a.fire.inside

It doesn't get any better than this.
Unless, of course, you are seeing them play live or listening to any of their songs.

I miss winter, but I believe it's beginning a bit early this year.

flaming june

This is another one of my favorite prints that is located on my living room/bedroom wall of my apartment. I love how she is portrayed and the bold color of her gown. To me, it looks as if this moment was captured, unbeknownst to her, by her lover.

When studying this painting, I feel like a voyeur.

temptress

I could not help but protest when my late night caller (actually, I called him) used this word to describe me. He protested my denials and reasoning. I love that about him.

pygmalion & galatea

This is one of my favorite paintings. I have the print hanging in my living room (which is also my bedroom). I love the contrast of the whiteness of her skin versus the overall dark quality of the background. I also like that she has curves and that Pygmalion sculpted her that way as his ideal woman.

miranda and the tempest

I have this print on the wall above my desk at work. I often wish that I could walk into it and disappear forever.

fredence

I miss him,
even though
he is right
in front of
me.

no pink ribbon for me

I have never preferred the color pink. I was always a tomboy who preferred blues, purples, greys (mostly charcoal), some green, and black. I even spent all of eighth grade wearing at least one item of purple each day. I cannot remember owning anything pink especially light baby girl pink. It's not that I'm not feminine. I am, but that color does not define nor does it describe me (and it looks bad with my coloring).

After I learned my diagnosis of breast cancer, I was horrified that everywhere I turned I was supported by the light pink that symbolizes the many who have lived and died through diagnosis and treatment. I actually did not receive many tokens of love and support in that wretched color because those close to me knew my feelings.

As time passed and I interacted with other survivors, I grew to love the color (especially shades of hot pink!). I progressed through my treatments at times filled with such anger and sadness. It was the most difficult time in my life. At some point, I purchased these pink shoes to represent my struggle against breast cancer that continues through this day. I added some star laces to remind me of the many chemo and radiation treatments I pushed through to be able to share this story.

summertime rolls

I remember the very first time I heard Jane's Addiction. I was seated in the backseat of Kristin's car with Renee at shotgun. (This was probably one of the only times I was ever in her car as I always drove because I rarely imbibed on recreational chemicals.) I don't remember our destination, but the music was amazing. It was not like anything else I had ever heard. When I went to purchase 'Nothing's Shocking,' the record store did not have any albums, only tapes. It was one of the first prerecorded tapes I owned along with 'Staring at the Sea' which was selected purely for the b-sides.

After that, every spring semester when the day turned sunny and cool with the crisp smell of spring, I would throw open my windows and blast 'Nothing's Shocking' repeatedly until I had my fill. When I left college, I would follow the same routine except I would pack up the dog/dogs and take a long drive north (starting on the Jersey side) along the Delaware River and cross one of the many bridges to return home taking the southern route on the Pennsylvania side. On the way home, I would stop at one of my favorite parks and walk Thor (german shepherd) and later Rusty (doberman pinscher) until we were exhausted. For years, it was not officially spring in my mind until I had listened to Jane's Addiction.

I cannot remember when I stopped my yearly ritual, but I do know that things got really bad for many years. I stopped listening to music. I stopped enjoying music. Spring was never the same for me.

I was in the car today driving to complete some errands. The air was crisp and clear. It was sunny, but a little too chilly with the windows down. 'Had a Dad' came on and flooded my mind with memories of past springs. I still have the original tape. I found it. The timing should be perfect for my trip to Tucson.

slides

I'm talking photos, not recreational equipment. I have some from my childhood. I had not looked at them in years until the whole remembrance with rain, stripping, and Timmy. I forgot they were in my closet. I started looking at a few of them last night & saw many of the rain photos. I guess I never stripped completely bare (or I just have not found them!), but I was topless apparently for most of my childhood. It was the Seventies after all.

frolicking in the rain

I have done it since I was a little girl. There are slides somewhere depicting the tale of a very young me & a slightly older neighbor boy named Timmy slowly stripping in the rain while pretending to wash my father's car. (This was in the seventies so it was considered art, not kiddie porn.) The sheer joy of playing in the rain has never been lost on me. Throughout my youth and adolescent years, I would find excuses to walk in the rain either alone or with my dog, Thor. (He loved going in the rain as much as I did.) We would walk and run the fields and woods even chasing each other to splash through puddles.

In college, I rarely carried an umbrella. It rained constantly at my college especially on the weekends during the fall and spring. One of my friends accused me of using the tactic of becoming soaked whilst walking through the rain to entice men. If only it had been that easy.

Yet again, there are photos of me (this time fully clothed) soaked after playing in the rain with my friends Laura, Dave, and Karen. We frolicked and splashed each other just outside Gaige Hall while too many people in the dorm watched us. It's a shame they didn't join us. The more, the merrier in that case. When I eventually returned to the dry stale world, I made certain to hug everyone I knew and share the experience. My hair was long and I whipped people with windmills. (Metalheads know what I'm talking about.) Everyone laughed and told us we were crazy. We were completely sober and that dumbfounded the spectators.

Living in San Diego, I miss the rain. The rain conditions are rarely optimal for a good walk. When they are, I take advantage and stroll everywhere without my umbrella. I pretend I don't have one. (I have two in my car.) It rained today, but I was stuck in my car. I would have rather been in the park walking.

I crave grey

I used to tell people the worst things about me and point out all of my flaws just so they would go away. It is what I did to protect myself from getting hurt or letting anyone get to really know me. I had done it for years. On the other extreme, in the past few years, I stopped sharing any details or stories about me so that no one would ever get to know me. Everything has been so black or white. Cliched, I know but I don't know how to express it any other way. Lately, my past has been colliding with my present. I have been talking about both the good and the bad without being extreme in my presentation. People usually leave me now. One did at the beginning of the year, but no one else is running away. What do I do now?

One unbalanced step forward,

three huge steps back. Broke my left elbow over a week ago which makes typing even more of a chore. Fortunately, a broken elbow, much like toes and fingers, does not get casted. My activities are limited and now my hair is out of control. I just keep giggling when I have to explain the simple fact that I lost my footing on a curb. It makes me feel old and I HATE having to ask others for assistance.

porn & chocolate

are the best mood lifters when one is injured. Specifically, erotica anthologies & See's dark chocolate (especially the new walnut square) in any shape or form. I may have to overindulge if my arm isn't feeling better by Friday. I bought three anthologies and my favorite is the one written by women for women. I read it in a few hours. I can concentrate on the short stories whilst indulging myself with pain pills. I am on the second anthology but it is actually slow reading with not much kink. The third one contains a story by Poppy Z. Brite, so I'm intrigued. Eventually, I'll get back to Sartre.