The theory of relativity. It's cheaper than therapy.

Writing is a very cathartic process for me that too often I don't make time for. The effect is the same whether it's authoring a poem, song, novel or even a simple blog post. I have a theory about writing. Well, really about any form of art. While I know that art is completely subjective and my humble opinion may not matter it is this: that the act of creating art is a way of expressing ones soul to oneself, even if one is not so skilled at it. In my mind then, it is the best, most true form of art which makes no sense at all, except to the artist.

In the moment it's not about what others will enjoy or if anyone else will relate. It's about bringing to life, in words or rhythm or visual interest, those thoughts that rummage around in the corners of your mind, sneaking down hallways then knocking down walls and putting up Christmas lights.

In the pursuit of greener places I am realizing that it's all about perspective. That where you are is not as important as what you choose to think about where you are. That letting go of things you cannot control and holding onto the One who controls all things is where it's truly at. With all that going on in my head I felt the need to write some serious nonsense. So here it is.

The synapses crackled and snapped as they sparked. My hand was on the door so I threw it wide open and shivered as a cool breeze slipped my mind. I turned to silence the phone but those words turned my veins to streams of ice. The cells froze in a frenzy and climbed backwards through my bloodstream, overtaking my heart as it crystalized mid-beat. A name that I recognized but a voice that was distorted by a layer of panic. It took too long. My brain could not connect the blinking marquis dots before the words shot from the receiver and blew my mind. I took a breath and padlocked the door I had opened just moments, or maybe it was a lifetime, ago. Back when I was still free, still an innocent and when a young family's mother was still breathing.

Healthy 'Living'

This past weekend was so totally not about my health. I went to the doctor with a sick friend, didn't go running, didn't sleep much and nearly offed myself with cleaning supplies. Accidentally of course.

Let's back up. This fab and flattering (uh, sure) story begins with me jonesing for some Martha. Well the sage advice from her magazine at least. Reading Martha Stewart's ' 'Living' makes me feel like I've spent a few minutes with my sweet Gran and I just love her to pieces. We talk about gardening and God and antiques and life and she's my 'go-to' for help with my black thumb. I was thinking of her this weekend which reminded me to get 'Living'.

We found 'Living' at Publix (C'mon Sweetbay, get with the program) but before I could read it we came home to an awful mess thanks to our impatient dog and I had to bleach all our floors. Yuck. Double yuck.

I normally mop with vinegar and water but I felt the level if nastiness required some harder stuff so I thought for a minute about adding bleach.

Ignorant Person PSA: DO NOT MIX VINEGAR AND BLEACH. YOU WILL BE DEAD.

I should have read Martha's April issue first but thankfully Jesus loves me and He allowed me to only use bleach and water, no vinegar. When I finally got to dive into the magazine later I found this:

Thanks to Martha and praise to Jesus for keeping me alive and not letting me mix those things.

In other, more impressive, news we paid off another credit card this week. Woo hoo! Now if I can just learn to clean responsibly we should be on track.