Puking Pink

If I see one more fucking pink thing related to breast canSer I'm going to puke - PINK! Ugg. It is entirely annoying really. I am not against support and I am not against a cure and all that shit. But really. It is entirely girly and entirely over marketed. Kinda like Christmas. Pink lattes and statements like: "you're at risk for breast canSer if you are a woman and you grow older". Hmmm...I'm thinking to myself - OK I'm a woman so I'm fucked. Oh yeah - and growing older? Well, fucked there too! Hah!

OK, enough of the truth rant. Which really felt good by the way. I'm in love. Not saying more than that, but it feels good to be in love, even if it is forbidden. Like the apple. Truth is I have so much love to give and really like life, people, the trees, the smell of rain, or the smell of rain cometh. My granny used to say, "You can tell the weather just by going outside and taking a sniff." She is right. So, fuck weatherman school - just step outside and take a sniff!

Favorite things that annoy me: crumbs on the counter, loud trucks, the smell of gas, dentists, sticky something on my foot, sleepless nights.

Favorite things: a good smelling man, soft wiskers, foot rubs, rain storms, snow storms, 4 wheel drive pickups, rock'n music on a summer day, Lake Superior, a glass of wine.

Enough truth for now. Let it be.


First Truth

The first of many truths is that life's tough. A pretty obvious truth for most. But, I meet people that I've wondered if they actually "know" this truth. The Sun, the Gods, the seeds of life seem to shine down on them at all times. Nothing "bad" has ever happend to them, at least from my perspective. And their idea of "bad" is if Cub is out of chocolate milk, or if they have to walk to a gas station, in the freezing cold, without at hat. Some shit like that. I guess, in a sense, those things are bad. It is all relative isn't it?

I think about people who have been to war, or have had loved ones in the war or past wars, or have suffered the holocaust - with numbers tatooed on their arms and fear tatooed on their brains. True survivors. Really.

I have been writing for years. Since I was a tweenager. The writings have been in journals that are personal and real. No holding back because someone might read the musings and the scratchings and the mayhem. I see this blog as just that. A place that I can post truths. Whether they be about the upcoming election or the day-to-day life of a 39 yr old woman with a bent toward the eclectic. Maybe the talk will be about the dirty cigarette or Jesus Christ himself, whom I believe I wouldn't exist without. I can't wait to get real.