Listen

It's been a long time.

A lot has changed.

Yet it all remains the same.

This is simply a practice in discipline.

Write.

Write.

Write.

Learn.

Learn.

Learn.

Grow.

Grow.

Grow.

I have turned into a turtle trying to hide my head in my shell.

Peeking back out.

Maybe I'm ready to talk again.

Writing websites for clients...that came from the blog!

Looking for a job.

I'm just not ready to start my own office up again.

Wish I was because I haven't worked for someone else in over a decade.

Talk about it.

Listen to it.

I can't hear what they are saying.

Open.

Open.

Open.

Please, speak louder.

Purging Buddha

Everything is surfacing. Coming to the top. Purging itself. Desperate to cleanse itself free from the unforgiving, clenched fist of the past.
Everywhere I look, this is happening to me and to many others I care about. I "accidentally" came across this song I wrote years ago yesterday.
Now it is time to release it.
And begin writing again.
---Stephanie, 05.16.2009

Buddha, a song written 08.25.2003

You were my Buddha
You were my Christ
Sent from the heavens falling with love
Weaving my soul in bliss from above
But then your scripture changed
Loves path rearranged

*It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start
Nothing but a piece to add to your list
* It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start

You were my story
You were my dream
Little girl inside couldn't let out a scream
Praying for love and god to redeem
The illusion is dead that will not come
Alone bleeding and numb

*It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start
Nothing but a piece to add to your list
* It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start

You were my savior
You were my prince
But it was all in my head
alone in my heart
yours was rotten from the start
just a piece of ass you couldn't resist
It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
All in your kiss

untitled

ocean air

milk chocolate

honey drips

glacier peaks

moist petals

deep caverns

wet sand

rolling thunder

spicy curry

roaring fire

ice cream

egyptian cotton

poetry and

music

Lady in the Red Dress Singing Up on the Stage

POCKETS ENJOYING A MASSAGE BY THE WONDERFUL KENDRA WILLIAMS (above)

Atlanta in the Spring is simply sublime. The art and music festivals never seem to stop. They are my most anticipated events of the year. Living in the heart of Midtown and being able to walk to them is icing on the cake, chocolate cake, of course. This past weekend we enjoyed the Dogwood Festival and the smaller Sweetwater 420 Festival. I remember several of my friends in graduate school complaining about how they hated it here. And I would just respond, "Really? Why is that?" The conversation would quickly unveil that they never participated in the things the city offered. I actually knew people who lived here for four years and never went to Little Five Points or the Dogwood Festival or the free Atlanta Symphony series in Piedmont Park or the High Museum or Pride. They lived, worked, drank, ate in funky old Marietta for four straight years. Shocking, I know. I would hate it, too.

Pockets is starting to get the hang of these festivals and the large gaggles of people that ensue. We had a very interesting experience with him at the Sweetwater Fest. This one is very relaxed and focuses on Earth Day concepts. Lots of tie-dye and hashish brownies and dreadlocks on white people. Get the tone? Anyway, there were live concerts. He was mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watched a blue grass family group with ukuleles and fiddles and just loved it. Then the big stage started up. He asked to go see that. So off we trotted. Of course my concerns over ear damage were huge...but we just threw caution to the wind, LOL.

I haven't let Pockets listen to popular music yet. He has been bombarded with music especially chosen to enhance physical brain development and cognitive ability. Either high complexity such as Mozart or language enhancing music (never English) including Spanish, French, and Czech among others. The only exceptions were k.d. lang's "All You Can Eat" because we accidentally discovered that it stopped the incessant screaming from his reflux pain while in the car when he was an infant. It was a magic we welcomed with great gratitude to Ms. Lang. Dean Martin's Christmas music was another big hit. Because his diction is near perfect, I allowed that, too. But overall, I have resisted exposure. Lately I'm relaxing around it, because I need to sing to a favorite jam sometimes to calm my nerves! And, yes, he needs to start hearing various genres of music, as well.

So...back to the story. He watched the entire set of Laura Reed & Deep Pocket. They were awesome and he clearly thought so, too. We bought their CD's to enjoy later. The next day, I came home after the gym just in time for dinner. Pockets asks me, "Guess what's my name!" I went through the usual list of what he "prefers" we call him: Ariel (as in the Mermaid)---NO; Tinkerbell (as in the fairy)--NO; Wendy (as in Peter Pan)--NO. Well, I was stumped. I even tried his real name. NO. So Daddy had to help, "Lady with the red dress singing up on the stage." Ohhhhhhhh! According to them, they had been telling stories about her for the last hour while I worked out. Now he knows her name, Laura, and loves to be called that. He is Laura, singing up on the stage and Daddy is Debrissa, the back-up singer, who for some reason or another they choose to call Melinda instead.

He still is completely smitten. I printed out pictures of her, which he carries around with him. He says, "I'm a singer, Daddy's a singer, and you're a singer. We're all three singers."

Interesting little boy.

This weekend is the Inman Park Festival with hands down the best parade in Atlanta. Ok, maybe the Little Five Points Halloween Parade can rival it? He will have a blast watching the drag queens twirling batons and all the marching bands.

only 3 minutes to spare

Vacant. Empty. Not much to say. Perhaps too much to say. Not enough energy to wrap it all up. Holding so tight. My heart exploded. My mind patched it up. Contraction. Relax. Nothing left.

Want to write. Want to talk. Want to sleep. You win.

I Need to Scream!!!!!

Some days are good and some days are bad. And some are just plain shitty. Today is the latter. I am not much into venting on here, but might as well since I no longer have the luxuries of time energy, money energy, emotional energy or even just "energy" energy to talk it over in the close confines of therapy. Hmmmm, going into the story just seems stupid right now. Needless to say, when my kid has an emotional meltdown, the volcano eruption seems to scorch everything in its path, including me. And this time, his meltdown was clearly my fault. That makes it even worse. Poor thing has been really making progress physically and emotionally. His moods have been balanced and even. His happiness, charm and effervescent charisma have returned with a mature sophistication that leaves everyone around him in smiles. But today, I got a big lesson on how little stimulation he can really tolerate. Those that follow the blog or know me personally already know that art and cultural experiences are of paramount importance in Pockets life. He does no TV or video medium and is rather unaware of pop culture brainwashing and marketing of the latest and greatest stuff and characters etc. I have chosen to engage his interests in live theater and live musical performances. The last few times after these outings, he has had emotional fits. Today we went to see "Jack and the Beanstalk" at the Center for Puppetry Arts. I adjusted the variables from the last few plays by changing the time and eating schedule. Yet, it happened again. The only explanation at this point is over stimulation. It was a 2 hour ordeal before I could get him to collapse in sleep on my bedroom floor. Now he has woken up, stuck neurologically in the exact same emotional tirade. Screaming, yelling, crying out unrealistic demands. It is utterly fucking exhausting and worrisome. He has been so amazing to be around and finally healing up his physical issues...and now this major setback. Congestion will increase and coughing will follow. Along with the knowledge that we cannot go to these types of things for some time to come. Back to more of the daily boredom that persists in the life of a 3 year old child for a 36 year old woman. Ok, that's it. I cannot take the screaming anymore. Not sure what to do. I want to fucking run away into a pit of chocolate cupcakes and ice cream right about now. We are supposed to go out to the Four Seasons tonight for my friends 50th Birthday Bash. Not sure I can stomach it...it would be the first time he would ever be left with a sitter at night. Can he handle that? Doesn't seem like it to me.

Express yourself--thanks Madonna!

It seems the blogging became a springboard for other moments of connection and happiness in my life. Therefore, I am not going to beat myself up about not blogging as consistently as originally intended. After all, for me it is all about self expression and creativity mixed in with trying to do some thinking again. Surprisingly, it made me happy to write on this silly thing every other day or so even when I was exhausted late at night. Even more surprising are the connections with others, including strangers, that have created a small slice of community for me again. It has been a real pleasure and privilege. Well, that quickly led to a desire to actually get out among real physical bodies again--to do more than connect across the information carrying bundles of energy waves flying through the atmosphere. To really laugh out loud, rather than LOL, to feel the vibrations in my ears of real laughter. And so I have been socializing more with and without Pockets. He is a bit older now and it is easier to hang with friends WITH him, which gives me more opportunities to share space with real beating hearts. It has been nice. Thank you to this blog for making that possible. It saddens me a little that I can't manage to do that socializing and this writing simultaneously very well...yet.

Valentine's Day over here was a total blast! Pockets disposition and general demeanor has drastically improved. He is back to being a pleasure to be around. Thinking about it now, I can't even remember what we did, but rather just the feeling of the day. It was filled with love. That is all any of us can ask for. He did get his wish: a real life tutu. He has been a bit obsessed with being a ballerina lately. When he started asking for a "real"tutu instead of the imaginary ones he wears, it was fascinating for me to watch my own internal reactions. Hmmmm, my little boy in a real tutu. "What will the neighbors think?" Funny, that my main concern was about judgement from others about my parenting skills and judgement from them about the long term psychological effects I was perhaps creating for my child. Learning how to let my own shit go so he can be happy as the person he is today and will grow into tomorrow has been interesting to observe. Peter and I don't really talk openly about it, but Pockets's gentle nature, sensitive disposition, love of all things pink and sparkly, and his newest request for a pink tutu is something we both know is just fine and any uncomfortable emotions we have about it stem from our own issues. Funny enough, I am probably more uncomfortable at times with it than Peter because I carry such a strong male tone! Of course, the smile on his face and the joy in his heart upon opening up that bag and seeing that tutu was pure validation that buying that tutu was the only right thing to do! And seeing him run around with his drill, jackhammer and Tonka truck with that tutu on was priceless. And not the least bit odd-- but instead incredibly natural. God, he is so fucking cute!