10-14-2013, 06:22 AM | #2021 |
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October 14
Matching “Matching calamity for serenity,” is a task requiring attentive diligence. Each tragedy has its unique blast pattern and necessitates a precisely cut cure. Coverage is one concern and depth is another, the weight of the healing atmosphere must equal the corrosive depletion caused by ruin. I have to make available the wound in order to receive the remedy; anytime I camouflage or barricade my injury I have eliminated the opportunity for a corresponding solution. Knowing this fact and answering it with right action is the job of a lifetime, but I cannot think of a more productive use of my time. Admit to the uniforms you wear * SLIPSTREAM I look in the rearview mirror I see the headliner and a river flowing out behind me. Dual viewing is the kind gift of hindsight. I can see my internal workings and the past laid bare. The beauty and sadness can transfix me. I will lose my way if I keep looking back. I catch glimpses and move my eyes forward. I can’t advance without a full vision So I remain grateful for the mirror. Awareness and cognition, the brakes and the gas I have the full package. I just have to make sure to steer. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-15-2013, 03:58 AM | #2022 |
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October 15
Fair Fish Tiny thoughts ping pong around my head hoping to win a goldfish, but what do I need with a five dollar fish? How often do I pay too dearly, for what is merely an animated ornament? When I falter in self-esteem I look to decorate my life through hostage taking and other unfair practices. I know I want to feel safe, know that hiding gives the illusion of that. It’s like the joke told about banging sticks to keep the tigers away. Does it work? Yes, of course as long as you are in a place with no tigers. I can distract myself, but I can not distract life; life goes on and takes me with it, no matter my disguise. Given this I can either; spend my time with a blindfold and a cigarette waiting for the end or walk the midway and go ride the tilt-a-whirl. Sit still until the day unwinds a little * MISSING The good times we never had but should have. The pleasantries I endured waiting for pleasure. I remember you potential with fondness. The days, the weeks, the years, I waited for you to grow to me have past And yet time is what I have -----not you. Hope is a wonderful thing until it turns on me and bites. Images I built have tumbled And colors wash from your portrait I carefully remind myself It is the idea of you I miss Not you. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-16-2013, 03:55 AM | #2023 |
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October 16
MCBuddLake Barefoot smokers sit downstairs chatting on cell phones as I wait. Wait for the Doctor to come and tell me what? Tell me that I am ill or hale based on a hammer hit on the knee and a deep look into my eyes and I will leave this place hours late for a life I barely understand but am grateful to be living. Like one of the dancing flowers from Fantasia I am swept down stream, but an amazing journey even while I wait in this six by eight room. Sprinkle letters on a page and write to them * MARMALADE Marmalade, bitter and sweet, spread across my spiritual toast. Zest and sticky solution, mix and cover the surface. I bite down taking in the start of my day. Past this point anything is possible. Fame or disaster, a dreary fog filled morning Or a cloudless afternoon. See the passing populous I alternating advance and retreat from this human wall. Response and responsibility tattletale their way to my reactionary will. The tightrope sways over the river of potential Balance is more than a desire, it is a necessity So I enjoy my breakfast tea. I watch the marmalade melt as I dip my bread In my well-steeped brew, the parade will start soon enough I need this time before I launch into the fray. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-17-2013, 04:20 AM | #2024 |
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October 17
Bowman Beach The swirl with the flash of teeth that I backed away from turned out to be dolphin, but that didn’t make me safer, strangers are strangers no matter who their PR team is. When I am out of my element fear grows long leads and I am bound by these limits. Who I am under new circumstances is a discovery I make as time flies by. Can I swim and play with exuberance or will I drown trying to catch up? I am able and disabled, the line is tied from the back and I don’t know its length. I unreel as much slack as I can and test my reach, but still I must keep my wary eye and be careful of the deep. Think of something nice to say about a pigeon * MISS DIRECTED I called and rambled at my sponsor. After a significant time had past she stopped me And asked--with a tone in her voice-- Why are you calling me? Startled I replied, for your advice? Are you sure that’s why you called? Because I can give you my advice But I have given advice to you before And received only a severe case of the Yeah Buts’-----in return. I was about to say, yeah but, you don’t understand, When she cleared her throat to quiet me And continued what she was saying. Seems to me you want more than a sober ear You want Magic. You want me to take your crazy dramatic thinking Put it in a hat and pull it out formed as all your dreams And then you want credit for making it happen. But Kitten, I have news for you I’m not Mr. Roark And this is not Fantasy Island. This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way. This is when I realized I was a dry drunk. I don’t know what the first signs are But I do know when your sponsor asks- And you’re calling me why? The jig is up. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-18-2013, 04:19 AM | #2025 |
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October 18
Where do I live? Fleeter of foot is my goal. I race to catch the prize thoroughbreds as they flee. I play chase, I win, I lose, I fall in the mud, I break my leg. None of this does anything for the horses either, they are loose and confused; off like a shot, but nowhere to go. I buy better shoes, hire a trainer, put reflective tack on the stallions and the mares. In short I go broke. I had the world of possibilities before me and it ran away; all because I don’t close the barn door. Sometimes raise your value by stooping * OPEN HEARTED GRIEF Tell a tale of openhearted grief And closed-minded terror Bend the limits of misery. Pour over the damned feelings and tired excuses Level the cupful of measured terrene And wipe the drooling face of denial. The children will not dance tonight The grass is wet with their tears. The dogs circle the encampment of desire And come to sleep when we are settled. Silly ruffled whimsy won’t carry the freight But the bus pulls into the drowsy station Filled with tea lites and pantomime. The story will close with a hand on the doorknob of hope An eye on the jelly sandwich of contentment. Whisper the lullaby to the ones who stay to hear it. Morning cracks the shell to daytime. Shattered pieces litter the night Tremors shade my peace of mind. Sum up the analogies of broken hearts and twisted minds. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-19-2013, 06:04 AM | #2026 |
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October 19
Earl Grey is not my Friend Scabby knees is what I look for; I need to be with those who climb, not those who slide. I hate to say it, but looking cool and sitting on the sidelines does nothing for me or my sobriety. I have to build those calluses, require patches in my clothes, carry a hammer to pound in those spikes. If I don’t see tools in your hands and bodily evidence that you have been using them, I really don’t have time for you. This is a “let’s go, lets go” kind of recovery for me and if it isn’t for you then have fun and I hope you have a good seat, but I am not staying for your tea party; I have no time for tarts. Explain the difference between a rabbit and a bunny * SLOTH TOES A sloth is known by the number of its toes Not its name or love of art or music. The oddest attributes draw attention and acclaim From scorekeepers and flag-wavers of the world. Going my way in this life I am seen by clock-watchers As timeless and by trumpeters as soundless. I am not defined by these. The number of my toes or the time I keep Or the sound I make is more than who I am. An explanation of me will not fit on an index card Or nameplate or job title. As long as I stay clear of these traps And classifications I am safe. If I buy in or fall down My sum and total will neatly fit on a toe tag. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-20-2013, 06:10 AM | #2027 |
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October 20
Self Importance When I am over sensitive and everything that everyone does looms large for me, I am more likely to think that I am a driving force in the lives of others. It’s a funny connection in the same way that when I scratch the dogs tummy her foot paddles; when I am not getting my needs met I tend to believe I am in this world to meet the needs of others. Often when in this mindset I also delude myself further to worry that I may be the only person who can help these other people. I have been training myself to throw a flag on any and all plays where I am that important. I try to bring all action to a stop and get right sized about who I am and how important I am and to whom and why. It’s not that I don’t have value, I have the same value as everyone else, but when I shortchange my needs and my feelings, over responsibility to others mushrooms and this is not good for anyone; me least of all. As with most things, if I find out what is right for me it tends to be right for those around me, even if I can’t see that at the time. Frame your favorite moments * VICTORY Victory is a funny thing, Bursting across the finish line Ends the joyful competition And begins the wait until the next endeavor. Pushing for success Drops my life off the radar screen. Power can propel me out of range The center of my life overshot In an attempt to be a winner. I am stripped of my commonality In striving for singularity. Looking for acclaim leaves me lonely. The winners circle is very small And while the flash explodes The development shows I am now alone. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-21-2013, 03:56 AM | #2028 |
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October 21
Resilience When I experience trauma or drama my heart and soul return to the toddler state; I feel the urge to stay up and push forward. I resist help and rest. I try to override animal need in favor of intellectual prowess. Bleary eyed and red-faced, I soldier on, only to manage to make my life into a ceaseless fight. My charm and wit wear thin; then wear out. I need to recharge my batteries, need to hit reset and restore my default settings. It is hard for me to accept that I must lie down in order to get up again. Restoration is impossible to achieve from my battle stance. Resilience is a bouncing ball. What I want to rise I must first throw down. Sweetly kiss the past goodbye * SPONTANEOUS WILLINGNESS At my local coffee-mart there is a strip of cellophane tape Adhered to the mid of a Plexiglas panel Built into the barrier where the line forms. Only at a certain angle can this satin finish tape be seen. When I first caught a glimpse of it I recognized Others had stood there and responded To the sight of this strip by prying bits of the edge With fingernails---I was drawn to do the same. I could not pull much up but each time I stand there I work diligently for the moments it takes to make it To the head of the line and be on my way. Unseen others pull fragments while I’m away. Over time we will accomplish this task Unbidden, unknown to each other Except through this common goal Spontaneous willingness to do what can be done You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-22-2013, 03:56 AM | #2029 |
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October 22
Canine Comprehension I wonder what it is that the dog knows. True love, quantum physics, the ratio of lift to thrust required to make the ball fly, how food shared from my plate is better than food from her bowl. This begs the next question. What do I really know; song lyrics, nursery rhymes, old scores from old grudges? What I hope I have learned; is the space it takes to keep an open mind, the willingness required to make a real change, and the width, depth and breath of honest affection. If I haven’t learned these things I will put them at the top of my list of things to do. Because I believe I can teach this old dog a few new tricks. Not all friends are friendly * CONTROL I have everything in the world but control And yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for. Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith And I have clung to scraps of control as in alternative. I have hope but I have hope in a way A disgruntled gambler has hope. The horse may cross the finish line first But it’s a long shot. This is the trouble with control, if I could ride the horse I might be able to exert some sway in the situation But since my jockeying would only make things worse My inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair. And here I am, I am not in the race I will not risk betting on the horse. I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life And work hard not to be capricious myself. This may be the crux of my problem I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun. I try constantly to keep things from going badly I focus no time on creating joy in my life. I may not believe much But I do believe God wants me happy. This could be the seed---which starts faith. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-23-2013, 04:01 AM | #2030 |
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October 23
Jacks Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged? Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee? Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition? Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down? I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device. I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange. When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper * BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance. Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot Changes my perspective. No steering wheel or accelerator This is ankle express all the way. Walking the road , step by step, on my own I am part of the soft and growing world. Progressing on a plan of separate integrity Moist, lush wonder, is missed By the motor speedway I let rule my life Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation Swaying in the undulating air born pulse. I am tempted to lie down and have a roll But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road. When my goal is achieved I may choose A woodland life or an urban endeavor. Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now. Decisions anticipated prior to arrival Are foolish diversions. I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-23-2013, 09:42 PM | #2031 |
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My name is Melissa and I'm an alcoholic. My last drink was March 11, 2008. My sobriety date is March 25, 2010, which was the day I went to my first meeting.
Today I wanted nothing more than to stop and pick up a bottle of Jack Daniels and let it take away the heavy emptiness that I'm drowning in right now. How the heck emptiness can feel heavy is beyond me. But, I didn't stop. I came home and played with my dogs. And I wait for the feelings to pass. I've learned that they do pass, if I'll just give it time and feel whatever it is that I'm feeling. I don't have to solve anything today. Thank you, Sherry, for this thread and for your help 3.5 years ago when I had no idea that life didn't have to be an endless struggle.
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10-24-2013, 04:07 AM | #2032 |
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October 24
Spectrum The quality of the poetry is so dependant on the quality of the lighting. Improve the color palette and yes, you’ve guessed the result. So, I say to you, “Turn up the lights. Do not write in half-dark grief and limp through the words. Spotlight what you can and illuminate the rest. You needn’t make a sound, needn’t pitch a tent, needn’t build a bridge, though you may, may if you wish and wish is what I do, wish for better light and when the clouds break loose in the sky and let the sun pour, I lift my pen and make it all; for what was needed was this better light.” Imagine your webbed feet * PICK ME SIX NUMBERS Knowing all the page numbers And quotes of the Big Book But not being able to apply them Is like knowing all the winning lottery numbers With the inability to buy a ticket. Telling my story has little or nothing To do with public speaking Recovery has so much more to do With willingness rather than studiousness. Popularity contest, policing meetings And service politics are a circus I have attended far too often. Empty rooms sporting great curtains Does not a home make Comprehension is no substitute for acquiescence You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-24-2013, 04:54 AM | #2033 | |
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10-25-2013, 03:58 AM | #2034 |
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October 25
Behind Closed Doors The children of happy fathers make no sense to me. I have known no such peace. What is it to live in a world where there is a man who likes you, someone who approves? I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see, no ducking, no need to hide, had there been a good man to whom I could turn. The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old, old and different from those kids, mere children, safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad. Dance cheek to cheek with your muse when you can * DETAIL DAYS Detail days seem like lost soulless days. I sort the piles of endless junk mail Catch up on bills, letters, laundry. I don’t leave the house but in someway I feel like I’m not in my home. It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles, Splinters and thorns which accumulate Under my skin from rough weeks and road rash. I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue. Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry list Leave me with that newly moved in feel. Piles overwhelm me but sometimes details define me. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-26-2013, 07:12 AM | #2035 |
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October 26
Basket Ball Idiots out number poets, this is a fact, though I do wonder why. It cannot be an easy lot spending your days in slow witted discharge; I would think they might at least try putting pen to paper. I think I would rather live in a world filled with bad poets rather than drifting on this ship of fools, but the troubadours rise with imbeciles as their cover and poems fall from favor. I wonder how I could make verse a contagion, how could I make it spread? You may laugh at me, but think what some guy did with a broken peach basket and a rubber ball. Check your gait for swing * STRONG WORDS Serious language, deep language, real language Helps me by grounding me. I don’t have to be nice for company When I can just tell the truth. I needn’t have guests with virgin ears Or unrealistic expectations, I no longer pander to such foolishness. I know the layered meaning of my words. I value the intensity of a large vocabulary. I am not intimidated by prudish co-conspirators Who stare down pointed noses At powerful utterances. Weak words make poor boundaries And breed victims. I will not be trapped by niceties I will speak clearly out of necessity. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-27-2013, 06:09 AM | #2036 |
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October 27
Circuit Speaker It isn’t until I listen long to the Northside poet that I realize there is such a thing as a Chicago accent. I hear it as I never have before. I don’t hear it in my beloved Rodger, hear only the hope he brings to share. As I get ready to walk to the podium I wish that no one hears the Jersey in my voice only the experience I bring to share. Dance through the mud then clean off your shoes * CLINGING Large bugs cling to the soffits Upside down as an alternative To the rain-soaked landscape I salute their efforts to find security In a shrinking list of possible locations. Awkward situations place my fingertips And toenails holding positions Trying to avoid life’s harsher choices. Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives To no option at all I can take the difficult positions as an advantage. I have survived and this is the goal of the game. I am here--come what may. I make the best of the worst times so God can help me Make the best of the best times. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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10-28-2013, 04:02 AM | #2037 |
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October 28
Picard The little tin whistle I yearn to play squeaks in my head warning that I have no time to learn and a tin whistle though slender is not easy. I think if I had a magic wrinkler for time I might learn, I remember characters that have, but I rethink this and remember I don’t want to win the lottery again. I am too good at too many things and have no time to enjoy their full round pleasure. I have no need for additional longing or extended guilt. Print your fingers * I DON’T SEE HOW This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use To keep from doing things to make me happy. Petty in a way I would never be with others I rake my desires and tiny hopes over the coals. Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves By my short order short sightedness Protecting crusted over nonsense And living the life of a lockout Not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams. I stumble in my efforts To see hope, joy or my purpose, Ignoring the fact that I must step from the box Before I can see the horizon or more. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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10-29-2013, 03:58 AM | #2038 |
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October 29
To Your Health Health is a pleasure; health restored is celebration girded with gratitude. The shock of illness quickly imbeds itself to an irrefutable unchangeable fact. When this veil is lifted the body responds with glee, the soul with relief touched with disbelief. The satisfaction of being hale is the bedrock and once this is shaken its return is nothing more than astonishing. I am never more aware of the miraculous nature of life than when I feel alive once more after having felt the doom of sickness. Throw out ancestral trash * QUILTER What more comfort can exist in the world Than a conglomeration of turned edges and love? Fancy stitches or not the assembled world of cloth Stands testament to devotion and diligence. Careful collections, meaningful to the collector And mysterious to the possessor, Fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe. Time is testimony to endurance. Thread against thread, Solidarity is strength embracing flexibility. The bed of life is made and remade daily With the affection of kind quilters needles of love. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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10-30-2013, 04:07 AM | #2039 |
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October 30
On a Half-shell in Front of Tiffany’s Pretty petty pearls wait in oysters more perturbed than annoyed. I string my tears for the sake of posterity leaving the dreams to fend for themselves. I am nothing if not splendidly prepared for a life less steeped in wishes than realism. Opening volleys tell a tale of round irritation, but I am not finished just yet. Joy comes from surpassing obstacles and wearing healed grief as precious gems around my neck. Pick a retirement home for your critics * EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER I am eight mistakes closer to perfection. As long as I fall forward, progress is being made. I fail meticulously toward my goal More cannot be asked. Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and motivators. I suck each splinter for knowledge, Extracting juice from every fragment for information. In spite of sprains and strains I have stretched Attaining almost my full height. Growth is a wonderful thing though cost is always involved. Mistakes are an unavoidable price But well worth the expense. They are an expense which pays dividends Dividends that move me towards perfection. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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10-31-2013, 04:23 AM | #2040 |
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October 31
Halloween “Why does self-centered fear wear a costume that looks so much like ‘other people’s opinion’?” I asked my sponsor. “For the same reason that booze masquerades as ‘a good time.’ How would you ever fall into a pit which used no pretense? Naked ambition attracts far fewer devotees than addicts of ‘must make Mama and Daddy proud’ or the ‘doing better for my kids crowd’.” “Ambition is not all together bad!” I crow. “Neither is fear in its proper scale, but fear cloaks itself to seize more than its share of your life, just like any parasite. So take your spring tonic like a good kid and keep the worms at bay.” Don’t bother licking the self stick stamps * FLORAL ECSTASY I could eat fields of buttercups And drink down ponds of water lilies. Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe And under pin with nettles. I could rise with the roses Lay with the lilies Shade with the sage Sing with the trumpet vines Run away from home With a Turks cap on my head And a pansy in my pocket Until the four o’clock say Its time to come home. For evening primrose and then bed. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
__________________
Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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