Not quite five years later

 So much has changed and yet I sit here still at my keyboard with the unassailable desire to scream my words into the ether. I've published a book of my poetry, and I'm considering doing a second with more than poetry in it. The voices in my head whisper, "why?"

Should I push myself to write? Will I ever be a novelist... will I forever remain a hobbyist... where can I get feedback, a voice that calls back to me, something other than an echo from the darkness.

My latest piece (Find it here):

Fleeting Moments

For a moment she

    thought of her love; her eyes smiled

    though fleeting, sincere

For a moment she

    felt desirable, worthy

    believed her beauty

 Then the feeling of

     infinite sadness returned

    her well of despair

 The sinking feeling

     her drifting to the bottom

    weeping within her

 Sometimes she thought

     she was climbing out; up

    a struggle, hang on

 A moment where she

    felt light instead of empty

    hungering for more

 Though moments pass too soon, she

Feels them like raindrops; renew

A Moment for Confession

I am planning my next smoke.
The cigarettes are singing their siren songs to me.
They insist that I can have just one.
Their smell is wafting to me on the wind.
I can almost taste them.

It will be like handcuffing myself for the next ten years; to a chain named "holding me back".
Somewhere some part of me thinks it will be the best way of letting go of one broken relationship - start a different unhealthy relationship.
I will award me for my bravery and punish me for my grief.
That is my standard operating procedure when I'm in charge of the care and keeping of me.
It will remain my unchanging course of action if I do not let my higher power guide me.

They whisper to me that they don't matter, they are not alcohol, at most they are the lesser of two evils; better to give in to them than the bottle.
I cry "Falsehood" - they are one domino among many between me and my next drink.
Infinently better to place my God given defenses between me and that next smoke, for beyond that my defenses can easily be uncertain.

~Please take away this obsession of the mind, so I do not initiate my physical craving. Please give me the power to get out of the way and invite you in. Amen~

Sitting in my emotions.

Sitting in my emotions sucks.
Getting stuff done in spite of overwhelming emotions today feels great.
Having to face the changes that are causing the sucky emotions, sucks more.
Being just a little bit less good at finding more appropriate or nicer language right now makes me smile.
I don't have to change anything about how I feel. I can sit here, waiting for class to start, realize I did a great job in my class, and that I'm almost done with the summer semester, and am on my way to a degree (which I never imagined being a possibility in my life), and be content and satisfied and sad and overwhelmed all at once and that's o.k.
I'm allowed.
I'm growing up.
Holy cow.
Yay me!

Dressing nicely

I've never been really good at dressing up for a corporate job. I'm much more on the business casual end of the spectrum. But, I've been practicing and so far so good.

I feel better when I put myself together before heading out. I didn't think it would feel like this.

So.

I am in school now, and I am really enjoying it so far...

This is all I can share right now, in between homework assignments:

http://distantcricket.deviantart.com/journal/Just-a-little-rant-538761960

>1 year post Smoking Cessation

I've smoked cigarettes since I was 1* years old. I was what is considered a heavy smoker.

I love tobacco. All forms. Cigars and hookahs.

What do I do now that I've stopped smoking for just over a year (this time). I still want one all the time, every day.

When it's nice outside, when it's storming; when it's early, when it's late. Sitting at home or driving. Always.

As a reward for getting up and facing the day; the world at large. As a punishment for existing; for feeling too much.

The intellectual part of me knows it's a crutch. Knows it's a substitute for whatever emotional coping mechanism I failed to learn as a child.

Tobacco is also a smell memory. Every safe place I had as an adolescent smelled like smoke.

I am having to teach myself all over again. I am having to re-nurture my inner child.

I will just not pick up the next cigarette and accept the self-control God is gifting me with as I continue to try to do his will.

~Hold me a bit tighter today, please. Amen~

Almost home.

I should have taken before pictures of my home. Now that I am approaching the very last of my home organization projects, I look around in wonder at all I have accomplished. Just another example of my making something wonderful out of a difficult period in my life. Things are not all hunky-dory, but I am not stuck. I'm moving forward and seeking growth.

~Thank you for guiding me and holding me in your arms. Amen~