The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places

Ernest Hemingway said that. I've always liked that quote, and thought that I was strong at the broken places, but I'm discovering that I'm just broken these days. Feeling like I don't have many more hits left in me. Even the small ones now seem to take me down too easily, too hard. I'm scared by that.

Most of the time I'm able to feel the joy at the simple things in life. Actually, the only things I've ever felt joy about are the simple things. Moments. Moments where the world seemed right. But the world isn't right. I think somewhere in my heart I've always known that, and that's what is getting harder to take.

Here's the story and, if there's anyone out there who is reading this nonsense that I write, and you feel you can offer me some insight, some perspective ... or just fucking help me ... then shoot, fire, do your worst, do your best.

I grew up in a family that didn't love me. Oh yeah, I know, that sounds too sad, too ridiculous. It's true, though, and I don't know why, I've never actually known why. I've tried over the years too many times, too hard, but I've always failed. Can't seem to get it right, make it right. Was I too tall, too stupid, too insensitive, too smart, too pretty? Did I screw up too many times? Probably all of those things at various points, but isn't that when your "family" is supposed to love you? Isn't that what "family" is, the people who love you anyway? I guess not. Okay, that's the end of that story.

Then I married a man who said he loved me, but he didn't. He yelled at me, he called me names, he belittled me, eventually he started throwing things at me. Never really knew why either. Couldn't predict it, couldn't stop it, couldn't fix it. Finally ended it. Still for years took what he would give, in terms of financial support for our children, or in terms of ever being there for our children. I mean, in the course of eight years, he never took them to a doctor's appointment, rarely took them overnight. And, by "rarely", I would say a dozen times in the course of those eight years. All of this ate away at my self-esteem. I mean, I have a lot of bravado, I pretend I'm confident, but I'm not. I am self-aware. I know that I am a capable person, I know that I am a person who loves too deeply. I love my children too deeply. From the moment they came on this earth, to this day, to the end of my days, they are my soul. Maybe because I lost mine somewhere, and they gave it back. But I would die for them, I would take a bullet, I would brave the darkest night (and I'm afraid of the dark), I would fight the fiercest monster. This world would cease to exist for me without either of them. I could not live.

Okay, so finally I meet a man, a partner, a friend. And he is wonderful, no doubt. But even that was a struggle at first, a big struggle, a struggle that ate at me. In the beginning, when I thought it was just the two of us trying to build something, it turned out that that wasn't the case. I had to fight harder. It was worth it. It is now something I can count on. But do I have it in me? Sometimes I don't think I do. Times like now, I just want to be alone, I just want to be left alone. I can't take any more hurt. I know we all say that, but I am really there.

My ex-husband rears his head again. Now he wants money from me!!! He wants me to pay him for the house that we lived in, that I have lived in with our children for the past eight years, and he is going to take me to court to get it. I don't have the strength for this fight, I don't have the money for this fight. I just want to lay down and close my eyes. I'm so tired. I'm bone-tired, I'm soul-tired, I'm heart-tired. I don't have anything else to give.

And here's the thing that I've been getting to with all of this. This ex-husband, this father of my children, likes to tell them that one day they're going to find out the truth about their mother. I keep asking what that truth is. Even I don't know. But it's something I've heard from this so-called "family" of mine before. Please, please, please, tell me the truth. What is it that I am? What is it that I don't see about myself? Why do I keep feeling like I'm a bad person. I try to be good, I really do, I fight to be good. I give to charity all the time. I have a World Vision child, I'm a member of the Sick Kids Miracle Network, I give to Green Peace, and I give to the Lung Association. All because I'm a bad person? I do this every month and have for years. I truly care about every human being I come into contact with. All because I'm a bad person?

Here's why I'm scared: Because I do think I'm a bad person. I don't know why or how or what or where or when, but I believe them. I mean, I never had any training to be a good person; maybe I'm just pretending, maybe it's all an act, maybe nothing is real.

I'm sad, I'm scared, and I'm falling.

Lest we forget

Remembrance Day today! Odd that it's never really meant too much to me, because it should mean something to all of us, shouldn't it? I listened to Stuart McLean yesterday. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to be in the car when he's doing his Vinyl Cafe on CBC. What a treat! For the first time, I felt Remembrance Day, I felt the lives of all of those who have believed in something with all of their heart, fought for something and paid the ultimate price - their lives.

Mr. McLean ... yes, I'm going to call him Mr. McLean, because I have come to respect this sincere, heartfelt human being ... talked about a man named George Lawrence. George Lawrence, Mr. McLean informed, was the last Canadian soldier killed in World War II. George was 24 years old when he was conscripted into the army, and he was 25 years old when he died. He died two minutes before the Armistice was signed that day. I chose this Remembrance Day to remember George Lawrence, to remember the life he sacrificed for all of us.

We take so much for granted every single day, and most of us know that. But George Lawrence, we shouldn't take for granted. George gave up all the simple things that we enjoy. He relinquished his right to have his own family, to enjoy a homecooked meal, to feel rain on his face, to watch the first snowfall. I believe (or I certainly wish) that I will remember George Lawrence every single Remembrance Day for the rest of my time on this earth. He symbolizes something for me. In a world where every other story on the radio is tragic, sad, confusing, frightening, I want to remember the George Lawrences.

And the Stuart McLeans!!! You make a difference, Mr. McLean, in the lives of so many, I'm sure, and you certainly do make and have made a difference in mine. Thank you for that.

I love humanity - I just hate people!

I keep promising to make this blog a little less serious, but I guess I'm on a bit of a "serious bender". But then again, when do any of us get to be serious anymore? Sure, all day long, people say, "Hi, how are you", but, from your local barista to your best friend, most of the time nobody really wants to know the answer to that question. They want you to say, "I'm great, sunhine, rainbows, puppy dog tails ..." I have one word for that, blecccchhh. Blech to insincerity, blech to fakeness, blech to over-the-top "love you", "sweetheart", "honey", baby" calling everybody. Before you go thinking I'm too judgmental, I'm definitely including myself here. I've found myself falling into the whole rhythm of this new-age-way-of-life, i.e. Met somebody twice, call them darling, say "love you" when you part. I mean, saying it the first time would be downright gauche, but you've met twice, right!

Sometimes I think I would like the world to return to common civility. Does that sound victorian of me? Oh, well, I keep on thinking that manners, that true gratitude are worth striving for.

I always get a little off topic, though, because this particular blog is about lying. Yes, lying. We all do it. We all claim we do it to save the feelings of others. That in itself is the biggest lie. I cannot recount one single time in my life when someone has lied to me to save my feelings, or, conversely, when I have lied to save someone else's feelings. We lie to protect ourselves, to shield ourselves. And not just from the consequences of our actions. No, no, it's not that simple. We are complex creatures. We lie in part to shield ourselves from the reflection in the eyes of the people we're hurting. Every single lie hurts somebody, every single one.

I know, I know, you're thinking, what about if somebody asks me if I like their new sweater, and I hate it. Do I say, "No, I hate it"? Come on, be a grown up, there's a big difference between honesty and blatant meanness. You can probably say, "Beautiful colour", "Nice neckline", or find something else that's "true" to say. Just don't lie.

Don't you think it would be a better world if no one lied? Come on, be honest :)

Think of all the possibilities!!! The best one, the most important one, is that we would get to live in a world we could believe in. Good or bad, good and bad, it all goes together, it all works together. We all are weak, we all are strong, we all are good, we all are bad. Wouldn't it be nice to achieve that commonality? I mean, sure, there are the Gandhis, and the Mother Teresas of this world, but, for most of us, we're just ordinary frail, flawed people.

Okay, to the point. This is coming from a serious place. How do you continue to believe somebody who lies to you? How do you find a place in your head, in your heart, where you can do that. No matter how much you love them, how???

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant." Martin Luther King Jr.

But, in the meantime, here's a rainbow for you :)

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

If that statement by the great, the amazing Martin Luther King is true, then my life is just beginning, because I refuse, I absolutely refuse ever to be silent about the things that matter. When I say "the things that matter", I mean the things that matter to me, obviously, because I am only human after all, but I also mean THE THINGS THAT MATTER. Kindness matters, basic simple human kindness always matters.

This is a truth that I've tried to avoid my entire life, given the family I grew up in, and the choices that I then made. And, don't get me wrong, I don't blame my choices on anybody - they were MINE, ALL MINE. I stand by them, the right ones, the wrong ones, the crazy ones, the right-off-the-fucking-map ones. They all helped me to become who I am today. And I really, well and truly like who I am today.

Let's see if I can define me. I mean, we're all subjective about such things, but it has been my passion to see myself, to see those I love, to really see. After all, if you love someone because of some illusion/delusion you've created, I hate to be the one to tell you, but I gotta be the one to tell you -- IT'S NOT LOVE!!! I am a flawed creature, like all of us, but ... oh, I love the word "but" ... I will go out of my way, really a long way out of my way, to not cause harm. No, I did not take the hippocratic oath, but in my heart, in my soul, if we possess one, I did: "First, do no harm". Can that be said enough? First, do no harm. When I can, I will go a long way out of my way to bolster someone's spirit, to soothe their spirit, to prop up their self-esteem.

My birth family ... and I make that distinction because the family that I have chosen, that I have created is not the same ... are cruel people who somehow convince themselves that they're not. They create an elitist world where those who can't achieve some perceived level of perfection aren't welcome. The biggest problem I've had in my life is never knowing what that perfection consisted of or entailed. I tried my best, I stood on my tiptoes, I bent over, I bent down, so many times that it hurt me, hurt the very essence of me, and it wasn't good enough, never good enough. I stood up, I believed in myself, I achieved, I succeeded, and it wasn't good enough. So, now, finally and forever, I say goodbye to all of that. Sad that I say goodbye in a blog, but I need to get it out, need to say it. They wouldn't care, don't care, never have. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo me!

As though there haven't been enough blows, and there will undoubtedly be blogs in the future that recount them, recant them, the latest one was the one. Sometimes there is a straw that breaks the camel's back. So, I go to my nephew's wedding, and see the whole fam-damily for the first time in years. Not enough that they invite and welcome the brother who abused me for years. They welcome him with more good cheer and acceptance than they have ever given me. No, no, no, there's more. They invite my ex-husband and his new girlfriend. The ex-husband and I have not been together for 8-1/2 years. I am attending this wedding with my love, the love-of-my-life, the man who I will marry, the finest and best human being it has ever been my privilege to know. Tell me again why he loves me! And, again, this so-called family has more conversation, more interaction with the ex-husband than they do with me or with my G ... and worse yet, than they do with my daughter, the lovely, the beautiful, the talented, the shining light in this universe.

So, you can hurt me, you can stomp on me, you can grind me into dust, but you cannot, I will not let you hurt the people that I love. I am done with you.

Oh, almost forgot. Stupid, stupid, stupid me. After the wedding, I send a note to my sister, asking her why, what, how, when, where ... you know, the five w's ... and I end with the quote that entitles this particular post. What response did I get, you ask? I got a rock, I got nothing, I got ignored. Because they long ago figured out that they can hurt me more by ignoring me. They figured that out when I was 7 years old and hid in a corn field all day and watched the house, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone, anyone to notice I was missing. You already figured it out, did you? No one noticed. I finally just went back because it was dark and I had nowhere else to go.

Well, I have somewhere else to go now, and I am never going back there. I am Kate, I am strong, I have people who love me, I have people who I love. Damn you all for ever making me feel worthless. You will never have the chance again.

An original poem

When I look in your eyes,
I see the edge of the horizon.
Is it true, what I see when I look at you?

You touch my heart, you make my skin burn,
Late at night, in the dark, my body yearns
for your look, for your touch.

Long ago, I believed, I hoped, I dreamed,
and I still wish on the first star I see,
that someone, somewhere would love me,
but I never dreamed of you.

Yet, here you are, the very first star,
illuminating and radiating beyond compare,
not really what I wished for, but so much more
and I know I’m not alone in this world of danger

If you could only know – know in your heart,
know in the corners of your soul,
I am here for you, and even if we part,
some far away day,
I am yours until the end of this play.

There are reasons, silver linings,
There are lessons, but I don’t care,
it’s darker than death out there.
You’re where I belong.
You’re everything right when I’m everything wrong.

All the wrongs, all the mistakes, all the hurt,
fades away from memory in your arms,
and who knew, who could have predicted,
blue eyes on green, ocean on ocean,
the world is safe.

Being Jane

After more years alone than even an agoraphobic could bear, Jane decided it was time to try yet again. It wasn’t so much that she had been alone, one could say, as just plain lonely, without true companionship or friendship. She grew up in a family that Charles Dickens himself could have conjured, or perhaps Stephen King himself. Then she married the first man who “loved” her. While this whiled away the years of her life, there was always a yearning for more – an inner child striving to get out – things that dreams are made of, even fairy tales. Fairy tales are such dangerous things.

The best parts of Jane’s heart, the best years of Jane’s life, were spent raising two perfect, yet exhausting, children. There was enormous satisfaction for this woman, this complex yet simple woman, in giving all that she had to these people who she had put on this planet. Pure joy was found in watching them grow, learn, explore, and discover who they were. What a privilege that was. But now … oh, now they have grown up, and Jane can no longer find any way to ignore the inner voices that urge her to find something that is just for her, that maybe she has finally earned that elusive thing she has dreamed of since she first read Cinderella – real love, a sense of real belonging.

My public awaits ... ha, ha, ha

I haven't been able to write anything because everything feels so personal, and I feel like I'm giving something of myself away, and lately I feel there's so little of myself that I keep to myself. Does anyone else feel that way? That every piece of you is being used by somebody else, to satisfy somebody's elses needs, wants, desires, vision of you, ideal of you. I didn't use the word "ideal" by accident. I didn't mean "idea". It's like we're all trying to live up to some ideal, some mystical, perfect being we're supposed to be, hide our flaws, cover them up, use concealer, white-out, whatever is available. I suppose that has become a theme for me throughout my life - throw out the bad pictures, or delete them in this digital age, so there's no true image of us.

Okay, here goes a little personal. I went to a wedding yesterday, saw my "family" ... sorry, just have to put that in quotes ... for the first time in years. To say my family was and is dysfunctional is like saying flax seed is good for you. It's an oxymoron, it's in fact a world where the lunatics are in charge of the asylum. It's "Let's all pretend" time. Let's all pretend we like each other, or let's not, let's all pretend we're leading perfect lives, happy all the time, and we had a normal, wonderful child. Case-in-point: One family member asked me when he had ever said anything unkind to me. At my father's funeral, when I asked for the return of the photographs that I had donated to the board of my father, his only response was to scream "F-*-*-k off" at me. So, what do I say when asked, "When was I ever mean to you?" I just smile some inane smile, while some dead look comes into my eyes, and say, "The past is the past".

The past is not the past. The past is our present, the future is our present, it all intertwines in our head, creating a dance that is our life, that represents our life. I mean, people go for aromatherapy of all things to induce good feelings. Are we so unaware of the fact that, when we enter a room, a situation, encounter people, etc., etc., that it evokes all the emotions that we have ever encountered with that person. I did the shutting down thing, I did it for a lot of years: Don't feel anything, don't let them see you sweat as the commercial says.

Sorry I get too stream-of-consciousness in this thing. I was trying to get to something. I started out the day yesterday sick, sick, sick. Well, actually probably hung over, hung over, hung over. Potato-potahto, tomato-tomahto :) Thought I wasn't even going to make it to the "family wedding", but being the resilient little rubber ball that I am, I pulled it together at the last minute. I put on my stunning little-black-dress, gorgeous earrings that my wondrous daughter lovingly made for me, a beautiful necklace that a friend made for me, ivory patent sling-backs, black eyeliner, and POW, I'm rocking it for a 50-year-old broad. All the while, there's a little part of me slipping back to my youth, my childhood even, telling me, "You're only worth as good as you look". Me, the me that is me now says back, "You only look good now because you finally understand that your worth is so much more than how you look". What an internal battle that is :) I'll keep fighting that battle. Yes, I enjoy looking good, but that cannot be, must not be what defines me.

At the ripe old age of nearly 51 (in a week) ... and OMG, OMG, OMG ... I don't want it anymore. I want a life that is true, that is real, that is reciprocal. Does it exist? I truly wish I knew.

Here's what I do know: I came from a place where I was the barracks target. (And, if you don't know what that means, look it up.) In the vernacular, I was messed up. In reality, I hated myself and the world I lived in and felt absolutely no connection to it. I fought for that connection to the world and an understanding/acceptance of my place, my right to exist, my right to be happy. It was a long and not unrewarding fight. The result has been two beautiful children, a good solid job/career, and being lucky enough to find true love at the beginning of the end of my life. I don't mean that to sound tragic or sappy. That's how I feel. It is a fact! Right now, right here, I enter the last third of my life, if I happen to be terrifically lucky. And I am terrifically lucky, I truly am.

So, now I go to join the wonderful G (my heart, my love) on his one day off, make us a fabulous meal, cuddle in his arms and feel more accepted and more loved than I thought was possible. The journey, the ride was so worth the destination. I love my life!

Thankful?

I am thankful for so many things, but today, tonight, it avoids my grasp. And the minute, I finished that sentence, this voice in my head said, "What!?#@ You're healthy, you're strong, it's a beautiful world. What do you have to complain about?"

Why do we all diminish our own worries, fears, problems, because there are people out there who are worse off? No matter who you are, no matter how bad it is, there's someone who has it worse. It's like the contest to be the prettiest, the best, the most talented, the most celebrated person on the planet? There's always going to be someone prettier, more talented, more acclaimed. Does that mean your plight, your situation isn't important? Of course not. My point is: Sometimes we're allowed to care about ourselves, aren't we? Sometimes we're allowed to be "all about me"!

These words, mind you, are said by someone who spends 95% of her time taking care of everybody else. Does everyone have enough to eat? Are you too warm? Here, let me turn the air-conditioning on. Are you too cold? Can I get you a sweater? Do you need my car, my money, my love, my left arm? Funny, I know, but it's true. Sometimes I think that kind of "unselfishness" is just another form of martyrdom, not feeling good enough, dancing on your tiptoes until someone says, "Hey, you, let me take care of you, let me do what you need".

I am, though, truly sorry, truly saddened by a world that seems to have given up on itself. Then I read M.D.O.D. - check out their blog at http://docsontheweb.blogspot.com/ - and I am stopped dead in my tracks. Poor choice of words :) But, really, who are these guys? They are amazing. They may, in fact, save each and every one of us.

I will try to write more tomorrow; I am going to become a disciplined individual, exercise every day, eat right, and write to purge my soul.

Oh God!!

I'm not even sure why I started this blog. Crazy, scary, trying to put your thoughts, your feelings out there for everyone to see when most of your life you've pushed them so far down that even you don't think them, don't feel them. Is that a confession? I suppose it is.

Here's another one: I don't think I'll ever be able to completely trust anyone. It's not that I don't want to. God, I want to, I really, really want to. It's just impossible. When you've led a life of deception, when you've been deceived too many times, when you realize how terribly easy it is to make anyone believe the things you want them to, you sadly have to face the fact that the world is probably doing it right back to you too.

All of this rambling and what does it even mean? It means that I'm quite seriously scared to death. So scared that I really just want to sit still, let nothing happen, and yet, when I do that, I get bored with it all. Maybe the philosophers were right, maybe the idiots are right. I don't even know anymore. And, at this very moment, playing through my headphones is "You can count on the sun to rise, and the stars to come out at night ... trust is a tightrope we all have to walk". Why is it so much easier for some people than others? Do we all have the kind of angst and confusion that I feel and I just dwell on it, just swim in it, or do some people really get off easy. And, hey, I don't mean that in a negative way. I would love to be one of those people who go through life seeing all the good, feeling positive at every turn, bouncing back all the time, but, here I am, about to be 51 years old, and I just feel like maybe I never got it right.

The moments that keep illuminating in my mind, in my heart, are the moments when my children were small. I keep seeing that, keep feeling that, how sweet, perfect, uncomplicated it really was. It was easy to put a smile on their face, and seeing that smile made my life feel important, significant, worthwhile. I had this conversation with someone the other night ... actually, my significant other ... that we all get our sense of ourselves from other people. Okay, I hear everyone going, "No, no, I created myself, I formed my own self-esteem". Of course you didn't. From the moment you came onto this planet, it was the reflection of yourself in the eyes, in the hearts of those around you, that nurtured you ... or ... damn the "or" ... destroyed you, damaged you in a way that can never be repaired.

I keep trying to be a "live in the moment" kind of person. I don't think it's too late for that just because I'm "old" by all the standards that everyone uses. Oh, yes, isn't the greatest compliment we receive once we're over the age of 35 is "You don't look that old!" Why is it bad to look old? Why isn't it beautiful? Why aren't lines beautiful? Is it all about perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect breasts? The awful, unavoidable answer is yes. Our value diminishes with every passing year.

This is so stream-of-consciousness, because, as I finished typing that thought, I realized that it's a good thing. It means that the value you place on yourself, those who learn to value you, are all that really mattered, and it was all a process just to get there. I hope for me, I hope for everyone, we get to arrive at a place where we are The Velveteen Rabbit:

"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

It takes a village ... yeah, right ... where are "they"????

Sorry, this is one more rant, but honestly, the human race is sometimes so mystifying. All you single parents out there, if you're reading this, comment, tell me what you think.

You raise kids on your own (1, 2, 3, more) ... maybe you're even Jon and Kate plus 8 ... okay, forget that, Kate has Jon. You try to make all the right moves, do all the right things, warn them, reassure them, comfort them, scare them, build them up, tear them down, whatever it takes to make sure these people who sprang from your body will have a "happy" life. What does that mean anyway? There I am getting off-track. Sorry. Then they're adults in the eyes of the world, and everyone ... and I do mean EVERYONE ... starts telling you what you've done wrong, where you went wrong, what you said wrong, and they're all Oprah-watchers, Dr. Phil adherents. Oh, yes, they've listened to every talk show about 'how to be a good parent'. Only one big problem: They've never been one!!!!

I did that, too, before I had children, but I have a good excuse: I was young. The younger you are, the more sure you are that you know what you're going to do, how you're going to do it, what's right, what's WRONG ... whoops, there's that word again. The older you get, the less you know, the less sure you feel about almost everything.

All right, I'm back on topic. Where were "they"? When you needed someone at the end of the day just to have adult human interaction with, where were "they"? When you could have used an hour off, someone else driving them to a swimming lesson, a tutoring session, or just taking them to the park, where were "they"? Nowhere to be seen. But, come the day that you think you can rest on your laurels ... oh yeah, I've got laurels ... and say, I've done the best I can, they turned out pretty well, along "they" come. I guess I've finally figured out who "they" are, that mystical question we all ask ourselves when someone says, "Who are they anyway?"

"They", for all of you who want to know, are the ones who are quick to step up to the plate when the job is done, the work has been completed, you're covered in sweat and dirt and grime and guilt, and say, "What were you thinking?" Thank God for "they". Maybe it was, in fact, God who created "they". Who else could it have been?

Well, in answer to all the "they", I give back a cliche of my own, "Walk a mile in my shoes", and I mean it. Walk a day, walk a week, walk a year, where you have no one to turn to, you have small beautiful faces looking to you for food, guidance, shelter, love, comfort, and when you fall into bed at the end of the day so drained that you think you cannot possibly get through another day, look into their faces, those beautiful faces that encompass all the love the world has to offer, and feel free to tell me what I did wrong. And, you know what, "they", until you can do that, GO AWAY!!!

It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book

Okay, this is the first blog. We'll see if this strange impulse to convey my thoughts and feelings to the world is ongoing.

I've been meaning to write a book for some time now called Grow-The-F-*-*-k-Up. It's for all of those, all of us, including me, who would blame the choices we make, ascribe responsibility for the things that we do, to some misfortune or unfairness we believe has been perpetrated against us long ago. Get over it, grow up, get on with your life. Even if there is reincarnation, even if there are alternate universes, THIS IS YOUR ONE SHOT AT THIS! Whatever "this" is, this is your shot. Take it already.

I know, I know, it comes off as bitchy, arrogant, know-it-all, but I don't think that's it, not really. Of course, we are a culmination of all that we've been, all that we've seen, all that we've felt and heard, but, at the end of the day, the choice is ours. Your mother beat you. Well, that's over now. Your father didn't like you. Don't think about it. Some pervert touched you when you were young. All righty then ... that was then, this is now. This is your now, and you get to choose who touches you, both physically and metaphysically. You get to decide who you touch. And I think that's the point, leave a mark, make an impact, but be sure that it's the one you want.

There's the serious blog that is the crux of how this blog gets going. It won't always be serious, I promise you. I find life amusing in the extreme. I am constantly and chronically moved, disappointed, thrilled, elated, devastated by the actions and inaction of people around me.

All right, anyone who is taking the time to read this rather boring blog ... GO AND BE BRILLIANT!