I haven’t had a blogroll posted in a long time. I may decide against it at some point, but for now, up it’s going.

I realize that the list of blogs on the page here seems like the most eclectic bunch. It is. I’m slowly adding the links and will probably group them together, but not until they’re all on.

If you find yourself on the list, but you’d rather not be listed here, kindly let me know and I’ll take you down.

If you feel I’ve made a mistake with your link, or missed you and you feel left out, you can tell me that too.

(Side notes – many of the blogs I frequented are now private and or protected. Know you’re missed. Know I wish I had an invite. Also, I’ve thought about listing you by name in some cases, so if I decide to do so, you can again correct me if need be.)

mom’s apron strings

Both tonight and last night I spoke briefly with my mother.

I was once my mother’s only source of venting. She relied on me much more than she should have when I was a kid, because we were a lot alike, because I was an old soul, because I listened to her when no one else did.

I’ve awakened, as most of us do, to find my parents aren’t infallible. They’re human, and are people, before parents. They make mistakes, much like I do, and though yes, I may disappoint them, that’s as much due to their expectations as it is my failures.

I don’t feel the need to answer every call, to promptly return every voice mail message. I know they’ll question me, and worry, and that’s OK. It’s not my job to soothe their fears beyond what I can offer.


I grew up Catholic. Not die hard, by any stretch of the imagination, but some things we did and some things we didn’t. We always gave up meat on Ash Wednesday & the Fridays in Lent. We always gave something up for those forty days.

Cafeteria catholics, my ex mother in law called it. I suppose she was right.

Anyway, save for the Lenten season when I was undergoing treatment, I’ve given something up every year. I figured I sacrificed enough things that year, without giving something else up. Come on, how many girls give up their hair for Lent?

I figure, it’s as much a chance to reinforce self discipline as anything else. I’ve done chocolate, snacks, soda, caffeine, alcohol, meat, cursing even.

The cursing? God, that shit was hard.

This year, I’m not sure if and what I want to give up. I know the idea that you could do something charitable instead, or something like that would work too, but I’d rather go without something. It’s easier for me to take on more, to do additional work, to volunteer myself than it is to deny myself.

Considering the day is more than half over, I better get on the stick.


I’ve been debating decisions.

Wondering if the moves I’ve made are right.

Holding back necessary information and trying to put the pieces back together.

Everything he says makes perfect sense.

I get it.

I do.

I don’t have to like it.

The fear of losing him, our relationship, makes me want to fight, to run; to push or pull.

But I can’t. Because the very things I could do to keep him near are the things that could make him leave.


So many words I could put here.  So much I want to say, or have to say, but it remains unpublished.

My words are stuck inside the knots inside me, and while I need to let them out, I haven't figured out how to do so.