My Truth

is simple: I’m o.k.  I don’t have time or space to entertain… I have no desire to make time for after hours conversation.  Once I get home, I’m home. My phone goes one way and I go another. The thought of having to close my door to have a conversation with… or to talk after the baby goes to sleep…. it feels more like a chore/task… I just don’t have that in me right now.

Maybe when I meet that guy -the right guy- the one who piques my curiosity/interest, who makes me want to dig deep and learn about him, the one who the sparks fly with… that one. That one I’ll have time for. That one I won’t have to make time for because our time for each other will come naturally.  That one.

For now, I’m o.k.  I’m at peace. I’m happy.

This is my truth.


Touch me once again…

I’m listening to Floetry and loving every minute of it and I get to thinking…what is it? what happened to make me close off that part of me? …that part of me…not so much the physical (even though that remains on lock…unlocked) but the emotional, the mental, the spiritual part that welcomes being touched.  I can talk/text/write/blog about any and everything. Politics, religion, relationships, parenting, work/life balances, cars (have you seen the new Kia Optima???); but I just can’t seem to tap into that part of me.  Have I become so tired? afraid? cold?  I need to tap in to that part…

He came to visit me wearing full red: t-shirt and sweats.  I smile because I know he did it on purpose. he knows I absolutely love seeing him in red. He knows it triggers me…touch my sight

He took a sip of Heineken, leaned over and breathed in my face softly, then laughed. I can’t explain it and no other beer/alcoholic beverage does that to me, and I’m not sure if smelling Heineken on another man’s breath would have the same effect…I never tried…but with him…touch my smell

All he had to do was get close to me, stand in my space, allow me to feel his breath on my face…my neck…and it would alert all my sexual senses. Time would pass and I promise, just being that close to him was enough, for me…for him it was simply the beginning…the start of a moment that would last well into the morning. But for me, standing in the middle of a room, or the sidewalk or the grocery store, -it really didn’t matter- but just having him share my space…touch my skin

His voice did it. His laugh. His base. All he had to do was leave me a voicenote of some kind. Just hearing him spiraled me. Hearing my name coming out his mouth sent me traveling…my mind, my thoughts would end up wherever he was and within seconds my day/week/forever was planned with him…he knew what songs I needed when I needed them. He knew how to speak to me through these songs…he knew me enough to…touch my sounds

To have him appreciate my words, my formulas, my analysis. To have him understand and agree with or intelligently debate against my logic. To have him teach me something new,  teach me how to love…him.  show me a different perspective. Understand him. Help me develop my language…touch my words

Touch me. Trigger my senses. Touch me again.  Allow the neurons in my body to dance a new dance…communicate with each other in a new way…speak a new language, a love language.  A language that only you can/will ever understand.  Allow the muscles in my body to relax at the very thought/sight/smell/feel of you.  “It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

Touch me.




via Daily Prompt: Hideout

My hideout is not a hotel room on the beach. it’s not a cabin in the mountains. not a second home in the hills. nor a tiny house on the countryside.

this is my hideout. here on my blog. I come here for mental escape. right smack in the middle of the workday, while writing test cases and feeling like I’m stuck; no idea what the next format of driver’s license should be to test…wondering if I covered all the possible scenarios: My brain hurts and I need to get away, I come here.  I come here in the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep and the house is quiet: I can’t sleep and my mind won’t slow down, I come here.  I come here while patiently waiting in line at the deli: there are multiple conversations going on and it almost sounds like chaos. I come here.

This is my hideout. My place where I can be found by those searching for me if -and only if- I allow it.


I am hooked to -intrigued by- the chaos of what has now become known as politics.  I find myself searching for more.  “What did he say today?” I search, I find the answers, I laugh or get frustrated or get concerned. What is happening? People who have no experience in working as any kind of government are now leading.  “one fool makes many” and so the false statements and ideas are given as facts and then retracted. Apologies are made, but most of the time, no. The false statements are then renamed something outrageous like “alternative facts”. People who have no experience in public school teaching/education are giving advice on how to do it better.   That’s like a wedding planner telling a construction worker on how best to lay a foundation!  Those who KNOW, teach.  So if you don’t know, why are you speaking??? But I keep searching. I find it intriguing.  This is chaotic and,





via Daily Prompt: Glitter

Glitter on me…it’s pretty. makes me smile. makes me want to ooooo and aaaaah like a child.   it’s fun. until it’s not.  until you’re ready to be rid of it and can’t. you shower. you wake up. it’s still there. You have to get to work, and walking around the office in a suit -pencil skirt and jacket, pumps and…glitter.  You’re bound to be asked the question “what were you doing last night?”  sigh… so you try to remove it with a dry towel but that only seem to move it from one spot to the next. it’s still pretty, but you’re over it. this sounds familiar….

yep, getting rid of glitter is like getting out of a relationship that you’ve simply had enough of.  it’s not ugly. it still kinda makes you smile, but you’ve had enough. you know you’ve had enough.  you know it was fun in the moment, but you just cannot carry it with you into your next morning…your next moment.  but trying to get rid of it is like trying to get rid of glitter.

and then there’s that moment…that moment that you long for some glitter. something that sparkles and makes you smile…giggle…ooooo and aaaaaaah like a child. you miss the fun of it. waking up with it. you even miss walking with that sparkle, that glow to make someone ask “what were you doing last night?”

Daily Prompt: Seriousness

via Daily Prompt: Seriousness

The seriousness of being serious… It’s Monday morning and I’ve had a really busy weekend and there’s just so much going on locally as well as nationally and even universally…that diving into seriousness in this moment just feels exhausting to me.  So I sit here in the office and before I get into the seriousness of my work for the day, I’ll write about the seriousness of shoes 🙂  Yep, shoes.  I remember years ago I would be at the $10 shoe store every weekend simply to get at least one pair of new shoes to compliment some outfit or other for work.  People used to think I paid a lot of money for my shoes, but nope: $10. I was a single-mom at the time, working full-time and finishing up my college degree part-time and was determined to stay fly without wondering how I was going to feed myself and -more importantly- my baby.  Couldn’t get gov’t assistance cause they said I made enough to support me and my one baby (so if I went and got another baby or two, I’d get all the assistance I needed…I digress) and I didn’t scream about it either.  I simply accepted that and made my money work. So, $10 shoe store was it.  It was serious.  I didn’t shop in the aisle that had the “stripper-shoes”.  I went in that aisle, but only to be amazed at the styles and height of the shoes. But pumps and mules and sandals? Man I stayed fly and comfortable. And that baby of mine? Stayed cute and well fed.  Oh yes, there was seriousness in making wise purchases.  There was seriousness in shoes.

Where am I now? 16 years later, BA degree on my wall, the education/knowledge to show, one more happy baby (nope still no gov’t assistance cause my conscience won’t allow me to try. it’s there for people who need it, not want it) in a much better paying job which I can proudly refer to as my career and I STILL value the seriousness in shoes.  No, I will not buy a pair of shoes for $100+ dollars. The only reason I haven’t been to the $10 shoe store lately is because I moved to another city and just can’t get to it. So I shop wisely.  regardless of the name of the store, if it’s not on sale, I’m not getting it. And guess what, they’re now online.  Shoes for $10 on any given day!  Yep, right up my alley, paying $10 for each pair and wearing them like I spent 100.  Oh yes, there’s seriousness in shoes!

Happy Shopping everyone!!! 🙂