One Word: 2015

Last year.

Defined my life.
And folks.
2014 was as free as a year could be.

I sucked a lot.
At life and sometimes even at work.
Sucked big time.
I gave myself permission to suck.
To be better next time.
To admit I totally could have done something better, and then did it better.

I called people out on their douchbaggery.
And freed myself of the ones who really don't want to grow either.

I let myself free fall.
And at times, not comfortably.
But I allowed myself to be free.
To live.

And folks.
At the end of this year.
I feel it.

To be me.
Whoever I decide that to be.

This year:
Abandon was almost the word.
To live with reckless abandon.
To abandon the people holding me down.
To abandon the beliefs that are holding me back.

To just abandon.
Live with it.

But that felt too much like free.
And ya'll.
I am living freely.
And loving every minute of it.

Drumroll, please.
2015's word:


This year, I'm going to give it.
Receive it.
Simmer in it.
Feel it.
Let it envelope me.
Let it's warmth glow around me.

I'm going to seek the love of people who have asked to give it.
And stop looking for it in places where I know I won't find it.

I have some of the greatest friends in the entire world.
This year, I'm going to ask them to love me through some hairbrained ideas.
Like getting rid of my cell phone.
And most social media - don't worry matterers, I'll still be here.

I'm going to move.
And travel.
I'm going to love every minute.


I know this place

This is long
And Graphic.
And something I needed to get out of my body in a different way.
And so, if you care to not know me like this.
Skip it.

I had cried about my day for a few hours.
The pain of the morning.
Hurt of not understanding.
And feeling like I failed boiled.
And churned in me.

I had been thinking about it all day.
And the screaming match that ensued when I got home only stirred the pot.

As I twisted the lock on the bathroom door.
Turned slowly the shower handle.
I heard the faint sound of water beginning to spray from the shower head.
Which eventually mixed with the bathroom fan.
And the sink H valve that I had on high.
And in a few moments they combined to create the white noise I need to be bulemic.

I drank two warm cups of water quickly.
And stared at my reflection in the mirror.

"You're disgusting."
"Everyone hates you."
"You are SO wrong."
Little self locked herself away.
Maybe I hid her.
Spared her from witnessing this.
From the noise of adults selves who know they are right.
And I tried desperately to think of the nice things people had said throughout the day.
To shed some light on the caverns Little Self had run to.
Come back.
Be strong.
"Not EVERYONE hates you."
And then suddenly, and all at once.

The world would be better witihout you.
The world would be better without you.
The world would be better without you..

Plays unstopped
I am disgusting.
And it's true, ever so true in the moment that a lot of things including this world would be better without me.

It's then that the epic things that made up the last six months fade away and my desire for the feeling of a purge.
For the control that purging myself of all the ugly would provide.
The quick fix of not killing myself.
Which seems too extreme.
Just purging myself of these feelings.
Would bring.

Getting rid of it all.
Unfortunately, fortunately?
I'm pretty transparent about this with everyone in my life.

So it's about this moment.
Or the one where I'm staring down.
At my two feet, almost eye level with the porcelain on the throne.

That I hear him.
At the door.
For a moment.
Tears welling.
Food churning.

"Hey," he says finally through a mumble of white noise.

"Hey, I'm fine," comes out before I can even consider telling him otherwise.

There is this lapse in time.
When I think he's going.
And I breathe a little deeper.
Ready to release.
To grab the high of slowly killing myself.

And in that second.
I hear it.
The faint click of the door being unlocked by that blasted tiny whole.
That insignificant can't stop me whole.
"Hey," he repeats as the door swings open.

And I melt again.
To the floor.
Resting my forehead on the rim of the throne.
And spraying tears from the eyes.

"I'm sorry," he utters so softly I'm not sure I actually heard him.
Tears spraying, I don't stop to figure out if I did.

He squats down.
I hate the word squat.
And puts his hand on my back.
I inch away.
"Hey," he repeats.
Pulling me back.

"Just," ::spray:: "Let," ::spray::

"I'm going to.  But I'm not going."
I push as hard as I can, but I'm back in the corner.
The urge is dissipating, since I won't be able to while he's here.

"You're not going to leave me, are you?"
"Who's asking?"
"Little self?  I'll be right here."
Melt into him.
Lay on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

The purge is coming out in saline.
And I feel its cool release.

I'm not exactly sure when he stood.
My eyes were squeezed tight as the tears welled.
Or when the white noise of the sink and shower and fan dissipated, but they did.

And in a few minutes, I was asleep on the tile bathroom floor.
I awoke 20 minutes later.
WIth his hand on my back.
And the first sight as I blinked my salt crusted eyes open was his crossed arched legs.
Beside me.

"It's not just a yoga ball," I say through a gritty cried out voice.
"It never is, is it?" he chuckles.

"No," I respond, "It never is."
"You need sleep.  A lot of sleep.  You not on this."
I yawn and lean into him.

4 months binge/purge free will not be ruined by a yoga ball.
And me wanting to give everything until there is nothing left.
I can make it.

On the Season.

I've wrapped so much my fingers are bleeding.
Arm knitted so much my hands are numb.
Baked so much my handes are burned.
And subjected myself to one too many nights of chanukah.

8 too much ;)

At one such a dinner, of latkes and jelly donuts.

Yeah, I went there.

I was asked, why on earth, I am buying my kiddos.
Because "back in my day, we didn't buy gifts for kids."

Well, my teachers did.
And I still have them.
But that's beside the point.

I bought gifts for my kids because:

1.) I don't know what it's like to be homeless.
2.) Or live in a hotel with 7 people.
3.) Or go hungry.
4.) Or not know if there will be enough food for everyone in your family.
5.) I've never waited for DCF to clear my foster home of abuse allegations
6.) I've never been sexually abused.
7.) My mothers did not die of a drug overdose.
8.) I don't know what it's like to have your older brother drop out of school because of drugs.
9.) I don't know what it's like to have your mom abandon you and move to mean to say, I don't know what it's like at 8.
10.) I don't have a mom who is drug dealer.
11.) Or ones who don't have time to take care of
and because...
12.) I know what it's like to have parents who don't know what's best.
13.) I know what it's like to not be seen.
14.) And never quite feel like enough.

You ever try to stuff your entire LIFE in a 3/4 full of a trash bag?
Didn't think so.

And if some books, and socks, and box of love make my kids feel loved for a hot, fleeting second.
Well then.
I'm gonna do it.
I do not feel obligated.
Or required.

But I do feel an exceptional amount of love.
For my littles.
And I can send them home for the vacation to their hotel room houses and one bedroom apartments.
Well then.
I will.
And I will hope in my own broken heart that they feel the love we are sending them all break long.
Because I will worry about them from the end of day Tuesday until we return.

Going home

I keep thinking the further away we get from December 2012, the less vivid it will be.
I won't remember Lauren's call while we walked through walmart.
If the thing I was posting about missing on Facebook was in fact, my passport.

And of course, it was.
The hours that ensued with my incredible sister Jen and my amazeballs production team.
Haven't faded in the least.

Nor, has the hilarity of finding my passport six months later while in Boston.
Sitting in my scanner.

December 2012.
And the memory of it, hasn't faded.

I can still vividely remember my amazing flights to Santiago.
Meeting my production team.
Sans Chris and Heidi.
And my luggage.

The anticipation of it all.
What would my challenge be.
Would we really drive all night to the longest pool in the world?
Where were Chris and Heidi.
And that first night of anxiety, doing a shredder in my hotel room.
Push Ups
Sit ups
Jump Ropes.

I knew whatever challege Lauren had created with Matt would be awesome.
Allbeit...a little crazeballs.

I'm wearing the same clothes I had travled in.
Remember the lost bag?
And I am living on protein bars that weeks later land me in the ER.
For my first enema.
I walk out on that dock.
Listen to Chris tell me he's not coming.
And just breathe.
And 10 minutes later, while in tears by myself, I text JoliBestFriend who reminds, I'm ready, and they are with me in spirit.
Today, I'll swim.
And run.
And kayak.
And just live.
In the most beatuiful motherland ever.

In a few hours we'll load up and head to Chile.
To meet my mom.
Matt will yell at our driver, David, no less than 10 times.
And I'll have to pee every five minutes.
Along with the fact that due to the cold water, I'm now coughing up blood.
And in the early stages of pneumatic flu.

Life is short and sweet, though.
And meeting my mother, my MOTHER.
My heart.
Singularly, the most beautiful experience of my life thus far.
Probably ever.

And I have such a greatful heart.
To Lauren.
Jesus, probably most of all to Lauren.
For filling the role of believer.
Since we didn't have Chris and Heidi.
And chauffer.
And friend.
Speegs and I hit Valpairaso and got to see some beautiful areas.

And I told Matt and Lauren then.
That it had been them, but mostly Chris.
Who had pulled me back.
From those days that I'd hang up with production and want to die.
Want to kill myself.
Because I couldn't be myself.
Or be honest with them.
That I hated myself enough for the both of us.
And screaming at me.
That you hate me.
And working with me was the worst.
Only validates how much I already hated myself.

December 2nd, was a homecoming in so many ways.
And the death bed of feeling like I couldn't.
And the beginning of you never know until you try.
Again, to Matt and Lauren, and our amazeballs tech crew that captured every minute of meeting my mom.

I love you.
A lot.

The Elephant Man.

I don't know how many of you are around NYC.
If you get the chance.
Get over to the Booth Theater and take in the Elephant Man.

I saw it in previews today.
And folks.
It wrecked me.

In every way a play can wreck someone.
It irrevocably changed my life.
And the tear factory has not stopped some 5 hours since the curtain fell.

I knew the story.
Did my homework.
Had seen the movie.
Knew what I was going to watch.

I didn't.

::Here I will pause to also chastise the women in the mezzanine whose cellphones went off no less than 6 times during the first act - SERIOUSLY?!::


But back to my "world will never be the same."
My eyes started leaking almost immediately.
Cue Bradly Cooper in man form.
And in a matter of statements from Dr. Treves.
Cooper contorts to lead the show.
With a depth.
And a breadth.
And an indomitable energy.

And maybe, what really tore at me.
Was the photograph.
In which.
You can clearly see.
In the right eye.
The man that existed in flesh beneath what we all labeled the deformity.

I spent most of act one, snot dripping from my nose, trying to put my finger on exactly what was tearing at me so viscerally.

I mean.
It was so good.

I spent all of act 2 in tears.
Full blown.
Sorry everyone around me tears.

And here is the best I have:
Inherent to his story, is the fundamental feeling that ---> We all want to be seen.
We all want to fit.
And to belong.
And in the beginning, when he's not talking, but rather, just moaning,
I heard him.

And the overwhelming emotion that the base feeling of wanting to belong.
Was primal.
Ever Present.

And somewhere.
Inside of us all.
It lives.

For sure.
Inside of me.
Inside of my 300 pound self.
Inside of my 200 pound self.
Inside of my 164 pound self.
Inside of my psoriasis self.
Inside of my everyone hates me self.
Inside of my world would be better without me self.

And inside of this self.
The most authentic self I have.
I belong.
In the best way.
And maybe they were, in the end, tears of joy.
For the belonging that John Merrick finds.
And the simple love that he find.
That Bradley portrays in such a simple, nuanced way.

I find myself already longing to be back.
If only to see the first act without the stupid cell phone rings.
And the Long Island ladies behind me who "love Bradley Cooper, but hated silver linings playbook."

Do me a favor.
And here me when I say, YOU MATTER.
Because you do.
And you are so loved.

Sometimes. Some. Times


It's been months.
And I'm not really sure why.
Or how that happened, but it did.

I hope you know.
You don't stop mattering, just because I'm not around the old blog.

I've been teaching.
And hanging with my incredible network of friends.
Therapizing - but not in therapy, my therapist moved to Santa Barbara, so we'll connect again soon.

And living.
I mean.
Really living.
3rd Grade life is busy and fun.

Most importanly, ya'lll.
Third grade is fun.
Like tons of fun.
This crew of explorers and learners challenges me in all the best ways.

Most of my friends and family are pretty certain that I've lost my mind in commuting 2 hours to be a part of Les Mis again, but the truth is, while rehearsals have been long, it's also a wonderful experience.

Since the closing of my crossfit gym, I've working out at Healthtrax and I love it.  Rowing daily on my rower in my classroom.

And living.
I went hiking recently with some family and friends.
And I we ran to the top after a 2 hour trek.
As we reached the top, laughing and pushing to be first - yes like we're seven.
I put my hands on my strong thighs and said, "I can't take any of this for granted."
And the real deal is, I don't.

We get one, if we're lucky.  ONE EPIC LIFE.
We make mistakes and teach other, we live, we learn.
We dream about doing it better.
Sometimes we do - sometimes we'd don't.

But I'm passionate about not giving up, or giving in.

The truth is this.
You have to believe.
That you are as important as you are.
As we know you to be.
Stop putting yourself last.
And not just in the realm of weight loss.
OR eating right.
Because, ya'll.
I had Lobster Bisque for dinner tonight and I'm wicked proud of that.

And I had challah bread.
And while you're busy trying to love your little self.
The broken bits.
The hard bits.
All those kibbles and bits.
Let other folks love you too.
Trying to love yourself by cutting everyone and everything else out - isn't really loving yourself.
They are there.
Those kind voices.
The ones who know exactly what you need to hear.
To feel.

I was talking to one such voice late in the morning yesterday.
He works full time in NYC, and is currently in Law School.
Die, right?

Anyways, he laughed at one point.
And said, "If I don't say it enough - I couldn't be prouder to love you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means, I'm proud of you and I love you."

I smiled into my phone, like he could see it, and then thanked him.
"Thanks for seeing me.  Especially on the days, I can't."

Matterers, I see you.
You matter so much.
And you are SO SO SO loved.


You All.

You remember this post ---> Month of Love #14 - Theatre

Read it.
Scroll through it.

But this is the important part:
"After my finale, I found myself at the Exit 7 Players stage.Waiting to sing On My Own.In front of people I didn't know.
And I thought then, as I do now.Judge away.I'm not here to knock anyones socks off, because I probably won't.I'm here to sing.To prove to MYSELF that I can.
And so.I did.Quickly.And exited upstage and out of the theater.
And truly, truly truly, that moment was enough.Just to sing.And have a few people say that was good, as I exited.

 But my story doesn't stop there.One call back later, Wonder Woman and Shakira and I were shopping for Prom Dresses in JC Penny.No, seriously.Wonder Woman and Shakira and I.
And our Director phoned.To offer me the part...Of Eponine."


Since that incredible experience, I've been chomping at the bit to get into another show.
And by chomping, I mean, I've showed up to no less than 7 auditions.
And paralyzed with fear, never got out of my car.

That all changed last week.
I got out of my car.
Took my Number 144 and got in line.
Sang On My Own.
And left.

This arrived today:
"Hello Jami,I am pleased to offer you a role within the chorus ensemble of Theatre At The Mount’s Fall production of Les Mis."


THAT'S HAPPENING!!!!!!!!!! :)

Since playing Eponine, I've longed to sing some of the awesome Ensemble numbers I missed - Master of the House - Lovely Ladies - Etc.

That's HAPPENING!!!!!

Little steps.
Towards change.
Create Opportunity.
Why is that so hard for me to remember? 


We are taking a break from our regularly scheduled programming to send a prayer and some love to one of my most favoritest summer friends.

'Sup Farahn.

This gorgeous gal is about take the Bar.
Pass the BAR.

She may not know it yet.
Officially speaking, studying for the BAR exam makes you cray.
Like, cray cray.

And you rock a bitch face 24/7 in the days leading up to it.
You fein strength in the face of adversity.
Answer C when it's C.
Think A when it's not.
And generally seek the solace of a quiet room and caffeinated beverages.

Something you need to know about F:
She is.
She's got this.
She's gorgeous.
And smart.
And ready.
And unsure.
And ready.
And nervous.
And thoughtful.
And tired.
And did I mention ready?

So, F?

Go get 'em, guuuuuurrrrrlll!

***Update 7/18/15: Gurrrlfriend passed the BAR EXAM.  Moved to D.C. and is busy making her mark.  Helping the world be more awesome.  I mean, seriously.***


I needed this.
More than I can say.
Thank you.
For this image.
And these words.

my worth is so much more than the size of my pants.
Or shoulders.
And even greater than my red blotches all over my skin.
MY worth.
MY well being.
Is stitched into the very fabric of time.
And it sits securely,
fastened to my past,
tethered to my future.



I had something to talk about.

And then.

A friendly friend reminded me that exactly ONE year ago...TODAY:
This aired.

Just in case you missed it.



You don't need to watch this.
But I was going to reflect on something that matched up with this air-aversary, perfectly.

Post Camp.


Not another camp post.
Post camp though - has been a whirlwind. I landed early Morning and started back to the Boston Ballet SDP.
For my 10th Summer

2nd as ARD.

Camp 4 - Closing Ceremonies.

After I found out I was home.

Camp 3.

I ended Day 2 with an adult workshop.
Which was hard.
For a lot of reasons.
None of which were technical.
But thanks camp fam for getting that laptop/dvd up and running :).

The hard bits.
Were the bits.
About my adoptive parents.
And explaining, to some of the most terrific adoptive parents.
About mine.
And my adoptive parents.
Aren't just adoptive.
They are divorced.
And closeted.
And not closeted.
And single.
And together.
And lonely.
And sad.
And they are mommas.
And not.

Camp 2.

Oh my gracious.
Oh my gracious.
Oh my gracious.

If I could write that as my entire post.
It pretty much describes opening ceremony.
And day one-two of camp.

In fact, as you read today's post, imagine that ticker as my running record.


It was like.

And Camp.
And Ballet.

All happened within 12 hours of each other.
And I celebrated the last day.
Made my 6:30am flight this morning.
Arrived in Denver.
Rented my car.
Drove 2 hours to Snow Mountain Ranch in Fraser, CO.

And now.
I'm sitting here.
If this is real life?

Pasta Carbanara and Memphis

It's almost my birthday.
Almost. :)

31 years.
To celebrate.

So, as we should begin any good celebration, I went to hang with my gym besties.
And they decided to cook me a meal.

That I was sure I wasn't going to eat.
And Memphis, arguably, my favorite basset hound, thought so, too.
As he stared longingly at the bacon I tossed around in the bowl.
And the gluten free pasta lovingly prepped by Paragon.
Who besides being a life saving Fireman in real life.
And amazing trainer.
Is also, a fantastic chef.
Any wonder why he's married to Wonder Woman, I mean?

I have to ask them for the cookbook info.
Because - IMHO - it was the best book I've seen.

While I sat with some of my favorite people in the history of mankindlife, and watched Josh and his mom, Kathie on Extreme Weight Loss Season 4, I moved the pasta around in my bowl.
And watched Memphis, watch me.

Paragon peppered my pasta.
And I sipped my red bull.

Katsby, who was also there, asked whether or not I was going to eat.
And if I was.
Would I keep it down?

And am I working on making that better?
In my life.

I, of course, responded of course, to am I working on that.

To which Katsby offered,
"Yeah, but, really?  Or is that just bs?"

And a beat went by as we made eye contact and I offered the truthful response which is that,

I am really working on that.

Working on it doesn't mean I get it right all the time.
Eating Disorders.
Are a part of me.
And I will spend the journey of my life seeking to balance eating and less disorder.

By the end of the episode, I had consumed 2/3rds of the meal.
Appeased my crew.
Fed Memphis.

And decided, there was no way I was keeping it down.

Unknown oil.
And bacon.
So much bacon.

I couldn't.
The food was boiling inside of me and by the time I made it home, I must have gained a billion pounds.

I stood in the mirror.
In that long, grey, size small skirt from Marshalls.
And tears of oil and bacon welled in my eyes.

And the pain of having a disorder that, I choose to wear freely so as not to live in shame,
and can sometimes,
fill me with so much pain and regret,
that I just can't keep it inside.

You are huge.
You are...huge.
You are huge.
Hung in the mirror staring back at me.

And then.
As if, all at once.
I thought of my besties from the gym.
And how.
In my real life.
In the body I am in right now.

I am loved.
And all again, as if all at once, what had once been youarehugeyouarehugeyouarehuge...



You are loved.
You are LOVED.

And that made me smile.
And the thought of Katsby poking me.
And Paragon sitting way closer than is comfortable.

And how.
With them.
My gym besties.
Close is good.
Side by side eating bacon and oil.
And pasta.
Is good.

I am loved.

And my last thought before I fell asleep.
Filled with Pasta Carbanara.
I AM working on it.
No bs.
And there are nights.
Like tonight.
When I haven't eaten all day.
Where I get it right.
And enjoy the people.
And the food.
And the living.


Scale Size

Like, don't buy a big blue scale?

Haha, sorry, the title made me chuckle out loud.
Mostly because it reminded me of this guy:

Good old baby blue.
Measure of my self hatred.
And really.
Just a piece of metal.

I did my final, final weigh in with Mrs. Ashley Holm.
In my hotel bathroom.
As she was called to do it a second time.
A few hours after the first one.
Much to her chegrin, I am sure.
Did you just call me a Diva under your breathe, it's okay.


But for an entire year.
And a month following finale.
This piece of metal.
Measured the world.
And my worth.
And my ugliness.
All of it.

Until May 5th.
When I decided it didn't.
And for the very last time, I stepped off the scale.
And into loving myself.
For other things.
Besides a number or a measure.

I just started using another measure.
The one printed on the tag of my jeans.
The one that read/reads size 6 jeans.
My miracle jeans.

And that bikini up there.
That gets put on once a week.
I still have body dysmorphia folks.
That doesn't stop just because I decide to be strong.

Case in point.

 ^This guy.

Now, when my year ended.
I bought a size 10 jean skirt from Le Target Boutique.
And loved it.
It felt good, I felt good.
And I didn't even care that the number inside was double digit.

I wanted a jean skirt for school.
And the one I had was more for a night out.

Off to Le Wal Mart Boutique to get me the one above.
Last week.
I picked up the 14.
You know.
I'm huge now.
And held it again my body.
At least my brain can know that wasn't right.
So I picked up the 12.
Still no.
Then the 10.
The 10.
You know.
Double digits.
And I thought.
Still no.

And I laughed OUT loud at the store.
To myself.

I picked up the 8.
Held it against my body.
And thought.
Probably not.
I'm gonna try.

This morning.
I tried.
Put on that 8.
Zipped it.
Paired with a white T.
And went to work.



Because this morning.
I ate breakfast.
And walked.
On a broken foot.
And last night.
I worked out.
And ran.
And swam.
And laughed.

And the size inside my clothing didn't change anything.
Didn't make me a better teacher.
Or friend.
Except that everyone loved my outfit today.
Which, of course, I love the love :).
But really.
I love myself in a size 18 too.

I love myself on my extra water weight days too.
When my mind and my body feel like they weigh a thousand extra pounds.
And I cry in front of my mirror for no other reason than I can.

I am proud to be heavy scale free.
And number free.

And plain.
Free to be me.
And whatever that means today.

Which in case you were wondering, today, it means sticky hot.
No AC in my classroom.
Glad I fit into a size 8.
Non Sweaty Betty :)

What about May?


Where did the month go?

PRISM Awards

Ready for some, "I'm not sure I'm allowed to blog about this…
but I'm blogging about this." Information? :)

I should probably have run this by production.

They're wicked busy, right?
And this has been sitting here in the blog post que for awhile now, and the awards are Thursday night.

Today felt as good as any:

I don't want to die...but.

It happened tonight.
In therapy.

Where I said.
When I realized the scared self
Was living in a room with nothing
and no good.
And worthless.
And unlovable.
I really don't want to die.

I don't.
I know that.
I've know that for a little over a year.

I don't want to kill myself.

But what happened.
Wasn't that.
I know that.

Jill, therapist extraordinaire, asked, so if you don't want to die...
You know you want to live.

And I paused.
And I said.
I say that.

Be Inspired.

I'm back.
To blogging at a normal clip.

And today.
It's about inspiration

One of my littles tackeled giving "inspiration" a personality.
A little poetry into personification today:

Be Inspired
By: ZZtop (Name Changed)

Inspired is the new belief.
Be inspired by new things.
Be inspired by good people.
Be inspired by doing what you believe in.
B inspired by your dreams.
Be inspired by your culture.
Be inspired by your life.
Be inspired by your Destiny.
Be inspired by your future.
Be inspired by LOVE!

I like my ____ because ______.

Did you know, April is National Poetry Month?
If you're not a writer.
Or teacher.
Probably not.

But it is.
I'm no poet.
I'm just not.
I love to write.
And I do, on most random afternoons consider myself a writer.

Reasons Why?

I love you.
You matter.
And no, no I do not want to run you.

Except Ms. M.
I would run with Ms. M.
#1 reason of why I don't want to run with you.
Would be a reason why she'd want to run with me.


Here's the run down.
RUN down.
Get it.

Slay me.



On the way to work this morning.

One Year Post Finale Thoughts

You should probably listen to this song...while you read.

Because I did.
While I wrote it.
And the lyrics.
They are all over the place.

Finding My Source.

I started to blog about therapy tonight.
Because it was awesome.
Good cry awesome.
Like honestly.
It was just.
And maybe that's waiting to come in another blog post.
But boy howdy.
The new BLOG!?  


Ashley from DESIGNER BLOGS did this one and it was EXTREMELY affordable.
So me.
And just.
I needed.

Paging Joy.


I legit.
I have the greatest therapist of all time.
For me.
After Therapy, After passing out.  Before rest. :)

Love What You Do

Can I be honest?
Did that make you laugh, as much as it did me?

I Laugh.

I laugh a lot these days. 

Or I have a lot to laugh about.
Or, maybe I’m just funny looking.
And that makes me laugh.

Whatever it is, I am laughing.
All things considered.
I mean.
That’s all I can ask for.
In recent events.

I am in a peace of loving this life.
That doesn’t mean, loving the skin I’m in.
I have good days and bad.

Plus, still fit into finale dress.
Minus, I feel like any minute, I could balloon.

Maybe it’s happening RIGHT now.
Maybe everyone else can see that and not me.

I’m crazy.
Okay, not maybe.
A lot bit.

But what makes me laugh.
In the face of that.
Is that for the first time in as many years.
I know.
For quite certain.

Other happy things:
Mrs. S our MCAS Tutor.
She’s a happy person.

My kids.
All 8 of them.
And everything I love about each one.
Though lately.
It’s their reading scores.
And 25-45 word gains.
I mean.

Late night chats with Girls Friends.
EVD.  I miss yea.

Florida on Saturday to celebrate my sister’s 29th.
And St. Augustine all weekend to celebrate my love of that old town.
And good food.
And the fountain of youth.
And sister time.
That’s happy.

And Chi-Town with the girls and our male chaperone.
For Whole Brain Teaching Training.
And good fun.
Fun fun.

2014 - One Word

If you need to know more about One Word ---> One Word.

I stewed.

Ruminated some more.
And read.
Did I read?!
A lot of resolutions.
And listened.
To a lot of folks.
And music.
And wrote.

And here we are.
Four days into 2014.
And I have the word.
That will light the way this year.