Stream of Consciousness Sunday- Are Poems a Better Cure Than Wine?

Yes, it is Sunday and I didn't even need to check the calendar. I can always tell because I hear the [thwack] of the big paper as it hits the door. Time again for Stream of Consciousness Sunday. The rules are simple! Set a timer for five minutes, write (but don't edit), publish, and link up here. This is what I have to say today even though I really wanted to say something completely different to begin with...

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I could spend these next five minutes wallowing or ranting. I want to. It would be super easy too. It has been the kind of weekend that’s filled with nothing but worsening news. Horrible.

And my sleeping buddy is out of town. And I wanted to relish it in solitude. And planned to eat a million things, and everything, bad for me. 

My covers. 

My remote. 

My ice cream.

Instead I am not sleeping well, fielding disturbing text messages, and never made it to the store to buy the bad stuff. It is after noon; I could turn to wine.

But I have this collection of poetry next to me. It is the first time I have ever read one. It somehow makes me feel lighter just holding it. Is it magic?

It is so lovely. My heart seems in a constant state of pitter-pattering flutter as my eyes sip the words. It is like a feast of fine chocolate. A word buffet. Of too many good things. And my spirits is soaring.

I am usually a very impulsive person. If I love something, I devour it. But I am using every ounce of restraint I have to eat this up slooooowly. Savor. Taste. 

Read each poem. 

Go back. 

Take more in. 

Feel it.

More.

If it weren’t for this book, these poems, I don’t know what I would have done this weekend. There isn’t any wine in the house. I didn't get to the store.

Which works better for you? Wine or poems?

No! You Tell Dad!

Don’t be thinking toddlers are the only children/people who throw tantrums. I think it’s a personality type, personally speaking.

So I’m biting on Mama Kat’s prompt below and I’m hoping to properly convey a conversation I had with a high maintenance child because I have one (a boy, a college sophomore (who’s getting easier and more grownup by the way, thank God), who copes with lifelong dyslexia and other attention type issues)). Thank goodness my girl is wholly independent and very, very low maintenance (just like her mommy?). Don't get me wrong...I love them both equally just differently!

2.) What was the last thing your child threw a temper tantrum over? Write a blog post from his/her point of view.

Well, Matt and I had more of a whiny conversation last week, as opposed to a full blown tantrum which he used to be famous for, which went something like this…

“Mom. So the good news is that my mid-terms are going pretty well.”

“Matt, that’s awesome. But when you say good news, that means there’s bad news, too.”

“I hate my ‘Study of Eastern Chinese Religions’ class.”

“Why?”

“I don’t understand one thing about it. When they say one thing, it means another. When I read the book and think I understand, I don’t. The teacher mixes me up and confuses me.”

“That’s called metaphor, honey.”

“MOM! I don’t care what it’s called. My brain doesn’t work that way. You know that.”

“Did I mention before I didn’t think that this class was up your alley?”

“Yes but…”

“Okay, so instead of complaining about it, what are you going to do?”

“I want to drop it but Dad won’t like that.”

“I think Dad would rather you get a good grade in a class related to your Infomatics major than a bad grade in Study of Chinese Religion.”

“It’s Eastern Chinese not just Chinese.”

“Okaaaay! Drop it. Pick up a new class. Figure it out. Whatever you have to do.”

“Are you going to tell Dad?”

“No. Call him and give him the whole “good news, I’ve got great grades on mid-term in all my other classes” speech than casually mention the dropped class. It should go over.”

“Will you tell him for me?”

“Hell no!”

“So he’s going to be mad at me saying I don’t take school seriously.  He’ll say he took Astronomy and that wasn’t what he thought it’d be but he studied. Besides, he won’t get mad at you!”

“Listen, pal. I got a big door ding on my new car so I have my own fish to fry with Dad. You’ve got to cover your own butt while I figure out how to cover mine.”

“Did you park too close to someone again? Dad says you always do.”

“Be quiet, Matt. Don’t you dare mention it to Dad!”