Okay, okay fine, so by “mission accepted” and all the fun I AM definitely going to have by Valentine’s Day?
And all these kisses and all these dates I AM going on are with…who?
Uh, myself.
I did learn shit talk from Triple H guys, and he’s the best at it soooooooo….
Am I 36? Or am I 16?
Sweet sixteen. Sweet 36? Or having a temper tantrum?
Be Sweet. He said.
Be Chill. He said.
Oh… but the attitude.
Maybe I have to chill on declaring it my Attitude Era.
where is my rock? and why do I feel like I AM rising from the dead*man?
What if “I know my worth” is less of an attitude there, Triple H, and more of a tone.
You’re not the heel, remember.
Click your heels together three times, Dorothy. Who are you? Where’s home? You’re not the heel or the wrestler.
Who are you:
I AM THE FACE! ;)
FACE!!!
Where’s your smile been on THE FACE? THAT FACE! My face!
What if I stop wrestling with myself again and come back into harmony with who I know I really am?
( Also, excuse me, why are my usual tricks and tactics not working?! What kinda rigged game is this?!?! )
she’s holding on for dear life but i gotta pull the plug!
If LIFE is the gift and LIFE is the game, and now I know I want to play… maybe we’ve gotta start with tone.
And…that tone should be… sweet.
And soft.
And gentle.
And not “WHO HURT YOU” instead, “WHO HELPED YOU”
Got her.
That’s the vibe.
Sweet.
If that’s the tone I have to tune. ( no. I do not know if “you tune to tone” I have to google it. BRB. )
And, also. Being shown I was not loved did destroy NOT “me”… the parts of me that needed destroying. The parts that were not really me.
And what was left was not ruined. It was, she is, I AM beautiful.
And I do not need dates or kissing or men to see or to feel that.
I do, however need both my hands, off the wheel, and playing.
Letting God steer this thing. So I can play.
A playing, passenger princess. Who?! ME!?
Making out and making art?
2026 Goals? Resolution?
No, I’m not late to set one. There’s 13 moons and should be 13 months (do your homework) which means I AM right on time. Per usual. (Also, new year isn’t until the solstice when the birds and flowers come out, but I digress.)
I feel slightly salty and slightly shitty about that.
“That” I took “so long” part. And the calendar. And time. And space.
The usual things I think about at 2am.
STOP THINKING!
But who the hell wants salt with shit? Nobody.
And who the hell wants worry in their wonder?
That’s what “this space” is for right… to get “the hell” out.
Maybe instead, it would be wonderful if that was what playing was for.
Playing helped me get “the hell” out.
Ahem,
Lyss, he said “slow down and be sweet.”
amen.