Scrambled Eggs

There are these things I have, That everyone has really. Some people have more than others, Some people's are simple. I have alot. Mine are complex.

They're eggs.

I've had them for years (21years 7months and 28days actually). I don't seem to rotate through them, or get rid of any, but actually, add more to the collection. Every year there are more and more, and I find myself trying to figure out where to put them all. So I find random places to put them.

In bowls that were never meant to hold them.

On plates they sometimes roll off of.

Then the most extraordinarily wonderful peculiar thing happened...

I met someone with a basket.

Overly thrilled, Overly enthusiastic, and Overly eager, I gathered up all my eggs and threw them all in their basket... Agreeably too soon.

And of course, understandably, they became overwhelmed and dropped the basket. A few of my eggs cracked.

They didn't mean to, I know that.

We agreed though, maybe I should just add the eggs one by one.

So that's what I began doing. Softly placing eggs in the basket, one by one, and sneaking in an extra one from time to time.

They've occasionally handed me back an egg and said "not yet," to which they've always come back, found the egg, and placed it in the basket themselves.

I only have a few of them left now. They're just sitting there, and I'm just staring them. I know they're not ready for these eggs. Just like I'm not ready.

Will they be though? Will I be?

What if I give these eggs in the basket, these last few eggs, what if I put them in there, the basket becomes too heavy........ and they drop them? All of them. Again. Only...this time they wouldn't crack.

They'd break.

So. Completely out of fear of the basket being dropped again, I've begun to put the last of them back in bowls, on tables, and in drawers.

Trying to decide whether I'm supposed to give the eggs, placing them gently in the basket.

keep them to myself... keep them sitting.

...Or let them take the eggs themselves...

Not Quite One, Not Quite Two.

(Original Reading- August 5, 2010. Funeral for Angela Ivie)

I went on a hike today, And I couldn't find you, You weren't near, "Mom where are you?"

That's when I heard it, That simple reply, Somehow understood through my Hysterical cries.

I was in the woods, The last place you'd be. I forgot it wasn't you that loved the mountains, Silly- That was me.

You hated the outdoors, And anything with a camper, I can't get enough of that so... How are you my mother?

Your hair is stuck in the 80's, Mom you needed a straightener, The poof was never in- I'm not claiming you, mother.

I can't stand spending money, I'm sorta a penny pincher, We know that's not you, I'm not sure you're my mother.

Diet Coke and Diet Pepsi, Of that you're an avid drinker, I won't get near the stuff, Again, how are you my mother?

McDonalds is gross- Please eat healthier. It's cheap for a reason! Good gracious mother.

Our views on dating, Are less than matching, Somehow I'M the conservative one, You sure you're my mother?

We used to fight a lot, Sometimes still do, I'm right, you're wrong, Still wanna be my mother???

I've eaten the wrong thing, A little nauseous you could say, A weak stomach just like you, OK, maybe I'm your daughter.

Walking through the store, Jewelry, it sparkles and shine, That my friend, can not be passed- Most likely I'm you daughter.

Christmas time and 'Black Friday'- Has always been our favorite, No question on what to get each other, It's been exciting to be your daughter.

In a business setting, You're an outstanding worker, Maybe I got that too? I'm proud to be your daughter.

Living with the demons, That won't seem to leave, You've understood my tears, I need to be your daughter.

Your love to create music Matched mine to tell it's story, It's times like that, It makes sense I'm your daughter.

Walking by your casket- Glancing at your pretty hands, There lies your temple recommend... I'm honored to be your daughter.

I went on this hike- Just trying to find you, You weren't there, "Mom I need you."

I hiked back down, With big mascara tears, How am I going to make it, With out you through the years?

I got back home- In the mirror I saw more of you, Not just the usual me, Cause, now, we're not quite one, yet not quite two.

Adjectividation (Personal Pick-me-Up-&-Go)

I haven't really written anything this month.

I'm sure you all noticed. And I'm sure this concerned you.

My last writing post got called "morbid" By someone whose opinion I hold way too high for my own good.

That piece of writing is probably one of my favorites. It's incredibly honest, well, one sided metaphorically honest. I think they didn't catch the metaphorical part.

Either way... I took that hard. too hard. And I personalized it. I started to feel like they didn't just call my writing morbid... But because my writing was so important to me, They had called me morbid.

Which would mean I was this:

mor-bid

[mawr-bid]

-adjective 1. suggesting an unhealthy mental state or attitude; unwholesomely gloomy, sensitive, extreme, ect.: a morbid interest in death. 2. affect by, caused by, causing, or characteristic of disease.

So. For the past month, that is the label I took on. I couldn't bring myself to write because, Who would want to read unwholesomely gloomy writing?

From an unhealthy mentally sick person?

Till today.

As much as I value their opinion... They were wrong. are.

What happened today? Well it seems as if people I surround myself with, who see me, who know me now, have been using very uplifting adjectives (or maybe today I listened) Which ever it is Here are the list of my favorite adjectives used, from a rather paramount self-esteem-boosting-day.

al-lur-ring

[uh-loor-ring]

-adjective 1. very attractive or tempting; enticing; seductive. 2. fascinating; charming

wise

[wahyz]

-adjective 1. having the power of discerning and judging probperly as to what is true or right; possesing discernment, judgement, or discretion. 2. characterized by or showing such power; judicious or prudent; a wise decision. 3. possessed of or characterized by scholarly knowledge or learning learned; erudite: wise in the law.

Free Spirit

-noun

1. a person with a highly individual or unique attitude, lifestyle, or imagination; nonconformist.

per-son-a-ble

[pur-suh-nuh-buhl]

-adjective 1. of pleasing personal appearance; handsome or comely; attractive. 2. having an argeeable or please personality; affable; amiable; sociable.

Aren't those great? I'm not saying I completely agree 100% or all the time. But... why would they use those selected words if they didn't believe it? They have nothing to gain from it. so. Those. Are my new labels.

(hopefully)

(I saved the best for last) This one... is used rarely. By one person. Rare, because it's special, But often enough for me to know That that is how they've labeled me. No matter what is going on, no matter who is around, no matter what media is used, whenever they use this word, I feel incredible.

lovely

[luhv-lee]

-adjective 1. charmingly or exquisitely beautiful: a lovely flower. 2. having a beauty that appeals to the heart or mind as well as to the eye, as a person or a face. 3. delightful; highly pleasing: to have a lovely time.

3 Am Graveyard Sleepless.

By Hillary Ivie

It's not your job to save me. Then whose is it instead? I Look at the clock Its 3 am. Cry. Then Go to bed.

It's not your job to save me. I can save myself you know, I can smile and laugh. Can you put on that kind of show?

It's not your job to save me. I pay the bills my own. Not a single dime borrowed. I fake that yours is my home.

It's not your job to save me. I've lived there once before, I'm not afraid to go back, I'll leave tonight by four.

It's not your job to save me. I run most every night I do that so the pretties won't see, The dark keeps me out of sight

It's not your job to save me. To sit and stitch up my wrist, I didn't mean to do it but, I had to, or make a fist.

It's not your job to save me. So get off your mighty horse My life isn't your play ground, Nor is it a crash course.

It's not your job to save me. You've done your share of good, But my life you've made it harder, To know exactly if I could.

It's not your job to save me. Nor is it his, or hers. I'll be fine don't worry, Least not till the herse.

It's not your job to save me. You wouldn't if I asked. You want me to forget and forget, Everything of our past.

It's not your job to save me. Even though I need it now, I want to scream "HELP ME", But I can't, I don't know how.

It's not your job to save me. So whose is it instead? It's 3 in the morning, Why can't I go to bed?

The Modern Day Slave Wrist Band

Ladies and Gentle Germs- I present you with my biggest problem

It's called a cell phone. I call it the modern day slave wrist band.

At ANY point durring the day people have access to know my exact where-abouts. They call me. They text me. They have complete power to find me. My slave band alerts me for text by singing a song about miss-understandings and longing for a better time (Yesterday by the Beatles). It also is kind enough to alert me when someone has decided to actually pick up the phone (a rare occasion) and call me. It alerts me of this event with an up-beat tune from the 90's about the achievement of a new understanding of something she is supposed to have no knowledge of (I Saw the Sign by Ace of Base).

Try as I may- ignoring such classic songs is harder than I'd like to admit. I'd like to tell you that while I'm on the verge of breaking my slave band in half and throwing it out the window,but when one of those songs plays and I need to look. I need to know- in that one moment, who was thinking about me?

Or worse... Why hasn't it gone off? Who isn't thinking about me? Does this mean he doesn't like me? Why is she mad at me?

This small contraption, not even a "smart phone," has so much more control over my life then I even realize at times. This over priced piece of hard plastic, that is always placed in my back pocket, or close to my bed (heaven forbid I miss a text due to sleeping), controls a major portion of every aspect of my life, except school. This M.D.S.W.B. (Modern Day Slave Wrist Band (that's right... I made it an acronym... even when I hate those too)) carries my ability to call in sick to work, verify church meeting times, capture moments that normally would have involved the statement "I wish I had my camera." It also is my link to friends in other countries, friends from other time periods, and potential boyfriends.

I talk about how I hate these phones, yet, what would I do without it?

I could possibly get homework done faster. How many fights would have been avoided if I didn't have my phone? Fights that seemed to come about due to my "tone" in a text... I must have forgotten to "lol?" Would dating be easier? The insecurities of him not texting/calling me would be non-existent right? Texting while driving, which I do, may just be the thing that kills me, and I know it.

By purchasing this device I promised T-Mobile at least 1,636 of my hard earned dollars. That is about 190 hours of work, purely to maintain this phone. And this isn't including the 200 dollars worth of minutes I went over due to forgetting, just because your mother passed away, doesn't make minutes free.

So what do I do with it? Keep it? Let it control so much of my life? Moan and groan when the "wrong boy" is calling me? Continue to dedicate 7 hours of work a month- purely to being able to afford something that I complain about, more then enjoy?

Or do I go against the grain and cancel my cell phone? Do I lose the ability to call people in times of need? Do I cut off the chance of receiving a flirtatious text message, or late night phone call just to say hi? Should I say goodbye to being able to send, receive, and share moments that can't seem to be shared any other way?

We all know... I'll probably keep it. And continue complaining. I am American after all.