Coffee in the morning, Guinness in the evening.

Jul 30

Dark beverages. They provide a fair contrast to my brave attempts at a bright appearance these days. Many brick walls stand before me. Some hours I stand at them defiantly, carefully chipping away pieces with my fingertips. I have no tools made of wood or steel. Only small hands, big ideas and that ever-tenacious will to build WINDOWS. My best hours are in the morning. Early morning.

But suddenly, it’s July 30th. My twins are 15 months old, I wear more hats than I’d ever planned (and I planned for MANY), and my morning routine feels somewhat uprooted. Where is that missing piece?
I’ve got my eye on the prize.
Tearing down walls is what I plan to do.
Until I can make enough windows, enough light,
to create the calm.

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London Fog

Jul 27

I’ve never in my life wished to be here more than now. It just so happens that the Olympics being hosted in London provide extra drama for a remarkably challenging time. So I guess we just keep calm and carry on, yeah?
The Union Flag projected on the palace of westminster

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Fill in the holes, finish that painting, girl.

Jul 18

Clinical psychology tells us arguably that trauma is the ultimate killer. Memories are not recycled like atoms and particles in quantum physics – they can be lost forever.

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Ever thought about losing it?

Jul 15

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They mesmerized and swung in the palpitating air, drowsed with odors strange and rare.

Jul 14

Sometimes that hummingbird beats just a little too hard, a little too fast and words slip right past the brain where dialysis should occur, flowing straight to the heart. When they reach the core so quickly and without proper filtration, it’s a gamble whether the output will be masterpiece or disaster.

And so I envision taking my index finger, the right one specifically – and shoving it down my throat in an attempt to nudge that beating heart back down into the cavern where it belongs. It is charming and also difficult to be a wallflower, or worse, the hummingbird feeding off of wallflowers. When it’s good it’s great. When there’s so much light and energy dying to break free from what feels like walls of concrete, an audience of deaf ears, it’s heartbreaking. But the beauty of that bird, that wallflower, with all that self-perpetuating energy – is that she can’t stop. Passion is in her blood, pain or pleasure.

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