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50 shades of grey.  50 ways to leave a lover.  50 episodes of whodunit.  50 ways to lose a life.

50 megawatts of power.  outage.  ongoing.  no end in sight. 

50  methods to one’s madness. 

Fifty.  Ways.

To the edge of the ocean, that is.  Yes.  I am fleeing to the ocean’s edge seeking solace, seashells, wind and waves.  Rainy forecast be damned, I am still heading out so I can arrive there, where the ocean meets the rocky shore. 

Fingers crossed that my V (as in my Bastard Buddy Vertigo) will allow me a grace period for the 4+ hour drive.  I typically relish driving the many miles as it is a beautiful drive, rain or shine, and this road and I are very well acquainted.  We know each other’s twists and turns, pot holes and all.  So please Universe above and within, please keep the green light lit and a Pink Bubble of safety around yours truly and Buster Blue (aka my trusty car companion) as we escape this city life. 

Because it is true.  The edge is where the good stuff often hangs out.  An ever tempting adventure of discovery.  So to the edge it is.

Mad for the series Mad Men, that is.  And I suppose if the truth be known, mad as in pissed.  Off.  Sort of.  Kind of.  Every now and now or then.  Then there is the full on rage, mad.  Slow simmer ~ full boil ~ lid blown off the pressure cooker, mad raging through me and all over the damned place.  Just every once in a decade or day. 

I wonder what the odds are that I could get Don Draper to come over and knock the everliving shit out of this mad. 

A snowball’s chance, you say?  Okay. 

Back to mad.

My spirit and mood have been vacillating, wildly and erratically at times, between gratitude for life and wishing to be finally done with this journey.  Folded in among this particular ping pong game of emotions there burbles nostalgia for what never was but wished for anyway, moments and times.  Like say, the throb of deep connected love with the same person for a long period of time and the resulting imagined passionate lovemaking.  And let me not forget to write of the fear, dread and anxiety brought on by considering medical procedures, tests and surgeries meant to return to me my health and maybe, may I hope, my sanity. 

Where does one go when the well is dry.  Bone dry.  Yet the body still thirsty and the spirit weak.  Prayer feels too hard.  No, not hard, just not for me.  Not now.  I suppose I feel undeserving somehow of asking for help.  Hard to do this earth journey; seemingly impossible to bridge the worlds or universe. 

For now, I dwell in the land somewhere in between.

Somewhere and sometime along the way on this journey of mine on this particular circuitous path that I tread called my life, I let go of the hope of finding my first mother, my omma.  In the beginning as a child, I barely dared even think of her even when I was sleeping ~ dreaming about this most precious woman in the whole wide world.  And then in adulthood, I defied all that I had been taught and brainwashed to believe by my adoptive mother, and took the lid off the hole in my heart where this yearning for my birth mother lived.  This hope was faint but thrumming with the rhythm of my heartbeat and sprang fully alive with urgings from my thoughts, dreams and fantasies of this mystery woman’s face, touch and fragrance. 

So today the realization that the hope is reduced, once again, to barely a flutter now and again, is startling. 

Hope and hunger, however, are two separate states of being.  For I still long for this woman, my creator.  Longing that aches to my very soul.  Even with my dim hope that I will ever find her on this planet, in the form of my first omma, the yearning is still present.  She is somewhere.  Perhaps over the proverbial rainbow.  Maybe existing on another plane in a different form.  But, somewhere there exists is at least a remnant of this one whom I have gone without for ever so long. 

Happy Mother’s Day Omma from your daughter aka Korean adoptee, junemoon.

New-to-me-stuff that has me saying “wow!” ~

Liquid band-aids

the instructions say that the product works best on small cuts,

looking forward to the new and improved version that can handle all that life’s gouges

iCloud

has me saying “wow!” in the not-so-good way

more like the you’ve-got-to-be-friggin’-kidding-me sort of way.  Give me back my electronic calendar you M-F’er!

May

the month of May, that is.  How can we be closing in on mid-year already?

Now, that garners a real live out loud “wow!” followed by a “really?  I’m serious.”

Followed quickly by another real time out loud “wow!”

All hands on deck. 

Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions. 

Houston, we I have am the situation. 

Multiple choice.  Correct answer ~ all of the above.

May 2012
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