Ambling Rambling

I am not quite sure I can articulate what’s going on in my lil’ ole’ brain lately. Lots of stuff in there (besides green slimy snot from my head cold, the precursor to my current chest cold), but I’m just not sure I can put the feelings in words.

How am I feeling these days?
Jumpy. . . Irritable. . . Touchy. . . Over stimulated. . . Unmotivated. . . Scared. . . Uncertain. . . Uncomfortable. . . Paralyzed.

I’m at that point where I just want to disappear and pop up somewhere new and reinvent myself one more time. I feel like I’ve opened myself up too far to some, not enough to others. I feel backed into a corner. I feel the need to pull back and regroup. I fear pulling back and regrouping for I fear no further progress will be made if I don’t keep moving constantly forward.



Then again maybe it’s just PMS, and if we all just wait long enough I’ll be better. Fair warning though that the first person to agree with that last statement will stumble away with at least one black eye. Grrrrrrr.


In a fit of midlife crisis thinking I am really badly wanting a tattoo – a basketball swishing through a hoop – at the top of my right arm.

Through very little snooping plus putting together information given to me by the blogger him or herself, I managed to locate the real life identity of one of the bloggers I read regularly. It made me feel happy that I was able to do it, but a little freaked out because I wondered if I would be as easy to find. After all, I know I’m not going to stalk my found blogger, but I’m not sure I could say the same if certain readers found me.

Then again, on a certain level I believe that I really do want to be “outted” at least to W. Part of me just wants to be who I am, to really be me rather than the façade that I have to show to keep peace. Another part of me is terrified for that to happen. After all, if W knew about all my shenanigans then it could impact custody of N, not to mention that W might just feel it necessary to share his knowledge with those who he knows I wouldn’t want to know.

My cold is better. Even the congestion in my chest is better. I still sound awfully gravelly when I talk though so no singing allowed for a bit until this gets better. No need in hurting the vocal cords.

I love to sing and have a decent singing voice (even been told that by professional singers). Maybe due to vanity but I wish I could find a church where I could sing the occasional solo or in a small ensemble instead of just being one of many in the choir. Why do church musicians have to be so darn cliquey?
Occasionally, I have to remind myself that the one person you can never escape is yourself. No matter how far I run I will always be there. In other words, running ain’t gonna help nuttin’ so I might as well just stay put and keep on plugging away.

I fried okra the other night which I hadn’t done in a long time. I did it the real way, rolling thick slices in cornmeal and salt, and frying it up in a cast iron skillet, turning each piece with a fork so that every piece came out golden brown on both sides. Yum. So much better than any fried okra I ever get in restaurants. I think I’ll buy some squash at the farmer’s market and fry it up next.

The perfect summer dinner: Corn on the cob, green beans with a few shelly beans thrown in, fried okra and squash, cornbread, sliced tomatoes, iced tea (sweet of course). To make it really perfect, serve peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream for dessert. I can’t tell you the last time I had that particular supper, but we got pretty darned close the last time we were at my parents’ house.

For somebody who started out feeling like she couldn’t articulate her current thoughts well, I at least ended up with a large quantity, if not quality, of writing here. Guess I’m getting over that cold after all.