Giant F-Bomb Alert – Seriously

I’ve never had a warning at the start of a blog to actually ward people off, but tonight’s post needs a big, fat “L” for language. So, please, if you are one of my young relatives who’ve never heard me curse or a co-worker who would look at me differently tomorrow – please stop reading now.

And know that I believe there is no such thing as a “bad” word – after all, Shakes told us a long time ago that “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” I’d like to add that there are some words that most perfectly express how one is feeling by intonation and intent, no matter who deems them “offensive.”

Before you go – in tribute to a great blogger and her friend, check out Clusterfook and SecondHand Tryptophan. And not just today’s posts, but all of them to learn about these folks. There are some amazing humans out there if you surf long enough.

Now, seriously – if you are one who will be offended for whatever reason by reading my use of the infamous F-Bomb – then please surf along and I’ll be sure to post another happy-go-lucky, f-bomb-free entry soon enough.

Are they gone? Did they click away as they were told to? Are those left ones who understand that sometimes there is only one glorious word that can adequately express a feeling – whether it be joy or torment? Well, good because I would just like to say:


And un-fucking-fortunately, this fucking use of the perfect fucking word is not being uttered in any realm of fucking joy.

It is not even being fucking used about my own fucking life.


I learned tonight that a fellow blogger who also happens to be one kick-ass human from all fucking blog-accounts that I can tell is about to die from her fucking cancer. I, like anyone else who reads her blog, have known she is dying of cancer, but we literally were told tonight that the end is fucking any day now.

I do not know this person. I have only recently even become acquainted with her blog, and yet, I’m fucking pissed that fucking cancer is about to fucking take her from the world we know so fucking early.

I fucking hate cancer. It has taken quite a few in my family alone.

Not sure why I feel the fucking need to rant on about this, but I am fucking saddened by this turn of events for this woman. She is a wife to a great dude, like me. She has kids, like me. She loves to write whatever the fuck she wants, like me. By reading all of the comments of random viewers and more importantly the ones by her Power of Blog, she has some great fucking friends, like me.

How fucking human of me. She is the one fucking dying, and I’m fucking whining about how it effects me. You know what’s even more fucking ironic? This woman who is dying would totally understand my fucking reaction and embrace it, not judge it. We need more fucking people like her, not less.

We all have the ability to take something as fucking scary as cancer and turn it around into what it would mean in our own lives. Being human, I am fucking pissed that she has to go and leave her family and friends and blog world without her future self. Being selfishly human, it fucking scares me into thinking about my own fucking mortality and that of those I love.

But for Lisa and her family right now, it is just not fucking fair.


So, please go – visit her site. Read about her life and death. Read all the comments posted out of love for this life that is about to be over. Then kiss the ones you love and tell them that you love them. Say it often. And not just because they may get cancer some day, but because you love them and everyone deserves to hear how much they are loved…

And, please forgive my little fucking rant.

Reasoning work versus Playful rhyme

Ladies and Gentlemen!

Entering the ring, wearing the blue silk, business casual trunks and weighing in at a whopping weight of the world status of four hundred and fifty seven pounds is our challenger!  She’s mean, she’s tough – she stomps on daisies and eats b-u-n-n-y  r-a-b-b-i-t-s for breakfast!! Give it up for the Queen of Restraint, the Bitch of the Boardroom – MS. AFFLICTED!!

[The capacity crowd boos and throws popcorn.]

And now, flying in to reclaim her original title – she’s calm, she’s beautiful – she makes us laugh and cry with her peaceful kind of love and takes her man’s b-r-e-a-t-h  a-w-a-y!!  Wearing tye-dye trunks and weighing in at a compact fighting feather weight as light as air is our people’s choice champion – put your hands together for our Woman of the World, Child of the Universe and the Zen Goddess – HARMONY’S CHILD!!

[The crowd goes wild – screams and cheers echo all the way to the moon.]

The two fighters are poised in their corners.  Ms. Afflicted is snarling and blood is pouring from her mouth as she has just bitten the head off of a baby chick. She is already dripping with a grimy, gray sweat and pounding her fists together. Harmony’s Child hovers above the canvas in the lotus position, eyes closed chanting the love of the ages oblivious to not only Ms. Afflicted, but the millions of eyes and hearts on her every breath. She glows with a light of serenity that secures her place in life.

Let’s get ready to RUMBLE!

The bell sounds.


And, by bell, I mean the alarm clock goes off and I start my day which frequently resembles the equivalent of a Rocky Balboa sized prize fight with me battling the demons of responsibility, all cut up and swollen screaming for my family and love much like he did with Adrian.

My reality lies somewhere in between harmony and affliction.  I don’t think I am much different from most folks trying to live their lives amid the human race. And yet, I masterfully convince myself that I am the only one who struggles, who is unable to work an eight hour day, get the kids to/from school, make dinner, clean the kitchen, do the laundry, walk the dog, please the husband and fulfill creative desires without neglecting the ones she loves. My affliction is adept at making sure I feel unworthy to have these children or the true love of a husband or even the talent to write a blog. So, I don’t do any of it and the house becomes a mess, the kids watch TV and a stoic silence erupts between my husband and I. I become brainwashed to believe that my children despise me, that my husband only tolerates me because it would be too difficult to leave, and that no one will ever understand and appreciate my writing much less consider it genius enough to publish.

I read another woman’s blog the other day –, which I highly recommend – and someone apparently accused her of being depressing.  She has been fighting cancer for over five years (I believe) and is chronicling her journey through a blog. I am fighting having a day job wishing I was at home writing Nobel Laurette poetry and those interminable ten pounds that I cannot seem to get rid of off my ass. My site is depressing – hers is remarkable. And the most remarkable part is that she would probably not compare our two struggles in the way I do.

The truth is that we both receive some sort of relief from writing about our lives and pain and joys and sorrows. We both carry on the tradition of humanity that began in caves thousands and thousands of years ago with simple figures drawn on the rock and grunts around a warming fire that turned into many languages of expression.

My prayers are for Lisa’s voice to delight the fires of her family for many, many more years as well as the rest of us peeking into her world through our brightly lit LCDs and keyboards.

And me?  Well, I’ll keep on-keeping on.  I’ll try new things like a joint writing project with another blogger and maybe playing at photography and work on old ones like accepting and trusting life, each other and the universe.