only the jodi

A search for simplicity, sobriety, compassion, & the right man. Or at least not another wrong man.
September 18th, 2009

keep it movin’

It would help if I knew where I was going.

I don’t. I only know I’m on the right path and while I’m pretty clear that the journey is more important than the destination, I’m still the girl who needs to know things. Not knowing drives me crazy.

But the journey is about growth & compassion, about releasing the angel that already lives inside of me. It’s about faith & creativity and as my friend Edie Jane says, Just do the work.

Airplanes have auto-pilot. You set your final destination, push go (whatever, leave me alone on this one) and the plane goes where you want it to. I imagine it’s something like my GPS system, but without me having to physically turn the wheel, hit the gas or slam on the brakes.

In a perfect world, with no friction, turbulence, pressure, wind or change, the plane would go from A to B in a straight line.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t live in a perfect world. Read the rest of this entry »

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August 22nd, 2009

mazed and confused

I’m chasing my dreams full speed until I run smack into a solid wall.

I feel like I’ve been here before.

I have.

I envy those kids who knew what they wanted in high school and had a straight path. That hasn’t been my story.

Let’s not even talk about the lost years, they’re called the lost years for a reason. They took their toll and when they were over, I knew I was supposed to be a hand in the dark for some other lost kid to come. I went back to school to become an elementary school teacher and spent a month in Spain, just a month of immersion, to help me learn Spanish. I cried every day. Lonely. Isolated.

I had to go to Spain to discover I was a homebody,
that I needed my peeps to be close enough to touch. Read the rest of this entry »

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June 16th, 2009

thin skins & tender hearts

Therapy Guy is back from vacation. Now I have a safe place to cry instead of leaking all over town. He thinks I need to cry more, I think he needs to shut up.

‘Did you miss me’ he says?
I admit I did.
‘That’s progress’, he says, ‘you’d never have admitted that a year ago.’
‘Shut up’ I say. I really mean fuck you. He hates when I say fuck you, finds shut up disrespectful. How does he know me so long and not understand that shut up, fuck you, idiot, these are terms of endearment coming from me?  I’m still there, still engaging. It’s playful, affectionate even. My aunt used to call her three boys her “shitheads”. If he doesn’t want to hear shut up or fuck you he really should keep his fingers outta my brainpan.

Idjit.    Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted in Writing | 2 Comments »

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