Chaos Digitized

Things are most quiet here either early in the morning or late at night.  Early in the morning is NOT my jam.  I'm a late sleeper anytime I can help it.  Snuggled into my cocoon and hanging onto the dreams of the night.  I'm a vivid dreamer and it's a good way to work through my problems. I don't know how many tax and accounting issues that have plagued me during the day, only to be solved at the edges of a dream. For some reason I'm up early today. I should be able to sleep in. It's Saturday.  My plans aren't until tonight. But the quiet early daylight is good for me. I'm having breakfast in peace.  I'm listening to the cardinal nagging me about god knows what.  I'm just feeling peaceful. That doesn't happen all that much in my anxiety riddled life. I still miss my friend.  I still feel the crushing weight of a failing marriage.  I still feel as though my life is in need of a major reboot. But the quiet is calming those things a bit. I m...

Seriously.... 80s love songs that I used to think were sooooooo romantic to skate to (with the boy I had a crush on and who also never knew I existed, much less enough to skate holding hands with short, tubby, introverted me) at the small town skating rink where kids would share crappy pizza and make "Suicides*" to drink at the soda dispenser make me wistful and nauseous in a single measure.   Back then there was hope that one day, I'd skate with that boy and he'd hold my hand and smile at me like Bad English was practically begging him to do on my behalf. But now I see him (not the adorable sk8er boy with pale blue eyes, but the man I gave my heart to) trying to get someone else to love him and take care of him and ignore me more and more... and push me away more and more... I miss being loved and I miss being able to look forward without the loss behind me destroying my outlook. I miss having hope for more than a good day. I miss the ring that he forgets to put on...

There is no joy greater than a little boy's upon donning his first pair of real cowboy boots. Even if he is not a) a Texan, b) a farmer's child, c) an equestrian's child, or d) the son of anyone else who actually wears boots for work or play. It's just this instinct. Boots aren't like sneakers or sandals or those fantastic learning to walk shoes that my older girls wore out (with the completely flexible grippy soles and the soft leather uppers). Boots are substance. Boots are adult.  Boots make noise! For this reason, every boy needs a pair of cowboy boots sometime around the time he begins to walk. Nothing is more satisfying to a tank of a child than the clomp clomp of a pair of brown leather Justin boots. To the soundtrack of squeals of approving laughter from his mom, step mom (me, of course, and...in case you're wondering...yes I squeal, ain't no shame), and favorite big sister, our little guy experienced his first pair of real cowboy boots last night...