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Best of Friends
Its just you and me and these small hours. Together, we push through and let go. Together, we change, and, together, will always be the same. We'll get by.
The hardest part is finally over, and instances no longer matter. We've been through a lot -- little twists and turns of fate. We've been through a lot, so let your clarity define you. When problems come, I don't mind if its me you need to talk to, so let your discomforts slide. I'm here, I'm thankful, and I love you.
Time falls away, and our regrets will eventually sink... but, you and me and these small hours still remain.
The Sureness of It All
The first step is always hard, and the leap of faith is always a challenge. Trust is as a mission, a constant decision, an act of hope. It breaks a heart to soothe it in a better future. It is a constant darkness that knows that even the slightest spark of light could get you out. . . Faith and hope -- there is not one without the other.
I trust you won't leave if I leave you. I trust that you trust me, and that's what I love about you. You see, hoping is the act of faith and trust, and, you, my sweet, undeserved privilege, is what I'm eyeing on. You're there to get me cautious of how I act, to make me blush and look down when I'm shy, and I'd rather not let you stumble. Hope and trust are what make a true friendship, not moments spent. I'll draw you away because I want to show you how much I want you in the end. By Grace, let's keep keeping on.
God is a better basis for hope than my temporary frustrations, joys, and temptations. This hope stays on like consuming fire.
Kindness
Kindness, its a wonderful talent. It is the inability to have peace of mind when the other is troubled, it is the inability to be comfortable when the presence of another is uncomforable, it is the inability to remain at ease when another lacks or is ill at ease. It is the inability to enjoy when the other is discouraged.
Kindness is the strongpoint of inability -- a weakness stronger than all stature and integrity.
Her Day
Hundreds of lovers and hearts to love,
Hundreds of sunsets to watch in wonder,
Hundreds of butterflies fluttering, gay,
And only one mom is there the world over.
Love you mom 
. Happy Mom's Day.
Generation Check on Chickens
Will someone please tell me why most women are likened to -- among all of God's creations -- poultry? And why, long after the 1970's ramblings of men calling each other "cats", do they still highly regard their "chick" term for us as if it were still fashionable and very gentlemanly? Educate me, PLEASE!!!
To the guy that referred to me as one, as well as all those other men who still think that that one word compliment is really a complement, here's my 25 centavos' worth on it: defining us as a type of barnyard animal who is caught in slavery of either laying eggs or being feather-plucked to be eaten completely deflates your compliment. To the highest level.
You've Got Mail... ANSWER IT!!
My sensitivity to my cellphone bill waned, oh, a couple months ago, so since then, I've decided to try out my open gift of awareness, and keep in touch with my friends at the same time. The awareness is going great, but the keeping in touch, well, I take frequent rain checks on that. Its easier said than done, I swear.
Two of my friends have already mentioned, "Oh.. That's okay. I'm used to you not replying." -- and, with that, I've been feeling really mean. I haven't been replying to messages -- even messages regarding important gimicks or major outings. Not even simple messages from people I really do love. And, take note, I don't even text people first (hell, I don't even reply to my parents). I let them make the move on texting, and if they're lucky, they get a reply from me. Oh, God.. Not only am I mean, but I'm hard to please.
This whole dilemma of guilt and, somehow, loss of moments of friendship, which I may one day regret when I'm an old saggy woman, really battles me to choose to reply. There are still a lot people who text me in hope of me replying. Although I do appreciate it, I'd give anything to have some acute or chronic inflammations on my finger joints to keep me from texting right then and there. In fact, I wish cellphones were never created. Wait, no, I take that back. I wish for the old days when playing a game of "Snake" was the only handy use of a cellphone. But, honestly, I don't hate nor resent the phones and the people I don't reply to in any way. Its the phone bill!!! I swear it..
Future Nemesis
Being a girl, instinct tells me that learning how to shop for groceries is vital for future benefit when it comes to family welfare. The thing is, i hate it. . . I simply hate it. Goodness, I can see it now. Me -- walking around that zone of vegetables and cheese maybe with my husband or with one of my children.
Clouds fly in to cover the sun, and turn the sky towards darkness with tremors of thunder and lightning. Then a moment of silent weather gives us a chance to devise a clear plan. Before stepping out of the car, I tell my husband, "We've gone through this protocol so many times before, we can do this."
He replies, worried, "I know. I'll do my best."
"Just our luck. Its about to rain. Okay. . . we run on three. . . one, two. . . THREE!! Move move move!!"
After managing to get within the dreaded grocery store with a few cold dewdrops on our coats, we go on with the misson plan. I tell my husband, "Ok. . . We made it. . . So from here, we'll have to cover more ground. I'll take the west wing, and you take the east, and then we'll meet at the core."
He replies, "Roger that. . . Wait a minute. . ."
"What?"
"Where's the core?"
"The meat section."
"Gocha."
I go my separate way, look back, and see my dear cadet look at me with concern and worry. I assure him that I'd be fine and that I would definately pick the icecream he wanted. I bid him without a word, not even an "I love you." Weaknesses have no room in this battle.
i then trun a drift through the sharp turns made from aisles, avoiding any old lady blind enough to not see my huge feet in the way of her cart. I pass through so many household needs from cereal to electronic ekek, being tempted to buy so many things -- the horror. Finally, I see my husband in the distance, tired and yawning as he walks towards me with his arms wrapped around his cart. We made it to the core, got whatever else we needed, and payed.
I look at my watch. 2 hours and a sale. . . Not bad. As for injuries, just a few dead toes and forever-to-wash-off residue from shopping cart wheels. Not to mention the devastation of a lighter wallet. Nonetheless, Mission Accomplished.
Next week, I fight again.
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