Birthdays

I have taken my ambien, sitting on my chemise covered bed listening to the 5th Dimension's One Less Bell to Answer sipping my rose petal and apricot tea. I should be happy and I am. It was my birthday last week. 30 plus 1 one odd years spent being me. Not expecting anything in particular aside of birthdays and well wishes. I received them. Oh Dionne Warwick is playing "Save little Prayer." Fitting, but my phone rang and I picked up with ample fingers and hit the message button and there he was. A paramour and yes I loved it. He had left not just a greeting but a song. He always speakes better thru songs and I just get all awkward, school girlish that a gorgeous boy is singing to me in counter tenor. For goodness sakes, I blushed and nearly tumbled over my gawky littel limbs.

I have a place where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
It's not on any chart,
You must find it with your heart.
Never Never Land.

It might be miles beyond the moon,
Or right there where you stand.


Just keep an open mind,
And then suddenly you'll find
Never Never Land.

You'll have a treasure if you stay there,
More precious far than gold.
For once you have found your way there,
You can never, never grow old.

And that's my home where dreams are born,
And time is never planned.
Just think of lovely things.
And your heart will fly on wings,
Forever in Never Never Land.

You'll have a treasure if you stay there,
More precious far than gold.
For once you have found your way there,
You can never, never grow old.

And that's my home where dreams are born,

And time is never planned.
Just think of lovely things.
And your heart will fly on wings,
Forever in Never Never Land

But that's the trouble with boys. One day they say the will paint the sky egg shell blue for you and the next day it's plaid. I look good in both but why don't they see that? Is my ex in Never Never Land or am I? He sees me as phenomenal boy laced to quirk. A walking boudoir crisis, poor lamb. Oh, dear hearts, its all true but who cares. I am working on it, but when practices becomes skilled I find my self so goose witted, yes all fingers and thumbs. What to do?It is as David Sedaris wrote (Me Talk Pretty One Day.) Pg 156...."If your not cute you might as well be clever." So what happens if a boy is cute and clever?

Does he get what dreams of ? Or is he left with more clever bite sized dreams in his hands lost in Never Never Land looking for Tigerlily instead of the elusive Tinkerbell?

The absurdity of love...FALSE

It's funny how standard, scripted television show moments can cleave your heart in two though I can say it isnt so. Even putting on an icy exterior or creating a witty little quip about the absurdity of love can be so bluntly false. Granted I can fool everyone into thinking that I don't care, or I dont feel deeply about anything when in I do. I do feel, I have felt or perhaps will feel.

The later I don't know if it is plausible. I swig denial daily and love still rears its deformed mug in my mirror. Do I love phantoms, do I love the imaginary inside of reality. Am I in fact a Miss Honeychurch on my way to becoming a Charolette Bartlett? (A room with A View) Who can say though I have my suspicions.

Stepping away from emotional caution and physical repression isn't as easy as it looks with the aid of a cocktail. I don't need a crutch even if it's covered in swarovski crystals. I hope to approach the amourous world fully aware with open arms. Singing "Maybe this Time"(Cabaret) in stuffy car with fogged windows and being kissed politely on the cheek before saying goodnight.

Corny as a cob one can say but shocking enough this happened. In my past, like holding a hand in secret while an English crooner sings on top of brightly lit Hollywood stage and I turn and say, I love you. And I meant it. Love to me isnt about the ideal but the idea, the idea of someone who can teach me to say "I love you, I love you and I will always be true." (Saint Etienne) Then again love can be watching someone leaving your flat "in the middle of winter, feeling cold and vacant in the english snow turning parody more obvious." This happened too and it was special.

You know life can be a gazebo gone pink...

Natalie Merchant: One Fine Day

Winter of my Indecision

My book: "Skipping Through Shadow" has been written, revised and is being read by friends. After the mass critique I will revise again. Revisions, rewrites but revisiting romance I think not. Friendships are refine and love is random. Not saying that love is insignificant or otherwise unimportant, it is completely the opposite. Love is all encompassing and important. Though whether love has a stake in my day to day life is to be seen. Maybe I am to well versed in the art of solitaire, or overly engaged to mute satisfaction. Last year my hands reached in amorous waters. Milky and opaque as they were I couldn't see myself there. Love for loves sake isn't me.

I see differently. My peripheral vision maybe shadowed in pale shadows of pink and blue but I got vision. I see love not as a means to an end. I see love as a continual. A evolution of intellect, sensuality and understanding.

Valentines doth day approach. The seeds of love are dormant but I'm hardly in the "Springtime of my Voodoo" more like the "Winter of my Indecision."

Song Choice: Ella Fitzgerald: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered