"You make me Feel"

       The side bet of Emotional Accountability is a tricky little beast I frequently attempt a mutual understanding with. I have the emotion, we have the emotions, we all have the feelings. Keeping such grandiose singular and private is usually a safe bargain. It's an easy task to file each thought, different emotions and fellow feelings within in one self. Oh sure, the inner voices will banter and argue from time to time. We have the happy days and the quiet days, we have the reflective moments and the screw it all lapses.

       To up the ante of perception, one must open their suitcase of thoughts and allow another to rifle through with exploration abandon. In my protective little world, this is as scary as a Stephen King novel.  I don't enjoy that invasion of suitcase, nor do I enjoy the implications of such a tour. Feelings and emotions are such an individual companion, things we can solely take responsibility for and account as truth or fantasy, idea's and reality.

       It took an extensive amount of time in my life to discover or mentally understand that emotions are mine to justify, explain, nurse or curse. If I am talking to someone and I start a sentence with "I feel like........." it will be a singular truth, mine and mine only. The tricky part is accepting that this other person may not perceive my truth as correct or even tangible. The most I can or should expect is an attempt at understanding, not necessarily acceptance from the other party. Expecting acceptance is a nasty little idea to press upon anyone.

       If I start a sentence with "You make me feel........" then that is laying the burden of my emotion on the other person. They may or may not be partially responsible for this feeling and they certainly have no control in how I store it in my suitcase, how long I choose to nurse it or curse it.  The 'you make me feel' syndrome I've found is neither a way to accomplish understanding or win an emotional battlefield. It simply puts the other person on the defense of their own suitcase or accountability.

       It used to be when someone said to me "Rebecca, you make me feel........." I would instantly bow in shame and apologize, whether I felt like I intentionally did such blasphemy or not. Or, just the opposite, I would use verbal banter to demonstrate to a person why their feelings were completely and totally wrong.

        It wasn't until I learned that I was solely responsible for each individual feeling I encompassed, that negating another persons feeling in this manner was unacceptable. Verbally telling another person their feelings were wrong or preposterous was basically slamming the clasp shut on the suitcase they felt inclined to give me a peek in. I've learned, that whether the person is completely out in left field or batting a home run, their feeling is real, it's their reality, it's their truth or fantasy. Period.

       I no longer tell people their feelings are wrong. I've found it's rather high and mighty to negate someone's thoughts and feelings that way. When I find myself in the cross hairs of a "Rebecca, you make me feel........." I attempt the high road and ask "Why do you have this feeling?" turning the cross hairs right back at the person who has opened their suitcase. If the cross hairs continue to turn back at me, I will carefully explain my reasons or not, but I no longer take the defensive turnabout, and shoot back my own "YA well, you made me feel like this when you..........."

       It is the passive route, but I've found lately, it's a better place to stand. Giving a clear path to another persons thoughts is tough, it's certainly not an easy endeavor. It requires shutting up and keeping my own singular thoughts just that, singular. I can voice them, I just can't place the entire burden of my emotions on the other person. Thinking another is solely responsible for my personal thoughts and feelings is a Greek Tragedy waiting to happen.

Disclaimer: All views expressed on this journal are the sole emotional feelings of the writer. Understanding appreciated, acceptance never expected. Input always welcomed.

As always, these are my thoughts.............

Recumbent

The contrast in everything astounds me.
             I am a pilgrim of possibilities, standing at the precipice of a dream. The time to dismantle, echoes in tune with the dissension within.

       We share a song, unfinished and complex. Sharing the penchant for dreams, you are the vision of all that is good. With all eye's on my posture, I move through the room with a graceful smile and a dirty little secret. My silent sanctuary had begun to crumble with the loss of my horizon. Alas, loyalty is the high road of caring, and for that measure of patience, I stand above the clouds. My central obligation is to drown in the dark side of compassion until I have nothing left.

       Misrepresentation of a demeanor is something I am prepared to accept. Misunderstanding of a motivation is a crushing blow, to a dream born of pure intention. To acknowledge a naked truth standing on the edge of the barrier is all I seek, for now. Any indication of mutual thought would have done. A simple indication for a critical decision. I'm certain I'll make it there, circling around and circling through.

       I can wait for the someday in life, although it happened yesterday and the day before. As certain as I am, that it will circle through tomorrow and the next day. With time and circumstance, the distance will circle closer and closer, this I am committed too. I'll hold my shadow on the ceiling of fair weathered patience, it's the right place to be during this time. I am strong of vision and living by choice of careful compassion. It's a matter of human obligation. This I ask for not, in the department of understanding. It's a solitary decision by which single recognition is required. Trust me.

       Inside this box where the walls are black and the roof is red, is the replica of my shadows. I am my own representative, a team of many thoughts and emotions within. A boisterous bunch I happen to trust everyday. This group will never stay recumbent.

Face Value

       There's a space I create between simple face value and my own minds twisted play on things. A person can say one thing, and my personal tendency to take that, chew it around until I'm certain I've analyzed it, understood it, and wrapped it back into a tidy bow is a curse that I cannot escape.

       Someone told me recently that I overthink just about everything. I cannot deny that accusation. Since then, I've tried to take that accusation and determine if thats a good thing, or a bad thing. Or just one of those case by case basis equations.

       For me, it's important to understand what another person is saying. Some of my more cautious or well trained friends will choose their words very carefully with me, especially if they are trying to hide something. I have a tendency to dig deeper, then they typically want to dive.

        I call it the fine art of stripping away the B.S. and discovering the root of an issue. This is typically accomplished by asking a lot of questions and listening to the answers with a fine tuned microscopic listening ear.

       The difficult part for me, is when the conversation is directed towards or at me. This is when I'll take what another person says to me, and attempt to conform it around some sort of general personal understanding, or and this is the bad part, I take it and shake it up into something most negative about myself.

       Hmmm, I'm confusing myself now. In simple terms, I will take a small statement like "Rebecca, your to quiet and closed off" and issue about 10 silent bereavements inside my head to follow up that persons statement. Thats the glory of head noise. In reading the public array of journals, it's either good or not so good, that I've discovered just about everyone else in this world silently beats the shit out of ourselves in personal thoughts.

       A statement made to me, can be a life sentence of thought whipping. I can be that hard on myself. I can remember hurtful things people said to me 18 years ago. I can remember a hurtful thing someone said to me last week, and they both carry a fair amount of weight in the boxing class inside my brain. Is this a case of being too damn sensitive? Sensitivity is something I never portray on the outside, no way, never show such a weakness, yet, here inside my head, I'm a thread bare paper towel trying to balance all of it on top without any major ripping.

       Sensitive. Sensitive soul. Sensitive thoughts. I wish I could toughen up to self berating. Self berating is going the easy route. I think the hard route is not only believing, but also accepting the good things others say about you instead of instantly or deliberatly listening for the negative. Why I <we> give so much more weight and time to the negative I <we> hear either from others, but more importantly, myself <ourselves> is beyond me.

       I find this to be an utterly perplexing side to my human thought process. The ability to take one conversation and zero in on one tiny little detail that wasn't shed in a beautiful light is a blatant bad habit I possess. Too sensitive, to mentally touchy, to quick to accept a stab to the heart, whether meant by the other person or not.

       To not care, would probably mean I had no heart, to care and not take it so personal seems like a nice even ground. I haven't found that spot yet, but I'm looking. Over thinking, can be a real pain in the brain!

Chris,Inane thoughts and insane ramblings I've been trying VERY HARD, not to make a 'suckers choice' in a knee jerk reaction to my current mental berations~~

Beatings and Belly Jelly

       Losing one's place on the road of ordinary life can be somewhat discouraging for a person like Moi. The point of dreaming is to keep a person side stepping all that can feel unbelievably mundane. I wouldn't classify myself as the type who either reaches or creates drama in my life. I have no need for drama inflicted fascinations in my world. Just the opposite actually, I harbor the beauty of calmness and add shots worth of extraordinary as often as possible.

       Playing things safe and adding excitement and exhilaration is a fine art I've attempted to establish for quite some time now. As detestable as it is for me to admit, I can claim becoming bored fairly easily. This is not the part where I fall into the trap of creating drama around me, actually, this is the time when I toss something new on my plate. My latest quest of adding excitement, I've joined a boxing club. Thats right, let the beatings begin. If I ever end up with a beautiful shiner, I'll make sure and capture it's award on film and post for others delight.

       I don't want to stand on the platform of the end of my life, wishing I had tried this or that. The golf thing was just a miner sidestep, my attempt at ridiculous social fitting in with the other social occupants of my daily life. Whacking the ball was fine enough, but a bit too stationary for the likes of my aggressive competitive nature. Besides, who wants to play a sport where my chest is topic for the men....

       Safe guarded boxing seems a bit more up my alley. Hopefully having a nonexistent chest isn't an issue, the only thing I can see is less padding in that region. I start next week, reports to follow~~ With my luck, they'll tell me the only thing I can wallop on is a stuffed bag :o) I sinfully admit, I want to connect with some flesh.......

       I did find a place that teaches belly dancing, thats another thing I've wanted to try out. Hasn't everyone been fascinated at one time or another with how those ladies can move certain muscles in their body? I have been, so when I'm telling the story of my life to my grandchildren I want to show them old Grandma knows how to do the wave with her belly jelly~ 

       It's to easy to get safe inside my shell. It's a trap I have found myself wallowing in from time to time and I become really unhappy with same old, same old. I know thats just a thing called life, but I suppose with the ability to walk out the door, I also hold the ability to spice things up. On my own accord, my own free will, my choice.

       The great thing, is that my shadow follows along beside me. Watching, laughing, berating, smiling, the constant companion. Staying in touch, with both the private slinking around person inside me and the woman who wants to shine to not only herself, but the whole damn world, is a balancing act I gladly take on.

       When I'm governed by my own choices, the expectations I have in my life can be as grand or as small as I'm willing to risk. We all wake up the same, we all have the same amount of minutes in a day and we all have the chance to reach out and create whatever we feel like building around ourselves. Isn't that the divine part of that thing we call life?

Let the beatings and the belly jelly wave commence~~~~~~

Of course, I'll never give up the most glorious sport I have. Fly Fishing~~

This summer on the Madison River. Squinting into the blaring sun :o)

Game Plan

       It's official, and with a pang of guilt and sigh of relief, I've turned off all journal alerts. I did this dramatic maneuver this morning after deleting the 400 hundred plus alert emails I had in my box. I carefully placed everyone's journals in my favorites section in one monster list of a line.

       This way, when I sign on, I can leisurely go through and enjoy every precious comment alert I receive. I believe I'll finally be able to respond quickly and in a timely manner to the wonderful personal emails I receive. After doing this dramatic action this morning, I got home this evening and had only 7 emails. 2 comments, 3 personal emails, and 1 writers notification and 1 spam. It felt good.

       It's my fault of course, cruising through journals all these months, finding interesting and great reads. I'd come across a journal and think "Oh thats good" and click that alert me as entries are posted. Well, lets just put it this way, I clicked MANY and OFTEN and my email box soon reflected such happy go lucky clicking.

       I'll find a way to keep up with everyone. I do enjoy visiting others journals. I'm sure most of you have been comment spammed by me more then once. Thats my form of catching up when I haven't been by in a while.

       The only downside to catching up in one fell swoop like that, is that I've found more then once, something has happened to someone, something I feel I should have been on top of things right away to offer support, thoughts, congrats, you name it, and I come along a week later.

       Hmmm, maybe this is me once again admitting I'm not the Superwoman I wish I was. Having a full time job, being a full time Mommy <my entire full time job is structured around my girls schedules> attempting to fit in writing a book, keeping up with extended family, friends, life, and of course, we can't forget about those darling things that NEVER go away like laundry, dishes, mowing, and every other household chore bestowed upon me. Toss in journaling, well, that could be a part time job like hours if you let it, and at times, it seems I've done exactly that.

       In a conclusion type caveat, I guess what I'd like to say at this point in time to those who I've always read your journals. I'm still reading, and you'll know when I've been by to catch up. The times may not be as frequently, but trust me, you'll know...............

       Now, I'm taking back journaling to a more personal level. I think thats what my entries will reflect from now on. Hopefully my cutting back will afford the extra time to post more often.

       Thats all, just writing out my new game plan. Write all week, catch up with other journals sporadically when time provides and use my Sundays as comment spam catching up day~~

By the way, do you all realize just how much we all write??? Well let a person who had over a hundred alerts clicked tell it like it is.............A LOT :o)

Wait, come back, one more thing and it's important. I've really enjoyed it when some of you have written me a personal email letting me know about a special entry you've done. For those I always get right over, and I invite everyone and anyone to drop me a personal line when you've written something you want to make sure I see. Remember, I don't have my alerts anymore, so I'll be fishing in the dark so to speak~~~ Thanks!!

The written word is the choicest of all relics~~

Shazam, Kerplow

       When I was young, I used to dream about the freedoms adulthood would certainly bring. The nice house in an upstanding neighborhood. The strong and supportive husband, mowing perfect lines in the lush green grass. The sweet 2 kids playing on the swing set in the backyard. One Lassie type dog bouncing through the backyard chasing the ball thrown by the .2 child and one fat cat lounging on the comfy couch swatting at one singular fly that found it's way through the bug defenses. And me, the smiling woman, wife, mother, would be swinging in a hammock looking up frequently from a fantastic book, to absorbs the sights of my happy family.


       Well, it was a nice thought anyway. I think I'm a warped version of June Cleaver. All pretty to look, a commercial for 'can do it all woman' in pearls and heals. Except old smiling June had Ward to bring home the bacon and the kids walked to school and sporting events. Ughhh, I'm one of those Super WonderWoman types. Thats just swell, really really swell. Ward, where the hell are you? Oh, ok dear, I understand, the couch still needs company, swell, thats just swell dear, pop another pill for thy delicate condition.

       I'm tired this week. So how does one call in for backup? This Superwoman is behind on just about any and everything required of a SuperWoman. Being a Superwoman has it's downsides, it really does. It isn't all about pretty lassos and magical accessories. I look through my Palm Pilot and see it's massive time dictation and groan from the weight of it all.

       Like a fine super steak, I attempt to trim the fat off the Superwoman duties, yet, I find I'm basically cooking lean. Not much to toss in the disposal, at all. Working this hard for survival is getting old. I look at myself now, and I look to the future and wonder if I'll really be able to maintain this current rate for the next 10 years.

       I've been cultivating a dream for a while now. As soon as the youngest is scooted out the door, I'm selling the house, and gleefully flipping off my yard, selling all personal possession of any size, and moving into a modest Townhouse on the river, where yard boys are hired to maintain the outside. With this monster downgrade, bills will be held to a minimum and I will walk away from my business, without a second look back, ok probably flipping it off too. I will live as simple and unencumbered as humanly possible.

       I had the childhood dream of what I believed would bring freedoms. Now I have my mid adulthood dreams of what freedom will look like, I'm going to marinate in that one for a while.

# Footnote #
I have 391 emails. That is what I consider an impossible amount of alerts to catch up with. This Superwoman WILL catch up with everyone's journal, and hopefully it's before the time I'm 43 years old and living in my new Townhouse.

I hope everyone is happy, safe, loved, and swimming in the beautiful well of everlasting time.

Think About It

Revenge, ignore or vindication, that is the question~~

       Last December I had wrote about a very good friend of mine who had married a charismatic beast, then endured 3 years of beatings and verbal cruelty before finally drawing a line in the, protect my life, category with another beating, drowning attempt.  http://journals.aol.com/justaname4me2/InTheShadowOfTheIris/entries/1075 <the story of how this happened>

       I have to say, going through all of the legal BS, was enlightening and unbelievably frustrating for all those involved. How the court system makes a victim endure repulsive attacks, and allows for tiny little minuscule cracks in the system to work in the favor of the criminal and leans towards the 'rights' of the criminal is just disgusting, if not down right apprehensible.       

       The criminal is not in jail at this time, he does not have to wear his GPS unit anymore, forms of personal alarm systems, compliments of the state are no longer sponsored at my friends home. Sure, there are monster restraining orders in place and the criminal is on probation for the next couple of years, but he walks the streets. <No, he did NOT do the punishment with the crime, he had a damn good lawyer and the police department messed up some of their investigation which the bloodhound lawyer used to his pure delights>

       Interestingly enough, the criminals work, his self employment line of making a living, is a sub-sect of the type of business I am in. Meaning, our lines have good and potential for crossing over each other.

       I will admit here, that I have made sure and kept any and everyone in my line of influence, fully aware of this snakes capabilities and public criminal record. I feel that if you earn the right to carry the identification and conviction of Domestic violence and Battery and Assault and a few other choice kept charges, the whole damn world should know. He earned it, why not let the world be aware? <because of a few police faults, attempted murder was dropped, along with the majority of his sentence was suspended alaprobation time to hang over his head.>

       I guess I feel, there is no excuse to let this man slink into the darkness and pretend he's some sort of upstanding man. He's good like that, a regular Ted Bundy. I am not the only one that feels this way. It feels like there are outposts staged throughout this little city, keeping an eye on the snake and a hand on the telephone just waiting for more reasons to call the police on him. Trust me, there have already been a few reasons and the calls have been made.

       If he continues to break his probation, the huge jail time looming over his head is eventually going to come crashing down on his demented life. At least thats what all of us outposts are wishing for.

       The reason for my entry today, is because I received the call last night, indicating the Beast has moved shop to a new city to perform his line of work. I was appalled to discover he has moved his work and residence to my precious little tiny Mountain town. MY HAVEN, my little escape, my cabin.

       He was discovered drinking at the little local bar up there, it seems someone had hired him to do work for a new subdivision that is going in. Now, my little cabin retreat is only about 55 minutes from the city. So this isn't a case of a snake going to a new place to start over, or live a reborn life. In his field he has to go where the work is, and more importantly, where no one knows he has 15 judgments and 100 mechanical leans thrown against him because he doesn't pay people or bills.

       I have one set of relatives who live up there full time. My parents, two other sets of relatives and I, are classified as weekenders. I feel, in either the label of revenge, vindication, public awareness, and downright justice, it is again my duty to inform as many people up there, of the capabilities of this man.

       If it's public record, i.e. criminal record, and the public record of bad liens and judgments, this is not a case of simply slandering someone for my own enjoyment <although I do get a generous amount of perverted smiles from such antics>

       Starting first with making sure the one and only bar owner is perfectly aware that this man is on probation and with that knowledge if he serves such animal he is also standing in the potential of breaking the law. Thankfully, I know the Bar owner personally, he's a sweet little man who always eats at the Sunday breakfast given by the Senior Center. (note: because he's an alcoholic and severely failed his alcohol evaluation, he is NOT allowed to drink the entire duration of his probabtion>
      
       I will resist the urge to print the mans mug shot and post it to every fence post around, I promise. But I have no qualms about making sure the whole town knows a snake has arrived.

       Now, on a last note, I understand that reading this may make people believe I am playing a dangerous game with a proven criminal. Yes, but rest assured, everything the outposts and I have done and will continue to do are done from the anonymous side of a telephone, directly to the police, or on the sly with no trace back to personal accountability possible. We like to think we are smarter then the criminal. 

       The worst thing I've done that could get me busted or directly blamed, is this entry.

Now think about it, would you, or would you not, do this very thing if someone you love had been hurt in such a horrendous way by another, and he was released back into the world to look for his next victim? 

Four, Fore, Forgettabout It

Since I am still reeling from my humiliating experience this afternoon, I figure I'll type this one out for either sympathy or cheap entertainment value at my expense. I'm thinking it will lean to the last choice~~~~~

       Golf. Yes, this is about ugly pants, golf clubs and whacking a little innocent ball around. Now, I don't golf. I've really never had the desire to golf, I believe it felt like too "wimpy" of a sport for me to participate. I usually lean to the rougher side of athletics, and my impression of golfing, golfers, wasn't held in my priority of things to try out, like say, skydiving...........

       Either way, I've found myself in a business where it seems everyone participates in golfing. Want to do business? Go golfing. Want to grease the wheels with a client? Go stinking golfing. Want to do something for charity? Go freaking golfing. Want to waste a day away instead of working? Go bloody golfing. It seems, I am the only one out of the loop with this whole golfing phenomenon.

       So I throw in my resistance and buy ugly shoes, a cute Nike golfers glove and sign myself up for lessons. 

       A colleague recommended a golf course and a certain "Golf Pro" for my lessons. I made the call and set up weekly lessons. I've suffered through two. This is the over view of my experience and trauma.

Lesson # 1 last week      
      
       I felt like a child on the first day of school walking into unfamiliar territory, i.e., Golf shop in the Country Club. I realized I probably should have dressed a bit more "uppity" because others parading around had a certain "look" and I did not fit the criteria. I figured that to fit in I would need an entire makeover in a split second and my appointment was in 5 minutes. I decided not to buy a new outfit and quickly change in the bathroom, and just suffer with looking out of place. Fine, no biggie, I could handle the plastics checking me out.

       What I wasn'tprepared for was Adonis David, my golden golf instructor. If there is a GQ Golf Magazine, the man looks like he belongs on the cover. This isn't the type of beauty I wanted hovering over me as I learned the fine art of whacking a little white ball. His beauty made me nervous, his sparkling white smile blinded my vision and his masculine cologne distracted my thought process. He looked like a God in designer Golf wear. Not Good.

       He handed me some sort of club, I believe a 9 iron or a whacker iron, oh hell who knows....... and escorted me out to the green. Let the humiliation begin.

       Now, I must say here to those who golf. Bravo, well done, love the whole form thing <I'm kidding it's a revolting manipulation of body parts>. My Adonis of Golf had laid his back over mine, ran his finely toned arms down my own and cradled his hands around mine all in the name of showing me fine form. This was the classic 'spooning' except there wasn't a bed in sight...........

        I was drowning in the smell of him, I wanted to die. I wanted to run for the hills and get out of this highly uncomfortable position. Then my God Of Golf starts correcting me, with lines like "straighten your forearm" while running his hands over my skin to align me correctly. Oh and we can't forget this one, "you need to keep your hips pointed parallel in front of you even as you swing" while taking my hip bones into his hands and holding me in place. It was pure hell.

       To cut a long lesson # 1 story short. I figured out how to swing, in this one short lesson. In fact as King David exclaimed, I'm a natural. With ability he's never seen on a first timer blah blah blah. I could whack that little ball 220 yards precisely and with deadly aim. It even began to feel like a game for him. Him saying "See if you can hit that tree over there" and I'd align in my uncomfortable position and whack, I'd hit the tree. Then he'd pick another target, etc., etc. My lesson went an extra 15 minutes for him to puppet master me around the green.

       But I left that lesson feeling pretty puffed up and cocky like. A natural, I kept thinking, Master David thought I was spectacular. Visions of the PGA tour and plaid skirts flashed into my mind. His last words lingering in my mind, "Rebecca, I cannot wait to put the power of a driver in your hands"            

The God David was my Master and I was his PGA tour apprentice.

Lesson # 2 Today's humiliation

       I'm female and this was Adonis David, I admit, I bought a new outfit for the occasion, splashed myself with my best smelling cologne and even applied lip gloss. If this falls into the line of typical, well so be it, you can't hang with a God and not look presentable. Besides, what if someone accidentally took a picture of me and it was featured in Golf Pro magazine someday as "Rebecca, before she won the PGA tour" No snickers, it could happen, at least that was my mind set before today~~

       I met with my Master in the Golf shop and he looked delighted to see me. He instantly started feeding my PGA filled mind with more strokes to the ego. Saying things like "I've told all the guys around here how far you could hit, how good your aim is, how amazing you are,," etc., etc.........My ego and attitude floated to the 18th hole and back. Yoda David grabbed two clubs and started directing me onto the driving range. We settled into our spot and I started the warm up process, thankfully, he had to correct me several times. Meaning, the touches of a God.....yessssssssss........

       I only dug a ravine in the grass once and was on my merry way of pleasing my instructor, eager for more kudos when our haven was interrupted by two more Princes. David was King like, and these two seemed well on their way, therefore I thought to myself, princes of Golf. I wasn't excited for this new intrusions, in fact, hitting for an audience didn't sound like fun any way I looked at it. But my darling David, his voice beaming with pride, explained to them that I was indeed his prodigy golf baby that he had been telling them about.

       I had no choice but to make David proud of his new student.  Like a puppet, I began hitting the little white ball where instructed. Listening to the conversation with a smile and swelling ego. My balloon of pride was floating to the heavens and I just knew we were all witnessing a divine golf miracle.

       And then, one of my Princes turned into the Prince of Darkness. With one statement he turned his bow, the crusher of dreams, to the sky and sent an arrow through my balloon of pride.

"Oh, I know why she can hit so damn far," he said in a sheer moment of brillance,"Look at her chest, she's so flat that she doesn't have to compensate over or under breasts like other woman do."

And to make matters worse, Prince two turned into the Prince of nightmares and chimed in, "Ya, she's kinda built like a man, tall and lean, with narrow hips. Thats why she can keep everything lined up so well!"

       Whoooshhhh, airball, whiffed, missed, whatever the hell golfie's call it. I missed the damn ball. All concentration went zipping away with my erratic burst balloon of pride. Gone, crushed, smashed like the chest they were referring too. Visions of PGA were replaced with heading to the next plastic surgeon for implants of fake vanity. Crimson shades of appalled embarrassment flushed across my face. I was horrified and furthermore, embarrassed to the point of dire consequence. My natural abilities had evidently fell into the ditch with my mentally bashed ego.

       Ruined emotionally before I'd even had the chance to show my stuff with a driving iron.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       I think everyone has a vanity sore spot. Whether it's legs too short, nose too big, a butt to small, or a butt too big and with me, it's always been about my chest. Thats right folks, I'm not part of the Victoria Secret club. Wonderbra really only works if you have something marginally big enough to start with.

       I believe I could have heard anything else, but that one. I flubbed, flustered, flogged and cursed every other ball I hit after that. Why oh why, did my natural ability fly out the window with the Prince of Darkness callous remarks about my body type. Was he just trying to justify in his mind why I could hit the ball as far as he could? I don't know, but I do know he is officially an ass in my book and I walked off the green today deflated, figuratively and I guess literately if ya know what I mean, and ego-less.

       I've decided I'm leaving golf for the Over and Under the breasts ladies. Next up, I'll try Skydiving. I'm sure parachute straps won't care if I'm flat or large. Although, with that sport, it may be about straps to the side or up the middle. Who knows, but I've resisted making the call to the surgeons of buoyancy. I mean come on, what if I bought some big bazooka's and they impeded my flyfishing!

I couldn't resist

I found this over at Ari's world Reflections of Ari and didn't do so great on her quiz. I also saw it over at Chris's journal Inane thoughts and insane ramblings and did alittle better on his quiz.

I couldn't resist. Here is my personal quiz. Give it a try, test your knowledge of the great and powerful Rebecca. Ya, well ok, that was overkill, but it should be fine fun anyway~~~

 

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

 

And then the scoreboard to check the results~~

Hey Ari and Chris, how the heck to do I post the whole scoreboard thingy?

Tech stuff, I abhor it~~

How about just a comment for now, letting me know how you did :o)
   

IN-Significant

Conception of time and significance of date, this is the day for pause. I find it interesting how insignificant a person can feel on such a day. From the safe bubble of my reality, I look beyond the boundaries of my sheltered State of Idaho. The bombings of other cities, divine natural disasters ala Katrina, and even beyond to other countries of turmoil. War, tsunami's, dictatorships, earthquakes, volcano's, pick your poison.

Conception of perception in a reality built in a padded corridor. That is how I've lived my life.

I have never feared weather. I don't know what the slice of an ice storm feels like, or the sounds of snapping powerlines and tree's falling from a frozen state. I've never felt the unrelenting stroke of the sun, and feared for anyone in the heat. I know not what the sounds of a hurricane sounds like pounding outside my doors, or the measure of strength a tornado tearing my countryside apart. I don't know if a blizzard is terrifying or beautiful in it's own right. I have never felt the tugs of survival at my doorstep, nor the fear of my life or my families. I do not know anything but love and admiration for my nature, my Mother Earth, because I have never stood in her path of destruction.

On 9/11 I stood helplessly, safely and most insignificant in front of my TV watching the violence and devastation from a TV. Thoughts of war, thoughts of safety for my family did indeed fill my mind, yet, from the safety of my living room, I thought either with ignorant innocence, or disbelief, that my Idaho was still a pretty safe haven. On a terrorist list, we'd be one of the last to even bother with.

But that feeling, is something I can remember, a feeling of realism, a pin prick to the bubble of my sheltered state boundaries. I watched in fear and hope, to those running from an inexcusable assault against innocent people. I was riveted from the safety of my home that day. Watching something my mind could barely conceive, on TV.

I've realized, again, with the results of what just occurred with Katrina, that nothing bad has ever happened in my life. Things that I've felt were bad, have no comparison to the measuring stick of those that have lived through such things.

My compassion and heartache has always gone out to those who have gone through such things. I feel the only way I can reach into those situations is through my heart and mind. With physical distance and emotional connection, it's the best I've been able to do. Even then, I've felt my emotional connection couldn't compare to anything another person who has been directly effected by such disasters. This is where the insignificant follows suit. Even reaching for a check book, sending away donations and well wishes seems on the whole, not significant enough.

I've read in many journals these last few weeks, others disregarding the things that have them down, problems they may be having, issues of life, love, work, and anything else reality produces. Negating their personal issues in lieu of others with much more difficult paths right now. I understand and comprehend why feeling angry over something mundane or typical may seems like a perversion of reality in the face of what others are dealing with. Yet, physical reality is born of day to day life and emotional contemplation of issues is what we humans are good at.

We deal with what is placed at our feet. Whether that is a hurricane, or a fight with our neighbor. It is what it is, however insignificant or by design, significant. It all keeps marching on, whether we feel the pause, or freeze in the spotlight of tragedy.

Then again, maybe I am the naive, innocent, sheltered mountain girl from the backwoods of Idaho. But I believe you need the inconceivable, to measure your compassion, you need heartache to appreciate the beauty of love ala special, you need the black and the white. The good mingled with the bad, and the devastating with the amazing stories of humanity to follow.

On this day I feel the need to accept the insignificant with the spectacular significant and blend them for a co-existence of reality.............

Honesty or not, that is the ?

       "Mom, I know when we talked before, you told me you experimented with drugs and alcohol when you were a teen. I was wondering, what kind of drugs did you do and how did it feel?" asked the 13 year old daughter of Rebecca, AKA Mom. "Oh and how often did you do them?" 

       I knew, from the moment I conceived a child, that I held a past I didn't want to reveal to my children or really anyone else for that

matter.

        I discovered I was pregnant when I was a mere child of 19 years old, a teen statistic, an unmarried, wild child. Ironically, just a month before I found out I was pregnant, I had begged my parents to let me move back home, to clean up, sober up, get off drugs, and salvage what I could reclaim of the high school diploma I missed getting by 3 credits. You don't pass if you never show up for school~~

       Discovering I was pregnant, was probably the best thing that ever happened to me in the sense I did a complete 180 turn. It wasn't easy, in fact it was a life changing and a turning point. The road I was on was heading absolutely no where, and quickly. My parents had to hide me from "friends" and "others" who were constantly trying to find me. I had to remove myself from anyone and everyone I knew. At least, my mind was clear enough to understand I had life inside my belly and I found it very easy to refrain from drinking, smoking pot, snorting anything and worse.

       I found the moment I removed myself from the "crowd" I could see clearly and felt the need to be in the center of it all gone with utter conviction. I've never touched another drug since.....

       Now, I gaze into the eye's of the little girl who helped her Mother more then I could ever explain to her, and wonder how far my honesty should be extended. I sometimes sit and listen to other Mothers, who seem to have no problem telling their children all the interesting things they did when they were teens. One of my daughters friends has a Mother who, in front of Shelby and her daughter, told us wild and crazy stories about stealing cars, getting drunk when she was a teen and having sex with her boyfriend on a park bench. I was not amused by this story. I was not amused by her clear lack of boundaries and information. This was a story she told us while sitting at the bleachers of a softball game, told purely for either entertainment value or self bonding with the teens. Again, I was not amused.

       But then, am I the one that has an unrealistic expectation here? Because of my experience, I know the pitfalls, I have many contingency plans already formulated and ready for the battlefront if needed. My parents, were good parents, they were the Walton's and I turned into a child from the twilight zone. They had no idea how to handle me, help me, and control the girl who once was so good.

       This is where I know my children are at a distinct disadvantage. As I have already explained to them, if they try it, I'll know it. If they sneak it, I'll know it. If they were to come home and their pupils were dilated one millimeter too small, I'll spot it.

       I don't deny the fact that I've been preparing for their teenagehood since I had them. Probably even giving it too much thought and measure, but I am determined not to let my daughters ever go as deep as I fell. I'm not naive enough to believe there won't be issues and problems as they assert their independence from me. I expect it actually.

       But with that, it brings me right back to how honest should a parent be in regard to a past they aren't proud of?

       I can honestly say at this point in time, I've done a great job of raising my daughters. They are both great students, honest, and rarely if ever actually get into trouble. They are respectful, gracious, well-mannered, happy and strong of character.
Does that mean they are ticking time bombs of teenage hell waiting to go off like I did once? Or will I manage to maneuver them through this next 5 and 8 years without any devastating blows to their real future?

       Would honesty about my past help, or distract from the values and expectations I've already implemented? I know in life, what will happen, happens, but as a parent, I feel a responsibility to help them, guide them and fight for them.I've been ready, willing and doing that since they were born. I imagine I'll do that till the day I pass away.

       I'll continue with whats worked so far and continue to lay bricks in the foundation I've tried to help build underneath them all these years.

       And I'll continue to secretly chant counter curses to the curse my Mother once yelled at me when I was a teen. I believe it went something like this, " I hope you have daughters someday, because you'll deserve every single little thing they do to you when they are teens!"

       I knew both times I was pregnant, within weeks and until the day they were born I was having a girl. I didn't even bother picking boys names...........
Curses are good like that~

Your Fine? I'm Fine~~

       This is purely defensive writing. I don't like that other entry being the first thing I see when I come to my zone. So I'm going to write much adieu about nothing. This is vanity saving, selfish writing.

Hi. Hello. How are you today?

       Your fine? Oh, all right, me too. Just honkey dory fine too.

        Fine is a word to define a million thoughts. Fine should be a forbidden answers to the classic "how are you." My favorite is asking a person who looks really pissed off how they are doing and they respond in a brisk FINE. Warning, move away from this fine as quickly as possible.

       I think woman have the entire "I'm fine" perfected. When hearing this from a woman friend, I've found you must pay attention to the tone, quickness or drawn out way of how she said it, and especially the look in her eye's. A slow fine, can say, I'm whooped tired and have a million things left to do today. A tense fine could mean she's ready to kill the next person who touches a nerve, and crisp high pitched fine can be translated as a fu*# off. I find great interest in translating everyone's fines. I heard 6 this morning at the office, it was fine fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       By the way, I haven't sported any new journals I've found lately on my journal. This seems like a fine day to do such a thing. Just a couple, although I should list about 20 I've found lately~~~

Have you all missed the zany pages of Tilly over at   Adventures of a desperately fat housewife ? If you haven't stopped by there, I highly recommend it. The woman has a knack for writing a story that you can't get enough of. I once commented that I didn't think screen writers could come up with better material then her real life escapades. I suggest everyone sponge up her writing now, before an editor discovers her and she's not allowed to write anymore for free.

Now, she's the well known in the world of Journals,but did you know Floralilia also has a journal that highlights certain paragraphs or sayings of other journals? succulent wisdom - juicyness from j-land It is a wonderful place to discover other journals and writers. I look forward to seeing highlighted journals and their wonderful words. I believe you can also recommend to her writings you've found. I've seen them and she calls them "Drive by's"

I've found this writers attention to detail, and musings of everything from the local neighborhood to the seven deadly sins interesting and thought provoking reading. It's good to read that which takes your mind in and tosses it around a bit and sits you back in your chair. Take a peek at Hadons words at The Hadonfield Myers Experience, if you haven't already found his popular pages.

Derek over at Celebration of My Exhistance  is a new journal I've been following for a while. I love his pictures and his writings of memories and daily life. He's a good soul and you can feel it shining off his pages. He takes a peek into inner workings, outer workings and also gets a person thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok, thats good enough for now.
By the way, how are you today??????

Rebecca Anne

~ @ ~

Alright, I was tagged twice, first by Derek over at   Celebration of My Exhistance and then by Ari at Reflections of Ari  . Must be in the cards, or else there is no escaping this one. Thank you both of you for thinking of me :o) 

7 Things I Plan To Do Before I Die
1) Write, finish, publish a book even if it kills me, kills me, kills me

2) Live out of the State of Idaho, even if it's a short period of time

3) Take a 6 month sabbatical alone traveling and exploring any damn place I feel like going

4) Be a wonderful, spoil them rotten, buy them loud toys, Grandma that they know they can always call and I'd be on their side

5) Commit my heart, mind, life, time and love to one man

6) Become a united front with myself

7) See item #1 again

7 Things I Can Do

1) Fly fish with the best of them

2) Race a mountain bike down a cliff hanger of a Mountain without fear

3) Write

4) Help anyone in need

5) Paint, sculpt, draw

6) Give freely of myself

7) Believe in people

7 Things I can't Do

1) Touch a worm <double shudder and cringe>

2) Cook without painful and sometimes devastating results

3) Sing~EVER

4) Touch a worm <repulsive> Oh, wait, I already typed that. Well damnit I meant it.

5) Sleep

6) Give up

7) Graciously accept a compliment

7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex

1) Come on, do I really have to do this one?

2) I claim the 5th

3) Ripples of muscle circa Arnold Mr. Universe era

4) Oh all right, just kidding, But "I'll be back" seems to be the Mantra of the men I don't want in my life.

5) I seem to remember doing something like this with a certain question about Mr. Ideal

6) When you buy a house, you have to do a property disclosure form. I'm thinking of starting a dating disclosure. It will start with this question first "Are you mentally insane or just marginally screwed up," Only check one please.

7) Really, at this stage of the game, I'd take nice, willing to take out trash, mow the lawn, and no yelling, ranting, raving and psychotic episodes.

& I should have skipped that whole section, I believe that was my solution to not being in the mood for it. And as the great Forrest Gump would say, "Thats all I'm gonna say about that"

7 Things I say Most Often

1) Good Gawd <yes I know thats bad, but well, I inherited it from my Mother, the queen of exasperated Good Gawdssssss" >

2) Seriously?

3) Did you take your meds?

4) Where's my car keys?!!

5) Give me some luvin <To my daughters>

6) Let me understand this correctly

7) Simple enough

7 Celebrity Crushes

1) I'm drawing a blank

2) I need to watch more TV

3) I'm so outta the loop

4) Ohh Ohh I know one, I had a twinge of a crush on Harry Connick Jr., circa Hope Floats

5) Hmmm this is a good one too, Angelina Jolie. Yep thats right, she's a chick, but damn~~~

6) If I reach way back, I remember drooling over Johnny Depp circa 21 Jump Street

7) I give up, my mind is too far away from crushes and such right now

7 People I want to do this

Well, I've been dragging my typing fingers doing this, so I know LOTS of people have done this already.

So, here's the deal, if you haven't already been tagged or done this.

CONSIDER THIS YOUR TAGGED.

Thats right, no sneaking away without commenting, I have my ways of checking to see if you've been here. I'll expect to find a full blown report of your seven things on your pages shortly.

No cheating, no running, no tag backs.

Don't be afraid, it couldn't be any worse then what I've just disgraced myself with~~

See ya on the flip side

Me Jane, You Tarzan

"Hellooooo darlin, how are you today?" asked the character with a distinguished grin, while brushing her golden mane of well coifed hair away from her cherry kissed cheeks.

Ughhh.

It isn't really a secret that I've embarked on the mostly painful adventure of writing a book. Since I am frustrated with my endeavor, I thought I would spill some of the delightful issue's I've run across here on my journal among writer friends.

Writer friends are basically anyone with the ability to write a journal entry for public consumption or read an entry from another journal. Thats a bit what writing a book is like right? You write, you publish and you hope people take the time to read. So if your reading this, that makes you a writer friend <wink>

I have discovered, I am pulling A LOT of personal experience into my writing. Now, I've heard and read, that authors often write what they know most, on their first venture out the gate of book writing. I fit that mold to a tee. Now, with any good life experience, and a knack for spinning a tale, I believe what I've written so far is on the way to producing a possible book. My fears lie in the fact that should I ever cross the nearly impossible barrier into actual publishing territory, I will have to purchase every book that came into my town so that anyone who actually knows me in reality wouldn't have the opportunity to read it.

Idea's of my family, aghast, my Father, or Grandmother reading my words give's me the hebbie jeebies. Now, thats not just because of the familiarity or possible similarities that my writing may or may not produce in comparison to some of my life's adventures. It's about tossing myself under a microscope of writing ability, story ability, and general all out putting myself on the line. Yikes with a capital Y. So that extends to just about every person in the world that knows me. Ya, I'm trying to get over that little issue.

Next, I've decided I hate dialogue. Hate with a capital H. With simple words you can turn a normal conversation into a cheesy vortex of crap. Cryptic idle mish mashing of talk, or fluid strokes of conversation genius. There seems to be no in between. I have decided, writing dialogue is either something you are gifted at and type out in nice even symmetry, or you're stuck in the struggle lane as I am and moan and groan over every little word.

"I be Jane" said the woman with double D breasts in the bikini top.
"I be Tarzan" said the big beefy pile of manly biceps in a man thong.

Ya, it's fun like that.

Next up is word count. I've officially banned myself from performing Word counts. I never realized how little words add up to when you are actually aiming for a goal of them. The whole "I'll write a thousand words today" is a gloomy cloud of rain splattered ambition. If and when I get half way to that kind of goal, the writer gods start tossing out merciless thunderbolts of lightening in my mind that shatter any brilliant train of thought. When I align myself with word count goals, I find myself loosing precious time achieving the goal of a number rather then achieving decent story line.

Description. See above with Tarzan dialogue. There seems to be a fine line of description that is fluid and natural and down right grotesque word manipulation. See first line in this entry for example. Yuck. Writing about flaxen beauties and dripping sweat of anticipation just kills me. I can't do it. I cannot cross the line into that descriptive territory. All hail Nora Roberts. I bow to your bravado.

Revision and perfectionism. Evidently, I am not one of those people who can just write out a story, finish, and then go back and revise. I am a content reviser. Back and forth, too and foe I go. I mean come on, what if I was to die tomorrow and someone inherits my laptop and reads what I had started? Would they know everything was just a try out for now? Nope, can't do it. Evidently, in my reading of "how to write a book" this type of mentality is not good. So, for now, damned the good. I'll be a rule breaker.

All right, thats enough whining for today. I have to get back to the painful process of writing what Jane says to Tarzan next. It could go something like this "Tarzan, your muscles and man thong make me ache from my dark place of desire and I must take you into my treehouse of passion."


Hmmm ok, for simple clarification, that is NOT the type of book I'm attempting to write. I'll leave that type of writing for the pros~~~

Infamous

The Dark Side Of Infamous Reputation.

       At a public event this weekend I was confronted once again with my past. First of all, any conversation that starts with the word "Becky" means only two things. Family who bless them, but I've been trying for 13 years to make them call me Rebecca and they get it right about 60% of the time. Or it's from a past I stepped as far away from as I could.

       So when I hear "Becky is that you? Aren't you Becky xyz and didn't you go to High school xyz??" internal warning bells and denial of existence goes into high alert syndrome.

       I stared at this woman without an ounce of recognition on my part and I had to do the unthinkable and ask, "I'm sorry, but what was your name?" To which she gave it and still, not a flicker of memory, not a slice of oh, ok, I know who you are. I had to ask the next unthinkable, "Umm did we hang out during those years?" to which she replied with a chuckle of amazement, "OH NO, we never hung out, I was scared to death of you for 2 years, I thought you were going to kick my ass."

       At this point, my confused look probably turned to a crushed mode of "I'm sorry" and thoughts of "how did I wrong this person" crept in at rapid speed. I did the humble move, asked and apologized at the same time. "I'm so sorry, what did I do to you?"

       She explained to me, that one day, between classes, as we passed in the hallway, she was certain I had given her a very cross look. Thats it. No words ever spoken, no banter or verbal fight. Just a look. Yet, with one look, and an infamous reputation, I held this gal in mental fear until I had finally graduated. I decided I couldn't really take credit for that one, I had no idea who this gal was and never had given one minute of thought to her, yet, she explained how she avoided me at all costs for 2 years.

That is, the brutal cost, of leaving an impression, good, bad, and indifferent.

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Under the guise of compassion, I have found, I have gotten myself into a multitude of trouble over the years. Compassion, has it's beautiful side, and compassion has it's darker side.

       During the years, formerly known as Becky, I was the protector of all my friends. I discovered during those years, that just about anyone could do anything to me, and I would let it roll off my shoulders, take it with a grain of salt, and let it roll away. But just the incredible opposite, when one of my friends were in any sort of danger, specifically physical danger, from an opposing bad ass, or bully, I would come charging out of the gates fist drawn, a "If you want to hurt my friend, you'll have to get through me" attitude.

       Like turning a light bulb on and off, that was my tolerance fuse for others picking on people, especially people I cared about. It landed me in trouble a few times, most who know me can't understand how it could be possible I can claim having a battery and assault on my record, but it is true. Done and received for protecting a friend.

       I can honestly say, I never once initiated a fight, I never instigated any sort of physical or verbal exchange, I never started anything on my own accord. But I certainly finished things when I felt someone else was in over their head. Hence, the infamous reputation was formulated. Becky knew how to fight, courtesy of a Father who taught her the ropes of being tough enough to protect herself and a brother who was pure physical fighting hell.

       It took some time, for me to realize, that my friends became fully aware that I would be there to protect them, and they began to use such assurance as a green light to strut around and dredge up any type of conflict they felt like. They took my compassion and determination for protecting them, to an upper stage of friendship usage. It took time, to realize, that my desire to protect those I cared about, was used as a circus act at parties and ordinary school days. It took many factors in the equation of that stage of my life, but I eventually removed myself completely from the world of Becky and became Rebecca.

       Becky has only emerged once since then, when I was about 24 and at a downtown nightclub, I walked past a scene where 2 men were beating up a single man. Becky took over before Rebecca could explain the rational aspects of taking on 2 grown men, but Becky couldn't stand to see one man in such an out numbered position. I don't know who was more shocked, me, or the 2 men, or the man who I was trying to help. But I dove into that mess without regard to myself and emerged alittle bloody, but feeling like I did the right thing to have helped put a stop to the madness.

       The underdog, always gets my vote. I've realized, that although Becky is part of my past, she is still here. My nature has just evolved in different forms. I've realized people in my life, still know I will stick by them through those tough moments and for the most part, they do not abuse that assurance. But, there is one, who knows this part of my nature and has creatively mastered the fine art of using the damaged, helpless part of his nature to keep me as part of the circus act. It feels at time's, I am helpless to fight such antics, that the compassion in me, comes pouring out at the moments of definitive closure and I land myself back to the playing bench of the game. So many time's, I have been one foot from touchdown, closure and then, however subtle, or right in my face I buckle to the guise of either guilt or obligation.

       Just as I felt I had to protect my friends, whether I wanted to fight another person or not, I feel I am faced with the same predicaments with this person. Is it a lack of courage to do what is right for myself? A sense of obligation to the broken and deranged or just simple stupidity........Multiplicity's of relationships with other people, keep me spinning in this corridor of indecision and haze. The moments of being/wanting complete selfishness rather then compassionate seem to fog the lines between right and wrong, so often in this little space I call my life.

       Living down Becky's reputation, is something that happens once in a while, living down the reputation of Rebecca is much more complex. Most of the people who know me, know my situation, have a very difficult time understanding. It's hard to explain as simple as it may sound, that obligation and feeling sorry for someone is what keeps me positioned to the very path I don't wish to be on.
      

Authentic

A penchant for life and compassion. Yes, this can be something I claim.

Sullen moments and days skipping along to the tune of bad taste and fresh insight. Although you'll never see through my eye's, I've come to understand my isolation isn't as individual as it once felt. 

      My scenery overlay's with each perspective and wisdom uncovered. The canvas grows within the exploration. Setting up the daytime protections and understanding the nighttime reflections has become the substance of my tenacious nature.

        To honor the perfectly wounded spirit, encompassed in it's serene self and exclusive destination. Is this the hypocrisy I measure life upon? I'm beginning to believe this game. To stand with acknowledged care in front of the beast and feign the safety smile is an art I've designed to side step the situation. Polar and Bi is a difficult trauma to endure. Carry on darlin, I can take it. A measure of endurance, yes, that is what this hypocrisy has become. Compassion be damned and skies be broken, it isn't my burden to claim.

       I wonder sometimes, through the haze of this narcoleptic coma, if the broken cries through these interior walls can be heard. Thou shall not speak little woman, the man said. To find the honest words, through the rhymes that walk me through the penance, is the peace of mind I seek.

        Thou shall not protest to the symbolism. With a tear on the past and a wish for the future, I'll hold on to a bright notion of hope. Clutching my dirty little secrets, until the absolution presents itself. Waiting on the precipice of life and obligation, tis a fine place to stand for now.  Fumbling the way through the choices, seems to be a human condition. I've found, I'm not as isolated as I once believed. There's a twisted comfort is this realization, I wasn't dealt the only disillusioned card in the stack.

       There's sanctuary in the hypocrisy, and it's even possible to agree with the enchantment of dreams. There's charm in such assumption, it brings forth the desire to prove such tactful notions correct. Conjure a thought, state the mission, proceed to the allotted choice and determine the outcome.

       Authentic musing from the circling eclectic side of life.
Carry On Darlin, I can Take It.
Someday.