I came home from my morning job (which is actually really fun) and found my yongest daughter in her highchair finishing lunch, my hubby getting ready to ride to work and a splash of color and enticing display center table.
Our wedding champagne glasses each had a couple sprigs of wild geranium and columbine (from our garden!) and were arranged on a napkin, artfully set at an angle to the table edges. Propped at the bottom edge of one glass was a re-used card. (I love re-using cards by saving the picture side that has not been written on and recycling the messaged half. Not only did Steve do this, he chose a card that I had given him on Easter that had the words "You make a whole bunch of happiness bloom in my heart." The card has been in my card box for years so i finally passed it on. And here it was being passed on again. Too apropo. So he cut out the blooming message and taped it to the picture side of the front half of the card and filled the back with his poetic message.) I read the message and was completely filled with a warm, happy glow and warm fuzzies and all that lovey mushy stuff. Steve knew that he wanted to pick some flowers and have them waiting for me but the rest of the ensemble all materialized organically. He saw the flutes when looking for a vase and thought he would polish them. Then he doubted whether or not he should use them because one of the stems is a bit unstable. And then it hit him:
May 27, 2014. Happy Anniversary to my dear Taralynn. I thought about polishing these cups from our wedding day, but then I realized they are just fine the way they are: *a little tarnished by the years but still shining underneath; *a little unstable under certain circumstances but still intact; *a perfectly matched pair. Just like us. I love you Taralynn. Love, Steve E.
I couldn't have said it better myself and in fact I didn't. I wrote in a silly humorous card late that night right before he came home from work and my sentiments just didn't really measure up. I should have just said ditto. :)
We celebrataed our anniversary the Friday before by heading to fancy Mansion Hill Inn in downtown. We enjoyed a night on the town. But I had my monthly bill and Steve drank too much (and was consequently lying with his head in the toilet for a bit) so the romance was a bit on the low end of the scale. However, the overall night away from home without kids cannot be understated. We had a lovely time. Combining that luxurious experience with the simple yet poignant present and it was the best anniversary yet.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Collateral Damage
What is collateral damage? It is losing something valuable that you did not intend to lose while throwing out the trash. So my trash and my baggage is this: my mother is an alcoholic, my dad is an enabler and my family is still dysfunctional because of all of that. The collateral damage is the rest of my extended family, including in some ways my brother and his family.
I need to use this as an exercise in allowing myself to have some feelings on the matter and to validate those feelings. As a child I was not allowed to have feelings. Because my mother had them all. She controlled everything. I use to call it Smother Love. Now I call it manipulative, among other words. My therapist would say that I protect my dad and I do. So I need to also say that my dad may not have had all the feelings and emotions but he certainly helped squashed my own. There is nothing to be scared of. Don't be a baby. You maroon. And sometimes it wasn't directly at my brother or me but the criticisms and judgements of other people were sometimes so strong (from both parents) that I did not want to be at the receiving end. So I made myself a mini-mom. A likeness of her that would allow me to blend in and hide- from her. To survive. I also strived to be perfect and still struggle with that today, although it has gotten better since cutting the ties.
Ha, survival. Sure I am 37 years old but I am still dealing with the repercussions of having to live with a selfish, volatile alcoholic. It sucked and it still sucks. She is or maybe was since I am stepping back from it all now, a vacuum, a black hole that sucked everything around her down into her inky mire. I used to tell my aunt that it bothered me so much that one person could cause such heartache, pain and angst. That my mother was the one thing we could all agree upon as being unreasonable or (insert any negative adjective here) and yet no one would stand up to her. All of us were still powerless to flip the switch off.
Until my brother and his wife started having words with my mom about her drinking. You cannot watch our kids if you are drinking. I have no idea how many times and different ways they had to say that. So how many times did she stop drinking only to start again? We all know the answer.
It may have been before my brother had kids, but I told my mom once that I didn't like her drinking. She said I know I have a problem. I think I can have just one (drink) but I can't. She cried a bit and I felt better for having said something. (That had required many hours of therapy for me to do that!) But of course it did nothing ultimately.
I do not want to type out the whole process that started with my brother's family and led to ours. I have told it too many times. And those are just the facts. It is not the feelings. The real meat of the matter. I will say this, however. It really began for me personally when dad asked me to talk to my mom (and after having experienced a week from hell around my oldest daughter's birthday when my mother stayed with us). We both talked to her and it sort of felt good but sort of like, what now or so what? She seemed most upset that we were ganging up on her.
I am angry that I am still having to deal with this. That not talking to her is great but the whole complicated drama still plagues me daily. But the anger is just the superficial layer. It protects me from the underlying torment. I just don't know how to let it out!
Sometimes I think I need to tell my parents how I feel. Tell them what happened to push me to this point. but I don't want to be like my mother. She does things out of spite. To hurt. My truth as an explanation for why I am stepping back would likely be taken the wrong way, thus defeating the purpose.
I do not trust my mother to be decent. to think of me outside of herself. To interact with me or my family in a way that will not leave me feeling anxious and horrible and with chest pain. How sad is that? I write that but I do not feel the depth of sadness that I know must be there.
I do not want to wallow in self pity but I do not think I have allowed myself the freedom to experience the pit of despair. Only then will I be able to rise above it with no strings attached. So how do I do that?
It is obvious I think that I am a mess when it comes to this situation. It has me all in knots. My poor kids who have a tired mom (thus more cranky) because I am trying to process this hefty load. There is one shred of collateral damage right there. The indirect affects it has on my girls. and then there is the family that I want to see. That I miss hanging out with. But i am not ready to face my mom and so I am not going to see my aunts, uncle and cousins and my brother and his family. Now that makes me sad.
I have tried calling my dad twice in the past couple of months and he has not attempted any return communication. Our girls have received a box of homemade clothes from my mom with cards signed from both of them. But no phone call, no email and no notes.
It feels like I am standing at the edge of a precipice. One small breath of wind and I will be plunging down into the depths.
I am making myself crazy wondering what he is thinking. What sort of crap he has to put up with from my mom. Trying to make the sadness dissipate. Sadness seems like such an incomplete word for how I feel. I need a bigger vocabulary!
The thing that bothers me the most is that they are both likely feeling like I am doing something negative to them. That I am choosing to be mean/heartless/unforgiving. But I am really choosing to be true to myself and loving to my family.
Don't they want to know and understand what this is all about? My therapist tells me that it is naive to think that I could have a relationship with my dad while he is still in the middle of the same old alcoholic-enabler pattern. I guess I did have that hope. but the bigger underlying hope is that at least one of them would at least be able to wonder how I am. At least try to understand what I am going through. Ask, how are you? Ask for me to explain what I am thinking or how I am feeling. Ask what they could do to make it better. Not telling me that they are praying for the Holy Spirit to open my heart to them. I am not waiting for them to fill these expectations. In fact I think I am working on grieving for their absence and finding the harsh reality left behind- and being okay with that truth.
My therapist's response to my telling her that my dad hasn't returned my phone calls was "that sucks." Yeah that does suck.
Neither of them respond to emailed photos of the girls, which my mom did ask for once upon a time. We are just each following our own scripts, writing out the other persons parts based on our own insecurities. Not good for business. So I keep coming round to this truth: there is no point having any conversations until she or they are ready to and I will know when she is in recovery (the first step in being ready). She isn't because I have not received the sorry notes. The ones asking for forgiveness and more importantly asking for what to do or how to help.
So it all comes back to me again. I still carry that resentment, which I need to cast off and let go. It was their choices when I was a child that got us to this very point and it is still their choices that have me dealing with their choices. I am still dealing with their crap. Even after deciding that I have had enough of their crap- and have removed myself from the crap. It is all in my head and my heart and I need to let it go. The collateral damage sucks, but you know what, is it really so mcuch collateral damage if they arent separate from the situation. The enablers are just as important to the plot as the alcoholic. Thats their shitty choice and they have to live with that.
I just want to get to a point where this isn't on my mind or near enough to on my mind that I spend way too much time thinking about it. I don't want to be tainted anymore. and I need to focus my energies on my family- and expanding my vocabulary. I want to eloquently express myself. (And write some essays for children's magazines. On nature topics, not dysfunctional drama. Whew.)
I need to use this as an exercise in allowing myself to have some feelings on the matter and to validate those feelings. As a child I was not allowed to have feelings. Because my mother had them all. She controlled everything. I use to call it Smother Love. Now I call it manipulative, among other words. My therapist would say that I protect my dad and I do. So I need to also say that my dad may not have had all the feelings and emotions but he certainly helped squashed my own. There is nothing to be scared of. Don't be a baby. You maroon. And sometimes it wasn't directly at my brother or me but the criticisms and judgements of other people were sometimes so strong (from both parents) that I did not want to be at the receiving end. So I made myself a mini-mom. A likeness of her that would allow me to blend in and hide- from her. To survive. I also strived to be perfect and still struggle with that today, although it has gotten better since cutting the ties.
Ha, survival. Sure I am 37 years old but I am still dealing with the repercussions of having to live with a selfish, volatile alcoholic. It sucked and it still sucks. She is or maybe was since I am stepping back from it all now, a vacuum, a black hole that sucked everything around her down into her inky mire. I used to tell my aunt that it bothered me so much that one person could cause such heartache, pain and angst. That my mother was the one thing we could all agree upon as being unreasonable or (insert any negative adjective here) and yet no one would stand up to her. All of us were still powerless to flip the switch off.
Until my brother and his wife started having words with my mom about her drinking. You cannot watch our kids if you are drinking. I have no idea how many times and different ways they had to say that. So how many times did she stop drinking only to start again? We all know the answer.
It may have been before my brother had kids, but I told my mom once that I didn't like her drinking. She said I know I have a problem. I think I can have just one (drink) but I can't. She cried a bit and I felt better for having said something. (That had required many hours of therapy for me to do that!) But of course it did nothing ultimately.
I do not want to type out the whole process that started with my brother's family and led to ours. I have told it too many times. And those are just the facts. It is not the feelings. The real meat of the matter. I will say this, however. It really began for me personally when dad asked me to talk to my mom (and after having experienced a week from hell around my oldest daughter's birthday when my mother stayed with us). We both talked to her and it sort of felt good but sort of like, what now or so what? She seemed most upset that we were ganging up on her.
I am angry that I am still having to deal with this. That not talking to her is great but the whole complicated drama still plagues me daily. But the anger is just the superficial layer. It protects me from the underlying torment. I just don't know how to let it out!
Sometimes I think I need to tell my parents how I feel. Tell them what happened to push me to this point. but I don't want to be like my mother. She does things out of spite. To hurt. My truth as an explanation for why I am stepping back would likely be taken the wrong way, thus defeating the purpose.
I do not trust my mother to be decent. to think of me outside of herself. To interact with me or my family in a way that will not leave me feeling anxious and horrible and with chest pain. How sad is that? I write that but I do not feel the depth of sadness that I know must be there.
I do not want to wallow in self pity but I do not think I have allowed myself the freedom to experience the pit of despair. Only then will I be able to rise above it with no strings attached. So how do I do that?
It is obvious I think that I am a mess when it comes to this situation. It has me all in knots. My poor kids who have a tired mom (thus more cranky) because I am trying to process this hefty load. There is one shred of collateral damage right there. The indirect affects it has on my girls. and then there is the family that I want to see. That I miss hanging out with. But i am not ready to face my mom and so I am not going to see my aunts, uncle and cousins and my brother and his family. Now that makes me sad.
I have tried calling my dad twice in the past couple of months and he has not attempted any return communication. Our girls have received a box of homemade clothes from my mom with cards signed from both of them. But no phone call, no email and no notes.
It feels like I am standing at the edge of a precipice. One small breath of wind and I will be plunging down into the depths.
I am making myself crazy wondering what he is thinking. What sort of crap he has to put up with from my mom. Trying to make the sadness dissipate. Sadness seems like such an incomplete word for how I feel. I need a bigger vocabulary!
The thing that bothers me the most is that they are both likely feeling like I am doing something negative to them. That I am choosing to be mean/heartless/unforgiving. But I am really choosing to be true to myself and loving to my family.
Don't they want to know and understand what this is all about? My therapist tells me that it is naive to think that I could have a relationship with my dad while he is still in the middle of the same old alcoholic-enabler pattern. I guess I did have that hope. but the bigger underlying hope is that at least one of them would at least be able to wonder how I am. At least try to understand what I am going through. Ask, how are you? Ask for me to explain what I am thinking or how I am feeling. Ask what they could do to make it better. Not telling me that they are praying for the Holy Spirit to open my heart to them. I am not waiting for them to fill these expectations. In fact I think I am working on grieving for their absence and finding the harsh reality left behind- and being okay with that truth.
My therapist's response to my telling her that my dad hasn't returned my phone calls was "that sucks." Yeah that does suck.
Neither of them respond to emailed photos of the girls, which my mom did ask for once upon a time. We are just each following our own scripts, writing out the other persons parts based on our own insecurities. Not good for business. So I keep coming round to this truth: there is no point having any conversations until she or they are ready to and I will know when she is in recovery (the first step in being ready). She isn't because I have not received the sorry notes. The ones asking for forgiveness and more importantly asking for what to do or how to help.
So it all comes back to me again. I still carry that resentment, which I need to cast off and let go. It was their choices when I was a child that got us to this very point and it is still their choices that have me dealing with their choices. I am still dealing with their crap. Even after deciding that I have had enough of their crap- and have removed myself from the crap. It is all in my head and my heart and I need to let it go. The collateral damage sucks, but you know what, is it really so mcuch collateral damage if they arent separate from the situation. The enablers are just as important to the plot as the alcoholic. Thats their shitty choice and they have to live with that.
I just want to get to a point where this isn't on my mind or near enough to on my mind that I spend way too much time thinking about it. I don't want to be tainted anymore. and I need to focus my energies on my family- and expanding my vocabulary. I want to eloquently express myself. (And write some essays for children's magazines. On nature topics, not dysfunctional drama. Whew.)
Sea Dreams
My family and I went to France for spring break and had an amazing time. But those thoughts and memories are for another time. The only relevant part has to do with the fact that we flew over an ocean and the in-flight map that depicted our plane's flight path across the ocean always brought a little fear to my heart.
I do not like the ocean. Or rather I am deeply afraid of it. I appreciate the beauty and majesty of it from naturalist and religious aspects but I prefer to marvel at the mysterious creatures and dynamic presence from the safety of the sand. I might venture in as far as my waist but my feet need to feel the semi-firm ground beneath my being.
Once, or rather twice in my life I have snorkeled- on the shores of Maui and Costa Rica. The terror that rose up in Hawaii every time I put my face in the water was palpable in my every pore. My face was like a bobber being handled by an impatient toddler. I am lucky I saw any fish at all. The silence of the scene had me convinced that something was going to sneak up behind me and attack. It was not a long endeavor but I was proud of myself for having given it a go. The plane ride to Hawaii was uneventful for me because I was given valium and an alcoholic beverage prior to boarding. It may sound extreme but I was highly anxious and in danger of completely freaking out. Waking up as the plane was landing (on top of the water?!) was momentarily horrifying so the fact that I willingly sought out a personal relationship with the cove and its critters is somewhat amazing.
I was much more brave in Costa Rica, but very careful to stay a safe distance away from shore. My head did not bob quite so frequently but the same surges of quiet, rising fear threatened to disable me. I felt a bit more free, especially as I watched Steve exploring with near abandon.
Back to watching the plane move at a snails pace on the map had me swallowing the same fear. This time I had to hold it together for the sake of my kids. I refused to let my brain fill with images of the plane crash landing on a never ending wave with a horizon free of land. (shudder) That ocean is no big deal. We are fine. Don't think about it. The mantra of an ocean phobic person.
Is it ironic that just when I thought I had survived the plane trip with some dignity and with relatively little fear and no panic, I was wrong and due for a humdinger of a nightmare? Literally. All of those emotions that I gulped down and suppressed resurface themselves in my dreams the night after we returned.
The sea roiled and the waves were taller than any building in the sea-side city. No matter how far I walked from the beach area, the ocean was a stones throw away. It was like a feral dog that follows you where ever you go. No amount of shouting will make it runaway. Like my own shadow, creeping behind me or beside me.
One night the waves crashed down on the city. The boat that was my temporary haven was thrown from side to side. (The was some sort of miraculous cushion in my subconscious reality that kept my dream self safe from injury. I have never experienced being thrown against a wall or tossed to the floor like a piece of trash so in my dream I recognized being hurt without feeling pain or exhibiting any symptoms.) The scene was completely terrifying. I had no idea what the people on the land were doing- were they OK? How could they be okay? The sea was everywhere!
Then the sky opened up and rain fell in sheets. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Water was everywhere. When it finally subsided, the city was covered in a layer of liquid, distorting the streets and horizontal surfaces. Every step sloshed. The earth was a shallow puddle that seamlessly connected with the bottomless salty depths of the sea.
Life went back to normal in this weird wet world. My naturalist job continued with computer work. I was slightly concerned that the cords and wires might cause some electrocution, but that fear was not consuming me. I was jittery with new love for a colleague; I had no husband or kids in dreamland. This man was my fresh and wild romance. Sparks shot between our fingers when our eyes met and when we kissed it was of fairy tale proportions. The Princess Bride states it so eloquently. You know the part- that this kiss blew all the other historical kisses (just a handful have made history) away. And always in the background (or foreground) was the churning sea.
This new and intense love was brief. Not long after the sea turned our city into a shallow pond I saw the tsunami coming as I walked to work. It was doomsday wrapped up in a salty drink. I rushed to my lover who was typing away at the computer. It amazed me that he didn't see the danger right-outside-the-window. I urged him to move quickly. My panic was not just for the inevitable crush of water but for our love. Could it drown so quickly without experiencing longevity- new firsts in different chapters of our lives? It made my heartache to think that this intangible conection might be swept away.
We headed to a car so we could drive up the mountain- along with the villagers. and still that mother of all waves inched its way closer. We could not get high enough to avoid the crash- it seemed bound to get us for sure. My heart was beating wildly out of control as the panic rose in my throat. I was annoyed at my love-why was he moving so slowly? Didn't he see the end of the earth right there?
My heartbeat faster and faster and the anxiety built like a solid wall in my chest. I kept glancing over my shoulder out the back window of the car- down the hill and out across the port- that wave was bigger than anything I could imagine. The world would be one giant ocean and no sanctuaries of land. I was almost in tears as tore my eyes from the horror and looked at my love. I reached for his hand, wnating to feel the spark. Knowing that the weight of that much water would annhilate our bodies and our love. Then I awoke.
Of course I was scared but actually I also felt a little relieved. The emotions had all been released. Whew. (But typing this and in essence reliving that nightmare crazy. I scared myself!)
I often wonder if watching Jaws as a kid was really enough to cause my intense distrust of the ocean and the wonder of the deep. What else could it mean? so I search for meaning beyond the phobic obviousness.
My dream dictionaries have been my friends since high school. Ocean according to one book is this (only relevant parts included here): the meaning of this dream varies according to its details and action...The ocean...if very rough or stormy, it is a warning that real courage will be needed to overcome your obstacles...
Well, one major obstacle in my life that I am currently trying to work through is my alcoholic mother. Perhaps another time we can analyze that can of worms.
Storms according to the same book are obstacle dreams and portend a season of discontent from which you will only recover when you realize that you are the master of your own fate.
Water if rough or murky signifies difficulties.
I wonder which is worse: the fear of the ocean or the potential obstacles or difficulties life may bring. It is like swallowing a whole boat load of salt water. Makes you sick, leaves a bad taste in your mouth, dehydrates you and makes you cough. Not necessarily in that order.
Wish me luck as i sail the waters of life! Maybe flying over the water is better...
I do not like the ocean. Or rather I am deeply afraid of it. I appreciate the beauty and majesty of it from naturalist and religious aspects but I prefer to marvel at the mysterious creatures and dynamic presence from the safety of the sand. I might venture in as far as my waist but my feet need to feel the semi-firm ground beneath my being.
Once, or rather twice in my life I have snorkeled- on the shores of Maui and Costa Rica. The terror that rose up in Hawaii every time I put my face in the water was palpable in my every pore. My face was like a bobber being handled by an impatient toddler. I am lucky I saw any fish at all. The silence of the scene had me convinced that something was going to sneak up behind me and attack. It was not a long endeavor but I was proud of myself for having given it a go. The plane ride to Hawaii was uneventful for me because I was given valium and an alcoholic beverage prior to boarding. It may sound extreme but I was highly anxious and in danger of completely freaking out. Waking up as the plane was landing (on top of the water?!) was momentarily horrifying so the fact that I willingly sought out a personal relationship with the cove and its critters is somewhat amazing.
I was much more brave in Costa Rica, but very careful to stay a safe distance away from shore. My head did not bob quite so frequently but the same surges of quiet, rising fear threatened to disable me. I felt a bit more free, especially as I watched Steve exploring with near abandon.
Back to watching the plane move at a snails pace on the map had me swallowing the same fear. This time I had to hold it together for the sake of my kids. I refused to let my brain fill with images of the plane crash landing on a never ending wave with a horizon free of land. (shudder) That ocean is no big deal. We are fine. Don't think about it. The mantra of an ocean phobic person.
Is it ironic that just when I thought I had survived the plane trip with some dignity and with relatively little fear and no panic, I was wrong and due for a humdinger of a nightmare? Literally. All of those emotions that I gulped down and suppressed resurface themselves in my dreams the night after we returned.
The sea roiled and the waves were taller than any building in the sea-side city. No matter how far I walked from the beach area, the ocean was a stones throw away. It was like a feral dog that follows you where ever you go. No amount of shouting will make it runaway. Like my own shadow, creeping behind me or beside me.
One night the waves crashed down on the city. The boat that was my temporary haven was thrown from side to side. (The was some sort of miraculous cushion in my subconscious reality that kept my dream self safe from injury. I have never experienced being thrown against a wall or tossed to the floor like a piece of trash so in my dream I recognized being hurt without feeling pain or exhibiting any symptoms.) The scene was completely terrifying. I had no idea what the people on the land were doing- were they OK? How could they be okay? The sea was everywhere!
Then the sky opened up and rain fell in sheets. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Water was everywhere. When it finally subsided, the city was covered in a layer of liquid, distorting the streets and horizontal surfaces. Every step sloshed. The earth was a shallow puddle that seamlessly connected with the bottomless salty depths of the sea.
Life went back to normal in this weird wet world. My naturalist job continued with computer work. I was slightly concerned that the cords and wires might cause some electrocution, but that fear was not consuming me. I was jittery with new love for a colleague; I had no husband or kids in dreamland. This man was my fresh and wild romance. Sparks shot between our fingers when our eyes met and when we kissed it was of fairy tale proportions. The Princess Bride states it so eloquently. You know the part- that this kiss blew all the other historical kisses (just a handful have made history) away. And always in the background (or foreground) was the churning sea.
This new and intense love was brief. Not long after the sea turned our city into a shallow pond I saw the tsunami coming as I walked to work. It was doomsday wrapped up in a salty drink. I rushed to my lover who was typing away at the computer. It amazed me that he didn't see the danger right-outside-the-window. I urged him to move quickly. My panic was not just for the inevitable crush of water but for our love. Could it drown so quickly without experiencing longevity- new firsts in different chapters of our lives? It made my heartache to think that this intangible conection might be swept away.
We headed to a car so we could drive up the mountain- along with the villagers. and still that mother of all waves inched its way closer. We could not get high enough to avoid the crash- it seemed bound to get us for sure. My heart was beating wildly out of control as the panic rose in my throat. I was annoyed at my love-why was he moving so slowly? Didn't he see the end of the earth right there?
My heartbeat faster and faster and the anxiety built like a solid wall in my chest. I kept glancing over my shoulder out the back window of the car- down the hill and out across the port- that wave was bigger than anything I could imagine. The world would be one giant ocean and no sanctuaries of land. I was almost in tears as tore my eyes from the horror and looked at my love. I reached for his hand, wnating to feel the spark. Knowing that the weight of that much water would annhilate our bodies and our love. Then I awoke.
Of course I was scared but actually I also felt a little relieved. The emotions had all been released. Whew. (But typing this and in essence reliving that nightmare crazy. I scared myself!)
I often wonder if watching Jaws as a kid was really enough to cause my intense distrust of the ocean and the wonder of the deep. What else could it mean? so I search for meaning beyond the phobic obviousness.
My dream dictionaries have been my friends since high school. Ocean according to one book is this (only relevant parts included here): the meaning of this dream varies according to its details and action...The ocean...if very rough or stormy, it is a warning that real courage will be needed to overcome your obstacles...
Well, one major obstacle in my life that I am currently trying to work through is my alcoholic mother. Perhaps another time we can analyze that can of worms.
Storms according to the same book are obstacle dreams and portend a season of discontent from which you will only recover when you realize that you are the master of your own fate.
Water if rough or murky signifies difficulties.
I wonder which is worse: the fear of the ocean or the potential obstacles or difficulties life may bring. It is like swallowing a whole boat load of salt water. Makes you sick, leaves a bad taste in your mouth, dehydrates you and makes you cough. Not necessarily in that order.
Wish me luck as i sail the waters of life! Maybe flying over the water is better...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)