the joy of creating

Shame...

I have stopped singing, dancing, acting, performing...I haven't opened my mouth in a full belt in over 2 years.  I haven't done a step-touch in God knows how long.

Where has my creative girl gone?  Is she sleeping?  Is she afraid?  Did she just get so burned out that the creative voice is now just a pile of ashes?  It's almost like I never knew how to sing...how to express.

Do I miss it?  I don't know.  

What kind of answer is that?  I wish I could tell you.

I have been asked to sing again.  A demo.

Fear comes up.

Shame comes up.

My old acronym for FEAR???  F**k Everything And Run...

I think it's time to dust the ashes off and find the voice that enjoyed soaring.

I stole this blog from my husband

Flashback: Two nights ago, we had a delicious rotisserie chicken for dinner. After which, we threw the remains in the garbage.

Fast forward to: Last night, I tied up said garbage and left it by the door to take out the following morning.

Fast forward to: This morning around 5:30am, my wife wakes, sits up and says, "Oh, Bean threw up on the bed!" I wake with these words, but upon further review (my wife in her blindness, poking at the mess) we discovered she hadn't thrown up at all. It was a chicken leg- mysteriously similar to one consumed two nights prior. I ambled down the hall, and my suspicions we confirmed: the little brat had chewed through the bottom of the garbage bag and removed an early morning snack for herself.

Flashback (presumed): Bean, sauntering down the hall in the early morning darkness, chicken bone in jowls, howling away- as she is want to do when she is holding things in her mouth.

This female feline of many nicknames (her real name is Josie, after all) has deservedly earned another: Princess Drumstick, as so dubbed by my wife.

The button to the story is that later I discovered that Mickey Mantle, the masculine feline presence in the house, had indeed thrown up in his room down the hall. Thanks for bringing it all home, Mick.

SAUSAGE!

Crank Day

I couldn't decide what to wear today.  Things were too hot, too tight,  too uncomfortable.  After 4 outfits...finally, I make it out the door.  This is a tale tell sign of my mood.

It's freakin' hot and muggy right now.  As soon as I walk out the door into the swamp, my hair resembles an overgrown chia pet.

My 30 minute train ride was accompanied by a Snoop Dog wanna be.  For 30 minutes he rapped along with his ipod.  "...cause your moving too fast and your ass is too fat...know what I mean...I'm the shit...I'm the shit...my swag, my swag, my swag, my swag"  

I am almost homicidal by the time I get to 59th St.

Why do parents pierce their baby's ears?  

Cigarette smoke on a 90 degree day with 67% humidity.  Someone choke me.

Ordering a Portabella Mushroom and Spinach Quesadilla only to find out after you return to the office that they forgot the spinach.

People stepping on the back of my flip flops AND NOT APOLOGIZING!  

I'm seriously close to homicide.  

Clearly these are serious problems to have...