Four Little Children

Tom my new friend and taxi driver, dropped me off this morning at Domino’s Farms for my Pre-Op appointment. Once there, I checked in, completed forms. Next, I was poked and prodded. I sat in the lobby and waited for the physician’s assistant to explain the surgical process to me. In two weeks, hardware that held my ravaged then rebuilt ankle will be removed. Tendons will be unwrapped from freshly healed bone in hopes that it will alleviate some of my chronic pain. I am tough, but I am scared. I am scared, but I am strong. I pick up my phone and the heat from my fingertips bring it to life. As I begin to play a game I mutter in frustration, “I’m so fucking tired of this injury sucking the marrow out of my very existence.”  

I’m an observational writer. Two and a half years ago I would have laughed if you’d said such a thing. Most of my young and adult life, with the help of ADHD, OCD, married life, parenting, and plain old rushing around, I couldn’t observe more than five things at once. Once I realized that my dream was to observe and write about it, I couldn’t stop. Life was a rush. I was constantly stimulated, and inspired. I say passionate, everyone else in my life said I was obsessed.

This morning, as the lives diminished in my game, I remembered who and what I was.  Placing my phone in my purse, I began watching four little children. One boy and three girls ran wild up and down the hill outside in front of Lobby C. The girls, ranged in age from 8-11, and wore short skirts with little shirts. Their feet were clad in sandals and their long blonde hair whipped around their faces as they ran. The little boy, about 7 was clad in shorts, t-shirt and black flip flops. He ran up and down that hill, faster than his sisters did. He didn’t seem to care that  he lost his shoes in the process.

The oldest girl walked away from her siblings to stand in the stone and ivy garden. The foliage and ceramic toadstools made her look a bit like Alice when she spoke to a hookah smoking caterpillar in Wonderland. Her young charges continued to run up that hill, around the tree at the top and back down.  I’m sure if there wasn’t concrete at the bottom of that hill, they would have rolled down it. Staining their knees and elbows green, as their little brother lost his shoes again.

I sat in a comfy armchair inside, but I wanted to run with them. I wanted to walk on stick thin legs made tan by the summer sun. I wanted to be the young girl standing in the ivy garden that looked like Alice. I wouldn’t have even minded being the little boy that lost his shoes as I jumped to touch the arbor at the entrance of Lobby C.

I don’t wish to go back to that age, but I do wish I could let the wind whip my hair as I run. And to feel confident that when I run, there wouldn’t be pain. I want to suck the marrow out of life again. Maybe after this next surgery, I will.

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45 Can Suck my Dick!

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Fuck 40. 40 can suck my dick!-Debbie-This is 40

As I tried to drag my tired ass out of bed this morning, all I could think about was the movie I watched last night. By myself of course, because Roger Darling had a stressful week. He’s recently been promoted to assistant manager at the direct care group home where he is employed. I have to say when Leslie Mann bemoaned the fact that 40 could suck her dick, I agreed completely. Of course, I’m now 45. That age can suck my dick too.

What the hell have I become but a hamster on a wheel? I have to work out for an hour to eat a cupcake. Hell, to even take a bite of a cupcake, and not have it go straight to my ass. Forget carbs. A woman my age can no longer even enjoy a fucking bagel without calculating how many miles she will have to run to burn off the calories. This sucks!

I sit here in my workout clothes waiting for RD to get home so I can trot my ass to the gym and run a couple of miles. Of course, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve done any kind of workout. I’ll probably keel over and die on the way home.

I miss the days when Diet Coke and a cigarette were dinner. If I did that now, my blood sugar would plummet and I’d end up in the ER. This getting older shit ain’t for sissies. I swear to you I’ve seen more wrinkles appear on my face in the last six month than I have in the past few years.

No more complaining. It’s time to get up off my ass and head to the gym. Drink more water and eat healthier too. Just once I’d like to go back in time and slap the 17 year old me and tell her to lighten up. To have more fun and run more. To go to college. Not to smoke! Don’t worry, I quit that habit years ago. I had to because I would lose my breath when doing the dirty, dirty, and no one wants that!!!!

I’m not looking for positive comments and ah grrrrlllll, you can do it pats on the back. I just wanted to bitch. As the title states, 45 can suck my dick!

Off to the fucking gym!

Love,

Sparkly Girl

I’ll Have What She’s Having

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YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES!!!

Er, well, maybe not. No my fellow pervs, I’m not writing another erotic entry. Today is about me. Then again when isn’t it? It’s a good day. I saw Super Therapist. I made him laugh and blush. He questioned me about how I felt about my anger on a certain subject. I told him I felt betrayed and abandoned. Like I didn’t matter. He asked if my anger left me helpless. I explained that now that I’m pissed, it proved I was fearless. That I could move forward knowing what I want. What I need.

It’s time to get up and Try, Try, Try as my girl, P!nk would say. I’m going to meet that woman someday.

The first thing I need to do is lose the 30 fucking pounds I’ve put back on. I’m an addict. Food, alcohol, the written word, validation, exercise, etc. You name it, and I’ve been addicted to it. I slunk back into the Medical Weight Loss Clinic yesterday and talked to my favorite counselor, Crissy. She has a huge crush on Roger Darling. Whenever she speaks of him, she blushes. I peed on sticks, weighed myself and waited for her to rag on me. She didn’t. We discussed a cleanse and going back on Plan. I wanted to scream, shit, fuck and dammit. I kept my mouth shut though. I purchased 10 weeks of the program and told her I’d be back to weigh in and buy my protein supplements on Friday. Shit, fuck and dammit!!!!!

The next thing to do is go to the gym. I started this good habit again a couple of weeks ago. I bitched and whined the entire time. I suffered from shitty insomnia and a racing heart. Roger Darling and I kept going though. I’m so damn mad at myself. I was running three miles, four to five days a week. My arms were sculpted with muscle. So were my legs. I’m walking at a fast pace and getting my ass kicked on the elliptical.

Rog and I have a goal. We want to do the Color Run on May 11, 2013. I will be wearing a tutu, tiara, white shorts and t-shirt. This bitch is gonna look HAWT! Then we’ll get sprayed with paint as we meander our way to the finish line. There’s muscles to be regained and weight to be lost and maintained. I’ll do it again. I’ll fight the good fight. I revel in the fact that my battle will only take 10 weeks instead of the original 15 months it took me to lose 150 lbs.

There’s this novel I’m writing too. Today is one of those days when the words flow like sweet honey. I ache to write all day. My day job prevents me from doing so. I’m an old school writer, even though I’ve only been doing this for a little over a year. I write notes in my journal. The few words I jot down jog my memory and help me fill in the blanks when the time comes to create.

My main character Ian has written the other main character, Maggie their first love letter. He slipped it into her notes for his class. She hasn’t even read it yet. What will it say? I’m not sure yet. I’m sure it will have to do with her hair the color of flames and eyes the color of the sea. He’s a bit of cad though, so he may write something filthy too. We’ll see. BTW, this book is a love story. I promise you it will not be shitty. The love scenes will make no mention of the word inner goddess. I like the words cock and pussy and I’ll be sure to use them liberally. The love notes are the key to my story. They are.

Time to finish up some work. Eat an orange. Drink more fucking water!!! I swear to you I’ve an ocean floating around inside of me. Then it’s off to the gym and red meat and salad for dinner. Yup, this Sparkly Girl’s going to do it again.

Gotta get up and Try, Try, Try. Gotta get up and Try, Try, Try. Hey, if I don’t get to meet her, I can at least look like her. Giggle, snort!

BLOW ME (One Last Kiss)

Just when I think it can’t get worse, I had a shit day (no!)
You had a shit day (no!), we’ve had a shit day (no!)
I think that life’s too short for this
I’ll pack my ignorance and bliss
I think I’ve had enough of shit, Blow me one last kiss.

As David from Lead.Learn.Live. has said about my blog, strap in for the ride. Because darlin’s here we go. Feeling a bit like a snarky bitch today. I’ve just about had it. These last few months have SUCKED! Fucking sucked!!!!!! I’ve gained 20 lbs because I haven’t been able to run. I’ve been drinking because I’m a whiny dumb ass. I’ve been obsessing over shit I can’t fix. I’m pissed off at myself for not being able to hold onto friendships and relationships. I’ve changed. It’s what I’ve done. I can’t go back. I won’t. I have to get up and run. Every damn time I want to go back to the gym something happens. There’s some road block. Some obstacle that gets in my way and fucks everything up. But no more!!!!!!!

As I was helping my Adam Boy move tonight, he had me laughing my ass off. At one point in the evening, he looked at me and asked me how we could be related. I told him, I was there and I know I gave birth to him. He’s such a cynical shit. Then I started singing and Meggie bitched at me to shut up, because my voice sucks. I have to say even though they are shit heads, I love them immensely. I looked at them after we repainted a bedroom in the apartment and said come hell or high water, I was going back to the gym tomorrow night.

I’m tired of feeling anxious and being a cranky cunt. I need to get fucking moving!!!!! I’ve worked too damn hard to go back. I can’t backslide. As I was driving home tonight, one of my new favorite songs came on the radio. Blow Me (One Last Kiss) by P!nk. I idolize her. She is the epitome of what I want to be. She doesn’t give a fuck and she says what’s on her mind. She sings what’s on MY mind.

I cranked up the radio, banged on the roof of my car and sang my ass off. I made the decision that enough is enough. I’m done whining and making excuses. It’s time to get back in the gym and get this crazy aggression out of me. As I was telling Rory today, instead of self-destruction, I need to focus on self-preservation. Not only of my body, but my heart and soul too.

I’ve made a lot of connections here in this lovely blogosphere. While some have been good and healthy. Some have been self-defeating and taken me into a downward spiral. It’s time to look up. To move on.

Tonight when I got home, I turned on some P!nk and danced in the living room in my tank shirt and undies. This Sparkly Girl is heading back to the gym and starting the long way back to being able to run 3.5 miles again. Sometimes the best revenge is living well. It’s what I plan to do. Every damn day of my life. I’m going to live well.

I will do what I please, anything that I want
I will breathe, I won’t breathe, I won’t worry at all
You will pay for your sins, you’ll be sorry my dear
All the lies, all the wise, will be crystal clear

Feral

She awakens ready to hunt. As she rises, she feels the loose pine needles dig into her hands and feet. Her nostrils take in the scent of prey. And him. She stands up completely unaware of her nakedness. All she cares about is finding food. And feeding her other, hunger. She runs on feet hardened by the elements. There is no pain felt as she makes her way over rocks and sticks in her path. She is agile, strong and wild in her beauty. She stops, lifts her head, and sniffs the air. There is the scent of rabbit. It is close by. But the draw of his scent is more powerful than her need for sustenance. She continues to run. Her dark hair is strung with leaves, snarls, and twigs. Her blue eyes vibrant, even in the moonlight. Her hands, arms and legs move to push her further; faster.

There he is in her path. The ONE. He is standing there, blonde, brown eyed, and naked. She wants to devour him. For she is starving. But not for food.  There’s a need for touch, want, release. He runs to her. She to him. They pounce. Kiss, lick, bite, and taste. Their coupling is urgent and extreme. They grasp at each other to hold onto the moment for they know it’ll be over too soon. They can’t stay in one place for long or they will become the hunted. Out in this wild world where it is kill or be killed.

After their desire is sated, it is time to feed. With the moon shining above them, they stand and look at one another. He shakes his blonde head at her. She touches his face. They turn and begin to run. Together they will satisfy their need for food. Then feast on each other. Again.

A Hastening Heart Finds Peace in Dew

Thank you Help Me Rhonda for the photo 

The sun emerges from behind the trees at the beginning of her morning run. She always runs in Central Park. Headphones are blaring a little Foo Fighters to get her heart going and to help her keep pace. It’s a warm morning and a little too humid for Spring. She’s clad in a tank shirt, running shorts, and bright purple running shoes. She loves purple, it’s one of her favorites. Running is too. It keeps her lithe, lean, and healthy. Makes her smile at the thought of pushing her body to it’s limits. Makes her feel alive. Free.

As her feet keep pace with her breathing, she takes in the scenery. The scents and the sounds too. She loves running this route. Looking at the folks sitting on park benches. They’re feeding bread crumbs to the birds and the squirrels. She slides over to the far most side of the path so as not to disturb the animals and their feeding time. After she passes them she slide back to the middle of the path and picks up her running pace.

Her heart rate increases and so does her breathing. She loves this part of the run. She’s run two miles out of her normal three mile trek. With the increase in respiration she can smell the freshly blooming flowers on the path. She loves this time of the year. She knows the lilacs will be in bloom soon. She thinks, what is better than the aroma of those purple beauties? She sees new leaves on all of the trees. Everything is so green. Even she feels young and new today.

Then she sees it. It stops her dead in her tracks. Her heartbeat is heavy in her ears, her breathing still quick and her body does not want to rest yet. But she has to stop. For she sees in the path, a lone stalk of new wheat. It is green, glistening and bent over with the weight of morning dew. The sun hits it perfectly. She is mesmerized because it reminds her of home. Of Michigan and of younger days and running in wheat fields. It reminds her of her first kiss. Laying in the wheat field behind the farmhouse she lived in as a kid.

She walks up to it and then drops to her knees to take a closer look. She decides, what the hell and lays down next to it. Just like when she was a kid. From this angle she feels 15 again. She remembers kissing that boy in the wheat field. She smiles and looks at the stalk. She sees the sun shining through the dew. Reaches out and touches it lightly with one fingertip. She touches the dew drenched tip to her lips and remembers him.