by Danita Jolly

Created on: June 16, 2008

What am I going to do? Let me sit and meditate, be present, and try to allow some thoughts to flow through me and give me inspiration. That's ithere we go: What makes me happy? What is important to me? Can I be healthy and balanced? Why does it matter what my parents think? What makes sense and what is nonsense? What can I do to make money and allow myself the flexibility needed to be the mother I want to be as a divorced single woman? There, I'm stuck again. That one seems to get me every time. I was a hairstylist for so many years but once I got close to forty I had to make a change. I kept having visions of myself at sixty with a massive beehive hairdo, smoking a cigarette, while wearing Wet & Wild #19. Hmmm so now what? All I know is that my dog is fighting for lap space over my lap top and I'm trying to keep my wine within arm's reach.

Do you remember those books back in the day? The one while you were reading the story, the author would give you the choice to determine the outcome? So you were actually participating in the story. Do I open the door at the end of the hall or follow the stairs to the basement? My fate to be decided on either page 23 or 78. Oh, I loved that! I would read and re-read until I had experienced every possible ending. Ever since I can remember, I spent as much time as possible in the school library. I lost myself in books. Novels of adventure, abuse, and kindness. Story after story, the thicker the book the better. I sincerely dreaded for it to come to an end. Why couldn't it keep going; part two, three and four? These characters now have become my friends, my only friends. Every time I finished a book, I took a short painful glimpse at reality and my head would then dive deeper into the next book. Can I edit my life please?

Now as an adult, still in love with words and their magical essence, all I can write is four lines of poetry. Even then I can barely allow myself the freedom to create before editing the hell out of it. Be straight to the point, spit it out, don't waste time and please be effective and efficient with your words. Can I tell you where I think this mindset may stem from; though one really never knows?

My mother. The End. I wish it could be The End', but I guess she needs some explaining. I cannot mention too much of her at one time without my therapist being close at hand lest I have the wine to comfort me. So you will only hear bits and pieces scattered throughout. She was a lonely woman, between the several

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