Time to Get with the Program


(and I don’t mean Oprah)


To all those incredible people who have braved my site, offered their words, and brought insight to my own eyes in the past few months. I have been a blatantly pitiful lazy ass-never replying to others who make me chuckle or widen my heart. Hell, I lost the motivation to turn this thing on all weekend… but more words shall come. So fabulous are all those of you who frequented my site at least once…even if a few of you flipped me off–at least I provoked a tadbit of emotion within you (ie CEO of Jelly Belly, friends of Judith Light, or whoever else was referred to this site.) But there will be more words and hopefully more discipline.

    A Season of Change


Awaiting the time to elapse when I will effortlessly become the woman I envisioned myself to one day embody, I truly wonder – is that day here? I walk along the comforting brownstones of the upper east side and consider the reality that I am alone, with no other voice but my own to lead me to my next destination.


As I enter a picturesque deli, I consider whether it would be best to fill my apetite with nourishment… or the deathening calories of a sugary treat. I carefully scan the menu with deep concentration on the diverse offerings. My body jolts in consternation as a deli owner voice rattles an unfamiliar label through my awakened ears.


“Ma’am, how may I help you?” his rich accent implores, as his concentration on my widened sapphire eyes causes me to fluster. Luckily, the clamorous bells of his rotary phone interupt my silent pause as I wonder – when did I become a “ma’am”? Such a label is so often reserved in the city of New York, where people may be thrusted offguard by the simple acceptance of a human – or a living and breathing entity, that I may only stand agasp.  


Still floating in a daze, a gentle hand tugs at my black dress pants in a sticky grasp that leaves a filmy streak of melted cream along my knee. “Sweetie, don’t touch the lady,” a motherly voice chides as my eyes glance down upon the flowing, sunflowered strands of hair of this little angel. When did I become a “lady”? What day did that reprimanding voice address a young girl, other than myself?


Sensibley selecting a banana and overpriced carton of orange juice, I remove a few bills from my purse and wonder… I just wonder. Is it always more enjoyable to play the role…than to consume it? Is there anything in the world I may encounter that may outlive or succeed or bring fulfillment more than the imagination? Perhaps it is time to imagine who I shall be and truly become it. Or as BA Chepaitis may say… “See who you are. Be what you see.”