Henhouse is being torn down

It is time to close the chapter of this story.



The hen, despite her best efforts is left a spinster old hen. Dry. Barren and listless.



It is time to move on to a new story.



It is time to start telling a new story from a new perspective.



The hen needs to rest now and the new chick needs to amuse herself amongst the ashes and the ruins of the life in the henhouse while we all wait to move on to the new house. The cottage...



So, please follow the chick...she is clucking along, trying to reword a life story that seems to have led to this serious state of disappointment, sadness, lonliness and somehow, a brief little element of hope.



I think I am a savenger. Chicks often are aren't we. Scratching for little bits of seed and grass, and little bits of life. To feed my soul, I am going to scratch and search for the small bits that hopefully will add up to some big bits in the end.



My hopes for a baby are over.

My hopes for a happy marriage are dashed.

My hopes for love are ...well...they are still worth seeking out. Those little bits.

My hopes for home are ever present and this is why, to make the next 12 months worth it all, I need to move to the cottage and leave the henhouse behind for now and forever.



So, this is the last hen post. Welcome to the chick...maybe by going back we can grow on forward.

Chick says this...visit us at

www.bluebellecottage.blogspot.com

This is where the new story begins and the new chick life starts. Come visit!

Emotional Cutter

You want to make it hurt just a little more. Just a little until...until...it bleeds or it weeps or the sorrow is so great so great that the only alternative to the sorrow is this peaceful worn out feeling. This feeling means I have taken in my dosage of pain and taken it well taken it hard. And pushed and pulled it around until it cuts me. Deeply to my heart. And I bleed and I bleed emotionally for the losses of my life. There have been big ones. I can revist those with exact clarity sharp and clean. The little ones, those are little nicks. Then there are the new ones I create. The new ones that I allow to peneatrate my soul. I invite them. I wish for them because to replace the pain with anything else is not part of what gets me. Gets me to feel. If I cannot feel happiness then by god I might as well feel abject pain. Bleed me. Emotionally dry. I want it. I want the relief sweet relief of getting it out.

This is the last of the private places I can think of to be. This little website slice where the words can flow freely and I don't care if anyone listens but secretly I hope someone does.

I heard the term emotional cutter on Sex in the City. I hate that show but some how I feel compelled to watch it. The emotional cutter was Kerry. Yes she sort of matches me in some ways.

I am missing....
I am lost....without.

The cottage on the trail

The cottage in the woods by the trail. That is the place i see in my dreams now. The warm wood floors. The big long kitchen. The loft bedroom with the old fashioned bathroom. The flowers and the yard with the green green grass. This is where I am in my dreams and i miss it even though I have never been there. I am going there. It is going to be my new house. It even feels like home. Which is a feeling i have not had in a long long time.

I still have not bled. It is now almost 2 weeks. I am oddly ok with this. And oddly ok with what it might mean. It probably means something is wrong. It means more surgeries are coming. It means not what I want it to mean. I broke down last week and took a test. Took two actually. I felt giddy. Like it always feels. Only this time I wanted oh what I wanted was so very much on my heart.

THe other alternative is unthinkable. No more. I am done and ready to be a shrivelled up old hag? Oh god I hope not.

I dream everynight of the love Ive known. I spin all around in my dreams looking for the heart I miss so much.

All these dreams slip away from me in the daylight. But, at night, in my dreams, I see them all unfolding in front of me like a great white tablecloth. All clean and new and real and soft. And we dance on the soft cloth and leave our marks on each other and we fold our hands together and hold. Then I awake and the distance of missing you sinks in. Missing it all. Missing my babies that will not be. Missing the you...MIssing the time to spend with loved ones. Feeling outcast in the daylight but, dreampt of and desired in the dark.

I know none of this makes sense. But, in the year since I lost my child. And in the months since I left my crap ass marriage I have learned not to judge the nonsense of it all. The nonsense will someday, I pray make sense...because right now, it is just well it is just ridiculous. all of it.

I miss you
I miss us
I miss the verb of Love...