Many years ago Japan was walled in as a nation. During that time learned men studied nature and met little groups of men and women at night and taught them lessons on life. One morning when one of these learned men was about to leave the gates of the city to go out to study nature, a workman stopped him and said, "When you come in tonight from your studies, will you please bring me a rose that I may study the whorl of the petals as you pointed out last night?"

So the past can be a wonderful place to visit. Unfortunately, sometimes our brains will let other memories out that are best kept locked away. I find this is a side effect of not sleeping enough or getting quality sleep. Maybe tonight will be the night that the sandman visits me. Who knows?

"We must recognize at the outset that there is a difference between tolerance and tolerate. Your gracious tolerance for an individual does not grant him or her license to do wrong, nor does your tolerance obligate you to tolerate his or her misdeed. . . . Together we may stand, intolerant of transgression but tolerant of neighbors with differences. . . . Our beloved brothers and sisters throughout the world are all children of God." ~Russell M. Nelson

Sometimes divas can be far too critical. This doesn't always come out in the open. Why? Because we divas criticize ourselves. No matter how wonderful the world perceives us to be, we find that we have fallen short of our goals. Sometimes this is exacerbated by the failings of our body to be able to stay awake night after night for long hours. What would make a diva do that? Insomnia, evil cats, fear of the world passing by without us uncovering all of the secrets of the present.

Last night, I reached a new low in laziness. My body decided to crash due to sleep mistreatment around six. I didn't come fully awake again until the clock again found its way back to six. This doesn't mean I slept well, of course. I kept waking up to inform Rodney that I am neither a bridge nor a mattress or, more simply, "Get off of me!" I also was rudely awakened by Ziggy threatening Rodney and the massacring whatever is under the bed. I may have to look into that later (with the vacuum cleaner on hand).

The work day held no great excitement. I did get to play hide-n-seek with some missing journal titles, but that went fairly quickly. It would have been easy to forget, in fact, if it was not something different in my day.

The evening found me having dinner with some friends. They may not make that mistake again. It has been brought to my attention that I am the slowest eater in the world (not by these dining companions--I have eaten out with others). We ate at the Olive Garden, and, for those who know me, I have assessed their bread sticks. The bread sticks meet up to my high standards. The salad had a bit too much dressing for me, but that isn't saying much. I like only a hint of dressing for my raw vegetables. Now the time has come for me to try to make a dent in my ongoing "to do" list. Enjoy your evening and hope for more exciting events in my life as well as yours.

"I Forgot to Tell You, But He Rose Again" James A. Cullimore

(Leon R. Hartshorn, Outstanding Stories by General Authorities, vol. 3, [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1974].)

Somehow Insufficient

If you wrote me a love letter, I'd cherish every word
If you wrote me a song, it would be the best I heard
If you wrote me into your heart, I'd give joy for life
If you wrote me a proposal, I'd agree to be your wife
I care not how simple the words that you may choose
You are worth more than words and I would not lose
The chance to be loved by you over a misplaced rhyme
So write to me, sing to me, and I'm yours for all time

My cats frequently give me a summons to rise and feed them. It usually comes well before I have any desire to slip out from under the comfort of my sheets. I roll over. I go back to sleep. Then when I finally wake up, I still stumble over the little beasts who are trying to convince me that they have not been fed.

As I am so reluctant to rise in the morning and I had a rather enjoyable day at church, I find myself pondering where would we all be if Jesus had refused to rise? We would be lost without hope. We would be alone among strangers. Or would we even be here at all? I must stop thinking. It doesn't always bring me to that happy place...

We divas are little more than whores and sluts. If we are paid, we are the former. I guess that makes me more of the second. We give of ourselves to a world that will forget us when our youth and strength have faded. Everyone wants a piece, but no one has the decency to want to take the diva and patch her up and make her whole. That is why divas cry on the outskirts where no one can see. No one wants to see the tears of a diva. They think they do for the novelty of it, but they would rather see the dancing legs and smiling lips.

June 2 has come and gone and now the waiting begins. Some imp of self-deception encouraged me to submit a poem to another contest. I fear it will only lead to another stalker besides poetry.com who will send me constant e-mails trying to lure me to Las Vegas or buy yet another fabulous compilation of truly lovely poetry or, my favorite, buy a plaque or a pin to commemorate my achievement. (If you love my work so much, offer me money not the chance to spend money that no self-respecting poet has!) In the meantime, I hope it will be something more than that. Some days we divas want to be seen. We want to hear the Eurythmics playing our theme music ("Who's That Girl?") as people finally notice what they missed before. If they don't see us, however, we can just disappear and only dance in our mirrors.

"Most of us are modest enough to think that our small candle of example might be too dim to be noticed. But you and your family are watched more than you may realize." ~Henry B. Eyring

One of the hobbits is leaving the Shire. No worries. It isn't me. We had a celebration gathering to see him off complete with half-price appetizers. Three beautiful ladies and six extremely attractive men showed up for the festivities. I know that the wait-staff secretly dreads these large gatherings of hungry, happy, shiny people. They probably dread me and my addiction to bread, as well.

I found myself, once again, being asked what women want. I can't stress enough that I am no ordinary woman. Why do they keep asking me? Ask someone whose primary interest right now isn't to forget how to like people, but that is another story.

Today found more randomness and a lot more sweat. I wandered down High Street with the intent of buying a ticket to a dance show featuring two of my gorgeous friends. I look forward to attending, not just so I can wear a sexy outfit but so I can see them as well. As I am me, I don't think I will be doing much dancing. I managed to purchase a ticket and notice a hand-made stuffed animal going for twelve dollars. As it was small and missing a button eye, I thought it might be overpriced, but it gave me hope that my etsy sales may eventually happen.

I also wandered into a quaint little store for which I had a gift certificate. After perusing the majority of the store, I finally selected a gift for someone else. I feel that the gift should bring light and joy into her life, as well as remind her of me. This optimistic belief makes me happy.

So I came into reality this morning at one in the morning. My land line phone rings so rarely that I was at first afraid that telemarketers from India were on the prowl. I picked up the phone to find that it had the potential to be much worse. My (roomie's) mom was calling to tell me that my (roomie's) brother had got into an accident on the way back from visiting Jersey. Luckily, he was not injured but the infamous Tacoma has met its final demise.

"Nine-tenths of the people were created so you would want to be with the other tenth." ~Horace Walpole (1717-1797)

I never wanted to feel like this
I never wanted this knife to twist
Pulling apart what was left of me
Here in the darkness, where none see

I never wanted to hold your hand
Fall in love and not understand
How it could be that I could feel
What you denounce, what is unreal

I never wanted to turn my back
I never wanted to see red and black
Mingling before my tormented eyes
For you never saw me or my disguise

I never wanted to bring you pain
To open the windows and let in rain
That is my storm, my gift to give
I never wanted, I think, to live

I never wanted to hear this voice
The one inside you, but no choice
Is offered but to hear all of you
Confessing lies that you thought true

I never wanted to choose the high road
To take this burden, this heavy load
But I am here with my arms out to all
No matter how long they take to call.

It has certainly been a week--from men suddenly taking notice of my form though I think my face deserves more attention to the worry of a car accident. The week is not over, nor is the day. But what have I not recounted that I could put here with no fear of repercussions.

Since the cold abated and the warm sun came tinkling out of winter slumber, my body has been insistent that I must take it walking. I must stroll the woods, the paths, the roads, and even the malls. This has led to a slight loss of self (or "a ton" as my friend Will seems to believe), so I rewarded myself in a very girly way. I took Friday (the 13th) off from work and went mall-walking with my friend Ann. If you ever want to feel like you are in the presence of angels, I recommend making time for Ann. She is a sweet girl with only nice things to say about everyone.

Anyway, we managed to find a few items worth our time. We also discovered that I have mastered the fine art of getting stuck in clothes I am trying on. Let's just say that it helps to unbutton and untie completely before removing an item. Yes, I know that sometimes the item looks so bad that you want to be free, but it doesn't always work out so well. This was followed by a healthy lunch and random drowsiness.

Today has been full of its own special brand of excitement. Early in the morning, my body demanded that I take it for a stroll. As I have started listening to the desires of this close friend of mine, I made my way toward the nearest park to roam among the shady trees. On my way, my ability to answer random questions (with help) was tested. A lady stopped looking for the rail trail. Most people would find an easy solution. I had to figure out which part of the trail she was looking for. With the help of another random stranger on a cell phone, I believe I sent her to the right place.

Later in the day, I found myself in a room full of beautiful and modest women. We were showering our dear friend Katie with love in anticipation of the arrival of her daughter. I have decided that my friends need to get together and start a catering company. We know how to party, decorate, and cook. (And we know how to eat, laugh, love, and hug.)

Now I am going to go dance off after attending dance show called "Hips Around the World". Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll tell you what I selected from my closet to wear...

You tell me I am attractive but then regress
Now I have merely a chance to get anyone to see
That I have more to offer than the way I bake
But you never noticed or picture me undressed

He tells me he still wants to hold me
Confesses that he does love me still
I never needed his confessions
I always knew that he always will

You tell me that I can't possibly love you
Because you don't know how to be loved
And I only wish that were true
So my heart wouldn't ache like this

He tells me he doesn't notice me
Or the way that I wear my hair
But when I step outside in beauty
I know his eyes follow me there

You say I am foolish, only chasing dreams
I open up my mouth to speak
And close it hard upon these screams
For I can feel you loving me...

He tells me he has noticed me
But that is as far as it goes
I watch his eyes darken, silence grows
I turn to leave and his eyes follow

You tell me I try too hard
And I know that you are right
But any man worth my notice
Is surely worth my fight

He tells me I must do this
I must wrap him in my arms
And inside I weep for him
For he shall never know my kiss

You tell me you aren't pushing
But you are trying to be so small
And my eyes are weeping blood
Throughout every moment of this call

He tells me it's good to see me
But he uses his eyes and not his lips
But I can't help but notice how he slips
To my side so quickly every time we meet

You tell me you aren't worthy of me
You tell me how you can't love yourself
I would love to teach you, gently,
If you'll but open your heart a while

They tell me they do not love me
That no interest hides in their eyes
But I can't be so conceited
Nor can I believe their lies...

Women are marrying women and men are marrying men all around the world, but my wholesome (and not so wholesome men) still can't admit that they love me. Well, most of them can't. Others can and do, but also know that as a couple, one of us would have to be destroyed to make it work in the long run. I look into eternity and see possibilities, however, whether they start here or further on. I would just like it if people would quit telling me that what I know is wrong.

I can second guess that still, small voice without help. I have done it on many occasions which has led to exciting journeys to such fabulous places as Fairmont and Bruceton Mills (when neither was my destination). I will admit that the drive to Bruceton Mills was beautiful and peaceful, however. I took a nice long country road. It was fall. The leaves were changing colors. That may be why I made it all the way to Bruceton Mills before trying to find my way home.

During one of my chats yesterday, I realized why I adore the scriptures that I do. I am love. Odd that I once made a character who was chasing that. Beautiful beautiful Butterfly Jones was searching the whole world for love when love was standing right there with her, crying for a world that has forgotten all that love can do. But I digress. How dare I think that I am love? I do not know. Perhaps, it is the summons I get from various places wanting me back in their lives. Some don't even know they are calling me, but I feel them.

Others summon me quite vocally for all to see. This has always intrigued me. Why on earth would people want me to come to them when they have finally escaped the crazy little whirlwind that seems to follow me around. I am referring to neither Rodney or Ziggy. I refer rather to the strangeness that is my life. Looking back at what I know of my mother and grandmother, I begin to wonder how much of this I inherited from them...

I have also had the distinction this week of having one person reiterate (openly and unabashedly) that they love me. Surprisingly, this individual is indeed a man. I had thought they lost that ability when women started wearing pants and expecting them to respect us. It really is of no consequence since we both know that our fates are separate. We'll see how all of this works out. I can't wait. The novel of my life is going to be a juicy read when I have finally gone crazy enough to think it wise to commit it all to paper. That should be when I am about eighty-five...

"You learn love by loving--by paying attention and doing what one thereby discovers has to be done." ~Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)

"It is not love, but lack of love, which is blind." ~Glenway Wescott (1901-1987)

"The Lord has blessed you with a beautiful face and body. Keep the inside just as beautiful as the outside, and you will be blessed with true happiness." ~Harold B. Lee to the daughter of Spencer W. Kimball

"Do we want our homes to be happy? If we do, let them be the abiding place of prayer, thanksgiving and gratitude." ~George Albert Smith

Please, I ask you, dear reader. Do not drop by my house at strange hours and expect me to be attired as you would like. I don't believe they make those long woolen night dresses anymore and I wouldn't wear them on a hot summer night, anyway. Even on cold winter mornings, I am inclined to answer my door in a long night shirt, an Indian blanket, and my sexy bare feet. Last night, I was sporting what can only be described as a sexy pink toga and had a Ziggy in tow. I love when people knock on my door at one in the morning. After all, who needs sleep?

I had already spent a fabulous evening with the girls. We even flirted with an attractive guy. The guy was of no interest to any of us, but he was there. He and I share a mutual disinterest that I find quite refreshing. Surely, you know guys like that?

Some days I say nothing. This is not because I have nothing to say. It is because the people I would address my statements to are shying away from me. I realize, far too often, that I can come off as lecturing and nagging. I just worry. I worry when I see people in pain. I worry when people push me away. I worry randomly when I flip through my scriptures and see passages I marked and remember that I marked them because a dear friend asked me a question that made me think. I worry when I realize how long it has been since I have seen that person.

I cry for these people sometimes. Yes, even divas cry. I cry because I really am a goddess of love, or as I have asserted before, "I am love". It amazes me how people can catch onto the truth and then try to walk away from it. I have been there. I have felt that darkness. I have felt that emptiness. I have been void. I have been in denial of who I am. Sometimes I feel that others think I know nothing about their problems, but I do. Then I ponder to myself how deeply Jesus suffered since he suffered for all the world and I only suffer for those few who earn my love.

"It is likewise very satisfactory to my mind, that there has been such a good understanding between you, and that the Saints have so cheerfully hearkened to counsel, and vied with each other in this labor of love, and in the promotion of truth and righteousness. This is as it should be in the Church of Jesus Christ; unity is strength. How pleasing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!" Let the Saints of the Most High ever cultivate this principle, and the most glorious blessings must result, not only to them individually, but to the whole Church--the order of the kingdom will be maintained, its officers respected, and its requirements readily and cheerfully obeyed."" (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p.174)

"A home is much more than a house built of lumber, brick, or stone. A home is made of love, sacrifice, and respect. We are responsible for the homes we build. We must build wisely, for eternity is not a short voyage." ~Thomas S. Monson

If you look at it from the right perspective, every thing that we do during the course of a day is work. Getting out of bed is work. Walking a friend's dog is work. Making a quilt is work. Talking to people on the phone is work. Folding laundry is work. Baking is work. Vacuuming is work. Typing into an unread online journal is work. These are but a few of the things I will have accomplished by the end of the day. Now for some quotes and observations from one hectic life:

I do enjoy baking. Most of my current baking has been the result of a problem I have. I am easily seduced by produce. I step into an aisle full of brightly-colored fruits and vegetables and I my desire to make them one with me is uncontrollable. I tend to buy far more fruits and vegetables than I could possibly eat before they go bad. I was excitedly sharing my desire to bake with a friend who asked if I was depressed. I was baffled. I was quite happy at the time. Doesn't everyone love to turn fading fruit into tantalizing treats?

In fact, I spent much of yesterday enjoying random baked goods. As it was West Virginia Day (celebrate by kissing your cousin or a sheep), the library distributed cake to the studious masses who found their way to the atrium. This was a wonderful treat, even for those of us who had helped ourselves to fruit, yogurt, danish, bagels, and muffins. That's right muffins, but it was the bagels to whom I addressed my quote of the day, "I am sorry we can't be friends... Why? ...Because I am going to eat you." I did, in reality, say this to the bagel, but no one was around to hear me, so did I really say it?

A small gathering also formed in the room formerly known as the math library. I guess they didn't hear we were going to have cookies, singing, and random commentary on all things mathematical. Someone really did sing and since I showed interest in mocking them, the immediate assumption was that I am interested. Looks like yet another group wants to play matchmaker for me. They always pick the wrong guys though. I know which of my many (sadly, I am serious about that) admirers have a chance if they pursue me. I also know that only one way exists to discover who they are--they have to quit playing games and ask me out. It isn't that hard, and isn't it better to know?

Anyway, if I keep typing this, things won't get cleaned, books won't get read and the poor puppy has no chance of another luxurious walk with a hobbit today, so go do something productive like making a picture frame out of old candy wrappers.

"I believe in taking a positive attitude toward the world. My hope still is to leave the world a little bit better than when I got here." ~Jim Henson (1936-1990)

"The more light you allow within you, the brighter the world you live in will be." ~Shakti Gawain

hard day's night, and I am too exhausted to remember anything else about that song. Few things are more frustrating to the relaxation-challenged than having our bodies insist that we power down for a couple of days. In fact, I usually don't listen. This time, I felt a little listening might be wise as my body was refusing to hold food and staying upright was out of the question. So I spent all of Monday drifting in and out of sleep (and the bathroom). Today, however, has been much more pleasant as I spent it slowly spooning food into my mouth. Aside from that, I have little to report. Being extremely under the weather tends to throw off the amount of excitement I generate. All that I have is affirmation that I looked like crap yesterday, and more observations of people's complete inability to recognize that when I say I am ill, I mean it. I guess I will just have to start exhibiting that I am ill on their shoes. That's how the cats make it known.

I want it back. I want my voice. I want that right to speak and be heard. I want the right to feel. I want to power to weep. Where has it gone? How has it been lost? Our mouths like our hearts are no longer bound by wisdom or love. They are bound by fear. We are afraid to speak because someone may choose to be offended. We are afraid to admit we care because it may be misconstrued. We are afraid to disagree because that may not be legal or may cause us to ostracized. I tire of dancing with the other marionettes.

I haven't been feeling well. I haven't been being treated well either. I adore my friends who drop everything to buy me electrolyte-laced water or give me a ride without having to think about it for a long time. I lament those who do not have the ability to just be human. What do I mean? We want to believe that humans are selfish. We aren't. That first impulse when you see a car accident isn't morbid curiousity (unless you need some psychiatric help). One wonders if everyone is okay. Thus we crane our necks and stare. (And often feel thankful it wasn't us.)

Having recently driven away from the scene of a small fender bender, I know this is how I feel. Of course, I was also a bit astonished that I managed to not be involved. Anyone who has had the pleasure of riding with me may have noticed that I take great joy from leaving ample following distance between myself and the car in front of me. This also applies when I stop at a red light.

I was stopped at a red light at an interesection where four lanes of traffic run parallel to each other. The left two lanes got a green light, but the two right-hand lanes (the farthest of which I was in) were still red. I noticed a whole Omni could fit between my car and the truck in front of me. I let myself drift forward. As I put my foot back on the brake, I looked in my rearview mirror. At the same instant, I heard a crunching sound. I saw the car behind me bounce up and forward. The driver's face dissolved into shock. The passenger got out their cell phone. Had I not moved forward, I would have also been involved in the proceedings that I left behind as our light finally turned green.

I know the story isn't very exciting, but I have been spending my time in bed and curled up on the couch. My head has ached. My food has not been following proper procedures, and I have been drinking G-2 (Gatorade light) to try to maintain some form of balance. I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich today. I only saw it once. I am so happy and optimistic that I shall try real food for dinner.

It has been rather a long weekend. I have seen some of my best and worst attributes vying for the spotlight, and I am still alive, so that has to be good for something. Friday was spent in continued recuperation. I made it into work to be mocked for making it in for one day. In my defense, if I could have come in earlier, I would have. Sitting on my couch soaking up television is beginning to sink lower on my list of hobbies. I am always in transition. It is part of what makes a diva fabulous and what makes me, well, this creature we shall call me.

Saturday found me feeling a little bit more busy. After some file arranging, I decided to invite myself over to some friends' house to feed them. For some reason, people let me get bad with this kind of bad social behavior. It turned out that she also needed an adrenaline rush, so she asked for a ride in my sweet little car. As my driving tends to be rather scary, I think she got all the adrenaline she needs for the next month. We also stopped to enjoy a relaxing lunch and puttered around in Walmart.

I always love to putter around in Walmart. In fact, I now have a desire to work security there. Why? I think watching the video cameras would be very entertaining. If you have been to the local Walmarts, you are aware that they like to put things into huge wire bins. Among the items that get displayed in this manner are flipflops and DVDs. Watching people trying to maneuver the items at the bottom of these bins to see if they are worth diving for is very amusing. Of course, I am waiting for the day some desperate shopper gets the idea of climbing into the bin and throwing everything up in the air like a small child would. It could happen. And I want to be big sister diva upstairs watching when it happens.

I bring this up because I found one of my friends avidly seeking after the proper size of shiny pink flip flops. She stopped long enough to chat with me and my pregnant sister (I collect those). During the course of the conversation, she informed me that I am looking good. This led me to wonder again how fat people thought I was before. I was quickly distracted by commentary on how she loves her husband, so she should hurry with her sandal shopping as he was now alone in the parking lot with her two boys. She didn't hurry too fast. Som3 or us aren't inclined to rush when the cutest shoes are on the line...

I also fed some friends dinner. Fattening people up is a particular hobby of mine that I wish some people wouldn't assume is about ulterior motives. Some days I want to feed the world. Other days, I don't want to see food twice so I leave my cooking skills on idle. It really is that simple and that unassuming.

Yesterday was spent in the company of butterflies in both my stomach and my heart. I gave a talk in church about how Heavenly Father wants to bless us. You can read about it in John 17, so feel free. That relieved the butterflies in my stomach. The ones in my heart were because I got to see one of my sets of twins for the first time in about a year. One of them is gloriously pregnant which made it even better (I like the pregnant women, who knew?) I got to give her the quilt that I have been waiting to make and present to her since her bridal shower. She loved it. The baby will love it though it may be too girly for a boy, but he'll cope. I also had butterflies because some people I love have experienced the loss of people whom they love infinitely. I don't know what to say to them. I just hope they know I am still here to love them.

This morning, I beheld something disturbing. I drove past a sorely abused Plymouth Horizon that had an unfortunate encounter with an SUV. This did not end well for the Horizon and it's poor crumpled front end. Even if one is riding in a miniature hobbit tank, it has no hope against a vehicle with a higher bumper. I would have something more exciting to add to this commentary if I hadn't spend so long late last night and early this morning talking to...myself.

"It will take unshakable faith in the Lord Jesus Christ to choose the way to eternal life. It is by using that faith we can know the will of God. It is by acting on that faith we build the strength to do the will of God. And it is by exercising that faith in Jesus Christ that we can resist temptation and gain forgiveness through the Atonement."

"We will need to have developed and nurtured faith in Jesus Christ long before Satan hits us, as he will, with doubts and appeals to our carnal desires and with lying voices saying that good is bad and that there is no sin. Those spiritual storms are already raging. We can expect that they will worsen until the Savior returns." ~Henry B. Eyring