-30-2004 10:24 PM       View Profile for Enchantress   Email Enchantress   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Enchantress

Yup...I know!  
Mysteria
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393 posted 03-31-2004 02:19 AM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

I say, "It's about time that book got off the ground!"  I said so then, and I will say so now, it was "too good" to stay on the internet, and of course now I am dying to know it will be received.  It was something that had to be written, and now it finally is ready.  Good luck Karilea.  I just stopped in for a bit to get caught up in here, and saw this.  Busy, busy these days but I pop in now and then   and phone Karen for my updates LOL.

Geez Karen, you had to talk about those flying cockroaches didn't ya?  Now I will dream of those suckers and wake up with a stiff neck from ducking them in my sleep all night - YUCK!  You just had to tell me that they can fly didn't ya?  I never, ever want to meet one of these things personally, ever!
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394 posted 03-31-2004 10:33 AM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Kari, of course I don't mind. In fact, I'm laughing here, because I'm kinda going through the same thing. I keep getting mail from journal readers who are urging me to "shaddup and write the book."

I'm beginning to feel as wacked as Kevin Costner with that voice in my head.

So I started thinking on "Field of Dreams" and "if you build it, they will come." Which led me to thinking about baseball, and legends, which led me to think how much my father loved baseball, which led me---well, ya'll should know all about my shaky thinking processes by now. This journal is an accurate enough example.

But anyhoo--I understand if you've got work to do. It's taken me a year of distracting myself (here and elsewhere) just to narrow down a story and choose a format. But I feel like shouting that accomplishment from the rooftops.

My "book" is actually a bunch of post it notes stuck on the wall, which refer to notes in a marble notebook(s). I like to use the post-it notes because I can move them around, fine-tuning sequencing and changing formats on a whim. (I get a lotta those.) I didn't know it when I was starting but I have been "storyboarding" for about a year now. (I didn't know that was a term--I just thought it was "look busy while procrastinating.")

So...yes. And I type this to all, feel free to post your daily worries, hopes, joys, and yes, yesterday memories here. And if one or all of us gets busy, this will be here for somebody to blow the dust off and scribble in an entry. (I don't think I'm going anywhere--I've actually found this journal helpful as a "warm-up"--it gets the little nagging detail stories out of the way and puts me in the "zone" to sew those post it notes together.)

I pray one day, we'll be playing tag on the best-seller list!

Love to ya lady! And to all--

let's play ball!
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395 posted 03-31-2004 11:24 AM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine


Yep, storyboards.  First time I heard that term was from Uncle Walt, himself...

You should have heard the chewing out I got when I told himself, when he asked if I had an outline for the novel, and I said no.  

"Well then how the hell do you know what you're going to write about?"

"That's just it.  I don't.  It's writing itself."

He's thinking straight-jackets, of course...

And I'm thinking "let it come, Muse, let it come..."
serenity blaze
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396 posted 03-31-2004 12:14 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

Laughing now.

I just needed it.

I'm hardly what you might call a "linear thinker". And when I find myself with a mess, I have this tendency to toss it ALL in the trash!

(I just did that about two months ago, too.)

sheesh. This may be the closest thing to self-discipline that I've exhibited in years!
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397 posted 03-31-2004 01:28 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine


Ain't the mental wet-noodle fun, though?  I could stick up post-it notes as well as the next person, and I would love doing so, except I live with a very, uhm, let's see, what's the nicest way to put this...particularly, painstakingly, fussy & orderly person....

[see that under anal retentive...] so I don't "DO" post-it notes...

sigh...but, it may be a good thing, because if I DID?  I might not be able to see my computer screen...

serenity blaze
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since 02-02-2000
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398 posted 03-31-2004 02:23 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

He touches YOUR STUFF???



Hmmm. But now you have a good idea why mine just built a new cage to keep me in...with the French doors I wanted, too! (and sighing, we're ready for the ceramic tile too.)

He told me that the French doors were a bit pricey for someone with a habit of slamming doors. I sweetly pointed out that I would be less likely to break something that I LOVED--

He got my "drift."

Sunshine
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Member Caelestus
since 06-25-99
Posts 67715
Listening to every heart


399 posted 03-31-2004 02:55 PM       View Profile for Sunshine   Email Sunshine   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Sunshine's Home Page   View IP for Sunshine


He doesn't "touch" my stuff much anymore [hmmmmm]...*giggle* but I DO hear about it if my office is less than orderly...and let's face it, my little office is just that, and there's not much room for "messy" to take over.  Although, when I was on the board for legal professionals, it was known to look like a tornado had gone through more than once...
 
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