Life Unconscious

deprive a thought and you dull brilliance

neglect an idea and you strip inspiration

ignore intuition and you silence insight

discourage sensitivity and you repress empathy

do any of the above and you're missing out on life

One Man Band

I have become a one man band mastering a variety of sounds and a visual display of interesting perspective. Starting with my second chin that has arrived in splendor. It is a generous bulge that waddles and flaps it's on conversation, as I struggle to remain focused on what my first chin is trying to express. From whence it came I do not know but it's looking pretty comfortable in it's new home. Moving on to the arms that have birthed a new layer. When I walk, the necessary arm swing generates enough wind propulsion to kick start the windmills that are sprouting up all over. As they glide across my sides, a subtle sound can be heard that simulates a bow being slowly drawn across the strings of a base cello, not at all like the whistling my bulbous thighs enact when I walk but a more solid, deeper tone. My obliques have taken on the look of an accordion, folding and releasing as my weight shifts from one foot to the other, again, slight squishing sounds can be heard as the folds compress and open with each step. All of this is accompanied by the random snapping and popping of miscellaneous joints and bones, straining to transport the excess baggage that is my body. It's quite a sight to see and as alarming as a one man band. Should you hear any of the aforementioned sounds coming your way, step aside and enjoy the show, it's only around for a limited engagement.

Lighten Up

Dismiss that which hurts

and uncover that which lightens

Tone It Down

(click below for another MHS Jazz performance)
http://soundcloud.com/moepoe/05-track-5


Have you ever met that threshold, where," killing them with kindness", is beyond reach? You've just been pushed so far that even though you may "get more bees with honey", you just want to douse them with vinegar?

Well, I witness this frequently in my job, and it amazes me that people will behave the way they do with other adults.  The level of entitlement among the privileged is incomprehensible.  The lack of respect is deplorable and the careless disregard for humanity is despicable.  Who are these people that feel superior?  What makes them feel as though they can demand and receive?  Why are they allowed to behave as though they are the only ones that matter? Who gave them the speed pass, allowing them to circumvent their way around the masses, laughing as they do so?  What makes them so special, that every day is their day? They live their lives as though they are the customers and the rest of civilization is there to serve them.  Their favorite motto is "the customer is always right".   What numskull made up that rule?  Do they really feel so immensely superior that they must put others down, degrading them with every turn, doling out indignant attitude whenever they can't be bothered to listen and respect. 
That is really what it comes down to, respecting another person's voice, space, or presence.  We are all comprised of the same matter, but some of us have a bit more substance. The challenge is to remain calm and dignified in the midst of the rant, composing a concerted response to an unresponsive audience can be difficult.  The value is not in the volume, but more the quality of the tone.  Keep it level and the sound will deliver, blast it and you'll simply end up with a blown speaker.

 

Poppy Solution

As we went to leave, she refused to go, holding firm in her position. She sat on the bedroom floor, staunch and stoic, with her most sincere expression and her eyes spoke what her heart was feeling. At that point, it dawned on me, isn't it funny how a "place' can give us confidence and comfort, surreal happiness and warmth, even in the harshest of weather.  She was merely portraying what all of us were feeling;  This is the ideal setting, why must we leave what we love.  Even in the off season, this is a place of solitude and grounding.  A place where we feel safe and balanced, level and serene. 
It is a place I have known since my childhood, thus explaining my relationship with it's lure, but my children feel equally, strongly bonded to it's environs.  They too, are at peace when they are here and now, it is my dog who refuses to leave.  Is it possible for a place to hold captive, an entire population?  Can a location on a map be the answer to disorder and distress?  Can this settlement offer just that...settlement?  Is this the answer to a troubled mind.  Do both the established and struggling psyche's need this respite? 
It is an intangible, inexplicable feature that Popponesset delivers and only the truly receptive realize it's gift.  Beyond the ocean' s landscape and the Nantucket Sound's setting, is the placid paradise of Popponesset, a place of perfect appointment and ideal inspiration.                 

 As sure as the surf and as soft as the sand,

is a beach that cradles you in it's hands

it claims your worries and soothes your soul

and turns the tide with each waves roll

it gives you strength and resolution

it's Popponesset, a primal solution
As simple as that it offers a vision
with simple, enlightened, and basic precision

Slip Knot - Complexity

Complexity is just simplicity multiplied, stacked, entwined and embroiled. If you have the patience to examine it, you have the answer to it's confusion. Embedded within the mass is a very simple base, if you can avert the complete anxiety that is complexity, then you can unravel the knot of  it's existence, making it a pliable entity, willing to bend twist and tighten when necessary, yet also able to ease up and loosen to the demands of the present, relinquishing slack as needed.  Loose as a slip knot where flexibility is needed but as solid as a sailors' knot when the seas are high and the course is turbulent.

Limited Words

It is what we are willing to forgo, neglect, or ignore in order to satisfy others that gives us a real indication of what weighs heavy in our lives and as such, this will be my blog tonight.

Limited words and thoughts so that I can share and enjoy the living that is before me and not the computer that provokes me.

Stormy...Whether?

When we don't understand something, we become defensive and combative, 

uncertain as to whether...

 we want to stir up some strong winds 

or rustle up a soft rain, 

but one thing is for sure...

A storm is brewing

The Good Ear

Acceptance is a good ear, open to the words that it receives
                   Understanding is an open mind, listening to the good ear

Judgement has no place in the company of either

Acuminate & Ruminate

At present, I have eighty-seven drafts of some sort in my blog library.  Eighty-seven incomplete thoughts awaiting my finishing touches, or it some cases, a body to go along with the initial dawning.  It strikes me like a thunderous boom, just how much this mirrors my life.  I am a scattered mess of disorganization.  My house is a collection of ideas, blown in on the winds of a hurricane, laying atop counters, desks, folders and baskets.  I struggle to filter what breezes through my hands because I am afraid I will discard something of value.  I have tasks that await completion, similar to my entries that need attention.  I flit from one chore to the next succumbing to the distractions that draw my eyes from the present in front of me to the whirlwind that calls me.  I am initially engaged, but then, there are so many other things that entice me.  I lack the focus needed to stay on task, and there it is, focus is the key element I need to master. 


If I can focus my mind like I focus my camera, perhaps I will regain an order and semblance to my chores, my blog and my life.  If I can zoom in on the task at hand, I should be able to magnify exactly what it is, I would like to shine through...crystal clear and as sharp as a quill, poised for acuminous adage, one windfall at a time.

Internal Compass

The true measure of a person's dedication is in their ability to remain committed to their covenant regardless of whether or not any other eyes are watching.  Those that will finish the race without an audience, are truly self directed individuals who need only their internal compass to guide them.  They do not need a blue ribbon to signify their place in life, they know better than anyone, where they're going and how they're going to get there and they'll be the first ones to arrive.

From the soles of her feet to the core of my heart, I have never seen my daughter Kerrin inspire me more than she did during Cross Country season. She proved to me that her courage comes from deep within her soul and with the fortitude of someone years beyond her, she displayed an internal compass and moral drive that filled me with tears of pride.

Design Time

If we could live without the limitations of time, what would you do?  I am not implying that we would live forever, I am merely suggesting that while we are living, there is no element of time.  Imagine being able to accomplish everything you want to without the worry of running out of time.
No limits on what can be completed.  We would still have schedules but they would not run on the element of time, but merely the element of design.
What would our "to do" list look like then? We would each be responsible for designing our lives and scheduling our wants, by order of importance.
Perhaps then, our priorities would be truly reflected in what we choose to do first and how often.
The challenge would then be to appropriately coordinate and intermingle our design to match that,
of those we love. 

Now that's a pretty picture.

Humble Pie

Sometimes our wants overpower our abilities and we stumble, tripping over ourselves, trying too hard. Soon we become hung up on our shortcomings and we overcompensate some more, again, initiating our own failure by the mere fact that we can not compose ourselves and structure our own success. Wanting something so much that, that which we strive for, becomes our own obstacle.  Our desires shift and become more distant with each attempt, essentially becoming a digression before we have even established a progression.  Our ascent up the hill halts and we begin to slide backwards, slipping on stones, becoming more and more unstable with each step.  At some point, we need to allow ourselves some slippage, being sure not to get buried in the rubble. Once the dust has settled and the doom cloud clears, we can grab hold of a sturdy surface, regain our footing and climb on.  We'll quickly learn, when we stop fighting the pull and settle into the slide, the fall is far less damaging. Humility is a trait that lets us fall from our aspirations with humbled grace.

Piloga (acrostic)

My daughter Kerrin and I did an exercise class together tonight and it was a challenge.  Neither one of us have a terribly strong core, and half an hour was dedicated to intense ab work.  It's funny how quickly the burn kicks in when you have no abdominal strength.  My stomach actually started to cramp and spasm.  I thought I was literally going to bust a gut!!  Kerrin did great, but I did catch her giving me the evil eye on more than one occasion. 
I am quite surprised at just how out of shape I've become.  I used to be the picture of health (for a middle aged person that is)  One class I used to do regularly was Piloga, which is a combination of Pilate's and Yoga.  This was one of my favorite challenges and I got quite good at it, but my initial attempts left me aching and sore, just like I'm sure I will be tomorrow.  Perhaps I'll coerce Kerrin into joining me in this class next, but I'll have to prepare her before we go, so here' a little acrostic poem I wrote when I first started taking the Piloga classes:

P lease tell me that it's over         

I think I'm gonna snap                 

L unging legs of lumber               

O h , My aching back                   

G ood God it's been ten minutes  

A nd it's balance, squat and scoop

C runches!! Are you kidding        

  L et's lie here and recoup              

 A bdominals are screaming           

  S TOP THE TORTURE NOW!          

  S ix more and we'll be finished       

  ! *#~  I'd rather be a cow                 

Ah, the memories, I can't wait to get started, but maybe I won't show Kerrin the poem!



Bottomless Basket

The other day, the bottom fell out of my basket.  Yes, everything dropped and I was left standing there with my empty container wondering what happened.  It didn't appear weak nor did it feel unstable, it just gave out.  I guess the demands I put on it, or shall I say in it, were too grand.  I expected more than it's capabilities and it just collapsed.  I was left to wonder, if I stacked things differently, perhaps took more care to pack it right, would it have held up?
Then today, the rug was pulled out from under my feet, causing a collapse that was unforeseen and crushing.  Again, I was left to wonder, what happened?  Did I not take care to stabilize and solidify my footing?  Was I careless in my gait and took too large a leap?  Did I trust too much in the strength of my legs?  Did I not take into account the slickness of the surface. 
The belief was there but the fortitude wasn't. When these things happen what does it mean?  To take a leap of faith and falter on structure is an immensely upsetting ordeal, yet what can I take from this? 
Trust only in what you know can bear the burden of your weight, unless you want to be another broken discard, useless and empty, save for the shreds you can try to recycle, starting over to build a better basket.

Valentine's Day Simplified

Real love does not need flowers or chocolates but merely...
an ear to listen and a hand to hold
a mind to admire and a heart to mold
A life to share and a dream to live
requiring only the passion to give

Dough, Ray, Me

I've heard it many times.  A tennis match can hinge on a single point...yes, a single point can change the outcome of  an entire match.  Similarly, an entire life's course can be altered by a single event.  One day, one moment, one instant can sway the path of one's life.  It's that simple and significant all in a matter of minutes.
As I watched my child perform during a school sponsored music event, "An Evening of Jazz", I had a second revelation.  As I watched the various bands perform, I was captivated by the percussionists.  The one's who tap the triangle, or stroke the wooden pipe, or clash the cymbals. Their role in the band can seem trivial, yet they set the tone for the entire piece. Those very hands, that have the touch to tap, stroke or clash, could be the instruments that shape our future musicians. Their persuasion, perhaps developing many years prior.
I picture a young mother overwhelmed with a rambunctious child.  In a moment of tired desperation, she opens her pots and pans cabinet and allows the child to dig out his instrument of choice, hands him a spoon and thus, a musician is born.  At that first instant when spoon meets pot, the love of percussion booms!~
The truth of the matter is, you never know when this moment is happening until after the fact and at times, significantly later.  It can happen as simply as the aforementioned circumstance or it can be the result of a difficult and trying event that guides one toward their destination.  It can occur on the heels of tragedy or it can be an instinct that is developed through experimentation.
A twist of fate always has it's hands kneading the dough that is our lives.  All that remains to be seen is how well it rises.

(click below to hear an evening of Jazz performance)
http://soundcloud.com/moepoe/07-track-7?utm_source=soundcloud&utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=blogger&utm_content=http://soundcloud.com/moepoe/07-track-7

Hershey Bar Heritage

I was talking with a co-worker tonight about favorite family members and all the wonderful memories that surround them. As she reminisced over her grandfather, I started to think about my extended family members and I was flooded with the memories of my childhood, growing up with grandparents that came over on the boat from Italy.  They spoke very little English, and they found themselves a cultural equivalent of their background to supplant themselves.  They lived in the North End of Boston where all the Italian immigrants ended up.  Growing up in the suburbs, the North End was a fantastically different place to visit.  The whole adventure was my first introduction to city life and it was exciting and intimidating at the same time.  I can still recall, driving down the narrow streets, listening to the cacophony of horns as they honked to alarm all those that were double parked that their cars needed to be moved.  It amazed me that my parents could actually maneuver their giant car through the streets where there seemed barely room for a push cart never mind a vehicle.  When they finally parked we were on foot.  The odors of cooking food were predominant, some pleasant, others not.  Store fronts were filled with things I had never seen before, large slabs of meat, still in animal form hung in one window, while delicate pastries adorned the next.  Tenements all seemed to have rod iron fire escapes and the front stoops were often accompanied with chairs and large Italians wearing some form of black.  Conversations were foreign and frequently held with neighboring stoop sitters and distance was of no matter.  It wasn't unusual for a head to hang out of a window to add their piece to the conversation. It was vibrant and electric with a loud energy to match it's occupants. The culture was evident and this was an area where everyone knew when an outsider was present.  They looked out for each other as though the entire domain was their family's domain.

My grandparents ran a small coffee shop in the bottom floor of the tenement they lived in and I was never allowed in there.  Our entire family would walk up what seemed like ten flights of stairs (but was probably only four) and we'd arrive at their floor.  Their apartment was small, maybe 500 square feet.  There was one bathroom and three bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room and all the furniture and lamp shades were covered in plastic.  The carpeted living room had a plastic runner where the traffic pattern would have worn through, had it been allowed.  Add to this picture, a clothesline extending from one building to the next. Their clothes were hung outside in the back alley to air dry. They used the bathroom to hang up stockings to dry. The balcony was used to grow tomatoes, grapes, and herbs, all were used in daily cooking. My grandfather actually made his own wine from those grapes. It was a different way of life that seemed alien to me but it was a lesson in culture. It was an adventure I looked forward to because it was so vastly different from what I lived.

Upon entry, I was greeted with a two handed face grasp and immediately following, a double, bubble cheek pinch and a kiss. I dreaded the cheek pinch because it actually hurt, but I knew what the reward was and so I endured. The reward sat on top of the fridge and each of us was promptly given either a pack of gum or a chunk of a giant Hershey bar. I think these were two "treats" that my grandparents were proud they could offer us and so they did it every time we visited. Their conversations were solely in Italian, so I never really understood what they were saying, as such, I would sit and watch.  It always seemed like they were fighting, but I came to recognize this as a trait many Italians shared.  With their reactionary, passionate, gesturing they would add emphasis to their point.  They were excitable and dramatic with a large dose of humor. Family, food and conversation made them happy.  It seemed as though there was always some sort of loud discussion taking place, accompanied by tremendous amounts of food, all with intense flavors.  While the language barrier prevented me from being able to have a conversation with my grandparents, I could feel the love every time I entered their doorway and the Hershey bar just sweetened the deal.

Work it

The vast majority of people will not read this and yet I struggle with my composition.  Why do I care?  Very few people will read this and yet, I am  a slave to the blog.  I've made a commitment and I do no want to fail.  I do not want to disappoint the few followers I have.  I am a victim of my own enslavement. Strapped to the keyboard with nothing but my own ideas.  Expression is usually a liberating experience but tonight it is my chore.  Something I am compelled to complete, like walking the dog or taking out the trash.  It has to get done, but I am remiss about my obligation. There are other things I would rather do tonight but I follow through with my task.  I am a slave to my blog and I will do as instructed but I will wish for better circumstances. Tonight is one of those nights where I hope for something better but I work with what I have.

There are times in all of our lives when we wish for a different landscape.  Give me flowers and I want trees.  Give me trees and I want fields.   Give me fields and I want sun.  Give me the sun and I want the moon.  Give me the moon and I want stars. Give me the stars and I want the words. Give me the words and I'll write you a script that delivers your dreams, but it's your task to decipher the dream from reality...there is always work to be done.

Strong Swimmer

If strength of character were measured by the depth of despair endured

Some would be an endless ocean and others would be a shallow puddle

This One's for Cancer and the Red Lipstick

You're words will be as stunning as the beauty you possess
You're fight will be portrayed with conviction and success
You're battle will be felt with significance and weight
and you're resonating message will impact the human race

This one's for my cousin Rosanne who is being honored tonight at a Relay for Life, kick off event. She will be a guest speaker at the event tonight as someone living with cancer. She inspires everyone who knows her story because she battles with such gallantry and grace. Despite her illness, she wakes up every morning with a spirited fortitude that even the most optimistic people would envy. She openly discusses every turn of her illness and endures her situation with poise and dignity. She refuses to let cancer define her as she continues to help others, while sustaining a multitude of treatments and trials. She is an intelligent, engaging, expressive individual whose compassion and selflessness conceal her illness. She offers, seemingly effortless, inspiration to others on a daily basis. She's the rainbow in the cancer ward, bending over backwards to bring a ray of hope to anyone who needs a little sunshine and color in their day. She amazes me every day and I wish I could be there tonight to hear her speak, it's sure to be an eloquent display with red lipstick to match her inner vibrancy.

nonsense

Please send me something
poetic if you could
I've written all this gibberish
and none of it is good
I've run into a block
that halts my writers hand
I'm rambling with nonsense
it's all so very bland
Please instigate a topic
agitate my mind
give me something solid
if you'd be so kind
I'm waiting for a whirlwind
to stir up something big
rustle up a brain storm
so I can close this gig

Sorry that's it for tonight...

Bringing Down the House

If something is free, do you use it generously with no regard for impending concerns?
Is there no reason to ponder the implications of "too much" ?
Words might be free to use, but there may be a future price to pay. 
"Think before you speak", is not just another idiom, there is real value in these words.
When will people learn, to employ some self control?
What does it take, to teach public figures how to use a filter when speaking in public?
 I'll go one step further and challenge everyone with this same question.  Do we all share how we really feel, all the time?  Are we free with our words and criticisms of others, when we know these thoughts are hurtful or insulting.  When asked for an opinion, are we always truthful or do we dilute our responses, choosing our words wisely and proceeding with some forethought?

You can't take words back.  Once they've been dispersed, there is no retraction. It matters not if they are written or spoken.  Although written words leave a trail, and spoken words have intonation, they both have impact and indelible after affects, so be cautious when spinning words.  Their after shocks can still cause tremors that may bring down the house.

There's Always Next Year

Ring me when you're better
When the loss, has lost it's sting
When the suffering subsides
and a brighter day it brings
It wasn't just the pass
that slipped through his hands
a season full of hope
was lost in the stands
Fault the thrower or the catcher
Neither lost the game
It's the whole team that lost it
It's a failure all should claim

So a city now in mourning
for a season played in vain
But the effort they put forth
is hardly cause for any shame
They made it to the end
and came up a little short
they still deserve some praise
and encouraging support
The loss will be reviewed
while the replays take their toll
but I'm sure we'll get em next year
in another Super Bowl

Superbowl Sunday

Superbowl Sunday...a quasi holiday.  Celebrated by most everyone, even those that are not football fans of the usual type.  The fair weather fans, like myself.  I watch the Superbowl for the fun that it brings with it, the parties, food, beverages and of course the commercials!!  Such an odd event that we need to gather for and yet some wouldn't miss it.  Tonight I was actually on the road at 6:30pm, so I missed the beginning of the game and you would have thought it was 1:00am.  The roads were absolutely desolate. Stores were closed and the establishments that were required to stay open maintained a skeleton crew.  Even I was given the night off, the after hours patrons at the club I work at, choosing to forgo their sports to watch others get physical. 
I am amazed at how seriously some take this, going so far as to consider a failed attempt a personal affront, as thought they are an actual part of the team, a participant of the disabled type, an entire stadium of bench warmers, all with a vested interest in the team's success.  So many of these fans have no real connection to the team and yet, they behave as though the team's accomplishments are their accomplishments and the team's shortcomings are as crushing as a hard hit.  A quarterback's intercepted pass is as equally inexcusable as a catcher's fumble. I watch and I enjoy the competition and the athleticism.  It's a game after all, just a game.
As the game winds down and there are only four minutes left, I too can't help but feel the excitement.  A two point spread and the pressure is palpable.  My team, the new England Patriots, are up and yet I am fearful, afraid for the city of Boston.  The extremes with which the fans will celebrate are painfully poignant and distinctly different and there it is, the Patriots lost.  A game they were favored to win, and they came up short and now our city is full of angry, disgruntled fans. I struggle to understand the injured egos that litter the stands at the games conclusion.  Their attitude mimicking the discarded trash that covers the stadium seats and floors, nasty, foul and rotten.  Nor do I identify with the New York Giants fans, brimming with pride and adulation for an entire network of athletes they have never met. Where is this deep rooted connection established and fostered.  Why is it so important and significant.  Why does it matter so much?  I would have loved to see the Patriots win, but the fact that they lost does not devastate me.  I am not appalled that they failed. A forty-six year tradition that leaves one city zealous and celebratory and another ...at a loss... and I am at a loss to understand.  It's a competition that has to end with one winner and one loser.  This does not change anything other than a  few records.  This does not alter anything.  Boston is still Boston and New York is still New York, two cities with a fierce competitive history that will continue to rebound.  It's just a game after all.

Blending

Beachy Blend

I had the pleasure of driving down the Cape with my two children today. It was a beautifully clear day, a bit brisk, but crisply refreshing. My son came home for the weekend and this was one thing he wanted to do. He needed his Popponesset fix and Kerrin and I went along for the ride. We of course had to take his Jeep Wrangler because that was the other fix he needed to satisfy while he was home. I'm not sure how many of my readers have driven on the highway in a Jeep Wrangler with only a soft top on, but it is loud. Luckily, Connor had his IPod plugged in so we had the music to drown out the drone of the engine.  His choice of music is a unique compilation of contemporary and older music, "mashed up" and spliced together. It takes quite a talent to figure out how to combine various genres and beats together and Connor loves this type of music. On the drive down the Cape, this was my first really lengthy exposure to this music and it took my by surprise. At first, I almost felt overstimulated and agitated but once I finally settled into the music, I was impressed with the skill it takes to know how to blend, what would seem to be, opposing styles together. Much like a chef whose knowledge of flavors leads him to a compliment of tastes and textures that sets a palatable menu to be savored.

All of this got me thinking about the whole idea of blending, and combining.  Mixing various extremes and uncovering a new prize and like a lightning bolt, it occurred to me, isn't that what all of us are, an amazing compilation of diversity. A melting pot of humanity that produces an entire universe of unique individuals, each a blend of ethnicity, culture, habitat, personality and DNA. Our parental composition determines what our talents are and the talents we offer allow us to blend into society and find what suits us best.

We are all derived from the same palette just mastered and mixed to various degrees giving us a blend of shades that make us a colorful society

Play Dumb

I had a secret.  I kept my secret for a while, a long while and then I BURST!!!.I could not contain myself any longer and I had to spill.  I was so proud of my self-control.  There were many times I was tempted to slip up and leak, but I kept my knowledge confidential.  I was not asked to keep the conversation quiet, but I felt it best to stay silent, knowledge is power after all, isn't it? 
Sometimes knowledge is a curse that can cause trepidation, but it is what you do with the knowledge that determines how smart you are. Use it for ill intent and it will come back to bite you. Do nothing with the knowledge and the end result matches the initiative expended, zero!!!  Keep it for future reference and now you have something.  Use the knowledge wisely and in a timely fashion and you can make things happen, but only use what you must when called for. This requires some fore-thought and instinct.  If you lack these, then you may as well, have no knowledge at all, because a missed window is a splattered mess.  No amount of clean up will open the window for the same breeze and a passed wind, stinks!  So, harbour the knowledge and spill it when the air is dry and thirsty for the spray.  Deliver it in dribs and drabs, careful not to saturate the subject.   A little knowledge goes a long way and when others say ignorance is bliss, simply smile and say, I know!

Surrender & Deal

In an instant things can change, literally, an instant and your entire life can be altered.  One accident and you can go from being a triathlete, to being a cripple who needs to walk with two canes.  One brief moment, and you could lose your job.  One slip up and your normal is history, a thing of the past that you remember and long for, and yet you know it is no longer attainable.  No matter how much yearning and passion you have for your past, it is just that, your past.  A new normal, maybe less desirable, but still new, is part of your every day existence.  You must adapt to the changes that have been disseminated upon you and yet, still, in an instant, this could also change.
Life is a variable.  There can be no expectation of routine, regularity, or dues.  We are given, not what we anticipate, nor what we deserve. 
We are surrendered to that which we are dealt, for a purpose we will grow to understand. 

Pressure Cooker

Pressure forces the issue...what it releases, is the true qualification of what's inside
Embrace it and it's fuel to the fire
Fail to it and you're cooked