and the mind breaks wild speed on keyboard clicks

i started this blog because I had alot to get off my chest. i started it because daily writing had become cumbersome and I wasn't really getting any joy out of it all. just working. I also started this blog because I have recently been attacked (boy that is a strong word) by a former friend and sadly mentally ill person who pulled me, my husband, my friends and my livelyhood over the coals for his own personal enjoyment. He did it publicly, he did it obnoxiously and he did it hurtfully. I was somehow expected to allow this behavior and forgive it. As far as I know, I don't think that this forgiveness would do anything to better that person, and would only benefit myself. So I work on it. I mull it over and roll it back and forth. I think about what I may be holding on to if I still refuse to forgive him. The thing is, I don't need friends like that. Can I forgive someone in my heart and not in thier face? My mind crawls to our last face to face encounter. I didn't bat an eye, in fact i fell back on my own childish ways and ignored him. I think it was easier than explaining to him the pain he had caused me. I don't think he cares. I don't think he is capable of understanding what he has done or would even think it was bad. But it was. Why am I rehashing this? Well he attacked my writing. He attacked my technical skills. I keep thinking about this when I type along, ingnoring my spellling and punctuation and capitalization and so on. I never give a shit, and as long as you can read this and understand it, i think that is ok. But I still feel very hurt by it. I let it creep into me, I let it keep me from writing on some days, and some days i feel like it's a chore. How to lose the spontenaity and beauty of something is to beat it down. Rights and wrongs and rules and regulations that build a mountian for the mighty to smite you from. Poor lonely old man building a mountain of punctuations and participles and whateverthefucks to punish the low unexperienced from. How sad. i loved him as a friend. and just like that. betrayal. but enough. There is too much to be gained from letting go. And i have but some days it's harder than others.

So explains the lack in posting. I got hung up on this for a while. It was impacted by many days of too much to do, too much to think and not enough time for it all. We are in total motion at the store. Everything seems to be swinging uncontrollably and I like it. Thus in this quite morning of the beginning of the week I try and sort out all that has happened.

First of all...

i saw the Dalai Lama. I guess there are no words that I can adequately use to describe the feeling of love and peace I have in my heart. And better yet, I have no words for what it felt like to have the honor of having my family with me, and my daughter with me, who had an experience like no other. At the age of 13 having this opportunity is monumental at best. We are so blessed.

Second, Poets on X+ and Storytime were amazing this weekend. By far the most well attended and the greatest fun.


Third, P has less than two weeks till her last day of Jr High, and less than one week till she turns 14. Forth, We have our second booksigning at the store on Thursday, and Saturday is Deep Ellum Market where i will be featured along with 6 other poets. I don't know how I am going to do all of this. Add in yoga, dinners and general house and bookstore running..and I'm exhausted. Sunday we go to Ft Worth for P's bday party. Monday I will colapse!

Yoga update: Getting harder, getting discouraged, but feeling the strength growing in my arms and legs and even abs. I will continue to attend at least 3x a week for the remainder of the summer if I can afford it. The Dr. took me off anti-anxiety pills and now I'm anxious about getting anxious. Back to square one. Getting a shrink is first on the list. Can't go back to sleepless nights and emotional breakdowns. I was doing too well.

FB weirdness.. Meeting cousins and family members. Friend or not friend? We are all adults here. Why am I still afraid of being who I am? Being judged and held accountable for whatever anyone does not deem as acceptable. Would my mother be appauled by my fierce need for weirdness and independence? Ultimately no, she knew i was a weirdo from a long way back. Dress me in polyester and give me chilli bowl haircuts, mom. I love you. It's ok.