microwaving oz

the microwave sat sealed in its box in the corner of the dining area, as if it had just been delivered that day from UPS.  he never said anything more that day as i just looked up from the box, started crying and ran out of the room.  the microwave was never discussed.  ever, it just sat in the box in the corner.  it was now forgotten, really, but not quite, really.  and we ended up going to a movie on christmas the spirit totally gone for the rest of the day.  and, life as normal continued.

it was my niece that opened the box and took out the microwave and found the christmas gift inside, still wrapped, inside the microwave, which she opened to make her popcorn she brought for dinner at my apartment she was "house sitting" for us that week while we went on vacation.  the old one blew up, literally, when she tried popping her dinner the night before, then, of course, she saw the new one and did what I probably should have done 7 months earlier and set it up for use.  my niece, of course, told us the minute we walked in the door, about the microwave and the explosion and how she "installed" the new one for us, and then she handed me the present that she had found inside the present that disappointed me so much.

she was talking 100 miles an hour about exploding microwaves and a fire, but everything was OK, and the new microwave.  heart stopped.  they had just returned from the most blissful trip together, and there it was that microwave and everything that it meant or didn't mean really.  and here now was an equally beautifully wrapped present which matched the original one thought not exactly, yet by design complementary.

i just looked at it.  and heard nothing else that she was saying, until he asked, "aren't you going to open it?"

i looked up at him, he was smiling, of course, and fortunately that smile he wore bore the bliss of the shore they were still really on in their minds when they walked in the door.  i looked at the present and wondered out loud, "ok, but what could it be?"  i felt my niece looking at me and as i looked in her eyes, curiosity swelled in the smile she held that shifted ever so slightly as she noticed the tear falling now.

i took a deep breathe like i did on christmas day, but today i could tell it was different.  i unwrapped the gift and opened the small box, inside there was a cotton cloth and under it was a piece of paper folded up twice.  i opened it up and all that it said, is "i don't care, i just want to have as much fun with u as possible."

On Chad

what a sweet guy he was.  and he was a "guy" and not yet a "man," and after one marriage after another, a total of four now, you would think i would have learned how to know THAT difference BEFORE i married number 3 and, definitely by, number 4, but i didn't and so NOW i sit in my favorite attorney's office waiting to sign the final papers on number 4.

maybe if i date a man, then it won't matter if i marry a guy?

true story

all stories are true, except the one's which are fiction and then those can be manipulated to become the truth if someone is inspired to live the story someone else told because it was just so much more exciting than, say, their own life.

but what happens when the stories that are written get so far from the original truth that inspired the stories in the first place?

ta da, everything in your reality stops making sense.

what you thought was important turns out to be the things people use against you.  and everything of value and importance, gone, stolen really, in their version of your story, they exercise all the control over everything and they can do whatever they want.  those that manipulate stories to become reality, that is, they can do whatever they want because they know how to project out a story and then filling in the blanks with whatever happens to be there to fill in the story in the moment.

some stories are written with certain people in mind; others, well, they are written with a concept of a person in mind and then the storytellers manipulate the script to include their favorite of the moment to play that character for them.

the Best Story Tellers win in the end, usually.  not the actual best story teller, mind you, but the Best Story Tellers, the one's that have nothing to lose by telling the stories of their lives and how it all came to be.

http://youtu.be/9mzY-JgA338

so u know

reality has a very strange way of presenting itself to each of us in its own magical way.
deciding which reality is real and which is ... oh, say virtual ... is the trick when we realize the games we *think* we need to play in order to achieve our purpose.
knowing purpose is paramount to know the process with which the experience of this 3d world brings together.  and in each phrase we purpose our reality to becoming the one we believe is what we vision based on what? ? ? a projection by our former self?  or just an imposition of the latest craze on the details of our own life?

painting.  #red .... random color choices of a #cosmicgirl.