Jane Created

I'm home alone today.

It's been a while since I've had this much alone time.

As a single parent I had 9 years of it.

I attempted some bead craft today but was slightly unsuccessful,

..so I gave up.

I figure my writing can't miss.

The radio is blasting. I need that noise right now. sometimes being alone brings out the old voices in my head that I fight with.

NO , I'm not schizophrenic, nor do I have Multiple Personality Disorders, but we all fight with the memories, the conversations, prior, the movies we played a starring role in over the course of our lives.

I struggle with all of it sometimes, not sure how to chuck the tape out; so to speak.

Sometimes I wish I had the gift of amnesia...

but part of me fears that Alzheimers will set in instead.

I don't want that.

I've been working on my Jane book. A alternate character of me who fights with the voices in her head, the images that reflect in the mirror, and the drawings on her walls.

She sees life in everything while some of her world tries to strip it from her.

Her journals are a vast, abundant library of memories, experiences...and still they continue to be written.

Jane lives my life.

Sometimes I wish I lived hers.

At times she seems to have it all together, she has the right reactions , where , sometimes, I do not.

She is logical, and ultimately fulfilled.

each chapter bringing closure, where my real world cannot seem to connect with the end of certain circumstances.

I know I could probably sweep things under the carpet , or burn the journals....

but my fear is that Jane would cease to live.

Relationships with women have been difficult for me in the past....but right now, Jane is vital to my creativity. Through writing Jane's life, I can see deeper into mine, compartmentalize better, turn the page and begin tackling the next chapter.

Chuck the things not neccessary and then move on.

Yeah, It's been difficult, cleaning up the mess left behind by others, removing the dead bodies. The ones that don't matter anymore, those that have walked away, leaving their footprints all over your doormat.

Jane is not a doormat...

Neither am I.

I am a writer.

Alone time, is vital to my life, to my creative self.

It is the breath of Jane.....

My words have brought her life...

Like when God created the earth, he spoke and said "Be" and then he saw that it was good.

I am a writer.

I am Jane.

....and I am good.

Waiting Outside The Lines

Sometimes I picture my life,

with things swirling about me,

 called to a halt and I'm the only thing left with motion. 

 I reach out and touch the things that are within this whirlwind..

taking a confused glance at things,

yet trying from a different perspective. 

Today I feel like i am in a glass box.

  Limited . 

 Boundaries firmly in place.

  No windows or doors to allow me any escape.

Sometimes I feel like the rest of the world carries on,

 laughing,

socializing,

 succeeding.

I just sit in my house wondering what to clean up next.

I used to sit and knit.

but today, I will put my knitting away...

I need a purpose.

I need a reason.

I need to know how...and when, and where, and why........

....But What?

Who am I?

everyone else can give me an answer...but they don't sit right with me. 

Like a scarf you wear to add a bit of punch to your garment. 

..... and then you take it off. 

 It was never really you.

Just a scarf. 

Just some color.

Like an adjective.

or a post-it note stuck to the top of an assignment.

My ideas are blank....

or stuffed into  "File 13"....

somewhere unknown.

But what?

Who am I?

I look in the mirror and everything is blank. 

Instead,

 I take the old lady face cream from the cabinet,

and fill the lines and cracks in my face.

Fill the gaps , in the meantime.

I best go clean the house, so I can sit by the window later and watch the snow fall.

I wish the me from the future would come and cheer me up.

I wish she would come and tell me all the things I would do someday.

Right now, my anticipation is so foggy...that I see nothing ahead of me.

At present, I close my eyes and imagine the lottery and stuff to do...because i cannot picture it any other way.  It is all i desire right now.

At least with money you can do stuff,

 go places,

 try or learn things.

For now, 

 I guess I'll do the dishes.

The Wheat from the Tares

Separation, seems, now evident.....and friends are starting to emerge out of the woodwork.

....I am so looking forward to the newness of life emerging out here where I live.

I have given up the nail shop and will move forward in my efforts to be creative,

to craft,

and to write.

I cannot wait to discover the new successes which await me.

A great sifting has occured in my surroundings.

much like,

the sometimes,

sudden shift of fall.

This year it happened again.

What almost appeared to be a day of summer,

then a day of yellow branches,

to now ,

their death upon the ground ....

and we wait the blanket of Winter.



My life shifts as well..

.from being a popular small town business icon..

to being back at home,

cleaning house and crafting.



I will begin again.



Wake up each morning to write something.

Create life where things have fallen dead,

re-wake the words within me that desire to be printed.



Set a new schedule,

routine,

and a new boundary.....

and watch for my re-emergence like Springtime.



Success will blossom more full than previously thought!

I will write and create,

and move forward with it....

and create for me a new life,

a new name, a new success,

and a new income!



I will become what I was intended to be all along!

Blasted!

It seems,

as of late,

I wander through bits of debris.

Chaos and mess everywhere.

Brain shrapnel mostly..

pink and still breathing,

clinging to all that is life
within it's memory banks.

But I see memories scattered like shards of glass,

yet reading like shreds of newspaper.

I am desperate to read them, but they are hard to pick up.

Dangerous, actually.

I may cut myself in doing so.

I don't need any more wounds just yet....

I haven't healed up the old ones still.

These memories are mine.

Relationships torn,

things said,

reactions viewed

opinions forced,

Backs turned.

I look all around me,

and debris floats in the air around me looking for a place to settle...

Stuff I have forgotten,

yet i cannot control myself and pick things up and relive them

and open new wounds upon old wounds and feel them all over again...

my thoughts become a whirlwind,

wicked,

powerful.

I am enraptured in them all.

3 pages per day...

Julia says to write three pages per day.

I need more discipline.

I want to write 3 pages.

But It's hard to stay focused... or motivated.

I think part of it is because my ex-husband expected so much from me and I couldn't keep up.

I always think my new husband will be dissappointed if I suddenly stop so frequently.

I have not yet found balance, between being the good wife, and being a good writer.

Nor have I found balance between comfortably living the country life and yet having only friends who are far away.

Thank God for my one friend that stays consistent in writing me and making a poinnt of getting together.

Now if only one like her lived closer to motivate me in my weightloss.

I bought a one peice bathing suit yesterday

....plain jane brown.

My husband asked if it was old lady style?

...well aren't they all?

I feel very self consious this weekend....good company,

but I feel fat within this runner's circle.

....but that's my issue only..

In my head I run laps telling myself to work out,

to jog up the hay feild,

or to walk to work.

But there are dogs, bears, deer and moose hiding every so often...

and Tim doesn't want me walking the highway....

especially when there are no shoulders to protect me from stupid drivers.

I'd be fit with all the laps I've run in my head,

I'd be who I want to be.

But I sometimes feel that I just can't catch up to her.

She runs by me every so often, more-so lately, than before...

she smiles and carries on,

pony-tail flapping with each step.

3 pages, Julia says.

I don't think I could,

Or should,

for that matter.

It only makes you fatter.

3 pages only make my thoughts thicken....

and then thoughts become things..

I guess I'll go out and get onto my bike.....

camping may be the only chance I get.

$14,000 for Two

To adopt or not to adopt......
That is now the question

The information seminar held our attention for about 3 hours.
Good exposure to what it's all about.

We left with an armload of paperwork and information from various agencies.

We also left with heavy hearts filled with the unknown.

It will cost us nearly $14,000 for a sibling pair.

Unless a miracle happens,
.... we will not be adopting.

Sister Jane

Some days, I'd rather have my friends as sisters.

Some days, I'd choose to have certain friends just be the distant sister.

Sometimes, I wish I was my own sister.

"Jane, your sister called."

I didn't answer.

"Jane....your sister called....you know the one that had the baby?"

She's my only sister.....it's not like I had to clarify which one she was.

It seems the sisters I crave are so far away,

some are busy,

some..impossible to reach.

But when I've reached them , it's like we've never been apart.

Funny now, how it seems when with my sister...

It's like we've never been together.

She's always been quick to shush me,

or carry on with her life while I'm talking...

I don't ever demand her attention,

but she kindly informs me of how her ignoring me is proper ettiquette

when she's made the initial call.

If I'd had called her , it would be different, she says.....

yet , it never is.

"Jane, shouldn't you call her back?"

"No, she'll be busy anyway with, now, two babies to tend to. She's always busy."

I really struggle with all this baby stuff....

...and sister stuff.

Everyone in my world has either 3-5 children or little ones less than 3.

No one has a 13-14 yr old.

"Jane, are you ever going to have more babies?"

I chuckled at that one. Thinking I was already ahead of the game...

but sometimes feeling like I dont fit in.

Our lives don't compare.

Like in school when we played sports and nobody passed me the ball,

or picked me for their team.

For the first time I get to play the role of the birdie in badminton, being tossed around and beat sensless, on what I should do.

I remember the days when I had young ones, and no one was interested in our company.

Pam, Tracy, Andrea, they had all left, then Marc and his family.

...and what seems now, to be my sister.

"Jane your sister called to see if you'd be in town overnight after your event on Saturday?"

"No, I have to go back home, why?" I asked the librarians.

"Well, she will be in town to show her baby to her friends and thought if you were to stay you could see the new baby too."

"Oh", I said.

She'll make a trip to see her friends but not her sister.

I wasn't all that interested anyway....

She just calls to tell me dumb stuff of how she succeeded her second pregnancy with not a stretchmark to show for it.

I have non-baby things to do.

And mine aren't stretch marks...

They're Tiger Bites...

Because they're that big, and their everywhere!!!

Oh how I need my other sisters... and a big bottle of Khaluha.