The perfect

The perfect is whatever you need it to be

            just long enough

            never too smooth

            always exactly as wrong as you need

            and with just the right amount of white

It doesn't judge, unless judgment is necessary

It doesn't take, except the pain away

You can't see it, unless you need to find it

It won't touch you, but you can always feel it

The perfect

                        knows

            but not secrets

                        can

            and does

                        is

            or isn't

Your flaws are the perfect's perfection

Your uncertainty is the perfect's stability

With the perfect, you are You

With the perfect, We are One

Post Apocalypse – Day 1

Armageddon wasn't too bad. I think only about half the laws of physics were erased, maybe even less. A light fire drizzle started around 8am, and we saw our first meteor swarm by 10. Two more swarms before 2, but they had the convenient side effect of scaring off the herd of raptors on the front lawn. The long driveway full of pothole-puddles seems to have stumped the zombies so far, so that's good.

Scout and I went on a dogging mission – no wait. Sorry. I think I've been holding myself together fairly well, but I have noticed the occasional hiccup in my brainwaves. Where was I? Ah yes. Dog and I went on a scouting mission. It seems the neighbors chose to ignore our advice on heat-resistant paneling. Only one other house still stands, and go figure, it's that one. The rest burned in the early morning rain of fire. (Or firain, as we've decided to call it.) Dog and I decided to add a little extra fire to the front gate. No sense encouraging visitors until we're sure we know what to do with them.

No sign of Kitty yet, but I found Boyfriend passed out in one of the smaller bunkers. Clearly we'll need to improve our ventilation system. Oddly enough his coal-powered refrigeration is working just fine. Maybe the steampunks weren't full of shit after all. Once Boyfriend was feeling better, we decided to celebrate our continued existence by having the most kick-ass cookout ever. That's right. Toasting marshmallows by the light of a burning suburb. I guess all that's left for today is...... beginning the repopulation of earth. See? Even the end of the world has its perks.

Just don't ever call me a poet

Downward

and as such falling

            so much implied

words I don't want to say

            MY NAME

                           4            1

numbers, letters, everything blurs

            shifting shapes, all shit-faced from

                        shooting sherry shots

                                    shoot

You don't get to come here anymore

            We no longer welcome your agony

                        Keep your pain

                                    to yourself

Things that go bump in the night...

My lamp – Kitty knocked it over while trying to catch the moths it attracts. She does not realize that no matter how well she can climb the screen, she's not going to be able to catch bugs through the window. She is inside and they out, and it will stay that way until such time when I can no longer stand her piteous mrows. Then – alas, poor winged soul, you have been chosen as tonight's plaything and eventual feast. Please, come into the light and warmth... oh, and Kitty's belly.

The dinosaur (heater) – though really it's more of a “whump,” followed by a huge dinosaur sigh. A sigh that says “Yes, alright, I'm awake. And now I will heat your house.” I think it's an old dinosaur, arthritic and probably with dentures. But day after day it keeps on. With heaving, wheezing breaths, the ancient creature banishes chill and ill will from our home.

Nothing – absolutely nothing. No, really, there's nothing there. But that doesn't stop the dogs from barking at it.

The Tall One – Mr. Jameson “Jay” (or just J) McF. He's had some impressive growth spurts, and with them the sudden surprise at the length of his limbs. And let's not get started on his appetite! He doesn't thump and bump as much as some, but he has not yet perfected his ninja-ness, so it's always apparent when he's at last decided to get ready for bed. Not that I can blame him. I remember the drawers he's opening and the doors he's closing. He lives in my old room now, and I can attest to the fact that the “bedtime” process is riddled with noisy booby-traps.

The clumsy one – that's me, by the way. I walk into doors, trip over animals, drop shoes and books and bottles of assorted scented products. Hands hit windows, elbows hit walls. And then finally – finally – I fall into bed.

Mopes and Beams

School, degree, write, publish. That was the path as I saw it when I graduated high school. I was going to spend another four years in a box, and when I emerged I would be given a magical scroll known only as "Diploma." Then with a wave of said diploma I could dazzle employers and publishers into providing every desire Velcroed to the inside of my heart. I would spend my days in a haze of book tours and bright lights. The world would bow before my prowess, and all would be well.

That didn't happen. School was expensive and often boring. It was full of people I couldn't stand. So I let my brain wander. It had lost interest in my life, so I sent it in search of something better. When it returned with an exciting new idea, I knew instantly that I was in possession of a top-notch noggin. Australia. What could be better for a jaded, self-important young lady than a trip to the Dreamland?

Nothing frees the soul quite like seeing the world. By leaving everything I knew, I gave myself permission to be different. Education is WHAT I learn, not how or where or when I learn it. Life is everything, everywhere, all the time, and the only true crime is not living it.

I emerged from my reawakening with two goals:

1) Return. Wherever my wanderlust may take me, Oz is my one true love, and I await the day we are reunited.

2) Business. Or, if you will, school, degree, business, freedom. Freedom in this instance taking the form of a bed and breakfast inn. The entrepreneur I didn't know lived inside is itching to get her hands on some accounts books; I am a confident cook and accomplished baker-ette; I have a head for numbers that drives my stepmother batty; and my smile could charm the pants off a mannequin. I really can't think of a better way to combine my scattered strengths. And who knows, maybe I'll still write that book.

Lost in a W Ord

When writing my most recent blog post, I made an interesting discovery. The spellcheck options for “women's” were

• omen's
• woman's
• w omen's
• womenfolk's
• women
• dolmen's
• moment's
• womanize
• verminous

                          Really? What, pray tell, is a W Omen? What wily words would wreak wrothful wounds? Would womenfolk win without weapons? Why war, when waltzing was wished? Weighty words work willingly,

             watching,

                          waiting,

                                      wearing wily witticisms. Without woman's ways, we'd wither. Wing west, wobbly warblers. Willful wagoners whittle waspishly. Wary? Wash with well-water waves. Wake wondering. Wander woodsy walks. Wink. Whispers will work.

Wow.

If anyone is unsure, yes "women's" is a word.  Whatever spellcheck.

There is nothing you can name...

Do you ever want to get arrested, just so you can get a rest? I ask for two reasons:

1. I enjoy wordplay.
2. I'm so tired! I can't seem to get the cobwebs outta my head lately, and sometimes the idea of being forced to get a full night's sleep every day sounds fantastically appealing.

Unfortunately I care far too much about my voting rights to engage such a notion. My foremothers did not risk their livelihoods and social status so I could throw it all away for a nap.

Fun fact: anytime someone mentions Women's Suffrage, I picture Mrs. Banks from Mary Poppins

This picture does not belong to me.
I am borrowing it as a visual aid.
I found it here.

"Our gallant ladies in prison are waiting for me to lead them in song!"

Which, now that I think about it, is going to make a great segue into our next topic. Because even though that's all I set out to say, I'm not yet bored with my thoughts...

Dame Julie Andrews Is My Hero!

If I could meet anyone alive, it would be her. (If she isn't available, I will accept President Obama as runner-up.) Why? Let's review...

• For starters, she pwned cancer. As I'm sure you're aware, cancer is kind of a big deal, and she kicked it in the balls. Admittedly, the cancer did get in a pretty good sucker punch to the throat, but to (very, VERY loosely) paraphrase Our Lady of the Iron Will, “Suck it, Cancer! I will sing whether you like it or not because you're jealous and I'm awesome.” Yeah. Pretty sure she said something like that...
• She can do anything! No really. I think she and Stephen Hawking should take over the world. With their powers combined, they might even be able to resuscitate Captain Planet! Which clearly we could use right about now.
• Anybody ever seen The Sound of Music? Of course you have. Me too. Grew up with it, I did... (My mom used to turn it off after the wedding scene. I didn't even know there were Nazis in that movie until middle school. Love you, Mom <3 ) How about Victor/Victoria? The only other fantastically androgynous performance that comes close is Tilda Swinton in Constantine (a movie that I will only halfway admit to having seen). And then of course there's the ever-adorable Princess Diaries. Anyway, what point am I trying to make...? I guess that Julie Andrews puts the “be” in believable. She can do anything because she can be anyone, and don't you forget it!
• This probably never happened, but I like to imagine that at some point she said, “Oh hello, I couldn't help but notice some wrinkles and grey hairs and the kinds of things that give the pretty girls insomnia the night before their 30^th birthday. Well you know what? I'M GOING TO STAY PRETTY FOREVER.” I mean seriously, have you seen that woman? I can only hope I look that sexy at 76.
• Did I mention she's a dame? I know life isn't supposed to have a scorecard, but getting to put “dame” before your name sure seems like winning to me.
• So I've never actually met her (obviously, because if I had she would have totally loved me and we'd be superbestfriends by now), but I like to think I'm pretty good at reading the Universe, and when I think “Julie Andrews,” this is what comes to mind... A warm heart, dazzling smile and fantastic humour. I imagine she's quick-witted, confident, wise, compassionate. I bet when no one is looking she's full of secret mischief. And then there's that sparkle in her eyes that simply says “I'm alive!”

I have nothing more to say.

That's a lie. I always have more to say. But I am declaring this the

end of post.