How Much is that Doggy?

It started innocently enough. I learned a song and it soon became the catchy tune of my life.

"How much is that doggy in the window?
The one with the waggy tail.
How much is that doggy in the window
I do hope that doggy's for sale."
Those lyrics follow me daily. It's not always a doggie, but I find myself constantly wanting.

A new shirt, maybe a new dress..... and some heels to go with it.... oh! don't forget to add in the perfect accessories: necklace, earrings, a few bangles...and don't you think this bag would go perfect? So the consumerist avalanche begins.

The excuses for why I am this way are as countless as the 1D* photos on a tween's bedroom wall. I live in a capitalistic society, yes, but I know many respectable people in the same society who do not give into the spend-spend-spend ways. I'm not trying to say that you can't have what you want (and work for). Yet, there is something intriguing about being in the presence of a person who is genuinely content.

I've experienced the middle class boredom. I have it all, or at least everything that my dollar can afford, and I find myself now desiring after things money can't buy: her smile,  her talent, her organizational skills, their relationship, her life. I can't speak for the entire populace of 'Murica, but I suspect that the craving for more is a deeply set dissatisfaction with myself. Somewhere the consumerism mutated to disguise personal resentment.

I can try, with every dollar I have, to satisfy that mutant with shiny things. By doing so I merely tease it's hunger. Instead, I need to discover, and consistently remind myself, where the monster came from. If I understand  and remember it's origins, then it can be overcome.

My monster emerges from the crags of my self-exaggerated and loathed inadequacies. Somehow, it is just trying to keep my weaknesses hidden. But she did not know that in those weaknesses there is One who is strong.

That strength should not be hidden by a collection of counterfeit treasure; but rather on display for all to see.


*The nickname for the pop boy band, One Direction.  

Rejecting the Reject

It contains infinite power. No it's not a genie, or God. It's a thin envelope, containing black powder fused onto a white abyss of paper.

The word "sorry" lacks any empathetic power next to "not" and "chosen."

There's a voice inside that overpowers truth and reason imposing the emotions of a reject upon me.

A tiny glowing speck floats in and reminds me that behind the ominous dark monster remains something bigger.

I muster the effort to shuffle my heavy feet backwards. Far enough so I can see the Hope twinkling on the outskirts of dejection. The radiant light reminds me of the beauty that comes from risk, adventure, and faith.

I give the rejected monster a hug. Tell her it's okay. We weren't rejected, just prepared for greater paths.

We join hands, and dance to the music of aspiration, as the thin envelope with it's black powder fused paper floats into the distance.

The Reality of Dreams

My dreams lately have been curiously memorable and intense. This week alone I have shared 3 of my dreams with someone else because they stood out to me that much. I wonder if my brain is telling me something?

I've been reading a book that says some believe dreams are some alternate state of consciousness. A state in which you are free from your body and allowed perform feats, see sights, and understand ideas your physical body hinders you from.

Reading that made me think of the Matrix.

I love Evil

Evil lives in my home. Evil incarnate is my cat Slate. Slate and Fifi*would get along splendidly.

The trouble is, he's not purposely being evil, he's just mischievous.
His rambunctiousness usually leads to spilled water, fallen decor, and incessant whining at my door in the morning. Usually nothing of consequence.

Unfortunately, the fur turned.
He scratched my pup Rubble's eye...

While I sit here taking a break from mundane office work, writing my blog, my pup is sitting in a hospital kennel waiting for an ocular examination. It didn't look too bad, there was no blood and Rubble wasn't in much pain, but through internet research, it seems that the severity of the injury of a dog's eye can be easily misjudged.

So for now I await. What will happen... we shall see [or not].

*aka Lucifer [Satan]- My husband decided to give him a less frightening malicious sounding nickname.