"Your problem," she'd tell me, matter-of-factly, "is that you spread yourself too thin. You certainly can be a friend to a great many people, but you can be a better friend if you limit yourself to a very few."

She infuriated me when she said things like that, and she did it all the time. My mother, who has had three friends total that I can name. Back then there were only two. At least she preached what she practiced, my mom. But she's an introvert, doesn't like social gatherings, congregations, or celebrations. When I, her high school drop-out, graduated from college with a Bachelor of Arts degree, I had to demand her presence at my graduation... I'm only lucky that it wasn't an all-out fight to convince her to go.

A friend of mine, and I do have several, said something to me the other day that was perhaps the most moving compliment I've ever been given. She said that being around me was like being around a great flame, that joy spreads out from me and touches everyone within my radius. She said that when someone passes through my bubble, and then out again, life seems darker, tamed-down, and somewhat dulled in comparison. She said she has "comming down" time after her visits with me.

I've always been aware of having this kind of effect on people, but I had never had someone describe it in a way that was so very endearing and warmly delivered.

However, you know, it works both ways. One of my job responsibilities is incredibly depressing some days, and my boss mentioned that I'm only allowed to have good days, happy days,  from now on, because when I'm sad, the mood of the whole office changes. It's not fair really, to ask me to be "on" all the time. But it is true that if I even have a mellow day, where I'm not sad, but not feeling insanely enthusiatic, either, people ask what's wrong all day long. It's like they expect a constant act, a constant performance, a constant on.

I suppose I have indeed spread myself too thin. I've taken on so many friendships that I don't have time to maintain any of them as well as I'd like to. Each of the people I count as important to me deserves more of my attention and consideration than they are currently getting. I have so many hobbies that I barely have time to concentrate on any of them. I've always thought that to be able to play a great many games with a little bit of skill was better than to play a very few games incredibly well. But I don't play games to win, I play them for the fun of the time spent playing.

I don't know how to weed a garden of such wonderful friends, and so I suppose I shall continue without doing any weeding at all. Rather as a bee, flittering from one flower to another, spending bits of time enjoying the nectar of life together with each, before moving on to the next, always busy, always moving right along, and on it's way somewhere, returning another time, another day. It's a bit hectic, and I tend to prefer quality over quanity, as do the people I choose as my dearest companions.

What a kunundrum--oh, how I hated that she lectured me about spreading myself too thin, and how right she always eventually turns out to be... How can I light a room when I've had no time to rejuvenate? How can I be a dear friend, the kind of person I mean to be, if I've no time to catch up? How can I be on, if I've left myself no time to be off?

How do you weed the garden of life?

There's a particular noise the rake makes as I sweep up the decomposing waste from a now long forgotten autumnal harvest, the springy metal scraping welcoming in the fresh green sprigs of spring, who refuse to be confined under snow and dark earth for even one more day. When the noise of the rake is heard, it stirs people and blooms alike. Neighbors come out into their yards, assessing the toll the winter has taken, drawing up their own rakes and tending to their own general out-door spring clean-up. People smile, wave, and chat as they walk by, calling out greetings. Of all the seasons, spring is my favorite.

The ground is still damp under the leaves, the leaves still wet with the final bits of melting snow in the spots that the sun never seems to reach through the branches of chestnut and walnut trees. It hasn't stopped the bulbs from poking their leaves up through the soil, seeking the spots of sun that now finally reaches them for longer hours, bringing their blooms out to dazzle us. Tiny bits of cheery magic sprouting out everywhere in the richest shades of heaven.

The leaves on the apple trees out back are going to burst open and provide a shady spot for dogs to lay. I've a garden out there waiting to be filled with things that fill my heart with well-being. Cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, and pumpkins are on this years list, as well as sweet peas, rose transplanting, zinnias and sunflowers.

The roses are going to go in the ground here. They've traveled with me beginning in Spokane, to Terrace Heights, to Bellingham, and then to Hillsboro and Albany and now it's time to let go of them. They were special, memorial roses. There are 6 surviving. They are a pain in the ass to move from place to place. This spring, they are getting new homes in the earth, where I intend for them to live out the rest of their natural lives. It's more of a statement about being able to let go of things, on my part, than it is about my intention to stay put here. Either way--it feels quite a big statement, and it has a good deal of personal meaning that I won't go into. 

The sunflowers are a new variety I've found, while shopping for my sweet peas and zinnias. They are Del Sol sunflowers, and I had to have them. I might plant some in pots after I get the roses in the ground. If they are as beautiful as I expect them to be, they could be a very cheery gift when in full bloom! Sometimes a very cheery gift is just exactly the right thing to have on hand.

My neighbor has been very helpful around the yard, lends me tools and takes my yard waste to the dump with him when he goes. He saw me battling a hill of dirt in the corner, as it kept seeping down onto my porch and a few days later I went out and noticed that he had built up a rock border around the area to contain the dirt, and he had turned the soil inside the new border and made it easy for me to plant my primroses. The other neighbor lent me his leaf blower when I was having a hard time in between the shrubs...

Life and spring are beautiful. I refuse to look at the darkness any more; it is too easy to be entirely absorbed in the beautiful rebirth of the earth. I am refreshed by it, delighted by it, absorbed in it, and twitterpated with it. Spring is a wonderful season, and I intend to go get my hands dirty!

She leaned against the wall, pressing her forearm flat, and holding one palm outstretched, gripping the wall for balance. Snap! She shivered, and felt the tail of a dragon bite her left hip. She didn't have time to regain her composure, Snap!, before it bit her again, just barely breaking a line of skin across her ass cheek. A mark would only show up less than an inch long, but she felt more like 8 inches of contact. She whimpered, trying to stay upright, shifting the balance of her weight to one foot as her other knee buckled from under her. Oh, it turned her on; she moaned as much from being turned on as from the sting of the...Snap! Her shoulder burned as the stinger lashed across her flesh there. Oh God, she pressed into the wall, waiting for it to come again, a hundred shooting stars leaving burning trails of cosmic fire across her pale skin.

He said not to look, to keep her eyes shut and face away, but she glanced over her shoulder and back at him anyway. She shouldn't have. It was scary to see him, his weapons spread out in array before him; his stance as he prepared to lash her again, the calculating look he had in his eye, as he chose the next patch of unwelted skin to mark bitingly, as his. She kept her chin up and met his eyes, his eyes bore into her, but she refused to give. Somewhere, there was this one strand of her that burned more brightly than all the others, and it would not let her drop her gaze. He challenged her, and she took little joy in her slight but existent win. He drew his arm back, and she snapped her face back toward the wall. But she hadn't lost.

Bruises had begun to form under welts, and he admired them; enjoyed going over every inch of her flayed body, running his fingers across her tender flesh, pointing out this one and that; his love marks left as territorial visualistic memories. He kissed her deeply, roughly, bit her. She melted into him and he bit her jaw, held her still, his hand in her hair, and bit her harder, simply because she was his to bite. For the next week she wouldnt be able to rest her chin in her hand without getting wet over the thought of him.

The welts and bruises would remind her of him for weeks to come. She wouldn't sit, lie down to sleep, shower, or dress without inhaling the him that he left imprinted on her with his whips and crops. Deer hide, bison hide, bovine... She couldn't remember which was which or their proper names... They were all like a dragon whispering fire across her thighs, calves, hips, ass, and shoulders. Her tummy hadn't been spared, and the inside of her thigh was raw. It made her wet, trying to describe the beauty in the purple of her flayed skin. Every mark was empowering, each raised welt proof in the height of her exstasy, and his.

Well, then, make me yours she had said to him defiantly, petulently. And so he had; though it may not have been his intent. She would be wraped in his breath, his fire, his power, for weeks to come. She would be wrapped in the lashes of her lover, welted by his passion, bruised by his desire, cut by his blade and burned by his fire. Ultimately, she would be his, he had made sure of that years ago, and she had come back, as free as his slave could be. She had come back to revel in the cosmic fire of dragons breath, and it whispers across tenderness. She had come back to him.  

I think of him, weathered hands, strong from long days of working hard...Tired eyes, because he rises before the sun; and stares at it too long.

I think of him, wanting to show me his world, teaching me to be patient, to be calm, to wait for him. He is catching stars for me, and I think of him giving me the moon.

I think of him, his resonating words touching my soul long after they've been spoken, reminding me of his gaze unyielding as we struggle to determine who fits where.

I think of him and wait for him and hope for him that the ends of his previous ordeals will be put right, and then he will have time for me, that we might come closer together...

I think of him, and my heart beats for him;

I think of him--and I can think of no other.

[Note: this will undoubtedly mean very little to those of you in this world who do not recognize this "holiday" which is the one of the unfortunate side effects of an unabashed capitalistic society. However, if you like to break things, read on]

So, you've finally had enough, and you want to take action, but you are at a loss as of what kind of action to take. In a stroke of rare generosity, I have compiled a list of things you can do to make February 14 a tolerable, and even perhaps enjoyable, day for those of who refuse to be enslaved by commercialism.

1. Firebomb all the Hallmark card shops you can find. The greeting card industry created this "holiday" and the most effective way of ridding ourselves of it is to destroy it at the source. Greeting card shops sell primarily paper goods, and will burn quite efficiently.

2. Gather a large amount of sympathetic malcontents together and declare February 14 as a Day of Hate. Ridicule those who are less fortunate than you, refuel old ethnic hatred while encouraging the hate that already exists, explode an advertising binge of misanthropy. Be sure to be extremely vocal so as to get the attention of the media. Break lots of things with reckless abandon. Carry placards with catchy hateful slogans, such as "Hate Is Great", "Have You Exploited Someone Today?" and "#### Love". Hit the malls and be sure to torch all the greeting card shops {see (1)}. This will have the positive side effect of destroying the malls where today's vacuous youth, extremely vulnerable to advertising, run rampant like a bad case of hives.

3. Upon coming in contact with aforementioned amourous starry-eyed couples, proceed to exclaim loudly to either one, "Why didn't you call me! You told me our passionate night together was only the beginning?! Who the hell is *this* cretin? Don't you know that s/he could never love you like I can?! You're coming with *me*!" Etc., ad nauseum. Be very animated, and feel free to physically get in between these two clueless sots. To be especially effective, do your research ahead of time and seek out certian couples. Learn their names, their habits and lifestyles, and capitalize on this. By ruining their holiday of love together, you will be adding them to the ranks of bitter V.D. malcontents.

You get the picture. Refuse to be passive! Join the ranks of the angry, the bitter, the angstful, and smash this day into oblivion. You'll thank me for it in the end, I guarantee.

(I didn't write this...don't know who did. I read it a few years ago, edited it to better suit me, and made it my Valentine's Day mantra... Props to it's original creator.)