Bit of my novel.

I sniffed and sniffed. I couldn't believe how much I had missed this smell. The smell of blown out candles, fresh cut flowers, a hint of garlic, and the overwhelmingly strong smell of cheap perfume that my aunt had always worn, this was the smell of my childhood home. I couldn't believe that even after years and a move that spanned thousands of miles that my aunt could still evoke that smell.

It's still funny to me after all these years that I refer to Marie as my aunt when 1) Marie is in no way shape or form related to my mother or father and 2) Marie was, for all intents and purposes, my mother. My actual mother died not long after my eighth birthday from a long battle with breast cancer. I couldn't believe a person could lose someone so important to them as their mother at so young an age. I thought that it was all a bad dream and I would wake up to my mother soothingly sitting on the edge of my bed telling me everything would be alright.

It wasn't until Marie walked me to the ominous dark coffin that held the remains of my beloved mother that the truth really set in. At that point, I was inconsolable. My mother had been my best friend, the woman who helped create and cultivate the imaginary worlds I lived in. She was the high queen of the faeries, the captain of the pirate ship, the owner of our ludicrous hybrid dog washing/lemonade stand. How would I survive with out her?

Luckily I had Marie, my mothers oldest most trusted friend. She was the only one in the world that I could have ever imagined attempting to fill the hole that my mothers death left behind. She was one of many beloved "family" members that consisted of the people my mother decided were her family.

I had heard the rumors of my blood relatives from whispered conversations in back rooms with Marie, or in left behind letters that my mother tried to write but forgot to clean up. They seemed to be a group of rich over-privileged people who thought themselves better than everyone. That was how my mother portrayed them.

Frankly even at 8 I wanted nothing to do with a family who made half-ass attempts to meet me. I'm sure my mother was relentless about keeping me away from them, but still it never seemed like they tried that hard. I had a family who loved me, supported me, and then raised me after my mother died and that's all I will ever need in the entire world.

To explain my life growing up I would first have to explain what kind of people my mother and Marie were. Both of them were scatterbrained to a fault, that's probably why I like to take care of people, neither of them were really that reliable. At a young age I had to be the adult. I loved both of them and I didn't mind being responsible but looking back sometimes I missed out on just being a kid.



To be continued!

I heard this song on the radio and basically I love it, and for some reason it's really how I feel today. Who the crap knows why, but I love it........


Going Back to the corner where I first saw you
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
Saying, "If you see this girl can you tell her where I am?"

Some try to hand me money, they don't understand
I'm not broke I'm just a broken hearted man
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you

'cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinkin maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving

Policeman says, "Son you can't stay here"
I said, "There's someone I'm waiting for if it's a day, a month, a year"
Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows
If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go

'cause If one day you wake up and find that you're missing me
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving,
I'm not moving, I'm not moving

People talk about the guy that's waiting on a girl
There are no holes in his shoes but a big hole in his world

Maybe I'll get famous as the man who can't be moved
Maybe you wont mean to but you'll see me on the news
And you'll come running to the corner
'cause you'll know it's just for you
I'm the man who can't be moved

[Chorus 2x]

Going back to the corner where I first saw you
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move

My happy list

So I was reading on a random blog about a girl who likes to read people's happy list's
Here it be:

10 Things that make me happy

1. Anything vintage or funky.
2. Midnight spur of the moment ventures in to public with close friends
3. Being known as the "go to gal" among friends on medical matters.
4. Photographs, be it taking them or looking at them
5. Twirling mascara on my eyelashes
6. Singing Loudly (and poorly) in the shower
7. The feeling of being barefoot on soft grass
8. Riding the Train home from work
9. Folding fresh laundry
10. Painting my toenails

#24 DONE!

24. Have and artist draw/paint/photograph me

Granted it happened inadvertently, but it happened. My darling friend Manelle who is an AMAZING artist, drew a very pretty sketch of me the other day in church. I'm hoping at some point I can get a copy of it and put it up here for everyone to see. But heck yes! one down 23 to go!