I’ve appreciated the love on these wildflower challenge posts. I’m running errands related to being settled in my new place. I’m trying not to feel displaced or like a guest. I was told to make myself at home, and I’m trying.
Woke up late. I knew it was a snow day.
Shoveled the walk before Grandma’s nurse arrived.
Moped in bed. Caught my breath.
Made Sugar lunch. She didn’t want it.
Pouted in bed. Lost a lot of Candy Crush.
Took a shower. Took my measurements. Dismal! Considered weight loss strategies, and how I hate being the girl who considers weight loss strategies.
Sighed in bed. Read “All Quiet on the Western Front.”
Made dinner. Spaghetti, yet again. It’s snowing and I’m broke so…
Waited for Grandma to remember what she wanted from the kitchen. Corrected and prodded her, though I hated myself for losing my patience.
Found what Grandma wanted in the kitchen. She told me I’d left something in the bathroom. I thought she was losing her words again, but she probably didn’t want to say “panties.”
Got my panties out of the bathroom. Have I mentioned I live with my grandparents?
Tossed laundry in the washer. Worried about getting bleach on the “real clothes” that I put on, thinking they’d give me energy.
Ate in bed: cereal this time.
Put Sugar to bed: rubbed her back as she cried about the field trip.
Did some homework. Feels much like punching a clock, but I have been granted a rent-free grace period to finish. It’s the least I can do, right?
Sat down to blog this.
What’s next? Probably lying in bed unable to sleep.
My my my
I stroke deep to paint the picture of your satisfaction,
Extinguishing the flame flickering in your eye; the burning passion,
Putting your body to rest…
Taking the friction, yet adding flavor to your kiss,
Placing my name across your lips,
You speak out but for where my mouth is you only speak with lisp,
You’re back arching as if pushing my breaks to slow down but your nails in my back tell me to keep doing this,
And I’m going to so I can make you break a sweat,
And I’m not satisfied until my stroke makes you moan, groan, and gasp like you’re reaching for last breath,
Or You say “Hold up I need rest”…
Stroke so deep it makes you grab your chest,
Forget lust this is artistry at its best,
3 pairs of lips moist and no 3rd party attached,
What picture is better than that?
I’ve been stuck on the haiku format. The syllable requirements focus me. I’m usually quite wordy.
Bruno Mars tickets
I’ll go and look for your face
Friends by June? Maybe.
Live from the friendzone
Think you’re writing about me
Won’t admit I read
I’m late! unless you live in Mississippi, in which case, good evening.
I think today is stories set in the 70s, 80s and 90s. I can’t up with a few:
70s: parents send their kids to the new trend in public education, the magnet school. When their kids hijinks get them cakedinto the office, they rediscover one another. The former friends from opposite sides of the racial divide have to decide if Cincinnati, their families, and their hearts are as progressive as they seem.
80s: Coke and a Smile: Latifah has always been her daddy’s girl. Beautiful and child, she may as well have a sign on her back that says “look but don’t touch”. When her father goes missing, Latifah feels she has to roll up her sleeves and run his coke operation. NYC is her home, and her mother’s idea of packing it in and going to Cincinnati is unthinkable. Zane, a young “chemist” and dealer, would love to help her, and help himself to her lovely lips. their adventure will challenge them to stay out of jail, and out of bed.
90s: Constance wishes she weren’t so shy. It’s only on the Web that she can be herself. She’s spent all her money on dial up and waits impatiently for messages from FireStarter, the closest thing she’s ever had to a boyfriend. Her mother warns her about the dangers. She has no idea who she’s really communicating with. when Fire invites her to his Kansas City home, will she go?
Must we? I promised I’d refrain from online shade and nothing’s more shady than the one sided explanation of why a past relationship is a past relationship. I can discuss it without insulting him, but would he think so? Doubt it.
I’ll say this, though: I am disabled. I am not a good housekeeper. I’m so disorganized, in fact, that I lost my sex drive. I’m disappointed because I thought love was enough. I’m afraid because I don’t know if I can become the “wifey” type, or if I should.
I have decided cohabitation is off the table for a long time. I don’t have the energy to be that kind of partner. I can keep a kid organized and happy. Parental privilege: donating anything you’ve tripped over twice. And my Type A sister keeps me on track with her quarterly inspections. In the closed atmosphere of this last relationship, I didn’t take her help. I wanted to be the one, to fix it myself. I didn’t want anyone to know. I forgot just how many people are on my side, because I thought I was being an adult by centering my life around my relationship. “Leave and cleave,” they say, and I tried.
This feels life a divorce. Five years of shared expenses and intertwined goals are coming apart. However, I’m looking forward to making my own plans. I’m hogging the pillows. I’m watching Dreamgirls every Saturday. I’m moving on.
Let’s get started!
Roses are red and
I won’t get any unless
I buy them myself
I’m single. This sucks. However, I survived my birthday last week and I’ll survive this upcoming day. I usually do something motherly like send cupcakes, so that keeps me busy. Thinking a pedicure is in order too. I’ll also keep affirmations in mind. Paraphrasing from Happy Black Woman, what’s mine is mine. Someone else’s happiness is not taking from my own. There’s enough for everybody.
I might get a little sad about somebody getting an edible arrangement though. Love those things.