Archive for September, 2013


The Muse & Her Demons

I am an incredibly selfish woman; of that, I am completely aware.
And you know what? I’m okay with it.

I want…

I want things and stuff, and stuff and things.
I want shiny and sparkly, soft and smooth, savory and sweet.
I want passion and romance and pleasure.

But beyond those, I want you to be happy.

I want nothing more than to see you smile.
I want to hold your face in my hands and see that spark of joy in your eyes as I lean in to kiss you.
I want to feel your heart beat faster as I press myself against your chest.

I want to see you happy.
I want to know that a little bit of your sadness, your hurt, is gone because of me.

I want to be a light.
I don’t need to be a very bright one… just a light that makes…

View original post 82 more words



I’ve had a very, very go of it lately.
This is one of my little venting sessions.

The Muse & Her Demons

I’m not used to being alone.

I have my troupe mates, my co-workers, my friends.
I fill my life with events and activities so that I am rarely ever alone with my thoughts.

I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

When I’m alone, my mind starts wandering.
It’s generally pleasant, at first, as one might expect. Thoughts of the things I enjoy most – dancing, traveling, spending time with friends.
But then…

I begin to wander into dark places.
Places from which I have a hard time coming back.

The woods, hallways, and oceans of black that sit in my mind are terrifying.
Monsters and demons and hell-spawn claw at me until I am nothing more than a bloody pool of snack-size pieces of flesh smeared upon the rug.
My eyes burn from tears than won’t fall.

Because they aren’t real.
None of it is.
Or maybe I’m…

View original post 264 more words

There is nothing particularly outstanding about me. I’m okay with that, really.

Seriously, there isn’t anything in particular that makes me stand out. I am absolutely average in almost every way.

I am good at quite a few things, but I’m not really great at anything.
I’m also kinda bad at a lot of things, but there’s not much that I have completely failed at.

I’m of average height and weight.
I pretty much look like every other Midwesterner of Scandinavian descent. I’m not “media attractive”, but I get the occasional compliment and I don’t find that people snicker at my looks.

I have my own sense of style that is neither fashionable or not fashionable. I can wear jeans and a hoodie 75% of the year (I live in Minnesota, for Heaven’s sake; it’s easy to do).

When I was in school, my grades stayed around 3.5.
I went to college for a degree that I don’t use and don’t expect to at any point in the future.

The only debt I have is on the house we own.

I’m a good dancer, but not a great one. That’s something I am actively working toward, though.

I am very, very good at singly poorly (World’s Worst Irish Tenor competition honorable mention 5 of the last 7 years).

I’m terrible – horrible –  at making phone calls, but I am awesome with emails, texts, and instant messages.
(Funny thing… My Dad just called me and mentioned that I don’t call. So I had to mention that I was writing about the very subject.)
Really, the best way to get my on the phone is to send me a text that says, “Can I call you?”

I’ve done a few competitions in my life. I never finished first or last.

I’ve been injured, but not traumatically.
I have family friends who have/had some serious health issues, but I have been blessed to be relatively healthy.

I’m in the middle of everything, you see, caught in a place where I can go unnoticed by most people.
But I do have people that care.
And that is what matters to me.

Sometimes, being in the middle isn’t so bad.

Well… unless it’s like this. That was embarrassing.

Black Ribbon

The stars were out and the night was warm.
I was standing alone in the backyard.

I held a small piece of black ribbon in my hand and fireflies danced through the grass. I could hear the crickets and frogs singing their night songs.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped.
There was nothing.

A colony of bats erupted from behind me and flew overhead. I watched them until they disappeared, their wings beating erratically.

The ground began to vibrate.
And then shake.

I could barely stand, it was so violent, but I couldn’t run to the house.


The ground in front of me shifted and a hole opened up, threatening to swallow me.
I did not move.

Looking down into the abyss, it was a swirl of colors – red, orange, blue and black.
It spiraled down like a whirlpool.

I could feel an updraft on my face, hot and wet.

The ribbon began to slip from my hand and I tried to hold it tighter.
It felt like it was being pulled from me.

The ground opened up further, pulling me in.

I didn’t even struggle. I just didn’t want to let go of the ribbon.
It was dark and quiet as I fell.

I felt nothing but the sensation of falling and the warm, damp air around me.

It felt like an eternity of nothingness.

And then I woke up.

I can hear my heart beating.
I feel it throbbing at the side of my neck.

There are days that I just want to be able to sleep through the night without worrying about the monsters that hide in the corner of my brain.
The little sounds that usually comfort me to sleep have suddenty become deafening.

I miss the sound of Peanut snoring her cute little snores at the foot of the bed.
And her little nose against mine in the morning. And all the tiny, obnoxious things she insisted on doing to wake me up.

I miss the confidence I used to have.
Some of it has come back. I have some really amazing people in my life that kick me out of my self-pity funks. But there’s a part of me that left a long time ago, and I’m not sure if it’ll come back.

I miss barbeque sauce.
And wheat beer. Bell’s Oberon was freakin’ fantastic.

I miss long trips to the lake. And fishing with Grandpa.Weekends just never feel long enough.

I miss Grandma’s rose garden.
She had so many pretty colors growing, and she almost always let me take one home.

I want new ink.
I told myself that I wouldn’t want more, but I do. I find things that remind me of the person I want to be.
Things that tell the story of me (not that anyone would necessarily want to read it, but I often write for my own sake anyway).

I miss that period between high school and college, when the groupd of us partied like rock stars.
Waking up in the morning to find someone passed out on the bathroom floors.

I really, really miss D&D.
Miranda was a badass. Do NOT mess with Battle Banshee.
No, you cannot shoot lighting out of your butt.
What the hell are ice arrows?
Never get into a drinking competition with a dwarf.
Tiles was the greatest game EVER.

Reminiscing is easy; isn’t it?

Under the Big Tree

A little dream, one that wasn’t quite so violent as the others that I’ve had lately.

The Muse & Her Demons

I danced under the big Willow while you watched.

I felt safe, and loved, and admired.
I felt all the things a dancer, a woman, should feel in a moment such as this.

Your eyes followed my lines.
I was fire and water and wind. I was poised chaos.

You watched me, like someone who had just regained their sight, with such passion, that I felt naked and powerful.

I was stripped of all my doubt.
All my fears and worries melted into the dirt with every turn and glide.

The Willow was my theater. Her branches swayed with my music, caressing and kissing me as I spun around.

I danced under the big Willow while you watched.

View original post

Keep Calm…

I’m actually kind of tired of the whole “keep calm” deal, but seriously: don’t blink.

It’s all around us

An insightful post, well-written and powerful.