You Aren't Perfect but You Make Life Worth It- KW

I stay awake all night to smoke a cigarette at 5am in near freezing temperatures to contemplate the fact that I'm in a dying marriage. We are all dying. We are born to die. This fact slaps me in the face when my denial shield is out of service. I was born into a world that promises happiness and hope. And while I desperately cling to both when Life's pendulum swings that way; I am no longer complacent in slaving myself into believing that the life I live is "happy".  My husband will probably practice infidelity the same way he practices apathy. I am no more than a noisy roommate to him. At best I'm a funny channel on T.V. that at times entertains him. If there is a morsel of love for me in his corpse it will eventually be devoured by resentment. He will hate me as much as I hate myself. Part of me is relieved at the inevitability of this bitter damnation. If I'm privy to the ending there is no reason to destroy my inner self to please a man who will be nothing but a stranger at the end. But my struggle lays in the perplexing emotion in which I love him. I do care so much about him, I unswervingly respect him. But each day, ignoring me comes easier and easier to him. I can prevail. I will be the best Monica Foy I can be, but that's all. It's not in my soul to change who I am...not for a man. Not even my husband; the man I'll probably pine for until my very death. How can this be? How is he mine and not mine at all? He is devoted. That's my only comfort for the time being. But how long does devotion last? How much longer can I keep him with my slowing mind and widening waist? I am almost out of friendly. I am digging my nails into the floorboards of sanity...

"On a bathroom wall I wrote "I'd rather argue with you than to be with someone else". I took a piss and dismiss it like fuck it, and I went and found somebody else. Fuck arguing or harvesting the feelings, I'd rather be by my fucking self. Till about 2am and I call back and I hang up and start to blame myself...Somebody help." -Kanye West

A Quarter Life Tale

I turn 25 in five days. I have no grand epiphany's or regrets to report of. I bought a puppy last week, and earlier this year I got married and bought a house. It's safe to say I'm fulfilled at the moment. No crisis here! Instead, I'm having a party! A big one. And it will be booze soaked. I planned a 3 day hangover-recovery process. :)

But I digress.

 I decided to pizzazz my backyard up a little, Martha Stewart Style. Home improvement craft time!!

I have a huge space for a backyard that I eventually hope to fill with trees and a fire pit and benches, but for now, I just need something functional. I scoured Pinterest for some ideas and this is what I came up with:

So off to Lowes, went the hubby, and he purchased four, 7ft wood posts and 2 bags of quick cement. It turned out we only needed 1 bag of cement, so now I have extra. Maybe I can use it on the fire pit! I hit up my local Dollar Tree to find some inexpensive buckets for the posts. I found purple plastic buckets and decided to experiment.

The plastice buckets held the cement well and I recommend it to anyone on a budget. After the posts were settled we spray painted them gold to compliment the purple.

(And you might notice our half-mowed lawn, sorry!)

Then I bought hooks to attach to the posts for something to hang the lights off:

Then I bought string lights from Target:

But you'll have to wait until the party to see the finished project! See you there!!

Earthly Friend

     "Do people still wear hats?" Caylee queried as she got dressed for work. "Well, they would if they had this one! This hat is fabulous! I feel like Princess Kate in this hat! Oh the color is just perfect! I mean, have you ever seen a more beautiful hat? Everyone is going to love this hat!"
     Caylee exited her front door in a bound to her  green Taurus, she was late to work. No matter, she wanted it this way. She had finally pulled off a fashionista ensemble and she wanted the entire building to notice. Her usual parking spot was already taken when she got to her nine-to-five. She would have to walk across the lot uphill to get to the front doors. Caylee took a humble moment to absorb the morning sky, already blue and busy with breezy birds. One of the birds must have gotten the worm because just as it flew daintily over Caylee's head it relieved itself right onto her ritzy hat. Caylee didn't notice, she was ardently trying to make her trek to her cubicle count as a work out. As she paraded through the doors, Caylee pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head proudly. She smiled at every passer-by until she sat in front of her monitor.

     Later in the floor lounge room, Caylee overheard a familiar assistant roasting her undiscovered faux paw, "Did you see her wearing that disgusting hat? It was awful! I swear I saw bird crap on it! Can you imagine, aha? She's been carrying a hat of bird crap around all day! The embarrassment!"

The moral of the story is: DON'T WEAR HATS.

Sun View Lane

     He bought the house on Sun View Lane on a bright day. I watched him move in his green couch and boxes from the attic window. He was tall, maybe even six feet, with brown hair and green eyes. He was mesmerizing. His yard was large but plain and begged to be gardened. He must have sensed this because that weekend he brought a few young trees home. The first tree to be planted was an Eastern Redbud. It was short and squat but would prove to be majestic when the season changed and the head was decorated with the loveliest pink blossoms. The second tree to marry the Earth was a sweet pear tree. Its branches were already swollen with growing fruit. The pears seemed to liven in color when he covered the trees' roots in soil and watered it's drying branches.  The last tree was the tallest and already mighty in maturity. It was a Pecan tree, no doubt bought to give shade from the relentless sun that gave truth to the street name. It's leaves were green and healthy, waiting to serve their new home.
      That day he turned his house into a home, and his yard into a garden. Five years later, he held me beside the Pecan Tree and made me his wife.

Incognito

How can I get off the grid when we live in a social media society? I've decided to take a step back and it's not just about shutting off my cellphone for a few days. Mistress Zoya is helping me take a different perspective to finding my inner self. The self that existed before family and friends bound me to roles I haven't been able to escape since they were assigned. Scape goat, black sheep, party friend, tenacious wife, etc. I introduce Plato's Mistress; Zoya:

How much can I avoid social media, really? I'm not doubting that it is possible, but how do I render these assigned roles? Am I brave enough to explore my past self and revisit what made me so  compliant? The old Monica loved being outdoors and so I, Zoya, am writing this post tucked away in a soft grassy spot on my front lawn. Lets hope my neighbors can chalk this up to being charming...

There Is No Future, There Is No Past

 I started writing this blog because I opened my bedroom blinds and discovered a tiny fluttering hummingbird just outside my window. The only other time I've seen a hummingbird was in Mexico City at my aunts 3rd story apartment. But even so, the stateside hummingbird seems more out of place here than in the 4th largest city in the world. Why come here? I don't have a feeder, my plants are nonexistent compared to my neighbors' yard of the month, AND it's raining. I've watched the rain from my bed twice this week. It's special rain. Not a ruin-my-hairdo, or cancel-softball-practice rain. This rain is falling around our house, which happens to be in the woods. But there is something magical about living in the woods. It's not just the gorgeous sunsets, dewy mornings, and eclectic wildlife. A person can breathe out here. Figuratively, since I'm sure no one has problems breathing in the suburbs. My mind is clear in the woods. There are no distractions. It's Earth, sky, and me. So simple, so swollen. And as the rain continues to fall I feel with any ounce of intuition I was born with, that my surroundings feel the same. The trees stand with integrity, the rain falls with purpose, the sun sets diligently and no outside force can interrupt them. Let me take a lesson from my visiting hummingbird (and quote RENT); There's only us, there's only this, forget regret or life is yours to miss...No other course. No other way. No day but today.

Expecto Patronum

     I've been seeing Mr. Houdini's shows for the past four years and I've never tired of the illusions, the spectacular mystery, or Mr. Houdini himself. Houdini is an artist, dare I say, enigmatic. His restricted affect intrigues me and I feel his cryptic hold on me. Houdini is nothing short of an underground wizard.
      It's been a year since I started shadowing Harry after each show. That first night I followed him to a lively cafe for an autograph and a moment in his presence. As he sat at a small round table with a crew of people, he accepted my request with a smile. Something I hadn't seen before in his shows. I spent the rest of the night across the street peering into the cafe window at the man I admired. Who was he off stage? I imagined him to be the kind of man I would be friends with.      
   And so I got to know things about Harry...private things. I knew where he'd be any day of the week, I knew his friends that he saw every Friday night, I watched him woo frequent women, I even knew which cologne he preferred. In the beginning it started as an innocent hobby, per se. I'd buy a ticket to his show, get there early and stay until the end. I would follow Harry as he left his private exit at the theater to attend champagne dances and lavish lounges. But somehow along the way, I got lost in the envy of his seemingly glamorous lifestyle. He ate at restaurants I didn't even know I should care about, and he wore suits I couldn't afford... Why did he deserve to be paramount and not me? 
   After months of coveting Mr. Houdini, my admiration turned into bitter resentment. My lust had transposed to a dark grudge. Tonight, I too would be an illusionist. I would make Harry Houdini disappear.

... Poor fellow didn't see it coming when I snuck up behind him and put a knife to his throat.