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Monthly Archives: April 2012

I find it hard to believe that around this time last year death happened.

He came in calmly, slowly introducing himself in bits and pieces.

He was the chill caused by the snippy words shared between “friends”.

He was the rage that coursed through lovers yelling over a minor misunderstanding.

He was the force that crushed the internal organs of a son and friend.

He was the glare shared between now nemeses.

At a time of rebirth, he brought decay, yet here I am a year later and everything has come back full circle.

The permanent loss of a childhood friend stings where before its shock numbed.

His said name no longer feels empty but is bursting full of memories.

Old love rises from the ashes of the past and lovers revisit feelings that once were.

Shreds of friendship torn apart are taped back together.

Its old form never truly regenerating, but another more engaging piece springing forward.

A collage of anger, and hurt glued together with forgiveness.

I find it easy to believe that this year life happened.

When did death happen to you?

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I ran into a classmate today and the first thing she said with a smile, as we came into “polite” speaking distance, was “You look so skinny!”

As soon as she said this, the thought that immediately came to mind was “As opposed to what?” Was she trying to imply that I was fat before?

Anyway being myself, I asked her what she meant, and she stated that she felt that I looked thinner than before; that I looked good. I thanked her, made small talk then went on my way.

As I was walking, I thought to myself, “How ironic.”

Why?

Earlier that day I had lamented about how thin I had gotten. I mourned the loss of my bust and the shrinking of my “figure”. While I had been disappointed with my weight loss someone else had seen it and had wanted to celebrate it with me.

I guess the point I’m trying to reach is that everything is about perception; For every negative there is a positive.

So, while I mourn my boobs, I should celebrate my face slimming down. Because while I hadn’t been “big” my face had been chunky, unbearably round. So no longer will I look at the glass as half-empty. Nope, it is now half-full.

Have you ever found irony in life?

When Did You Realize You Were an Adult?

Adult. I find this word loaded with so much meaning.

Legally speaking I have been an adult since I turned 18, but being a teenager meant it didn’t really count for much unless you got into trouble with the law.

When did I realize that I was an adult…..well it was probably when I went on a trip and tried to withdraw funds from an ATM and got the message INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.

I didn’t feel like an adult because I was broke, but because someone had hacked into my account and made several large purchases. My sense of adulthood came with the realization that the “bad things” could and do happen to good, innocent people such as myself (Lol!).

So I guess I can say that I realized I was an adult when a bit of my naiveté was torn away and I shrugged it off as part of life.

Prompt was a courtesy of Plinky

Hello, my name is Simpli and I am a bookworm. (Or I was!)

For most of my childhood till the end of my high school career I would average about 4 books per day. 4 Harry Potter sized literature pieces daily..

I was learned, smart, witty…I can keep on going but I’m being humble. Yet, oddly, once I entered university it all came to a stand still. I continued to read but for class-it wasn’t the same. The time I did get for leisure felt hurried and  marred with poor book choices.

I only just returned to my reading ways and I’m starting to feel complete. Sure I’m not reading the huge tomes like back in the day, but the little that I do read for leisure allows me to look at things differently. And for that I’m glad.

Hello, my name is Simpli and I am a bookworm.

What are your experience with reading??? How has it changed over the years??

I know how he feels...

On SoulPancake, there was a challenge to complain about yourself in 250 words, or less, as a precursor to going a whole day without complaining. Here is my complaint.

I hate the fact that I am short. 5’ even to be exact, with no quarter of an inch to garnish it and make myself feel a little better- Nope. I am just short.

To top it off, I have a slight figure, girlish voice, and a young face. I am in my early twenties but am mistaken for a high school student all the time. Someone once told me that he thought I was 12. True story.

I hate that others don’t take me seriously because of their perceptions about my age; I hate that people feel the need to mention my height constantly; I hate that they try to brush of their rudeness with their pseudo-compliments: “Imagine when your 35, you’re going to look like you’re in your 20s.”

Why would I imagine myself to be older than I am? Why would I be worrying about what I look like in the future when I am dealing with jerks like you in the present. Jerks who think that because they look grown they can treat people any which way?

I hate, no I LOATHE, when people use the term “cute” to describe me. Or when they call me hun, sweetie, sugar, and whatever diabetes laden syrupy adjective you can think of.

I am not you sweetie! I am not your honey! I am not your anything! What I am is a grown-ass woman who would like to receive the respect ascribed to me by my age! Dammit I am an adult-just a pint size one.

Okay rant over. As you can see, I have issues. Lol! The floor is now yours, what about yourself would you complain about?