How Tired I am

I am so tired
I miss Sophia and Mae
Worker not Mother

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If the above Haiku is any indication of my state of mind right now then I have written it well.

Oh how I miss poetry...Oh how I have been meaning to paint a peace for my walls...Oh how I want to start going to Hot Yoga once a week...Oh how I miss my family...Oh how I fluctuate between happy and sad, joyous and mad....Doesn't it ever even out? Or maybe I need meds for that...that's what my mother thinks:

You've been sad since birth
That's what Mother says to me
Why does she think so?


Okay so none of those reference the nature or any of that other fancy stuff for haiku, but there you go. Courtesy of Pioneer woman for inspiring me to dabble again into poetry...

Oh poetry, how I MISS You? with my whole ripped up heart. I long for you POETRY
At one time you pulsed through my veins, that was the best time
At one time I awoke from sleep to scribble down lines that haunted my dreams
and now...those words
are SILENT
those lines
are SUPRESSED

Harmony...do you hear me?????? Kate....do you HEAR me????? Julie, remember when we started that poetry club...that was good.
 
I MISS POETRY!!!!!!!!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Okay, now that I go that out of the way...back to your normal programming....

Here is a photo. My husband took it in the South of Morocco on a trip I did not go with on because I didn't want to leave my girls...I missed out huh?

Where I've been and Where I'm at

It is funny, in some moments, the surprise ones, I find myself marveling at where I am, remembering where I've been, amazed at that too. Most moments of most days are filled with the here and now. From time to time though the images of my past collide with the beauty of my now. The walk I took today was not unlike the walks I took regularly around piedmont park, except that now I live in a beach town, in the country, in africa.

When I used to alk around my beautiful, midtown neighborhood, I knew, in my bones, that I would be forever haunted, for the rest of my life, by the memory of the beauty of those walks. Today was not unlike that. As I walked around through the fields of agriculture and dirt pathways to emerge onto the coastline and then enter the little beach village and circle aorund up the big hill and back around through my the other end of the dirt road to get back to my home, I knew, in my bones, that I would be forever, for the rest of my life, haunted by the beauty of these walks.

There was an addition to that, I knew that my husband will be haunted too. I knew that we will leave here together and that somewhere on a starry evening maybe a little tipsy on too much red wine, after the kids are all asleep, we will share that sentiment. It will bind us.

It wasn't necessary

It wasn't necessary to have been strapped to the table and left there lying and crying alone while the anastesia wore off. It wasn't necessary to keep my husband blocked out of the room and not not even let me touch my babies once they were born. It wasn't necessary that I was discouraged from holding them, touching them, letting them feel their mother's warmth for an entire day after they were born. It just wasn't necessary. As happy as I am in my life here, this is a beef with this country that I will always have. And yes, it feels a bit small when I look at them today and they are so big and strong and full of life. But when I watch the birth stories of others, I know that it wasn't necessary. And if we had been in other circumstances, my husband and myself could have had a much more serene welcoming for our little girls. And maybe the rift between us, the one that rears its ugly head unexpectedly, occasionally, would not be so profoud...maybe.