Hanging on to yesterday leaves my eyes clouded with tears. Re-living over and over , what have I done, and what I could have changed. Watching my mistakes play themselves over and over . Yesterday is a bitch of a thing to have deal with daily . So you don’t ! Some just push this aside , red painted smiles cover dark lined lips that was once fresh with promise of a kiss that was everlasting. Some drink for courage that they never really had. Other dip into a dark world of drugs, believing that the lights are suddenly brighter. Most surrender and move on with families filled with love memories and grace. They too wonder about yesterday. Make no mistake about it, while great things have happened yesterday that we would not change , such as the look of your baby daughters tiny fingers reaching out to yours. The kiss that was so endearing it took your breath away and finally lead you into the worst relationship in your life , the surprise of a greatness you feel when your hear “grandma”for the very first time . Yesterday fills the mind with the question of “what if”. But what if you had no tomorrow? Yesterday starts looking pretty good and so does the thought of tomorrow.
I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculptured like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television--and more while watching life.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's." More "I'm sorry's" . . . but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute . . . look at it and really see it . . . live it . . . and never give it back.
Stop sweating the small stuff. Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what. Let's think about what God HAS blessed us with.
And what we are doing each day to promote ourselves mentally, physically, emotionally, as well as spiritually. Life is too short to let it pass you by. We only have one shot at this and then it's gone.
(Erma Bombeck)
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to understand that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head held high and eyes opened,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
You learn to build your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much,
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers,
And you learn that you really can endure,
That you really are strong.
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn . . .
With every goodbye comes the dawn.
(Veronica A. Shoffstall)
They say . . . A woman of my age should not let her hair Fall below the marks of her shoulder. It will bring the face down And make her look older. Further more, a woman of my age Should not were blouses without sleeves Because her upper arms Aren't what they should be. A woman of my age Should keep her skirts hemline at the knee Because as you age There are some things folk's should not see. A woman of my age Should wear sensible shoes! Because of corns and bunions It is the best thing to do. But I say . . . A woman of my age Should let her hair grow. When it gets too long I think she will know. A woman of my age Should wear tank tops when it is hot Whether she can lift fifty pounds, Or not. A woman of my age Knows personally best The length at which Her hemlines need rest. A woman of my age, How I hate the way it sounds! We listen to the media And in its images we drown. A woman of my age Is secure and finally sure of herself. She doesn't long to be nineteen, But she is not ready for the shelf. A woman of my age Should not wear tube tops. On that point I agree, But that is where it all stops! (By Theresa S) http://www.dennydavis.net/poemfiles/agingf1.htm
What
the hell am I gonna do with myself now?
Yep,
I am torn between what I could be doing and what I should be doing. What am I
doing now? Not a damn thing. So here I sit as if nothing really happened. I came
back to town expecting the people around me to have changed . They didn’t, and I
find myself falling into the same bullshit that I had before I left . I am
determined to turn this around. Maybe
I am suffering from midlife depression or have the empty nest syndrome or a
feeling of "what's next?, whatever the case may be I will not drown myself in
alcohol or other things that make me numb from yester-years . I have been taking
trazodone and I am not sure if I feel anything at all. OK maybe something, I
sleep at odd hours and I can sleep a lot, also I am not as emotional. So , I
guess that is something! They say that you stop growing mentally around the
same time that you become a addict. If that is the case , no wonder I am running
on empty while my mental state is still on the back seat of some buick, no skip
that , why not go all the way and lets call it a smokin Harley Davidson. What I
do know is the new 50´s is nowhere near my old age 40 something closer to 50.
Another
thing ,I can remember the day I knew I would never quit drinking. I was sitting
in my closet, contemplating the bottle of vodka had just picked up at the liquor
store and realizing I was absolutely, positively going to open it.
I
had been trying to quit for months at that point. No wait: I’d been trying to
quit for years. I would wake up on a Sunday, all cringes and stabbing pain, and
I’d swear off the stuff only to crawl back on my belly in three days, maybe
four. This time I’d made a formal effort, though. I was Quitting. Done. Finito.
At some point, you must accept that the universe has granted you enough epic
nights and drunken rages,Let’s agree that a closet is not the sexiest place to
drink .
I
drank for another few years after that. It was great, until it was not. One
morning, I woke up near dawn and understood that if I kept drinking, I would not
get the things I wanted most. I knew that I could
keep drinking for the rest of my life . . Sometimes you just have to fail 99
times to succeed once. Lately, I have been trying to do things I am bad at,
simply to remind myself that it’s OK. I must admit that this is all new to me
and it is sometimes hard to think of starting new sober. Hell I can't recall a
time that I wasn't on one thing or another. It is a struggle . It is also hard
because I was never a fall down , sloppy, smelling like I bathed in the vodka
bottle drunk. But then again who would tell me . I started this post tonight
about one thing that was suppose to funny . Instead, I took a deep breath, and
wanted to succeed.
 You know how men get that sexy title mid-life crisis, whereas women get menopause, what’s up with that? Men get Viagra and women just want to sleep. Men get a cure for baldness, women get facial hair.A row of bottles on my shelf Caused me to analyze myself. One yellow pill I have to pop Goes to my heart so it won't stop. A little white one that I take Goes to my hands so they won't shake. The blue ones that I use a lot Tell me I'm happy when I'm not. The purple pill goes to my brain And tells me that I have no pain. The capsules tell me not to wheeze Or cough or choke or even sneeze. The red ones, smallest of them all Go to my blood so I won't fall. The orange ones, very big and bright Prevent my leg cramps in the night. Such an array of brilliant pills Helping to cure all kinds of ills. But what I'd really like to know . . . Is what tells each one where to go! Prayer for Senility: God grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.growing older
I was just sitting here reading some of the funny post that I have saved in the past year or two . Since I wasn't quite in my right mind, I cannot recall where I read this. Most likely my big ass was hitting the wicky wodka and I stuck to the couch ( where else would I be ) laughing so hard I wet my pants. ( another midlife secret ). missing those days of the over flowing ashtrays, the overwhelming smell of smoke , dirty empty glasses covering the coffee table with bills that would never be opened . Is this my living room or my very own charming Amsterdam pub. Okay maybe it wasn't charming but let's not forget this is my story and I make the rules here.
Booze:
If there is one thing I love, it's booze. I cannot even tell you how goddamn much I enjoy booze. I don't care if that shit is wine, beer, malt liquor, hard alcohol...shit, even mouthwash...anything with an alcohol content, I'll probably drink that shit. Now, some of you bitches are probably saying, "That fool J-Wunderdrunk is a goddamn alcoholic." I mean, what is the only thing outside of drugs that will make you:
- Feel good
- Feel great
- Feel like shit
- Feel like death
- Help you tell the truth
- Help you lie, but not really
- Fuck for hours
- Not fuck at all
- Pass out
- Blackout
- Shit for a week straight
- Piss for a week straight, out yo ass
- Fight
- Fight for no reason
- Get your ass kicked
- Go to jail
- Eat
- Sleep
- Cry
- Listen to Boys II Men naked while reading love letters from your high school Biology teacher.
You get my point.
OMG, I am about to go crazy bipolar on someone. I can laugh a bit ( which isn’t easy,because I swear it taking all my strength not to get ghetto right now.) My common sense told me not to so trusting, again I didn't listen , let's be honest I was under the influence of one thing or another before leaving . I am old enough to know that people sometimes let you down . But does it have to happen all at once. For those of you who don’t know ,I left for a few months get myself together ( do I have to spell it out damnit . Sober ( let's see how much longer that will work , at this rate). For fuck sakes I lived across the hall from her for the past 3 years . My great wonderful friend who should be taking care of my house and mail.. I have been around the block and back enough to know that if I have any doubts , STOP, and listen to inner voice. I am not 20 anymore but my anger is in full force .Yeah I know that behavior got me here !
So instead of losing my cookies and running out a buying a bottle of wicky wacky vodka , I will just ramble on here , even as my chubby little fingers are typing I am feeling some relief .
Almost every single time, I say I am ‘fine’ or ‘okay’, to most the answer will always suffice. But for few, the truth is clear. Sometimes pretending that I am okay or I don’t feel anything is easier, but most of the time it’s hard. The fact is, my smile can lie, Thank you for holding me up!
Yesterday, I cried.
I came home, went straight to my room,
sat on the edge of my bed,
kicked off my shoes, unhooked my bra,
and I had myself a good cry.
I cried until my nose was running all over the silk blouse I got on sale.
I cried until my ears were hot.
I cried until my head was hurting so bad
that I could hardly see the pile of soiled tissues lying on the floor at my feet.
I want you to understand,
I had myself a really good cry yesterday.Yesterday, I cried, for all the days that I was too busy, or too tired, or too mad to cry. I cried for all the days, and all the ways, and all the times I had dishonored, disrespected, and disconnected my Self from myself, only to have it reflected back to me in the ways others did to me the same things I had already done to myself. I cried for all the things I had given, only to have them stolen; for all the things I had asked for that had yet to show up; for all the things I had accomplished, only to give them away, to people in circumstances, which left me feeling empty, and battered and plain old used. I cried because there really does come a time when the only thing left for you to do is cry. Yesterday, I cried. I cried because little boys get left by their daddies; and little girls get forgotten by their mommies; and daddies don't know what to do, so they leave; and mommies get left, so they get mad. I cried because I had a little boy, and because I was a little girl, and because I was a mommy who didn't know what to do, and because I wanted my daddy to be there so badly until I ached. Yesterday, I cried. I cried because I hurt. I cried because I was hurt. I cried because hurt has no place to go except deeper into the pain that caused it in the first place, and when it gets there, the hurt wakes you up. I cried because it was too late. I cried because it was time. I cried because my soul knew that I didn't know that my soul knew everything that I needed to know. I cried a soulful cry yesterday, and it felt so good. It felt so very, very bad. In the midst of my crying, I felt my freedom coming, Because... Yesterday, I cried with an agenda. ...Iyanla Vanzant http://www.iyanla.com/
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