Being thankful

Our neighbors holiday made me think about that. This blog as well. Being thankful is not that easy, I think. Thankfulness is usually mixed up with other feelings. I will try to strip everything off right now say thanks.

to C. for being honest, compassionate, understanding, bitchy, funny, patient.

to L. for being strong, true, a wonderful father.

to my children for their love, their intelligence, their help and for just being.

to my mother, who while she was alive I was busy judging and criticizing, made me realize after being gone that all she wanted was for me to be me and to be happy.

to my father, for loving me at all times, even when I turned my back on him, and even more when I came back to him, without him ever asking me questions.

and finally, to the people who have paid attention to my whiney ass on this blog. I started here without even thinking for a second that people would stop by and read this. Then some did. And I am amazed. Because you have been so nice, and respectful. No one judged me. I still think that I’m weird, but I know now that it’s ok 🙂

I’m new to this. I’m starting to visit other people’s blog and really enjoy it. There are some wonderful human beings around here. And it gives me hope. After many years online, I never thought this would happen.

le parfum du passé

Alors puisque je n’Ă©cris plus, je fouille dans mes anciennes inspirations… C’Ă©tait pas si mal. Ce qui est le plus Ă©trange c’est que mes sentiments d’incertitude, de peur de ne pas ĂȘtre aimĂ©e, d’ĂȘtre blessĂ©e, Ă©taient les mĂȘmes qu’aujourd’hui. Étrange dans le sens d’Ă©peurant.

Je ressentais déjà des craintes par rapport à ma relation avec cet homme il y a 15 ans. Me voilà maintenant face à mes échecs, mes réussites, mes joies et mes peines, comme au premier jour: une fille qui a peur.

Sentiments enfouis sous le poids des annĂ©es, de l’oubli, du dĂ©sarroi.
RĂȘves Ă©thĂ©rĂ©s par la peur et le malaise.
Fatigue accumulée par le combat.
À chaque faux pas mon coeur s’arrĂȘte.
L’approbation qui ne vient jamais.
À quand la certitude d’ĂȘtre?

Shit, c’est dĂ©primant tout ça.