The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Loving Learning, Sharing Experience, and Being Honest April 5, 2013

English: Infographic on how Social Media are b...

English: Infographic on how Social Media are being used, and how everything is changed by them. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hello all!  There is so much I want to say today.  I spent the first half of today at my alma mater, visiting my favorite college professors.  I even got to sit in on a class- Honors Philosophy and Ethics.  It was cup-filling, soul refreshing, wonderful.  I don’t think it’s possible to understate how much I love being on a college campus, roaming the grounds, searching musty-smelling library shelves, sitting in a classroom…there’s just something magical about the whole atmosphere.  I love seeing traditional college students, thinking about what a great time in their lives this is supposed to be- that first foray into adult independence when they go off to school.  And then…I remember that I’ve had that, and you can’t really re-create it into infinity.  It’s meant to be a certain time in your life, not the totality of a life.  That said, I am seriously considering beginning to look into graduate programs and/or adjunct teaching positions solely for the purpose of hanging out in the World of College.


I have also been looking at a lot of other blogs through links on Twitter, and there are so many writing challenges I would like to be taking part in, ((A to Z Blogging Challenge, NaPoWriMo, etc.) so many great things to read, so many great things waiting to be written.  And possibly some mundane, average, mediocre things to be written, but I enjoy the process of creating too much to back down just because the result might not be amazingly deep or clever.  And I think the rest of the world does too- they are just becoming trained to do it in 140 character Tweets or Facebook status updates, except for the writers and bloggers who can’t contain themselves to such limited venues.  The urge to create and share seems to be an overwhelming human instinct.  Or the current social media landscape is speeding up the evolutionary process toward making it so.  Either way, I’m pretty sure self-expression has never been quite so widespread, varied, and popular.


Poetry.  I mentioned NaPoWriMo, both above and in my previous post, and I would love, love, LOVE to be posting something new and awesome here that fits that definition, but…how do I say this?  The things inside me that want to come out in that form- I need to save them for myself right now.  They just don’t really fit the mold of ‘Made For Public Consumption.’  I’ve sort of created this blog to be easily accessible from my real world life, and unfortunately I haven’t really achieved my tagline of being my True Self in front of all those people.  I might feel the need to apologize.  Explain.  Defend.  Justify.  Rationalize.  Stuff I don’t really want to do, because we’re talking about my unique feelings and experiences, and I’m entitled to those, in all their gory glory or their desolate, blowing emptiness, or their rich, deep beauty.  They are mine, not my readers’ but when I put them out there for the world to see, they become my readers’ too, to interact with, share, relate to, or even disdain.  I guess I’m just not ready for that level of intimacy.  It’s risky.  But so is life, I guess.


That may be my point- as anonymous as blogging, Tweeting, Facebooking, Instagramming, and all the rest ARE, they are also a form of intimacy, or they can be.  Letting someone into your head- your thoughts and feelings.  Or maybe that’s just blogging the way I do it.  I’m not sure that I’m not just wading in deep BS at this point.  It’s just that people are always trying to break off that intimacy.  You’ve seen it- we’ve all seen it.  A friend or follower decides they’ve had enough of the social media scene, dramatically exit whatever stage they’re on, Twitter, Facebook, or whatever it is, but like a co-dependent relationship, they always come back.  There’s just something about that connection with other people, creating, sharing, that keeps us reactivating those accounts.  It’s understandable and inevitable.



Here’s a short snippet of the poem that’s forming itself in my head:

I was talking about you.

It meant YOU, damn it.

It referred to how it is for me,

seeing your name, your face, your words

and how it’s a fresh gut punch every time it happens.

How I hate the way I’d rather feel that punch

Than lose touch again.

How I know we’ll never be

what we might once have wanted to be,

but what we are is enough.

It is too much.  It is not enough. It is enough.

And I don’t know why, but it is what it is.


Until next time,



Poetry and Duets April 3, 2013


POETRY SOCIETY POSTCARD (Photo credit: summonedbyfells)

Hello all.  Well, not 5 minutes ago, I discovered that April is National Poetry Writing Month, or NaPoWriMo.  In the spirit of creativity, I thought I might try to throw some poetry out there.  Most of my poetry usually stems from my darker, more despairing moments like divorces and deaths and terrorist attacks, (unless it happens to be during a time when I’m taking a class in which writing poetry is an assigned activity.)  But I’m willing to give it a shot on an ordinary day.  I do have to confess that I’m feeling…not super-happy right now.  It’s my own fault.  I listened to that d*** Thousand Years song from Twilight a couple of times and that never fails to depress me to no end.  I’m just feeling the urge to twist off a little, and that is never a good thing.  I just feel like I’m just aching to sing, and life is supposed to be a duet, so where the h*** is my partner?


I was listening to another song a while ago, Paint Me a Birmingham, and thinking how I would love to perform that song as the harmony to a male duet partner.  Or any song, really.  I almost sung a duet with my cousin at his sister’s wedding but he backed out at the last minute because he was worried he didn’t know the words well enough.  Sometimes I just want to march into ANYplace that has karaoke and volunteer to sing with the next guy who wants to perform.  Anyway.  Just for the record, this particular post may not conclude with my own poetry, because it’s about 15 minutes before I leave work, The Boy is here, chomping at the bit to leave as soon as possible, and I don’t work well under pressure when it comes to poetry.  I mean, I could probably spit some out, but it might not be a masterpiece.


Instead, I think I’ll just post the lyrics to that Thousand Years song.  I just can’t seem to get that song out of my head today:

A Thousand Years – Pt. 2 (Christina Perri)

The day we met
Frozen I held my breath
Right from the start
I knew that I’d  found a home for my
Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be  brave
How can I love when I’m afraid to fall
But watching you stand  alone
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer

I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don’t be afraid I have loved  you
For a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

Time  stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let  anything take away
What’s standing in front of me
Every breath
Every  hour has come to this

One step closer

I have died everyday waiting  for you
Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find  you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand  years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

One step closer

I have  died everyday waiting for you
Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you
For  a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

And all along I  believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved  you for a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more


Well, maybe tomorrow I can come up with some poetry.

Until next time,



Let The Crazy Commence! February 15, 2013

Charleston Harbor Resort

Charleston Harbor Resort (Photo credit: tabounds)

Hello all.  Here’s the thing.  I give you fair warning, and you cannot say you haven’t had it.  I am going to be talking about this trip to Charleston a lot.  Like, A LOT.  I’ve spent the morning perusing the recaps of attendees from last year, adding them to my blogroll in hopes of getting more familiar with some of them before the event, looking at photos, trying to imagine myself in that setting.  At one point I literally almost cried because it looks like so much fun, but already my tendency to fret, worry, obsess, and overplan has kicked in.  I reserved my room in the official hotel, and then I was searching for maps of the city, trying to imagine what I’m going to want to do, what tours I’ll want to take, (trying not to panic when my mother reminded me how bad I am at directions), wondering how much time people at this thing spend together versus doing their own thing, thinking about how everyone else seems to have at least one other person there whom they already know in real life, wondering if I’ll go, shell out all this money, and spend the entire weekend sitting alone at a table in a dark corner, watching everyone else laughing, and feeling nerdy and left out, but being grateful that at least I wouldn’t show up in anybody’s pictures, knowing that since I have already committed to going, I’ll just have to suck it up and be brave and fake the outgoing personality I wish I really had, in order for the previous scenario to NOT be a self-fulfilling prophecy.   Whew.  Deep breath.


Still, I feel the need to do research.  Like what will the temperatures be like, and what kind of clothes do I need to bring?  The depressing truth is, everybody in those pictures looked so young and trendy and cute.  Y’all, I own nothing cute.  Really.  I bought myself a new pair of jeans from WalMart yesterday, which I desperately needed, but because I was feeling very, um…, large and likely to become larger… I also bought two MENS shirts in size 3X.  Why would I do that, why?!  Do I not have any hope or faith in my ability to keep a handle on my weight loss and stop backsliding?  And furthermore, if I were buying those really big shirts in a futile attempt to camouflage and hide the fluffy, then somebody please explain to me WHY I bought them in Hunter-Safety-Orange and Glow-In-the-Dark neon yellow?!  Aside from the fact that I love bright stuff, clearly, this is some sort of confused paradoxical wish to hide and yet be noticed.  From miles away, no less.  I was also thinking about this paradox in terms of the differences among the various bloggers when it came to how much of their real lives they put into their work- pictures of their kiddos, things they create from projects, pictures of their homes, etc., and how I’m not like that.  I write with the hope that people will just happen across what I have written, find it entertaining, and keep reading and enjoying it, but I still try to keep a certain amount of anonymity, too.  I’m not as brave and open as they are.  I have walls.  I guess all of them probably do have walls of their own, it’s just that all our walls stand in different places, and from different proximities to our hearts, yes?


Oh well.  For the next eight months, I will try to remember to breathe and I will try to remember that I am strong and beautiful and sometimes inspiring and often darn funny, and that I will enjoy this event without making an Olympic trial of it, and I will come away from it having gained a new experience and hopefully maybe some new acquaintances who will grow into friends.  Sounds like a plan! 🙂

Until next time,


Simply Recommitting October 10, 2011

Hello all.  You know, sometimes, when I’m going through my day thinking, “I REALLY need to write a blog entry, I really need to update, etc.” I’ll sit down and try to write an entry and nothing really comes.  Often, I will just keep writing, rambling, ranting, and I’ll post the result, whether it’s good or bad, like that’s a cure for writer’s block, but it doesn’t mean that what I wrote has any quality to it.  That post may not necessarily be my true voice.  There’s something wrong with that.  There’s something wrong with a lot of things, and I am in the mood to change that.


I went to a revival-type church service tonight that was sponsored by my sister’s church.  I had never heard of the speaker, a man named Ken Freeman.  My sister attends a Baptist church, but I got the feeling this man was inter-denominational in his preaching career, meaning he didn’t just go to one type of church.  His message was about the difference between ‘good’ and ‘great,’ and how we have to let go of certain things in order to fully accept God’s grace and blessings.  I realized there were a lot of things I have been holding on to, and I need to let go and re-commit.  I need to re-commit, not just in my spiritual life, but in everything- my job, my parenting, my health and fitness, and even my writing here. 


So that’s what I’m doing.  Starting tonight, I am re-committing my life.  I am going to re-dedicate myself to my weight loss, my writing, my parenting, and most of all to a life that is dominated by Love.  Love for God, and love for my fellow human.  I need to work on showing Jesus to others through my life.  I’ve been in an ongoing cold war with a co-worker for weeks now, and I’ve made weak, pitiful attempts to pretend I was reaching out to her, to delude myself into thinking I was the bigger person by praying for her, but in reality I wasn’t willing to let go and truly acknowledge that I haven’t always been the Christian I am supposed to be.  I gave it lip-service, but I wasn’t willing to completely let down the barriers.  I’m still not.  I know I can’t trust her to be real and honest.  She is an excellent actor and faker- I’ve seen it.  My point is that I can’t worry about that.  I have to just say ‘You know what?  I’m recommitting to living for Jesus, and because I am, I choose to love you.  You can think what you want about me, you can like me or hate me, but I choose to love you in Jesus’ name, whether I can trust you or not.’  And really mean it, because I didn’t before.  I wanted to mean it, but the selfish, immature part of me said ‘Why do you have to mean it?  It doesn’t make any difference.  She’s not accepting your overtures, your gestures, your attempts.  What difference does it make if you really mean it?’  But I know now that I have to forgive all that, I have to forgive what she’s done to me, the hurt she has caused me, and I have to love her in Christ, and I cannot allow myself to add anything else to that sentence.  My judgement of her is irrelevant. 


In addition to this, I have to be brave enough to re-commit to my health and fitness efforts.  I have done well.  I can say that.  I have lost almost one hundred and twenty pounds in almost 2 years.  But I have not been fully committed.  I have chosen to take easier roads- skip workouts, eat junk food.  I signed up for another 5k mud run as a volunteer, knowing I would be allowed to participate in the race for free as a volunteer, but thinking I wasn’t obligated to do the race if I chose not to.  That wasn’t committment, that was fear.  I completed the first one, the Dirty 30, back in July.  I did it on adrenaline, not knowing what to expect, not knowing what kinds of obstacles I’d face, but determined to tackle them no matter what.  In this next race, I know what kinds of things I might see, and I feared them.  I was afraid I didn’t have it in me to put that much effort out again, but now- I know I need to re-commit.  I need to grasp the fact that I have the strength to finish that race, complete the obstacles (or go around them if I have to) and finish.  I can’t be afraid that I might twist an ankle or a knee- I just have to take the steps. 


I realize this entry has had a serious tone.  I usually like to try to be funny here, and I hope I succeed at that sometimes.  But tonight was a night for seriousness.  I had a talk with my kids on the way home from the revival tonight, because I have been really concerned for them in their spiritual lives, because they have not yet obeyed the gospel and been baptized.  Despite what some people may say or believe, I truly believe what I have been taught, that baptism is the point at which we are saved, and I want my children to be baptized and commit to living their lives for God.  I believe it is on their heart to do it, but they just haven’t taken the step.  I am praying that they make that decision soon, but at least I took the opportunity to share with them what I want for them- the peace that comes with knowing they are saved. 


I’m not saying I have it all figured out, or that there aren’t sometimes brief moments when I question everything I’ve ever heard and wonder if maybe, possibly, it could all be crap.  But when it comes down to it, I’d rather just believe what I believe than buy into “something from nothing, for no reason, with no purpose, and nothing after, and nothing matters.”  It’s just not enough.


And in the middle of all this recommitting, loving, being brave, and trying to bring my kids to heaven with me, I am going to embrace all I can possibly accomplish in this life that is fun and joyful and meaningful.  To that end, I can announce that my daughters’ senior trip in May is a done deal!  I booked the airfare today, so Lord willing, we’re definitely going!  We’re going to be Royal Carribean cruising fools!  Wooo hooooo!  Allure of the Seas, here we come!

Until next time,



New poem: Perspectives August 24, 2011

Hello all.  Today I’m taking another risk of sorts.  I wrote a poem yesterday that I want to spotlight here as its own blog entry, rather than just adding it to the poetry page, which I will still do later, but for right now I want to share this in its own right.  The risk I referred to involves limiting this particular piece of work to only contests or calls for submission that allow previously published works, because by posting it here, I am technically publishing it. 


So anyway.  This particular poem is not autobiographical, although the idea for it came from my personal experience of losing my temper with my child, which is something I very much hate, but it happens.  Anybody who has a child and says they haven’t ever lost their temper with that child is still waiting for the epidural to wear off.  Also, I was talking with my cousin’s daughter on Facebook, where she had posted a status about hating poetry.  Her college professor had assigned a poem to be written with certain words and perspectives in it, which is where the title of this poem comes from.  It also touches upon themes of poverty, loneliness, hunger, and mental illness.  So here it is.  Be warned.  You will  might cry.  If you do, I’m sorry.


Under a table
hides a young boy,
battered and beaten
a broken toy.

Across the room
a mama cries,
the hurting, the hitting,
the pain in her eyes.

Between the two
survives a bond
for love and forgiveness
to build upon.

Around them both
the empty walls
the echoing silence
the desolate halls.

Beside the chair
where the mama weeps
a bottle of medicine
that helps her sleep.

Nights stretch endless
when she can’t NOT think.
In desperation
she picks up a drink.

And in the morning
her little son begs
for biscuits and gravy
or bacon and eggs.

Behind the fridge door
there’s nothing he wants.
His hungry eyes taunt her,
his wailing voice haunts.

Until she can’t take it,
endurance worn thin,
her hand lands the blows
again and again.

He runs for a safe place.
She drops into a chair.
Again her heart shatters
for the pain they both bear.

Desperate to hold him,
she calls to her boy
hiding under the table,
like a broken toy.

But he follows her voice
and she clasps his small form
and clings to her child,
a lifeline in a storm.

Through tears she says she’s sorry
and that she loves him so.
He snuggles closer to her
and says, “Mommy, I know.”

DD: 08/23/11 9:07am


Until next time,


Please share your reactions and your own stories in comments!


Notes From The Shower September 1, 2010

Hello all.  Just thought I’d give a little shout out to the rain shower happening outside my window right now.  It’s still badly needed.  But also, the title of this post refers to a couple of things I realized yesterday. 


First of all, judging by the amount of hair in the drain of my shower after one of the crumb-crunchers gets out, one would be under the impression that I live in a house full of 80’s rock stars undergoing chemo!  I swear, these children are about to find themselves in the barber chair getting an Army draftee hairdo!!


And second of all, to steal a line from the late, great Erma Bombeck:  just because there is thirty pounds of hair in the drain, there is no need to shampoo it!  What is so difficult for these children about placing a shampoo bottle a) upright and b) lid closed!?  Really? 


Also, I just have to share this.  I had to go around smelling all manly yesterday because we were out of body wash and the only thing I could find was my son’s AXE body wash.  🙂  (It was so cute when I bought that stuff for him.  He was just in awe that he had his very own bath stuff just for boys!)  So I was worried that people at work were going to be asking “Do you smell that?  Who’s wearing men’s cologne?  Somebody got a secret around here?”  But no.  Not a mention.  Which is good, don’t get me wrong.  I’m as happy to get attention as the next person, but for the right reasons, like my beauty, brains, and talent, not for my manly smell. 


And since this post is kind of water-themed, I will address an issue that arises from LACK of water and say that I believe my newest tree is dead.  I think it has fallen victim to the rotten weather we’ve had the last two months and is now nothing but a baked stick with broiled leaves standing in the middle of my yard.  It was a redbud, too.  (Oklahoma’s State Tree, by the way!) I love those- I’ve always wanted one, and my mother, when she decided to singlehandedly reforest an entire trailer park that was wiped out by a tornado, saved me one of the trees she got.  She planted the little guy in a place of honor right in the middle of my front yard, and now I think he is just dead, dead, dead.  Thanks, Weather!  Now is a fine time to be pouring down rain!


I’ll tell you this much, though.  If he’s not dead, I’m going to dig him up, plant him in a big planter, nurse him back to health, and make a bonsai tree out of him.  I toyed with the idea of making the bonsai out of the willow tree that’s been growing there since Mom and the kids planted it when I was on my honeymoon.  Sort of a reshaping, reforming of the hopes and dreams I had for my marriage, kind of thing.  However, Daughter S. said she likes the tree where it is and wants me to leave it there, so Little Redbud gets to be a bonsai, if he lives. 


I’m going to be posting some more poetry in a minute, and I only mention this because it sort of fits in with the water theme.  At least one piece does.  Metaphorically, some of the other pieces do as well, because they come from a time in my life when I was simply drowning in darkness, despair, struggle.  I’ll admit they are very dark works, but they represent my process of getting through that time.  If you read through all my poetry, you will see many poems about the actual experience of writing itself.  For me, writing was surviving.  Writing was the only way I could express all the pain, the only way to let it out and keep it from killing me.  But check out the poetry anyway, and let the overall theme of survival speak to you however it will.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,


(ETA:  The new poetry is now up.  11:00 a.m.)


Have I Mentioned Lately How Much I Love Books? July 21, 2010

Hello all.  I got the idea to write another entry about books from a comment I left on Mighty Maggie’s blog.  (Humorous blog.  Never dull.  Go read her! Wait, finish me first!) I have written previously about the different books I’ve read and the books that are now movies, and the books I can’t help buying from Hastings.  But now!  Oh, now I have two classics to read that I’ve never gotten around to reading before, and I can’t wait to get more into them.

I borrowed them from baby sister.  As mentioned recently, she is an interior designer, so she has a lot of things on her shelves that are basically just meant to look good.  But her back room bookshelf is just where she keeps her books, and after she explained her system (books organized by genre and then by author) she was kind and trusting enough to let me borrow a couple of them!  I’m sure she had misgivings- as much as I love books, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not as careful with them as I could be.  They tend to get abused, a little.

In spite of her fears, she loaned me two books:  Vanity Fair and Mansfield Park.  I realize it’s hard to believe that as an English major I managed to graduate without reading either of these, but I did.  We could get into a whole long debate about canon and classics and so forth, but it’s enough to say that I did read a lot of other books in college, and I enjoyed reading them.  Except this one book Dr. Spencer assigned that I never DID get through, whose title escapes me now, but it was dreadfully boring, the first chapter or so that I actually read, so I gave up.  OH!  Tristram Shandy.  Lord in Heaven, but I struggled with that book!

Anyway.  I started reading Vanity Fair last night.  It was very difficult to get into at first, but I’m thinking it will get better.  I had told little sister she was going to get her books back this weekend when she brings Daughter S. home, but now I’m afraid she will not.  I won’t even be finished with VF, let alone MP.  I’ve been writing too much, so she’ll just have to wait. 

And speaking of writing.  I was looking through my poetry files yesterday, trying to find the poem I wrote for the last class reunion, to read it again at this class reunion, because I’m just an attention hound like that.  Anyway, I started finding all this work I’d written and while some of it makes me want to throw on a fake mustache and move to another country, some of it makes me just want to do a little victory dance and go “Damn, I’m good!”  I’ll put some of it on my poetry page soon.   I know I said a while back that I would be putting up a lot of new stuff on that page and none of it has materialized, but never fear.  This time I mean it. 

Hmm.  I started to talk about how posting poetry is so much more difficult for me because it’s generally much more personal and deeply felt than my blogging, but really it’s not that different.  My writing in this blog is personal and I often write about very deep feelings and hurts and fears, but somehow poetry seems different.  I have more apprehension about the critique of my poetry than my blog.  Many times, the Therapy Journals just feels like something I do, but the poetry is something I’ve given birth to- it’s part of me.  And much of it is written from my worst pain and deepest dark places, so it’s pure vulnerability scrawled across the page. 

Anyway.  I’ll pick out some particularly good ones and put them up as soon as I can.  And since I used that word, particularly, it reminded me of the new book I’d really like to read.  I’ve been seeing reviews for it in magazines, and mostly I just like the title.  But it’s called “The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake.”  It’s about this girl who realizes she has an ability to “taste” people’s emotions in the food they cook.  And through their emotions, she discovers all their secrets and all the things she never really wanted to know about anybody.  It sounds very intriguing.  If somebody really loves me, they can get me that book for my birthday.  It’s coming up in September, you know, but I’m trying not to think about it, because I’m turning 38 and that feels like Almost Dead!  I know, it’s ridiculous to be thinking like that, especially because one never knows when one might unexpectedly be dead.  38’s not that old.  That’s why I’m trying to learn to love life every day and every minute.  It’s a work in progress, but I’m getting there. 

Until next time,



The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.


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