Paint My World

I picked up my tattered paint brush, and I brought the cat to life again; the one with it’s zen-like presence, posing as a table for the two robins eternally balanced on it’s head and tail. Then, I took my children to a playground where they flitted around me like birds, and it was a joyous sight to behold. ‘An exceptional occurrence. We were greeted there by a roaming, gorgeous, blue-eyed dog who went by the name of Gypsy and enjoyed sliding down slides.

Upon leaving, a black beauty of a cat sauntered away from us, slinking down a sidewalk in such graceful form. My two little birds peered at it longingly, desperately mimicking cat-cries to make it return. The cat couldn’t be bothered with faux crying, though. It was too zen for that.



Today snuck under my skin.  I felt uncomfortable in it; in this day, yes, and in my skin, yes.  I can’t make this feeling stop.  It’s akin to grief; yet, I spent precious moments with my children and spoke to my mom on the phone.  All good things.  I just want this to stop.  I want to break out of this…whatever it is, while maintaining my ability to fix the broken pieces.  Yes, there’s anger.  I’m an angry woman, and I no longer care if the fury leaks out through my smiles.  I don’t fit here.  Say it to me.  Tell it to me with your looks and your exclusion like I haven’t heard it all before.  All I hear is that you’re just as broken as I am, and that is the most upsetting thing…that we are somehow on the same level.  

Our song

Don’t whisper 
The songs of our youth
To me 
In hopes of eliciting
That chapter has ended.
Sing me a song
Of what will be,
The melodies of things to come.
Sing with me a chorus
Of hopes and dreams
A song of what is yet to be.
                          ~Nichelle Lei

The Fairy Door

The Fairy Door
 My children are at the age where
 make-believe is still a powerful
 force in their daily life.
 As adults we don’t have the
 luxury of make-believe to solve our
 problems without being victims of
 denial. ...Unless we find
 professions in which our
 imaginations fuel our
 well-being, i.e., writers, film-
 makers, artists, teachers of

Imagination fuels HOPE. As it
 were, we can not honestly have
 faith in what is NOT seen in our
 physical word, except to be will-
 ing to allow ourselves a bit of
 denial in what is visible and
 look with eyes beyond what is
 real to us.
Life has exploded into a chaotic mess, lately.  
However, I’m still here, which means I still have 
a purpose and choices to make in matters that need 
resolved.  The only way to go is up from here, “They” 


The first and most important battle for those who are 
struggling is overcoming feelings of powerlessness.  That 
is what makes decision-making possible! If you are feeling 
powerless, the first step is recognizing that, as long as 
there is breath in your body, you still have the ability to 
make choices for the better.  This in essence is called HOPE,
and hope is the antithesis for powerlessness.

Once you are aware that you have the ability to choose 
something and rise to action, you can use that momentum 
to propel yourself into a state of 

This is how change begins.

From this point on, things become possible 

SMALL STEPS are key.  Accomplishing small tasks will feed
your confidence, giving you the strength you need to tackle
the larger problems and obstacles you may be facing.  This 
is why psychologists push simple routine, such as making beds, 
showering, getting dressed for the day, etc., when struggling 
with depression.  The small accomplishments propel you into 
the mental state necessary for overcoming the more daunting 
challenges you may be facing.



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This stuff is my go-to in the mornings.  I keep a few coffee singles in my purse and take them with me to work (where no coffee pots live).  I know, this seems odd, but my co-workers do not drink coffee, nor do they keep coffee machines on hand.
I’m still trying to figure out how these people are able to function.

Anyway, I’m not much on instant granule coffee.  Much to my delight, however, this coffee single is different.  “Real” coffee grains in a teabag!  Yes, I realize, I sound like an advertisement; but this style of coffee has become a good friend to me, and I wanted to share the love.

I wrote a poem about coffee, once upon a time, and inscribed it on the back of a painting which I gave to a loved one.  This loved one was a bachelor (an untidy bachelor), and, for some reason, he sat my painting directly behind his kitchen-sink faucet.  It, of course, suffered water damage and, I assume, was stuffed in a closet somewhere.  I don’t take
it personally.  I know he loves me; he’s my dad.  However, I regret the loss of my coffee poem.

On that note, I think I’ll go have a fresh cup.  Love, hugs, and coffee mugs to all…