33 years.

I realize in the eyes of many I'm still quite young. I have wisdom beyond my years, yet have much to learn. I know this. But there are nuggets of wisdom that I have gained and share with others constantly. Many of my other FB notes are proof of this.

My 32nd year was full of things that I learned and decisions I made that, while difficult, were the right ones. I'm rebooting my life. I'm starting fresh and new. I also gave someone the greatest gift in giving them the same opportunity. I gave a box of fresh and new to someone I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I'm glad he now understands as well how right that choice was and how great that gift was. I hope that within the six sides of that box he finds nothing but happiness.

There are many things I'd like to do with my newfound life now. I'd like to get healthy, and lose weight, and take care of myself. I'd like to find my Milk and Honey - but mostly I'd like to continue to get to know myself. Relationships with others are nothing without a relationship with the self.

I know who I am and what I have to offer the world, and regardless if the world wants it - I give it - freely. Someone recently told me that I'm super nice and they were about to say something and stopped themselves, and while I don't know what they were going to say for sure, I felt the thought. There was an "I don't understand" attached. Just in the way the word nice dripped out of their mouth and all over the floor. I took it to mean they didn't understand why I wasn't with someone.

I'm fairly certain I know why. I'm not ready for that. People are too quick to judge you, for your looks, or your body type, or your job, or how you live, the company you keep... the list goes on and on. But I wonder, am I judging myself this way? Am I the one who thinks I'm too fat, or too tattooed, or too loud, or silly, or independent, or unpretty, or uninteresting. Am I the one constantly judging myself and assuming that others are judging me with the same set of standards as my own. Am I setting myself up for the ultimate of life's failures?

Truth is, I love myself. I love my body, and my tattoos, and my face, and hair, and scars, and even my maladies. They make me - me. They are my 33 years of life and I wear them. Would I like to lose weight, GOD yes. Should I for my health? Absolutely. But I'm happy exactly how I am.

I wake up every morning smiling. I laugh every day and make other people laugh. I have more friends than I know what to do with. I make sure I do something for someone else without regard for anything in return multiple times a day. So right along with my inordinately large ass, and my scars, and flaws - I wear the 33 years of being Lisa. And I am not only loved by others but by myself.

Milk and Honey by Toby Lightman

Totally rocking out to this right now...



He had big brown eyes - beautiful lies and a smile to keep me warm for days,
But he always made me chase him around in his maze
I had to get up, get out, get off this ride - I had to get away
I always knew deep down he wasn't right for me... for me

I want to find a beautiful mind
So perfectly packaged for me
Tailor made, like a little girl's dream

Ooh oh yeah, I want Milk and Honey
Ooh oh yeah, I want love and money
I only want cake if I can eat it too
Then wash it all down with a man that's true
Ooh oh yeah, Milk and Honey...

Flashback to another man stuck in the palm of my hand
I tried to spice him but he always came out bland, so bland
if he had stood up, stood out, took a chance on life
Enough to make me care, then maybe we'd still be makin' out somewhere, somewhere...

I want to find a beautiful mind
So perfectly packaged for me
Tailor made, like a little girl's dream

Ooh oh yeah, I want Milk and Honey
Ooh oh yeah, I want love and money
I only want cake if I can eat it too
Then wash it all down with a man that's true
Ooh oh yeah, Milk and Honey...

I'm not gonna sit here and wait
No time to waste
Cuz I'm gonna get my milk and honey
Oh no time to waste... oooh

Ooh oh yeah, I want Milk and Honey
Ooh oh yeah, I want love and money
I only want cake if I can eat it too
Then wash it all down with a man that's true
Ooh oh yeah, Milk and Honey...

Emmett McBain III

So, it has been quite some time since I wrote a note with meaning. Basically, instead of writing notes, I've been working, throwing parties (dinner or otherwise), painting, decorating, unpacking, knitting, and injuring myself. I realize now that the reason I haven't written anything is because I had nothing to say. You can't force words to come out of you when they aren't there. Can you?

Well, apparently you can. I'm not forcing them now - but I watched someone force them recently. They weren't expelled out of their brains to paper or a computer screen - but right out of their mouths. They were on the train and trying to sell their art.

The words came out in a monotone, as though they'd been said a billion times, regardless of how forced they were. They were meant as tears perhaps, little drips of sadness rained onto the commuters. The words became grenades midair and missed all of their targets except me. For weeks I've carried the shrapnel.

The man looked like a soldier, a veteran of a war on his life that no boot camp could have prepared him for. He looked as though he had seen unimaginable horrors. Mostly though, he looked beat down.

He stood in one of the entrances to the train car and braced himself with his stance. He almost looked like a gunslinger ready to draw his weapon. He bent over and out of a backpack pulled a folder. Then with his monotone he wept his words. The commuters shielded themselves with the kevlar of indifference. I stood listening, without armor.

He spoke and held out a card that he'd made. The card was filled with poetry that he'd written and he was selling each card for five dollars. When it was clear that no one was going to purchase the card, he sighed and offered a book - home published - for seven dollars. Then he simply offered a single poem for one dollar. No one even blinked.

I would have bought the cards, and the book. It took great courage for this man to stand up on this train and launch his heart at people. I could sense from him that this is not exactly how he'd planned his life. No one grows up thinking that their greatest self is selling their words on a train. He didn't want to just beg for money - so he wrote - and he had something to say. I watched him, and the funny thing was, he wasn't selling his words to me. I was not his target audience apparently because he walked right by me even though I was clutching a dollar in my hand and had tapped him on the shoulder.

This man was trying to break through the kevlar. He was trying to make the indifference disappear. It didn't. He realized that he'd been defeated by what he'd clearly decided was the enemy and returned to get the money that a fellow soldier - another poet - was offering. He thanked me and handed me a sheet of paper. A poem which, with permission I will now share.

* * * * * * * * *

I feel no pain

I feel no pain
I feel no pain
It's not really raining
It's pouring

My love life is boring
Me to tears
And I don't know
What to do about it
Anymore

It sounds like a song
It's from a song
I don't know how the rest
Of it goes

But then again
I don't really care

I feel no pain
I feel no pain
It's not really raining
It's pouring

I am standing in the rain
I can not feel it
It is too light

A turret of rain water
Passes under and around
My feet
My feet are not wet
Good shoes

I feel no pain
I feel no pain
My pain mechanism
Is burnt out

I feel no pain
I feel no rain
It's not really raining
It's pouring

-Emmett R. McBain III

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