I really shouldn’t be this bored. I have stuffs, lots of stuffs to do. Only, I am procrastinating.

so, photo.

Just realized this photo is eerily similar to one in my sidebar gallery. This photo is current, honest. I just really like that t-top.


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Ubergeeking (It’s a me thing)

Currently ubergeeking (Bekki Definition: whimpering like an idiot emotionally) to these lyrics.

Notting Hill is like ubergeek crack. Just sayin.


It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word you can light up the dark
Try as I may I can never explain
What I hear when you don’t say a thing

The smile on your face let’s me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me wherever I fall
You say it best, when you say nothing at all

All day long I can hear people talking out loud (oh?)
But when you hold me near (oh, hold me near)
You drown out the crowd (drown out crowd)
Try as they may, they could never define
What’s been said between your heart and mine

The smile on your face let me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me wherever I fall
You say it best, when you say nothing at all?oh

The smile on your face let’s me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me wherever I fall
You say it best, when you say nothing at all

You say it best, when you say nothing at all
You say it best, when you say nothing at all
(The smile on your face)
You say it best, when you say nothing at all
(The truth in your eyes)
(The touch of your hand)
You say it best, when you say nothing at all
(Let me know that you need me)
You say it best, when you say nothing at all (nothing at all)
You say it best, when you say nothing at all (nothing at all)
You say it best, when you say nothing at all (nothing at all)


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Edwin Markham


by Edwin Markham


He drew a circle that shut me out–
Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!

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Cotton understanding

Caught in your eye.

Warmth floods places

that once knew only shivering.

My startled heart

is afraid to beat

but determined to know

just once,

what your fire feels like

wrapped around it

like a blanket

of possibilities.

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He weaves me a story


Beautiful man,

Your fingers make restless patterns

unseen, but intricate.

You weave the air with each breath

each wave of your hand

a symphony of  delicate snowflakes

a blur of uncaptured images

floating gently from your fingertips.


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Good Morning

I am checking my blog when I should be sleeping. In the dark even.

Today I work from 1 pm so, yay extra sleeps!

I feel like my blog talks about me too much lately. I know it’s a personal blog, and that this is kinda normal-ish for this type of blog, but, I want to talk about “not me” things too.

Therefore, I thought, this week I would post poems by poets I admire, once a day, for a week. Some will be well-known ( Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost) and some will be people I have met online (Rich Roach, Willowdown)

I also want to introduce everyone to the extremely amazing people I get to call friends and acquaintances, so you can meet them too! Most of them are, in their own ways, amazingly creative. I am constantly astounded and humbled by such people in my life. This is my way of telling them how much they mean to me.

So, look for it ok?


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Giggle of the day

Giggle of the day


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NY, I shall call him Jack and he shall be my Apple.

NY came back! I missed you. (Blush) I am kinda feeling goofy about how happy I am to see you. I secretly watch my stats for repeating places. Most of them are friends, Hi Bonnie! Hi Rich! Hi Shay!

Some I have no proper names for, but look for like an uber dork. Hi Ireland! Hello Beirut! Yo Korea!

So, Yeah, NY. I missed you. I am thinking of naming you, so I can keep you. When you name stuff it makes a memory. Memories are the greatest gift you can give the living. So, I am hereby naming you Apple Jack. Apple for NY, and Apple Jack, because of Dolly Parton and a certain song that belongs to my childhood memory.

Have I ever mentioned that Dolly Parton, Crystal Gale and Barbara Mandrell have firm places in my memory? My mother loved them. She played the tapes every day in the car. They are comfort songs that remind me of my mother’s love. Dolly Parton, in particular, is a favorite, because she was//is as sweet in real life, as she was/is in voice. I never met her, but her personality shines through her interviews and performances. As a child I looked for her on tv. Her giggle delighted me.

Anyway, Apple Jack. Thanks for coming back.

You can call me B. Cause, you an me, we’re in a club now.

Anyone else wanna join?  You get nicknames, an Ellie badge and everything!


(I’m not kidding, I really do have an Ellie badge)

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Take a walk with me to places I have been.

First up. Dallas.

I lived in Dallas just over 3 months in 2011. I loved the place. The bus system, the trains, the architecture, the culture, and the art. Care to take a visual walk with me?

Lets go!



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I am my father’s daughter

This morning a woman, on the bus, was complaining because the bus driver stopped at the bus stop for 3 minutes, as he was early. She was yelling about how he was gonna make her miss her bus, cause she was already late. Her complaints proved true when we stopped and her bus had just pulled away. She then complained about having to wait 40 min for the next one. Yelling about the bus driver and how this was all his fault.

I had to leave the stop and walk to the next one. I wanted to speak out that badly. You see, she was running late and I totally get that, running late stinks. The problem, for me, is that she wanted the bus driver to be responsible for her being late. The truth is, there is only ever one person responsible for you, and that is you.

I know, because, at certain points in my life, I probably was just like her a few dozen times, at least. Mad at the world and certain it was giving me a bad break. “Why does this have to happen to me?” I would think, angry and bitter. Then, in the back of my head a voice always answered. “Why not you?” “What makes you worthy of an easier life?” ” What will you appreciate in life, if nothing is ever earned, learned, or fought for?” “Why not you?”

My gramps was a hard,but fair, man. My dad, was also fair, but he was a tad harder. He never let me get away with doing anyhing the easy way. Being a girl was no excuse. He wanted me to learn to change a tire, check, replace, and clean, a spark plug, and know how to plant a garden. He showed me all three (I totally suck at changing a tire…he failed to explain how to stop the wheel going round and round as you removed the bolts..(I’m thinking someone was taking the mickey) The men in my life never treated me like a girl. What a blessing.

You see,  the thing is, I never realized, but my dad and my grandpa were old school doers. Men, in my dad’s  world, never complained or took short-cuts.  They fought in wars, watched people die and had absolutely nobody to cuddle them or treat them gently. My dad learned to make it work and do it right first time. I am my fathers daughter, and I only realized it today. See, I grew up seeing examples of being a man about things. I was so accustomed to it, I never really questioned the ethic.

Often men teach that lesson really well. It is one that cannot be given softly, it’s a thing I see good men do. It’s a thump in the butt, a smack to the back of the head, a ferocious, no-remorse-lesson in being responsible. You get up late for school after you were warned to get up, and you’d find my dad had left without  you. You broke a window, and my dad would escort you to the house with his hand in the back of your neck, to plan out your payment schedule for the window repair. My mom was also ferocious, don’t mistake me, but my mom and my step mom, generally tried to help you first, with warnings, threats, and second chances.

MY dad? Nope. Never. If my dad said to do something, you knew where you stood if you didn’t do it. That place generally felt like the entrance to hell. My dad didn’t do empty promises. Even if he really, really didn’t want to punish you, he still did it.

My dad also loved fiercely. He wasn’t taught how to show it, but now  that I am a parent myself, I get it. I get it dad. If I am late for something, I am responsible for my lateness. I should have planned better. I should have thought things through and planned for it. If I did fail, it was on me. I was the responsible party. Me. Only me. I would never have blamed the bus driver. I am my father’s daughter.

I didn’t judge the lady, she was just frustrated and blowing off steam. I am sure I have slipped and gotten mad and blamed the bus driver myself, internally, many times. I just don’t think she had a dad like mine. I wish her one though. I wish her lessons that become strengths. I wish her struggles that end in epiphanies. I don’t want her to have hardship, it’s not about that, it’s about growing into more.  It’s about doing whats right and being proud of your name. It’s about owning your word, sticking to your promise, and taking responsibility for your actions.

I leave for work 2 hours before my shift. I leave 30 min of room for problems. Sometimes the bus still has issues, like coming late, but I own those mistakes. They happen.

I never realized it before, but I love that my dad,and my grandpa, were men of integrity. I feel embarrassed it took me so long to appreciate it out loud.

I am my father’s daughter. Thanks dad. You raised me right.

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This is the sound I am making as I contemplate my self-created task for the week. I need to enact the scene of my character, a woman who has passed away but has her essence living on and interacting with her husband, through use of an automaton music box dancer, you may recall her from this description I posted once before:

Dancing girl:

Another piece features a dancing peasant girl. She stands with one leg bent and raised in dance with the knee pointing straight upward and out and the foot gently bend towards herself. Her hands are flung over her head and she is holding a sheer fabric of India cloth in them. Her winder mechanism is underneath the stage she dances on and can be folded back into the compartment once it has been wound.

The piece plays a lively tune befitting a gypsy or a Persian dancer. When wound the dancer moves with such grace and beauty that is both fluid and expressive. It is almost as if she is not an automaton at all but a tiny human being dancing. Her hands and feet have tiny gold rings on them and her arms have numerous bangles. She has startling blue enamel eyes and her stage is comprised if marble and stained-glass elements. Her hair is loose but decorated abundantly with jewels and elaborate hair decorations.

Now, I have to make her personality clear and interesting, as she attempts to communicate, fails, and tosses the key to her winding mechanism, in a fit of temper. I really am procrastinating like a professional here.


I will post an update tomorrow once I get out of my temper-snit.  (It is so a word…is so…IS SO!!)

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I don’t work until 10am tomorrow so, I am sitting here giddy over extra time awake to read, watch K drama, consult the 20 sites I use for all manner of nosiness (astrology, Iching, pinterest, tarot, and generally being creative but in a lazy manner IE. Sitting on my backside observing the creativity of others instead of creating my own.)

Here are my personal observations about myself thus far this evening.

If not for bacon, I would be ok with being a vegetarian. Damn that yummy bacony goodness (This also applies to Kevin Bacon yum!) I will also eat bacon even if it is burnt, because Dude!It’s f-ing bacon!!

I have an unhealthy relationship with technology. This leads to my other unhealthy habit of cursing like a sailor, generally in the direction of technology. (The printer at work shivers when I walk by…little bastard.)

I really like wearing my red scarf. It’s a sickness. I love the color blue best, so I have no idea why the red scarf has become important to my sanity, it just has/does/is. Purple Hoodie understands.

My boss telling me that I need to wear black socks at work had no effect on my “Quirky sock” addiction. What he can’t see, can’t hurt him. Allegedly I am wearing black socks like a proper lady. (Sucker)

I really, really, hate snow. Even pretty snow pisses me off these days. Riding the bus has made me bitter. Someone revive my Snowman affection quick!

I am rarely as serious any other time of the day, as I am in the morning. Chatting me up at 6 am is at your own risk. This also applies to interrupting me while I am clearly reading. If you interrupt me reading at 6 am, you might lose a valuable part of your person.

Angel numbers are stalking me like a mofo, it’s weird.

I miss the person from NY/NY who was on my stat reader. They read my blog every day and now have gone away. (Sob) I was pathetically touched you came back so often and now mourn your loss. Please come back. I will let you play with my toys, read my books, and will share my private stash of Tim-Tams if you come back. (What do you mean I’m pathetically addicted to reading my stats page?…What?




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The trifecta effect

There are three spots on a mans body that drive me completely mad with lust. (They are not the ones you expect.)

Though, I kinda like all parts on men,there are three that will get me caught blushing and stammering every single time.

Those three spots are neck, hands, and eyes. I know, I know..we have established I am slightly not normal-ish.

The neck gets top spot because I adore that spot. I adore it. I like to bury my nose into the spot where neck meets shoulder. It is a place of solitude, solidarity, and passion. When I wake from a nightmare, that is were my freaked out face is going. When labor pain hits me like a Harley about to go sideways across granite and “Bring the pain” that is where I am going. When I am uber blushing and introverting like an idiot, yup, “I’m goin in” Men have this scratchy, stubbly,warm, soft and pulsing vein thing there in that spot, and that spot is my favorite.

Hands are generally the biggest offender for me. Necks are my happy place, but hands are what I get caught staring at the most. I like long slender fingers. Clean nails and expressive gesturing. Sigh** I like the way hands feel when they cup the back of my neck. I like the way they feel against my palm. I like hands. They comfort, entice, and entertain. Yum.

Lastly, eyes. I only put them last because I am so freaking introverted I avoid looking at people. If I know someone really well though, eyes are definitely it for me. I love looking at someone and seeing them looking back. I could spend ages just looking and not saying a damned thing. There are so many things that eyes say. I am always deeply moved by the eyes first. I love it when someone understands the power of a gaze. The intimacy of a shared look. Eyes are smoking hot.

I have no idea why I just told you all this.

I figured it was better than telling you about how I burnt my mouth on the internal contents of the Chicken Kiev I had for dinner. Smirk**



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Integrity is earned by admitting fault

I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I am going to do it anyway, because admitting our faults is changing them. I want to be a better me.

This evening I started muttering at the bus stop about how late the bus was, I was getting a bit steamed. I was very tired and I am sure this contributed to it, but it isn’t an excuse. See, I failed somehow to recall, that today was Saturday, and thus, an entirely different schedule of times. When someone pointed this out to me, I did something I never do, I lied. I didn’t admit that I had forgotten what day it was. After I lied, I was uber defensive, which is how one gets when one knows they are wrong, but has decided to not admit it.

Lying really upsets me. Not owning up to my mistakes upsets me too. The reason is that the basis for both, is in the ego. I am deeply ashamed. I want to be a better me, and this means, that I need to acknowledge that I hate being caught out by others, I am a bit shy, but even more true, I am a bit proud of my intelligence. Too proud really. I am not always right. There I said it! The heavens didn’t open up, my heart didn’t stop, and I am no longer 16 with something to prove.

Sometimes,I am wrong. Sometimes, I need to admit I am. Sometimes, I need to give others a break for also being wrong. I am no longer 5 and terrified I will get caught stealing a cookie. My integrity is questioned, as an adult, when I become chained to ego, and allow myself to indulge in a lie.

When I lie, as an adult, others might come to consider my word suspect, my integrity lacking, and my maturity below par. All based on a lie they recognized as such. Even if I never lied before, a single encounter can affect how others see me. Therefore, no lie should be allowed. Lies that are told to protect, notwithstanding, there is always a choice. The choice I want to learn to make, even at the risk of embarrassment, is to be truthful.

I am generally honest, but, I found myself defensive today and allowed that defensiveness to open the door to lying, and have learned that this is a habit I do not want to continue.

So… I forgot today was Saturday. I lied. I apologize. I’ll try to do better next time.

Making a better me, it matters.

See that, nobody died.



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Chapter 15


My first Short story. Still makes me emotional.

Originally posted on a soft place to rest...:

She sat in front of the computer and wondered where to begin, or even if she really wanted to begin. The best beginnings start in pain and turn into creativity, but people tend to forget the pain part. She fingered the keyboard and wondered if she closed her eyes really, really hard, if she would be able to feel his fingertips on the keys, pressed against hers, one last time. This is where he sat, day after day, writing. His mind had always been a place she marveled at getting even a glimpse inside. His laughter always infectious. Oh how he would bang on the keys when he was excited and on the trail of a chapter. Sometimes it was like he was racing, trying to get the words on the screen before the thought got away. As if it were a rabbit and he the fox. Then there were…

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Joseph Gordon-Levitt

You are just adorable.


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After dinner chat

Just got home from work. I made a late night dinner for myself. 3 eggs, a sliced up cheese-filled kielbasa,  chopped baked potato, and a dash of salt, made a nice omelette. I iced up some coffee for a drink,and now my tummy is humming.

I wore my hair down at work tonight, it felt strange, but nice. I always correlated wearing your hair down, with seduction, for some reason, growing up. I think, mostly, this is because of learning about the Amish in the area we grew up in. Only a husband ever sees an Amish woman’s hair down. It is something I always unconsciously admired about them. This idea, of keeping this part of herself, just for her husband. Not because you have to do so, but because, it makes you feel more beautiful when you take it down. It becomes a sensual moment, like taking a bubble bath. Something that speaks to being a woman and having  small rituals that have nothing to do with body weight or beauty as determined by others. A ritual that makes the woman, simply by virtue of undoing her hair, immensely feminine.

I put my hair up, most of the time. It is mostly unconscious really. When I wear it down, I feel much too visable and seen. My friend M, says this is because I have a habit of trying to fade into the background. Perhaps, this is a remnant of being molested.

I would like to think wearing my hair up is my balance to this. When I enter my room. I take down my hair. I become the more feminine part of myself. I think, there must be something in this, as I am not feminine anywhere else in my life. Not in clothing, collectibles or home decor, except….in my room, I am drawn to femininity in spades. I like tiny flowered sheets, and perfumed pillowcases. Eyelet lace and (don’t tell anyone) but I love silk nightgowns, love them. They make me feel sexy.

I have always longed to own a sexy corset and panties set. While I absolutely hate dresses, there are a few, cotton eyelet skirt types, I wouldn’t mind, nearly as vehemently.

So, I am thinking this post took a strange turn..hahaha.

Anyway, I am home and looking forward to being off tomorrow.

Hope you are all well.




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Today’s music list

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November 17, 2015 · 4:23 pm

How to build a wall

You always hear about  building walls in the negative. “She’s got such a wall around her, no one’s gonna wanna climb that!”

Lately though, I have been thinking about wall building in a different context. The emotional, and physical wall building you do, when your world has smashed to bits, and left you no choice but to cry or build. Even if you choose the cry option, at first, you generally get around to the wall building.

You start out completely clueless, especially if your ass had people, in the past, building that shit for you (good ol mum and da)  life just has a way of arranging these lessons, so be not surprised, that eventually (if you are really lucky) life will force you to build a wall all by yourself, clueless to how the hell to begin.

Now, if you are young, you start out cocky, (who doesn’t know how to build a damn wall?) you think, and start right in stacking. Only, something kinda goes wonky, and the walls start kinda sagging. The bricks keep working loose and some, fall the fuck out!

This. This is a bit harder than you realized, ain’t it? So, after you toss a tantrum (or as my friends in England refer to it, do the dying fly) You get a bit wiser. You start paying attention, because crap! You need a wall.

You start reading, asking questions, trying small tests. Your patience is tested again,and again. You have mishaps and fucked up moments where you realize your morter was a smidge off in the ingredients area. You ask more questions. You cry, and bleed, on those damn bricks.

Then, something happens. Your first line of bricks stay put. They don’t crumble. The morter holds. The wall doesn’t fall over. You stack it like your new BFF’s ( aka the morter guys) you just met, instructed you to do. Your masterpiece isn’t as pretty as theirs, but it held! It looks like what it is! A firm start.

Then, something even cooler happens. You notice walls everywhere you go. They had always been there, you just notice them now. Cause, you are building one. You notice the designs and flourishes. You marvel at the techniques. You ask more questions, but not because you have to this time, but because you want to try some of this stuff. You have a perfectly good wall, but now you want the best for your wall. You want your wall to be a showstopper!

You try stuff, learn, adjust, try again. You even find yourself tearing out sections and starting over, because you got an idea about how to make it even better. You start to realize you can make this wall anything you want. It is yours. Your hard work. Your wall. You are no longer in a hurry to get done, you know you can do it, and now, now you want something better. Something not just strong and sustainable, but pretty, interesting, and dare I say it..Inspiring.

You finally finish that wall. You’re proud, but kinda sad. Your work is done. You know you can build a new wall, but…this was your first, your finest, the one with all your scariest moments in it. You pat it and turn to go do more walls.

Then, maybe something terrible happens one day. Something happens and your wall gets smashed again, like so long ago. Only, this break, it’s bad. Really bad. It’s nothing like that first wall break. This one levels your strong wall, that you built, so, it hurts a bit more, because the first wall was not even as strong as this new one. This has gotta hurt.

Except. The defeated person, everyone expects, isn’t standing there, shoulders slumped, broken and in massive pain. You are hurting, yes, but your eyes are steely. You are standing looking over the damage and even have a bit of a muttering  conversation going on, as you consider that wall and the damage wrought upon it.

They come over to you, a bit concerned, have you finally lost it? Are you in shock? Unaware of the devastation?

You smile softly, and answer honestly. “Once, this would have destroyed me. It would have broken me. but, I woke up this morning, and realized something very interesting.”

They ask, eagerly, it almost seems as if they are desperate to understand your secret. What  was it you discovered that brought such a change to you?

You answer. “I woke up this morning and realized, that I know how to build a wall. I am not the person I once was, because I know how to make my wall from start to finish. I know how I want my wall to be, I can even make it better, add new inspiration into the mix. I am not afraid. I am excited.

This is my wall, and I am the builder.”



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Life Path #2

Life Path Number 2

A person with Life Path number 2 seeks harmony and peace, and is symbolized by relationships, co-operation, and being considerate and thoughtful of others. People with a Life Path 2 are natural peacemakers, and because they see all the viewpoints in any situation, handle difficult situations with grace, and tend to be persuasive rather than forceful when trying to get their point across, people may often look to them to be a mediator in any argument.

They are very loyal, and when they say that they love you, count on it! They welcome companionship and the chance to share their lives with someone special. They are extremely sensitive to others and have the ability to truly listen. Twos are sincere, honest and open and see the best in people. Because of their sensitivity, gentleness and loving spirit, they make an excellent friend or lover.

If your Life Path number is 2, your sensitivity can also in some ways be your downfall. Many people with a Life Path of 2 are oversensitive, shy, and afraid to speak their minds. Because you are afraid of being hurt you may avoid confrontation and hold back your opinions. This can cause you to have trouble contributing to a group, and may make you feel resentful because you are withholding your ideas and contributions. You compassion and caring for other people also may cause you to deny your own needs in favor of the needs of others, which can also lead to feelings of resentment or anger, and if you feel threatened or pushed to the wall, you can become the terrible Twos, however, ultimately you do not want conflict.

Life path number 2 is a vibration of duality and division, the number of truth and learning, below are some key points you might want to take into consideration to help you on your path …

Don’t try to deny who you are. You sometimes have problems with black and white issues; you’d like to simplify thing that way, but you know better.

Aim for a career that uses your strengths. You’ll be an excellent diplomat or counselor. You enjoy creative endeavors, whether they’re musical, artistic or even gardening and farming. If you feel drawn to politics, your constituents will have a strong, truthful representative.

You may be shy and somewhat indecisive. Learn to respect your own opinions and values; as you do, so will those around you. Don’t allow your gentle sympathy to make you dependent and fearful.

You can create any changes you want in your life. Remember to be thoughtful and tactful in your honesty. Study and collect knowledge and others will be grateful for your depth.


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