If I were taller maybe I’d be thinner. Or not.
You see, I have very long arms. And very long legs. But I have a short torso. Now, if I had grown taller, perhaps the torso would have thinned out, and I would be a gorgeous amazon.
On the other hand, I don’t see much point in causing people to stare. I’d rather be known for my intellect, and my kind and compassionate demeanor.
Did I mention I have deep blue hair?



Sometimes I like to dream about what live would be like in a few years. I see myself as a musician, confidently playing guitar and singing in front of an audience. Or I see quilts that I have pieced and quilted. I see a perfect garden in our yard. Or I see a lovely meal that I have prepared.

The problem with this dreaming is that I don’t seem to plan accordingly. So I always think how wonderful it would be, but I don’t make any plans to bring it about.

Dreaming is fine. But there has to be both intent, and action, to bring results. I’m working on both.

Self Sabotage

I don’t like it when I second guess myself.

Some days, it’s all I can do to keep moving forward. Then, when I am moving, I wonder if I’m doing it in the best manner. Should I be doing something else? Should I focus elsewhere? Should I do a little bit of everything? It’s small wonder that it never feels as if I’m making progress.

One day I would like to just start out working on something, and carry it through to the end, without getting sidetracked.

Recurring Dream

I sleep. And I dream.

The rooms are cluttered, too full. There are many of them – almost a maze. And always, always, there is an opening somewhere into someone else’s apartment. Or the door never locks properly. I come back to the apartment to find it open. My cats have escaped somewhere, and I call for them in the hallways.

There are antiques in the rooms. Beautiful pottery. Or old sewing machines. Some of them do embroidery, and I once knew how to operate them. I even owned some of them, until we moved and my mother decided that I couldn’t take everything I owned. It was always something of mine that was left behind. It never seemed fair.

And then I wake up. And wonder, once again, what all of this means.


Tonight I will attend quilt guild again.

I don’t seem to be able to relax at the guild meetings. It’s because I feel like such a fraud when I attend. I’m not a “real” quilter. I’m full of doubts and false starts. I make all sorts of mistakes.

And yet sewing is relaxing for me. Stitching by hand comes fairly easily, although, of course, it’s never as neat as anyone else’s stitching. Sitting at the sewing machine and sewing scraps of fabric together is a lot of fun. It’s sort of like doing a jigsaw puzzle with fabric. Except that there’s not always an exact picture of what you’re making.

I wish I could separate my feelings of doubt from the feelings of camaraderie of being with other people like me. But, of course, they’re not like me, because they’re all great at what they do.

I think some of my personal patches are frayed…


Ghosts will be better off
If they just don’t hang around
Too many opportunities
To do bad stuff can be found

Revenge that wasn’t taken
Can be had now easily
They’ll never see it coming
And when done you just flee

That pile so near to tipping
Gives temptation to a ghost
And the cats are always blamed
While you just clear the coast

So much better to be resting
In a place much more serene
So just don’t let us stop you
Please go and blow this scene


One thing that means the most to me is discovering my true self. I’m one of those people who is constantly questioning herself. Have I done the right thing? Is this what I truly believe in? What should I be doing with my life?

None of these are easy for me to answer, because I’m always second guessing myself. Do I really feel like a spiritual person? Or do I want to *be* a spiritual person, and therefore I’m convincing myself that I feel like one?

There has to be a better way to go about this. Maybe if I just accept everything I do? But then maybe I’m just believing that I *should* do this or that, rather than really wanting to do it.

Sigh. I thought getting older would make life easier. I was wrong.