D is for Dragons

Everybody has their dragons to slay. Even those people that are always so poised, perfectly groomed, and punctual. At least, that's what I have to remind myself when I see my friend looking glam in that BCBG dress I can neither squeeze into nor afford...

I've got a couple dragons. One is called Procrastination, or Crasty for short. Another one is Babyfat, whilst a third is Undomestic Goddess. I've had my pet dragons for as long as I can remember and have grown attached to them. I view them as cute little guys, kinda like Hagrid's pet Norbert. I don't want to slay them.
Sometimes though, they remind me that they're not only cute little pets; they're dragons. And they are liable to make my life pretty darn difficult...

Like now Crasty is not looking so cute. I've got an assignment due soon, and I've gotta cram one month of studying into a couple days due to my hanging out with Crasty.
The mound of laundry still unfolded from yesterday and supper's dishes still chilling in the sink are not scoring too many points for Undomestic Goddess. And this pretty extra tire around my waste is kinda not that pretty to be honest...

Maybe it's time to say Ciao to my little cuties...

C is for Chocolate (yum), Celery (blah). Oh, and Consistency.

Somewhere, buried beneath my layer of chocolate-turned-padding, there is a story waiting to be written. Waiting to be set free from the prison of my mind and to give life to the pages of my notebook.
I know it's there.
So I open my netbook, click on Microsoft Word, and poise my fingers to type.
To release my story. The clock ticks, minutes pass; minutes never to be retrieved.  The screen remains blank.
And so I head to the kitchen, boil the water, and prepare a coffee. I take a chocolate bar for good luck. I have to climb up to get the chocolate; I had hidden it in the highest cabinet to avoid temptation... doesn't work.

I started a blog in the hope of getting my creative juices flowing. Another mode of scribbles. I keep it up for one day; I keep it up for two.
And then I forget about it.
And then I remember.

I wish  could be consistent with my writing, with my studying, with my life. Yet I have an assignment due in a couple days and dozens of tasks on my to-do-list, tasks hastily scrawled and then relegated to the bottom of my purse.

Here's my entry for today.
Pipe where my creative juices flow? Still clogged...

B is for Baby

Introductions. Boxes. 

Who am I? 

Definitions. 

A word, a sentence. 

A page. A person?

Member of the human species. 

Female variety. 

Jewish. 

Orthodox.

A wife, a mom. A daughter. 

A student, an office worker. 

A realist, a dreamer.

I'm a Mom.

Babies. Tiny bundles of bliss.

Ten little fingers, ten tiny toes.

Big gummy smiles.

Babies. The definition of adorable.

According to the others.

Babies.

Tiny and fragile.

Scary. And a tad creepy.

How do I hold it?

Why would I want to hold it?

She's very cute.

Here, take her back.

Please?

The test is positive.

I am pregnant.

We're going to have a baby.

Help!

Babies are scary.

I'm scared.

I have a baby

She's four months old.

She has the most gorgeous little fingers

and these amazingly active tiny toes

and this gummy smile

that

    melts

        everything

It's quite amazing that G-d gave me the only baby that doesn't scare me.

A is for Ants

Blank canvas.
Page waiting to be filled.
Grey sky.
Mug of coffee.
Biscuits.
Another coffee.
Oreos.
Page still blank.

To be filled with what?
To be filled why?

Blank canvas
Blank page
Potential.
The potential for greatness
To be the next Davinci.
The next
Shakespeare.


Words fill the page
Little black dots
a trail of ants crawling across the screen
twisting their tiny bodies
into tiny letters
attaching themselves together


Until
my train of thoughts
has been bared
for
     all
         the
              world

A scribbled canvas
A page of text
A page no longer blank
Not the next Shakespeare
only the first Me

I think I'll go back
Restore the potential
and
Delete.