tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340427356258282586.post484065891808024039..comments2023-03-26T19:38:34.737-04:00Comments on Writing Wench: Half-Made is All MonsterUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340427356258282586.post-26109908391372851722010-04-24T11:53:07.186-04:002010-04-24T11:53:07.186-04:00Yes, sheding what no longer serves us. I like that...Yes, sheding what no longer serves us. I like that. And, Susan, giving yourself to love is never stupid (painful, maybe, but not stupid). You and your beloved are richer for it. <br /><br />I woke up blue this morning. I'm usually joyous at the beginning of a weekend, happy to be free of bell schedules, meetings and the exhausting job of managing middle-schoolers. I crave self-determination. But today all the half-finished business of my non-work life weighs heavy. Seemingly unsurmountable and unending tasks and obligations lie before me. Can their be anything more soul-sucking than the dreary details of modern life? I need to unplug from the matrix for awhile. Summer vacation can't come soon enough.Annahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16229575774675164157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340427356258282586.post-17217219892530235952010-04-23T00:30:28.369-04:002010-04-23T00:30:28.369-04:00Susan, this is haunting. I keep seeing these torn ...Susan, this is haunting. I keep seeing these torn off pieces of self as my own. <br />On one hand, they remind me of shadow. When I call them back to me, I'll have more to offer everyone, including myself. <br />On the other hand, they make me think of shed skins--I'm bigger and brighter without them.Mary Khttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06868777080232113264noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6340427356258282586.post-64366601778307929612010-04-21T23:44:12.959-04:002010-04-21T23:44:12.959-04:00My ego is unfinished. One part is split into piece...My ego is unfinished. One part is split into pieces and locked away by the three loves in my life that I stupidly shaved some off for. Another part is still in my parents home, sitting motionless in the corner of my parents couch, staying out of the way. The last broken off piece I keep walking by as it sits on the floor in my living room. Whenever I pick it up, someone wants to know why I don't have free hand to assist them. I am afraid if I pick up all the pieces, people will get real angry because my hands will be too full to help anyone.Susanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14286245944657301413noreply@blogger.com