<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609</id><updated>2011-09-10T08:52:06.130-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Becca's Magic Pencil</title><subtitle type='html'>Becca's Magic Pencil talks about Becca Butcher and her adventures in this writing life.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>50</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5996252487422995761</id><published>2010-12-13T11:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T11:15:55.892-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reinventing the Wand</title><content type='html'>Hi.  Sorry I haven't been here in a while.  Got distracted by Wordpress and Facebook.  But I'm back and I promise not to leave you again.  So what's going on?  How are you? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to figure out some plot points.  I did participate in NaNoWriMo this year.  I did not hit 50K words but I made an attempt, so I still view that as a success.  At least I sat down and started writing.  And I wrote more in that one month than I have in one stretch ever before.  The story is workable but it needs tweaked a bit.  At the moment I'm revisiting a short story.  I'm adding another character so it should be interesting to see how it turns out.  Once I get that one under control the novella will get dusted off.  It should have sat long enough it will look like someone else wrote it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope your writing is going well.  I'll be back soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Writing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5996252487422995761?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5996252487422995761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5996252487422995761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5996252487422995761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5996252487422995761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2010/12/reinventing-wand.html' title='Reinventing the Wand'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-1125491244478552552</id><published>2009-06-28T22:47:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T23:36:51.687-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Love or Money</title><content type='html'>What motivates you? Is it money? Love? The thrill of the hunt? Do you play the game for the fun of playing or do you play to win? I hear writers say they get asked, Why do you write? As a writer I can answer that the same way all my writer friends do: I can't Not write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My entire life I have been happiest when I was making something. I learned needlepoint and thread crafts at an early age, my mother's attempts to keep my nose out of a book and make me socialize. I can sew, crochet or embroider pretty much anything. I've built small pieces of furniture, put together innumerable jigsaw puzzles, framed windows and walls, even rebuilt a carburetor for a 1963 Nash Rambler. I can draw and paint and string multiple notes together without needing a bucket to carry them in. I've made my own wax candles and bath salts and lip balm. I can make magic with my own two hands. I can cook manicotti that grown men will fight over. And when I put my pencil to paper I can write words that will inspire you, make you laugh or cry, turn you on or tick you off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This uncontrollable desire to create something has been a part of my chemistry since birth. Reading is the only thing I devote as much focus to as creating. Where does the motivation come from? I couldn't tell you. I'm not really concerned about where it comes from as long as it keeps coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A writer friend turned me on to a quote from Pearl S. Buck about creating. He said it pretty much summed him up. I would have to agree, for him and myself. See what you think....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The truly creative mind, in any field, is no more than this: a human born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To him, a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create-so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency, he is not really alive unless he is creating."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are as many motives for actions as there are actions to be made. They are not always something we need to question or define. If you do know your motivations, you are probably ahead of the game. Not many people who feel the need to know have the courage to look honestly in the mirror for the answers. In my case, writing is something in my blood, an insatiable craving for the printed word and the pictures, dreams and passions that are painted onto the page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep in mind that motivation is the Why. Inspiration is the What. I'll save that for the next blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-1125491244478552552?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/1125491244478552552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=1125491244478552552' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1125491244478552552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1125491244478552552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/06/what-motivates-you-is-it-money-love.html' title='Love or Money'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7333828750500995305</id><published>2009-06-21T09:05:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T09:23:57.871-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy's Girl</title><content type='html'>I have always been my daddy's little girl.  Dad played Santa Claus a lot when I was little.  I learned early the value of making people smile.  He also played guitar and was a disc jockey, where I get my love of music from.  As a child I would not sleep unless dad was home.  Nights he was at the radio station my mother would turn on a radio in my room so I could hear Dad's voice.  He would talk to me on-air. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also get my irreverent sense of humor from my dad.  He would bring me records (yes, I still have vinyl)  of Dr. Demento to listen to in my room.  And he was a huge fan of Wierd Al Yankovic and Cletus T Judd.  Our favorite comedy was Spaceballs.  The first movie Dad took me to the theatre to see was The Buddy Holly Story.  It was a close second to The Blues Brothers on our favorites list.  I remember coming home from school and telling jokes I had heard on the bus.  Mom would make me tell Dad just to see him blush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been over a year since Daddy passed.  There are days it feels like it was yesterday.  There are also days I feel his presence around me, a quiet comfort when I need him.  I am happy he's in a better place, with no pain or sickness, with all the family that went before him that he missed so dearly.  There are still days when wish I could cry on his shoulder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love and miss you, Old Man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Father's Day to all of you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7333828750500995305?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7333828750500995305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7333828750500995305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7333828750500995305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7333828750500995305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/06/daddys-girl.html' title='Daddy&apos;s Girl'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3061649269365710018</id><published>2009-06-15T20:21:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T20:50:52.290-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Talk without Words</title><content type='html'>Ready for an intimate conversation?  What does that mean?  Being intimate doesn't have to be about having sex.  It's about closeness, sharing things with another person that no one else is privy to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mean the generic, everyday detritus of life.  That's companionship, a different animal all together.  Companionship is having someone to go shopping with, do dishes with, a friend to hang out with.  Intimacy requires more emotional commitment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It can be someone you trade deep, dark secrets with, or someone you snuggle with on rainy afternoons, or the person you sit up all night with when one of you needs to vent.  It's the person who touches you briefly in a crowded room just to let you know they're there if you need them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know which people in your life are companions and which are intimate friends?  Do you have both?  Do you know which ones you need and which ones you want?  Do you have the temerity to admit what you're looking for?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3061649269365710018?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3061649269365710018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3061649269365710018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3061649269365710018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3061649269365710018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/06/talk-without-words.html' title='Talk without Words'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3271786586512054573</id><published>2009-05-31T22:47:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T23:33:42.765-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sentimental Journey</title><content type='html'>I've been gone way too long from here.  Didn't realize how long it had been since I wrote a new blog.  I have helped open a new store, cut open my hand on a really big deli slicer, pulled out my own stitches.  I have also been cleaning out my storage unit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found things I forgot I owned.  Some things are keepsakes from my family, items that remind me of relatives both loved and missed.  Some things are reminders of things I would like to forget.  I found my grandmother's china, the family bibles, Dad's novelty ties.  I found the giant inflatable penguin with the Christmas decorations, my collection of lingerie, my wedding dress. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Standing in the heat and humidity in the middle of that room I cried, cussed, laughed hysterically.  I asked questions to the air that I know I will never get answers to.  While I'm not as far down the road to independence as I would like to be, I'm getting a lot closer.  I'm letting go of baggage, trying to let go of emotions that are not useful, not healthy.  I can't carry it anymore.  I'm trying to take flight, and it's just a burden I don't need to carry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's taking a lot of effort to break the habit.  It's easy to cling to emotions that are familiar.  New emotions are exciting, scary, addictive.  But it takes time for connections to form.  The old stuff is what I'm used to, even if it is bad for me.  But I will keep trying, keep working on letting go of the negative and finding the positive.  I will no longer hide in the shadows of who I used to be.  I'm stepping out into the light.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3271786586512054573?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3271786586512054573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3271786586512054573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3271786586512054573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3271786586512054573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/05/sentimental-journey.html' title='Sentimental Journey'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-568249771124040365</id><published>2009-04-18T18:19:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-18T19:22:35.468-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Missed Opportunities</title><content type='html'>How many things can you think of that you wanted to try and never did?  Do you remember why you didn't?  I can think of several things I never tried.  My mother was really good at making me feel like I would never accomplish anything.  Being taught to fear failure makes it hard to achieve.  Setting your own obstacles in your path makes it difficult, also.  You can't prevent yourself from achieving the little goals and expect to reach the big ones.  You're setting yourself up to fail.  And you can't let other people convince you that you're not good enough to reach the little goals or the big ones. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The trick is finding the fire inside of you that makes you want to achieve regardless to how many people say you can't do it.  The desire to do something or find something or be with someone has to be so strong that you feel you will die if you don't reach that goal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to ask yourself, "Am I strong enough to take that next step?" Are you willing to take a risk and step outside of your comfort zone? Are you ready to set aside your fear to reach for your destiny? How do you know if you don't ask yourself the question?  How do you know if you don't take that first step, take that small risk?  Small ones lead to big ones.  You have to start somewhere. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are several things I would like to do right now.  Are they impossible?  Hell, No!  Are they impractical at the present time?  Yes, Damn it!  That doesn't change the fact that I'm afraid of falling on my face.  Nor does it change the fact that I want to stand on my own without fear. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What it means is that I will save and plan and calculate and work my ass off until I can do those things.  Anyone can tell me I won't achieve my goals.  I am the only one who will stop me from achieving them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere in my future, fear will become obsolete.   I will push the debris out of my way, and run defiantly in the face of my opposition.  I won't fear what will happen if I fly there and meet him.  I will fly there and see what happens in person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-568249771124040365?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/568249771124040365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=568249771124040365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/568249771124040365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/568249771124040365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/04/missed-opportunities.html' title='Missed Opportunities'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7052626813881492300</id><published>2009-04-12T11:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T12:28:28.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Here's your sign...</title><content type='html'>Patience is a virtue.  We've all heard this.  I've written about patience before.  I don't have a lot of it.  It's one of the things I'm working on.  I'm also working on recognizing signs.  I don't believe in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;coincedences&lt;/span&gt;.  I believe things happen for reasons.  I've also written about how people come and go in our lives for reasons.  I'm still hoping for someone to come along to help me learn some patience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've been following my blog, you know by now that I'm recovering from a bad relationship and a misguided childhood.  I'm seeing things more clearly than ever before.  Those of you who know me from The Writer's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Chatroom&lt;/span&gt; know that I'm a flirt.  It's fun and for the most part harmless.  I've been flirting with a lot of people lately, some close, some far away, some new, some I've been flirting with a long time.  It's like playing Cat &amp;amp; Mouse, which I've also blogged about.  The game can be fun, but everybody has to play along.  I'm not one for playing those games for long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I've figured out what I want.  And I DON'T WANT TO WAIT FOR IT!  I want something real, something close enough to touch.  I want someone who already knows what he wants, and how to recognize it when he finds it.  I don't want to have to drag him in front of his own mirror so he can fix his own problems.  He should have done that by now.  When the right man comes along I hope I recognize him for who and what he is.  And I hope he sees in me what and who I truly am.  Because when that happens, true magic comes to life.  The magical energy of two hearts perfectly in tune with each other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a writer I play What If a lot.  But playing What If with my heart is a tricky game.  I can dream up dozens of scenarios where I first meet him.  The One.  I don't know if I've already come across him or if he's waiting for me to find him.  But I'm not going to wait forever on what Might Be.  I'm going to push the boundaries of my comfort zone and go in search of What Is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7052626813881492300?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7052626813881492300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7052626813881492300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7052626813881492300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7052626813881492300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/04/heres-your-sign.html' title='Here&apos;s your sign...'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7417760146312885590</id><published>2009-03-30T22:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T23:18:14.016-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Tests of Strength</title><content type='html'>Since I survived flying to Arizona and back I have felt this strange need to prove myself.  I want to test my own strength, emotionally and mentally.  I am sitting in a hotel room in a town I walked away from when my marriage ended.  Rumor has it the Ex is still working here.  I found myself telling a friend today that I hope I run into him, figuratively.  I have been back here since the break-up.  It feels different this time.  I'm not the same person.  I was still deeply mourning the end of my marriage the last time I was here.  Now I see the real me in this place where my life changed forever.  I still have a wound from that change.  But I'm getting stronger, healthier, happier.  I know now that I won't fall apart if I see him.  I'm not going to be petty and juvenile and flip him the bird.  I might gloat a bit that the 2-store operation he walked away from has now grown to 8 stores.  I guess he just wasn't strong enough to stick with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personal strength is something to think about.  I'm not talking about physical force or stamina.  I'm talking about strength of conviction, faith, being able to recognize what you need and how to get it regardless to how hard it may be.  The Ex wasn't strong enough.  He had no faith in his own abilities.  He put on a good show, and believe me he could sell the show.  He could sell ice to an Eskimo and make him think he needed it.  But he couldn't sell the show to himself because he knew it was a lie.  He wasn't strong enough to look in the mirror.  Now I can see that.  I wasn't ready to see it then.  I wasn't strong enough to face that reality.  Until now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking for someone who has some strength.  Are you strong enough to look in the mirror?  Can you see the options before you and make that decision to follow your heart?  Where is the man who is strong enough to take on a woman who is not only looking in her mirror, but talking back to it? Are you strong enough to be my man?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7417760146312885590?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7417760146312885590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7417760146312885590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7417760146312885590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7417760146312885590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/test-of-strength.html' title='Two Tests of Strength'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-486244195149605908</id><published>2009-03-19T22:00:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T22:53:34.613-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Excuse me....</title><content type='html'>May I have your attention?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you. I like attention. I don't have to be the center of attention, but I do enjoy not being ignored. Something that does irritate me is when someone does some little thing to see who's paying attention, and they do it over and over and over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell ya, if you are interesting enough to catch my attention, you don't need to pester the crap out of me to see if I'm paying attention to you. Try speaking to me. I like conversation, and it takes two of us to have one. And if you are really interesting (you know, a DJ voice, good with your hands, a nice ass), you don't have to try to get my attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You already have it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-486244195149605908?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/486244195149605908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=486244195149605908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/486244195149605908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/486244195149605908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/excuse-me.html' title='Excuse me....'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3308603860820611620</id><published>2009-03-16T07:31:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T07:31:59.333-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Trivial Pursuits</title><content type='html'>Did you know...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my favorite colors:  any shade of purple, acid green, deep flame orange, lemon yellow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my new favorite song:  Wait For Me by Theory of a Deadman  (thanks Pam!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my favorite games:  PuttPutt, Texas Hold 'Em, Canasta, Pool  (you'll notice Head Games are not on the list....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my favorite TV shows:  any CSI, Paranormal State, GhostHunters&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3308603860820611620?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3308603860820611620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3308603860820611620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3308603860820611620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3308603860820611620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/trivial-pursuits.html' title='Trivial Pursuits'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7616434186890938126</id><published>2009-03-10T20:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-10T20:38:55.697-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting What You Want</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;You can't always get what you want&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You can't always get what you want&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You can't always get what you want&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But if you try sometimes well you might find&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You get what you need&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know the difference between Need and Want?  Need implies necessity.  There are 4 basic Needs: food, air, water and shelter.  Beyond that are more complex needs like acceptance, friendship and love.  Want is not the same as Need.  Want is driven by a different set of values.  Want is what we would do under ideal circumstances: I Want a Corvette, I Want to dance like Cheryl Burke, I Want to afford Chanel handbags&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Want goes beyond the material stuff.  Everyone Wants to be understood, to be heard, to be vindicated when wronged.  Each of us Wants to know we are liked by others, cared for and desired by others. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will we die without these Wants?  No.  I can be perfectly happy with my Chevy Cavalier and the Army green duffel bag I rogued from my aunt.  I have the basics covered.  I have the things I Need. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are still some things I Want.  I Want a Harley Trike.  I Want a house on a hill overlooking the beach.  I Want a man who will still Want me when we are old and cranky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The things we Need will come to us when they are supposed to.  But sometimes you get the opportunity to grab onto something you Want. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question is will you be ready to grab it and hold on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7616434186890938126?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7616434186890938126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7616434186890938126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7616434186890938126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7616434186890938126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/getting-what-you-want.html' title='Getting What You Want'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-4512511399439877877</id><published>2009-03-06T23:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T19:51:40.341-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Live Like You've Got a Set</title><content type='html'>What motivates you? What sets off your fight or flight response? What makes you stand your ground or run and hide? What scares you? Why do you play games with people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a lot of motivations lately. I want to stand on my own and be responsible for myself. I want to be ready to be an equal partner in my next relationship. I want to express myself in whatever manner works for me. I want my voice to be heard. I want to get healthier so I don't end up sick like my parents were. Besides, healthier people have better sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;When something scares you, I mean real gut-wrenching fear, do you meet it head-on? or do you look for somewhere to hide, someone to cast blame on? Dealing with fear is a lot like dealing with choices. You have to own it, don't let it own you. Be the kind of person who has the cahones to face fear and do what needs done without causing more drama.  Forgive me, but I'm gonna quote a Harry Potter movie: Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Let's look at an example: some people are afraid to love, to get close to someone, to let another person see them for who they truly are. With this mindset, love itself becomes the enemy. I'm afraid of getting that close to someone and I've got the cahones to say it. I own my fear. I'm a lot stronger than I used to be, but the thought of letting someone close enough to break my heart again makes my nerves scream. When someone starts getting close, I want them closer, but I'm afraid to pull them in. It's normal to fear being hurt. But I won't let that fear control me. I will reach out to that person. I will take that risk because I refuse to miss out on the opportunity to find something that just might be the love of my life. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Why do some people feel the need to create drama? What does it mean if a person claims she/he can't stand drama, yet she/he is the one who pushes all the buttons to create the drama? Why would you want to do that to yourself? Do people really enjoy inflicting that kind of pain on themselves and the people around them? That's the thing I don't get. Whether you fight or run, why put yourself in the position to have to choose? It's a complete and utter waste of energy. Let that baggage go. Let go of the emotion that's tied up in making yourself and the other person miserable. Clean that mess up, then you have some room for some happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I just don't understand why people want to make themselves miserable. I want to be happy. I want to be loved. I want to know someone desires me as much as I desire him. That's basically what the human condition boils down to. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-4512511399439877877?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/4512511399439877877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=4512511399439877877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4512511399439877877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4512511399439877877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/live-like-youve-got-set.html' title='Live Like You&apos;ve Got a Set'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-1016115766381636583</id><published>2009-03-01T20:00:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T00:14:43.944-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Sweat the Small Stuff</title><content type='html'>I can usually tell when I've gone too long without meditating. I get irritable, moody. Little things irritate me more quickly than usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, meditating helps relieve stress, helps me focus, helps me deal with a lot of issues. It gives me a chance to concentrate on a particular issue, or on nothing at all. Meditating is a lot like praying. You close your eyes, ask for guidance and have a little faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned to meditate after the loss of my mother and grandmother to a car accident. It was the only thing that kept me sane. It helped me deal with the grief, the anger, and helped me see things I hadn't seen before. I've meditated a good bit since the demise of my marriage. Probably not as much as I should have considering my mood of late. It's safe to say I'm still grieving for what I thought I had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't meditated much lately for several reasons. Even though each one would be valid, they still sound like excuses. I need to meditate so I can deal with the last of the baggage from the Ex. I haven't let go completely. I've not let go because I don't have the answer to a question. The issues on both sides cancel each other out but they still don't answer that one question. I will probably never hear an answer to that question. And I have to learn to live with that. It's just another piece of baggage that needs to be taken to the curb with the trash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I can not take responsibility for the Ex's actions. I did not make the choices that led me to my aunt's doorstep a year ago. What I can own up to are the choices I've made since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I choose to live my life the way I want. I choose to let people get close or not. I choose to let the real me shine through. This is my life. I will have faith in myself to be strong enough to live it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-1016115766381636583?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/1016115766381636583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=1016115766381636583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1016115766381636583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1016115766381636583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-can-usually-tell-when-ive-gone-too.html' title='Don&apos;t Sweat the Small Stuff'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3966027944304039025</id><published>2009-02-25T22:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T23:08:47.139-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Staying Power</title><content type='html'>What's the longest you've ever done something?  Grade school lasts 12 years.  College can be 4 to 12 years, especially if you can't decide on a major.  Marriages can last a few months or a lifetime.  Jobs can be just jobs or they can be careers.  What makes us do something for that long?  What gives us that staying power? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently read an article from Cosmopolitan that said loving and being in love are two distinct things, especially for men.  When a man is in love he doesn't see small imperfections in his new mate.  Everything is new and exciting and holds the attention, but only for a short time.  Loving, on the otherhand, means he sees his mate for who she really is and not who he wants her to be.  If he has staying power, he will still be around when the new wears off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am currently at a crossroads.  If you've been following my blogs, you know I've been a bit hostile of late.  A lot of emotions are churning right now.  I'm working through them.  I've figured out that the Ex was not the man for me.  And I'm not looking for Mr Right at the moment.  Who knows?  I may have met him already.  Or maybe I'll meet him sometime soon.  Either way, when the time is right, the right man will find me and see me for who I am. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've heard it said by many, 'If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life.'  I love writing.  Those close to me know this.  I also enjoy my day job.  But I have to decide if it's just going to be the 'day job' or if it is the career I'm looking for.  There is lots of opportunity with the job.  And I am working for a friend.  Is it possible to have two careers at the same time?  I think I may have to find out for myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always remember to check your mirror before you start down any path.  Make sure you know your map, your directions, even if you're winging it you have to have an idea of where you're going.  There are many paths in front of me and I've got my walking shoes on.  Time for the next step.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3966027944304039025?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3966027944304039025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3966027944304039025' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3966027944304039025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3966027944304039025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/staying-power.html' title='Staying Power'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6059880801762225549</id><published>2009-02-23T22:11:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T22:43:44.663-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Complicated</title><content type='html'>This blog is something a little different.  Now that I've decided to let the Ex pay for the divorce, I've realized how much baggage I've been hanging onto.  There were some things I needed to say, to him, to myself.  So I wrote a couple of letters......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Frank,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many things I need to tell you.  There are times I would like to scream and cuss and call you names.  But that's only a small band-aid on a gaping wound. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I hear a song and I remember things about you.  Even after all this time I can still recall the feel of your skin, how your hair feels right after it's cut, your scent, the taste of your lips. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not all of the time we spent together was bad.  There were times when we were almost happy.  I don't think either of us was capable at the time of being truly happy.  We were so busy running away from our parents that we didn't see that we'd become our parents.  Neither of us had good role models for relationships. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved you the best way I knew how.  I knew our relationship wasn't perfect.  But I honestly did not know you wanted out so badly.  The person I was could not see what was in front of her.  So you did the one thing you knew I could not forgive you for.  I have to say the way you ended our relationship was cowardly.  You could have told me instead of hurting me the way you did.  I wouldn't have hurt you like that for anything in the world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you left me at Cindi's, I felt lost, abandoned.  It was like my entire world had been ripped away.  There are times when my heart still breaks at the thought of you.  I still don't understand how you could just walk away after all those years together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to stay angry over this.  That's why I'm writing you this letter, to let it go.  I thought I finished grieving over our marriage.  But I still have some wounds to heal.  I'm still angry about the way you broke things off.  You had no right to hurt me the way you did.  We agreed at the beginning to walk away if we thought we could find something better.  Why couldn't you just walk away?  I thought you were a better man than that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Becca,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, Girl!  You have stirred up some shit this time.  Come on over here to the mirror and let's try to fix this.  What do you see? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see a very sad woman who's afraid of being alone.  She wants so desperately to stand on her own, but she's afraid of failing.  And she just realized that was her mother's voice in the back of her head.  Why should I be afraid of doing something new?  I've never stood completely on my own.  I might do damn good at it if I give myself a chance.  But first I have to do some cleaning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a lot of baggage to take to the curb.  Good memories can stay, but the painful ones need to go.  All that self-doubt needs to be bagged up and tossed, too.  It's time to kick yourself in the ass and get moving.  So you're not where you wanted to be at this point in life.  Do you think you're the only one in that position?  The question is what are you going to do about it????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've let my mother's dysfunctional thinking take control again.  I AM NOT MY MOTHER!!!!   Say it again.  I AM NOT MY MOTHER!  One more time to make sure you start believing it.  I AM NOT MY MOTHER!!!!!   Now, that should feel better.  Next issue...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, mom has tainted my thinking again.  I let my guard down.  I'm human.  There's a lot of irons in my fire at the moment.  It's time to get them in order.  I used to be very anal retentive.  Only slightly OCD, but bad enough.  Now I've gone so far in the other direction, I'm losing focus.  I need to find the middle ground where I can keep things moving and still keep them in order.  It's time to put old fears aside.  I'm not the same person anymore.  Why should I act like her? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he broke my heart.   He made me angry.  That doesn't mean he gets to ruin all of my time now.  He's not the issue anymore.  Let go of him and the baggage around him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Step out of the comfort zone and get your ass in gear!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6059880801762225549?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6059880801762225549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6059880801762225549' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6059880801762225549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6059880801762225549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/its-complicated.html' title='It&apos;s Complicated'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-236787909119384492</id><published>2009-02-22T07:51:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T08:31:51.290-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Matters of Principle</title><content type='html'>I recently blogged about not procrastinating.  I have been debating with myself lately, not to mention my aunt and a good friend, about filing the divorce papers.  After a LOT of thinking, I've conceded once again that they are right.  If the Ex wants a divorce, let him pay for it.  I originally thought that I just wanted to get it over with, get some closure.  But why should I have to pay him to leave?  He wanted this separation.  He wanted to throw away 14 years.  He wanted to spend time with a woman twice his age. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My ties to him have been cut as cleanly as they can be.  I haven't been seeing other people because "technically" I'm still married.  But you know what?  To hell with all of it.  Why should I put my life on hold anymore?  Why should I wait for him to do something?  There is no reason for me to contest the divorce when it happens.  And right now, there is no big reason to get it done.  I'm not rushing to get married again.  So as a matter of principle, I am not filing the divorce the papers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been seeing anyone, but I have played some Cat and Mouse.  I've blogged on that also.  I said that you have to play both sides.  One person can't be the only one doing the chasing.  If you want to play, you have to be willing to chase me, too.  That means on principle, I won't chase anymore until the favor is returned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-236787909119384492?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/236787909119384492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=236787909119384492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/236787909119384492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/236787909119384492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/matters-of-principle.html' title='Matters of Principle'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3600013215788980217</id><published>2009-02-13T22:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T23:04:56.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'>All I want for Valentines....</title><content type='html'>What do I want for Valentine's?  What am I looking for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll try to make this short, but no promises....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 1. you don't have to be a movie star, just be healthy&lt;br /&gt; 2. be strong enough to stand beside me&lt;br /&gt; 3. know when to offer your support and when to just let me be&lt;br /&gt; 4. take my breath away with one word, one look, one touch&lt;br /&gt; 5. surprise me&lt;br /&gt; 6. know the difference between romance and sex&lt;br /&gt; 7. be honest with yourself, it's the only way you can be honest with me&lt;br /&gt; 8. don't be afraid to be yourself&lt;br /&gt; 9. know how to carry on a conversation&lt;br /&gt;10. enjoy the things we share, respect the things that make us different&lt;br /&gt;11. make me laugh&lt;br /&gt;12. be confident in yourself&lt;br /&gt;13. don't whine, change what you don't like&lt;br /&gt;14. don't hesitate, don't back down, don't regret&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not looking for Prince Charming, he was spoiled.  I'm looking for someone real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3600013215788980217?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3600013215788980217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3600013215788980217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3600013215788980217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3600013215788980217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/all-i-want-for-valentines.html' title='All I want for Valentines....'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5670683908929949633</id><published>2009-02-13T20:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T21:18:09.707-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Will you be my Valentine?</title><content type='html'>What is this holiday about?  Hallmark cards and chocolate?  Singing stuffed animals?  Cheesy lingerie you won't wear again until next year?  Take a few minutes to look and you will see that the event began as a pagan festival in Roman times called Lupercalia.  It was three days in February to release evil spirits and make room for health and fertility through nude dancing and drinking.  Doesn't sound so bad.  So how in hell did we end up with chocolate hearts and stuffed dogs singing Love Machine? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However you celebrate Valentine's Day, take some time this weekend to think about what it really means to you.  A chance to celebrate your relationship?  To show your appreciation to your partner for all they do?  At the root of the modern version of this day, what does love mean to you?  This is not the easiest question to answer.  I think I need to make a list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 1. knowing when to say you're sorry&lt;br /&gt; 2. knowing when to say nothing at all&lt;br /&gt; 3. saying everything with a single touch&lt;br /&gt; 4. being supportive even when you know they're doing something wrong&lt;br /&gt; 5. having the cahones to tell them they're wrong&lt;br /&gt; 6. having the strength to stand together&lt;br /&gt; 7. being able to admit when they're right&lt;br /&gt; 8. knowing that no matter how bad it may look, you'll get through it together&lt;br /&gt; 9. knowing that anything worth having is worth fighting to keep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about it.  Make your own list.  Maybe you need to change the way you celebrate.  If you do decide to dance naked in honor of Lupercus, stay sober enough to enjoy it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5670683908929949633?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5670683908929949633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5670683908929949633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5670683908929949633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5670683908929949633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/will-you-be-my-valentine.html' title='Will you be my Valentine?'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7930657153999953292</id><published>2009-02-11T08:46:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T21:51:00.068-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll gladly pay you Tuesday....</title><content type='html'>I feel like procrastinating this morning. I need ink cartridges for my printer. At the same time I want to finish something I've been saying I can't wait to do for the last 3 months. I'm printing and filling out the divorce papers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been trying to break the habit of procrastinating in a lot of areas. I'm getting better, but sometimes it's just easier, aka less painful, to fall back on the safety net and put things off. I signed up for an online dating service. Haven't seriously participated because I'm not divorced yet. I play poker with some single guys that I might enjoy spending time with, but I'm not divorced yet. I have a new friend who lives a really long ways away from me. We've been talking quite a bit for several months. In our own ways, we have both used each other as a safety net because we are so far apart. I don't have an issue with him for it and I hope he forgives me for my part in it. Besides, I'm still not divorced yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole legally single thing is an issue for me, and yes I use it as a safety net to delay having to join the dating scene. I know I don't have to be with someone to be happy. And I have found the place where I'm happy with who I am. There is no relationship with the Ex nor do I want one. I haven't seen him since the day he dropped me off at my aunt's house. Honestly I'm glad. I found a voice message in my Yahoo Messenger that he had sent me a few months before things broke down. I forgot it was there. Listened to it. I wanted to write this after I heard it but it's taken me 4 damn days to get this far. Even now, as much as I want to be free of him and all the associated baggage, I'm crying as I write this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closure is hard. It hurts as much as the break-up. I know I'm strong enough now to get through this. I can't move forward with new business until the old is finished. As much as it hurts, I'm ready to let go. I'm ready to shed the last of that baggage. I'm finally ready, admittedly scared as hell but ready, to stand on my own. February is supposed to be a time to celebrate love. Well, I'm going to celebrate Valentines by making room in my life for a new love. A new love, new experiences, new happiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But first, I need ink cartridges for my printer......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7930657153999953292?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7930657153999953292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7930657153999953292' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7930657153999953292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7930657153999953292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/02/ill-gladly-pay-you-tuesday.html' title='I&apos;ll gladly pay you Tuesday....'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-8182833687518580974</id><published>2009-01-30T23:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T00:08:47.427-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost and Found</title><content type='html'>What was the last thing you lost?  Did you find it? Have you ever gotten lost?  Did you ask for help? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loss can have a major effect on us.  Over the course of my marriage I lost many things.  Cars that didn't last, belongings left in places I moved out of, keepsakes that can never be replaced.  It does me no good to hold a grudge against the Ex over those losses.  Mistakes were made on both sides in that relationship.  I'm trying to let go of that and not repeat those mistakes.  When the relationship fell apart, I felt like I had lost my best friend.  I lost the companionship, the closeness we shared, all the emotion that had been put into the relationship was lost.  I lost the will to write because of that pain.  Even journalling took an effort I didn't want to expend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I stopped clinging to the shredded remains of my heart, I found that my heart was still beating.  I found that although I was still missing things about that relationship, the Ex was not one of those things.  I found that what I thought I had was not what I was really looking for to begin with.  I also found that I was not who I thought I was.  My true self was inside all along, waiting for me to rediscover it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we need a little help, some directions to help us find our way.  My aunt has helped me find my path out of my emotional labyrinth.  I have seen myself through her eyes.  The real me is clawing her way to the surface and breathing fresh air for the first time in years.  I've had help from others, also.  Friends that have been supportive and offered directions, a few who have shone a light on the fact that I am alive and well without the Ex.  I have found new friends that love me as I am, funny and sexy and quirky as that is.  I've found that I don't have to have those 'things' to be happy.  I don't have to carry around someone else's baggage to be happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still miss some things, someone to whisper to at the movies, a hand to hold on a slow walk in the park, the touch of lips on my skin.  But I know those things are possible.  A good friend showed me that I won't be alone forever.  I hope to help my friends find the same possibilities.  Some things are better off staying lost.  There is usually something better waiting to be found.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-8182833687518580974?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/8182833687518580974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=8182833687518580974' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/8182833687518580974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/8182833687518580974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/01/lost-and-found.html' title='Lost and Found'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-2540095789913928493</id><published>2009-01-25T18:16:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T18:54:22.661-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Regroup and Recharge</title><content type='html'>As you may have noticed I haven't posted a new blog in a while.  The day job has gone haywire and I'm trying to keep up.  Things are starting to fall into place for that part of my life.  I'm almost to the point I should be.  I've been travelling off and on for the last 3 weeks.  I don't have a problem with it, it just makes me tired.  I'm back to my normal schedule this week  so I'm taking some time to regroup.  My to-do list is still a half-mile long, but more of what's on it is all mine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regrouping for me is also recharging.  You can't run the batteries down and expect your toys to still play.  Energy has to be replenished.  This means I'm going to make more time to meditate and light my candles.  I'll get back on schedule with the Tai Chi I practice.  And hopefully I'll find some time to finally do my nails.  I will also work damn hard to make some writing time.  I need to write to purge the baggage that builds up from everyday contact with people.  Most of it is easy to slough off.  Some people leave you wanting to go wash your hands.  Those are the people I have to meditate to get rid of. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the flip side of that are the people that help me recharge.  A few of my friends have the kind of energy that makes me feel better when I talk to them, even if we don't talk about anything more important than which Nick Cage movie we like best.  Sometimes we don't even have to talk, just listening to them breathe and knowing they care enough to be on the other end of the line listening to me breathe is enough.  We all need friends like that.  I'm glad I have a few.  If you have a friend or two like that, let them know you appreciate them.  Life is too short and chaotic to go through it without friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-2540095789913928493?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/2540095789913928493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=2540095789913928493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2540095789913928493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2540095789913928493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/01/regroup-and-recharge.html' title='Regroup and Recharge'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-4121747899923918268</id><published>2009-01-10T08:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T09:51:03.965-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Shoot The Messenger</title><content type='html'>If something is yours, you own it, right?  Of Course!  So why is it so hard for some people to own their actions, their situation, their baggage?  If you've been reading my blogs you will have heard me talk about my mother.  She is the reason behind a lot of my baggage.  Not all of it, though.  I know this.  Some of the crap is mine.  I own it, I take responsibility for it.  I am the only one to blame for it.  My actions are my own.  My decisions, however misguided they may be at times, are my own.  The foundation I make those decisions from has been biased by my mother.  I'm working on correcting that.  It's not easy to evaluate every decision I've made and try to see what was my mother's voice and what was mine.  But the stuff that's mine, is mine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've also heard me talk a lot about looking in the mirror.  I'm getting better at it.  Now that I'm seeing things for what they are, I have to be careful not to drag all my friends to the mirror kicking and screaming.  Not everyone wants to look in the mirror.  They know deep down inside that they won't like what they see.  This makes them afraid to look.  They are afraid to own the decisions and actions that have brought them to where they are in life.  But all is not lost.  Fear is something we all deal with in one way or another.  But we can not let it control us.  You can't be afraid of the mirror.  If you are honest with yourself, you know what you'll see when you look.  I can force you to the mirror.  I can tie you to the front of it so you have no choice but to look in it.  But what you actually see is ALL YOU.  You have to look at yourself honestly.  Not what someone else see's, but what you know deep inside your heart.  I knew long before the break-up that my marriage was a lie.  I didn't want to see it.  I didn't want to admit it.  But I knew.  I can admit that now.  Six months ago I couldn't have.  My aunt knew.  She knows me better than I know myself.  And she's been holding me in front of that mirror for a while now.  I love her more for it.   But I don't blame her for what I see in my mirror.  It's all mine.  I own it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm 37 years old.  Sometimes I feel like a teenager again because everything feels so new.  I'm seeing with new eyes.  By the time most people are approaching 40 they already have a career and are pretty much in their groove.  I'm just finding mine.  I know there are things I need and want to change.  Those issues are mine.  The point is that I'm living my life for ME.  Not for my mother, my aunt, my (ex) husband.  Just for me.  I see things through my eyes, not my mother's or anyone else's.  I am the only one I have to answer to.  If something makes me unhappy or is not the way I want it, guess what?!  I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO OWN'S IT, I HAVE TO FIX IT!  I can blame it on someone else, but when I look in the mirror I know the truth.  Whether or not I like the message, I can't shoot the messenger.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-4121747899923918268?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/4121747899923918268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=4121747899923918268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4121747899923918268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4121747899923918268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/01/dont-shoot-messenger.html' title='Don&apos;t Shoot The Messenger'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6979488099502221034</id><published>2009-01-01T00:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T00:41:27.691-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year</title><content type='html'>Well, Cinderella, it's time to start again.  It's winter, the weather is changing the landscape, people are celebrating the holidays.  It's the beginning of a new year.  Winter signifies the end of the old year.  It's time to finish things to make room for the new.  People talk about spring cleaning, but winter is when things are finished.  Death is associated with winter, but that doesn't mean literal death.  It means the end of something.  It's another metaphor for change. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Winter is supposed to kill off the bad, the diseased, the bugs.  It's a check system to keep nature in balance.  If it didn't work, we would be overrun with insects alone in no time.  This is a time to let go of the old.  This is when you shake off the baggage and negative emotion of the past year, or years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are several things to do to be ready for the coming year.  Learning to meditate would work wonders for most people on the planet.  Say goodbye to mean people, bad attitudes, bad habits.  Look at what did not work for you in 2008.  If it doesn't work, get rid of it.  Look at what you wanted to accomplish and decide what you would still like to do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now is the time to commit to accomplishing these things.  Don't make resolutions.  No one ever keeps those.  Make a decision to have faith in yourself and your ability to do what you set out to do.  Make a list of goals to meet for the year.  Be reasonable with yourself about what you hope to do, but make yourself stretch to make those goals.  Don't be easy on yourself.  No one else will be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6979488099502221034?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6979488099502221034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6979488099502221034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6979488099502221034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6979488099502221034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2009/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3792277540163188564</id><published>2008-12-27T23:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T00:19:01.458-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No Worries</title><content type='html'>A few more days and the holiday season will be over.   I wonder how you could measure all the stress of the Christmas season.  For myself, this was the second Christmas without my father.  I felt his presence around me a lot.  I think he knew I needed him.  This was the first Christmas since the break-up.  The ex was not big into the holiday thing because of his family.  I always tried to make sure he felt included in what my family did.  Everything definitely felt weird this year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like this kind of stress.  For one thing, it took me a week to figure out what the issue was.   Then I lost all my focus.  I haven't been able to concentrate, haven't slept well, haven't eaten right.  I got sick, wrecked my car.  Overall, I'm glad Christmas is gone.  My aunt asked me a couple days ago how long it had been since I meditated.  It's been at least a month.  That's way too long when dealing with holiday stress.  And January makes a whole year for the separation.  Time to file those divorce papers.  I think when it's finalized I'll through a big party.  If that sense of relief is anywhere near the sense of relief I felt after Christmas, a party would be good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may repeat myself here, forgive me.  It's important to deal with issues in a manner that is healthy.  You can't keep all that emotion bottled up.  I have a couple of writer friends, both guys, who don't deal well with stress.  They bury themselves in their writing and don't speak to anybody for days.  It's good to keep writing.  It would be better if they were actually writing out their frustrations as opposed to hiding.  I know if either of them read this they would argue that they aren't hiding, just trying to be productive.   But when something major stresses them out, they burrow into the writing like it's a security blanket.  They don't deal with the issue at all.  What is this doing to them?  One drinks, (yeah, I know, not all the time) and the other has a heart condition.  I know the one knows what would solve a lot of his problems.  But he claims he is too old and too set in his ways to make any changes now.  So he continues being unhappy and hiding behind his computer.  The other one, I don't know if he truly realizes he has the power to change his circumstances or if he is simply overwhelmed by the task of deciding what action to take. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The important thing is that you recognize the situation and do take action.   I've been trying to make time to meditate.  In concession to that I have Celtic music playing while I write this and a candle burning.  You have to let go of all that stress or it will eat you up inside.  It helps to have a friend you can talk to, even if it's just to talk about bullshit so you can clear your mind.  Sometimes our friends know when we need to talk even when we don't.  So even if you're in the middle of a scene, pick up the phone.  It may be just the person you've been looking for.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3792277540163188564?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3792277540163188564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3792277540163188564' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3792277540163188564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3792277540163188564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/12/no-worries.html' title='No Worries'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-9147203736077073306</id><published>2008-12-18T08:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T09:37:50.435-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One is the lonelies number.... Or is it???</title><content type='html'>Four people live in my house.  Very rarely do I ever have the house completely to myself.  My brother works third shift.  He usually sleeps during the day.  The rest of us are home in the evenings.  I play poker at least once a week with 15-30 people I consider friends.  We usually have a blast.  I'm in an online chat group for writers.  I consider all of those people friends, too.  Some I know just from the group.  Others I have gotten to know well enough we call each other on the phone just to say Howdy.  You've heard me say before that people will come and go in our lives when we need them.  So while I'm rarely alone, I am lucky enough to also rarely be lonely.  Do you know the difference?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lonely is when you have no one close and you're sad about it.  I don't feel lonely often.  I try not to put myself in a position to feel that way.  I don't go to restaurants by myself.  I don't go to the movies without a friend.  Since the break-up of my marriage there have been other times I've felt lonely.  I miss having the companionship of a partner.  That closeness, both physical and emotional, being able to share things that you wouldn't otherwise, knowing there is always that one person who will listen no matter what, those are the things that I miss.  I'm still not sure I'm ready for another relationship, but I'm always watchful for that spark of attention. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alone is simply without accompaniment.  I don't have a problem being alone.  I will go out alone.  Friday night has turned into my Me night.  I'll go do my personal shopping, browse Barnes &amp;amp; Noble, maybe sit somewhere and people watch with a notebook and pen in hand.  Sometimes I need to be alone just to slough off the emotional debris of people I come into contact with through work.  I meditate, which is a solitary pursuit.  It helps me focus on myself, to shed that baggage, to be able to look honestly in the mirror. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are other times when I need people.  I need that interaction, the flow of conversation, the simple touch of someone's hand on my shoulder.  Having been assaulted twice before I was out of high school, I'm sometimes hesitant to get close to some people.  I've tried really hard to overcome that.  Trust is something that has to be earned.  But once you have it, I am the touchy-feely type.  People I consider friends will get hugs, not handshakes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's important to know how to stand alone.  To support yourself really is a major thing, especially if you've never been given the opportunity to do it.  I'm learning that now.  I live with three of my favorite relatives, but we are all very independent people.  I think I like it that way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-9147203736077073306?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/9147203736077073306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=9147203736077073306' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/9147203736077073306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/9147203736077073306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-is-lonelies-number-or-is-it.html' title='One is the lonelies number.... Or is it???'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-1040966503845969422</id><published>2008-12-15T22:02:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-16T00:01:44.281-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends</title><content type='html'>I have had many friends in my 37 years. Some are still around. Some have drifted away. I'm a firm believer that the people we need in our lives will be there at the time they are needed most. I have helped many friends with their problems, and several have helped me. Sometimes all that is required is an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, or open arms for a hug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is too short to hold a grudge. It's not fair to ourselves or anyone else to carry that kind of baggage around. Emotional baggage will make you old before your time. I've been shedding a lot of baggage and I feel so much lighter. At times I feel like a teenager again. The girls who work for me don't know what to think when they come to work and I'm bouncing and giggling and singing. More than one person has noticed that I've lost a few pounds. All I've done is find my happy place. I have friends who have helped me get here. It's been an interesting ride so far, and it's not over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think carefully how you treat your friends. The best way to make a friend is to be one. Listen when they have something to say. You may want them to listen to you someday. Lend a hand when you can. Share a cup of coffee. Don't keep your smiles all to yourself, spread them around. Laugh whether the joke is funny or not. Be honest with yourself and your friends. Hold on to the ones you have, welcome new ones. If you get a second chance with a friend, grab that chance and make the most of it. If you find something that changes your life, let it. No one ever said life would be easy. But it's definitely worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love deeply, laugh often, dance like no one's watching. There's little else you need in life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-1040966503845969422?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/1040966503845969422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=1040966503845969422' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1040966503845969422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1040966503845969422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-have-had-many-friends-in-my-37-years.html' title='I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5879712789841378084</id><published>2008-12-05T23:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T00:40:02.124-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ripples on a pond....</title><content type='html'>How do you get a two year old to make a decision? You limit his choices. The red Popsicle or the blue Popsicle? Only two choices. When we get older this method still works. Whether we apply it to the people around us or to ourselves, we have choices. As we get older the choices we make become infinitely more important. No one tells us when we are kids that the choices we make will effect the rest of our lives. No one tells us that the way we learn to make decisions and choices will effect the rest of our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Changes we make at any stage in life will create ripples we may feel the effects of for years. One little change makes a ripple around us. Then another change adds to that ripple. Eventually, if we make enough changes, we unleash a tsunami of energy. The waves of change will ripple and eddy around us until it's felt by everyone we come in contact with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned that I am only responsible for the choices I make that concern me. I can't make choices for other people. I can try to influence their choices, and hope they choose the way I want. But it's not my choice to make. If you don't like what choices someone makes, sure you can confront them on it. But be sure you really want to know why they chose to do things that way. And you better have damn valid reasons to present when you try to change their mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not everyone sees the choices they make. Sometimes we need a friend to smack us in the head and say, 'What are you thinking?' That's when we need to look closely at the choices we've made and examine why we made them. This is the hard part, ciphering our deepest desires and motivations. It requires looking at the nitty gritty of what makes each of us a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a Libra, which means I look at all sides of a situation before I make a decision. It also means I won't abandon the possibility of choosing a different path. The choices we make can alter the path we take through life. We choose to be miserable like our parents. We choose to make the same mistakes as our parents. We choose to continue the endless cycle of learned behaviors we get from our parents. If you flip that coin over, something amazing happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You choose to give your kids the tools they need to survive in this world. You choose to let your kids grow up and make their own decisions. You choose to do the things that make you happy. You choose to be with the person that makes you happy. You don't have to justify your choices to anybody but yourself. Each of us has a path to follow. If we are lucky, our paths will cross with someone else's who will turn out to be the person we were looking for anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5879712789841378084?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5879712789841378084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5879712789841378084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5879712789841378084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5879712789841378084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/12/how-do-you-get-two-year-old-to-make.html' title='Ripples on a pond....'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7255629838158049067</id><published>2008-11-30T21:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T22:57:10.565-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Road Blocks</title><content type='html'>Do you consider yourself a positive person?  Do you know someone who is always negative?  The way we approach life is very important to how events play out.  There are two ways to approach situations: with a closed fist, or with an open palm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you approach new or old situations with a closed fist, you are setting yourself up to fail.  A closed fist is very aggressive, very negative, unavailable and unapproachable.  This type of person is never truly happy.  He/She will encounter lots of obstacles in life, many of which he/she will have put there.  Even reasonably intelligent people set up road blocks in their lives.  Most don't realize they do it.  When you clench your fist, you tighten up on whatever is in your hand.  It can't go anywhere.  Nothing will escape you, but nothing new will get in, either.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your hand is open in front of you, you are ready to receive whatever life has to offer.  An open hand makes you ready for new friends, new adventures, new experiences.  You can't be happy with things until you let go of the baggage you're holding and open your hand, your mind and your heart.  You are more likely to get what you want in life when you approach it with open palms. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to be able to find the positive in all things.  A closed fist does not let the positive get through.  Open your hands to receive and life is much sweeter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7255629838158049067?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7255629838158049067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7255629838158049067' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7255629838158049067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7255629838158049067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/road-blocks.html' title='Road Blocks'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7531036291499729904</id><published>2008-11-27T21:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T22:45:20.338-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Everybody Has One</title><content type='html'>Take a look at the following statements:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The devil made me do it.&lt;br /&gt;Not tonight, I have a headache.&lt;br /&gt;I can't find a sitter to watch the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Know what these are? Excuses. We have all used these and many other creative variations to either get out of doing something or get around something we did not want to encounter. But the excuse itself is not the issue. The behavior associated with it is the issue. Let me give you a definition before we jump into this deep abyss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enabler: one who enables another to persist in self-destructive behavior by providing excuses or by helping that individual avoid the consequences of such behavior. *www.dictionary.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an issue with the definition in that it's too narrow. It doesn't account for those who enable themselves. Let me give you an example.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I live with my aunt who has a child who has several disabilities. He was born premature and had several complications. He's now an adult, but he will never be able to live on his own. My aunt is single. She sometimes uses her son as an excuse not to go out with someone, not to get involved. She used to do this and not realize it. Then she took a really long look in the mirror. Now that she recognizes the behavior, she only does it if it's really necessary. The point is that she's enabling herself to live her life a certain way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's nothing wrong with living life on your own terms. But you have to be careful that you're not hurting yourself or those around you. I have some other friends who do basically the same thing. And it's not all for the parent's benefit. Sometimes if the child is being particularly difficult, it is easier to give in and do what ever it takes to keep them calm. This could be picking up their laundry, doing a chore, letting them make their own excuses, or letting them use their 'disability' to get out of doing something that they are perfectly capable of handling. Some people don't even realize they do this. And if you've been doing it for a while, it's become such habit that you wouldn't recognize it until you were hit in the head with it. This behavior is not limited to parent and child, either. It is evident in every type of relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem with this behavior is that it teaches the wrong things. It teaches the child that it's okay to harass someone else into doing your chores. It's okay to say I can't do that because of.... and expect someone else to do the task for you. But it's not okay. Not for the parent nor the child. It sets up a pattern of poor behavior that will last a lifetime and become an endless cycle unless someone has the cojones to look in the mirror and say, Enough is enough!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My aunt's son does have a lot of issues, but he is far from stupid. I don't like to use the word manipulate, but let's say he knows how to play certain people to get them to do things for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, I've seen her be tough with him and her ex let him get away with everything. This sets up conflict for the child because he's getting mixed signals. It also causes conflict because one parent is enabling poor behavior without considering the consequences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a lot of things he can not do. But there are a lot of things he is perfectly capable of doing for himself, he just doesn't want to. On the other side of that is the person who has done it for so long it's a habit. That person uses the child as an excuse for where they are in life, why they can't achieve the things they want to. They see the child as a responsibility they can not walk away from. The thought of changing that situation fills them with guilt, with fears that they are a bad parent. The bad thing is that they are only hurting themselves. The cycle has to be broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a solution. But be warned, it ain't easy! Looking in the mirror is difficult. You are responsible for only one person, Yourself! You can not take responsibility for someone else's actions, especially if they are old enough to know what they are doing. A child needs a parent to give them the tools, physical, emotional, and psychological tools, that are needed to live a productive life. You give them the tools, show them how to use the tools, and then you have no choice but to let them live their lives as best they can. You can not be responsible for them all the time. I often hear my friends with kids say how much they sacrifice for their kids. Yes, some sacrifice is expected. But not everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you're not happy with where you are in life, take a look in that mirror. What behaviors do you enable in those around you? What behaviors do you enable in yourself? What are you &lt;strong&gt;capable of changing&lt;/strong&gt; to find yourself in that happy place? What are you &lt;strong&gt;willing to change&lt;/strong&gt; to find your happy place?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all have dreams and needs and desires. Don't let bad habits get in the way of being happy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7531036291499729904?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7531036291499729904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7531036291499729904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7531036291499729904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7531036291499729904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/take-look-at-following-statements-devil.html' title='Everybody Has One'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-2903323115543382234</id><published>2008-11-20T23:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T00:41:33.249-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Possibilities are Endless</title><content type='html'>Writers like to play a game called What If.  It's a fun way to brainstorm ideas for new stories.  Some writers use it to push through writer's block or to figure out what a character would do in a tough situation.  What If can be a very useful tool for a writer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What If can also be applied to real life.  You come to a crossroads and stop, looking at the choices before you.  What if you turn right?  What if you go straight ahead?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's say you meet someone new.  What if he asks you out?  What if he kisses you on your doorstep?  What if you ask him to come in for coffee? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or, you are already in a relationship.  What if we move in together?  What if he snores?  Wht if the kids don't like me?  What if he hogs all the closet space?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We use What If everyday.  Every time we make a decision to do one thing over another we play the game.  What If opens up endless possibilities for every situation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if I get that promotion?  What if I ask him to move to another state to be with me?  What if I get my brother a pink tutu for Christmas?  All of these questions involve a decision, a possible outcome of circumstances.  And everytime we make a choice, we influence the next one.  What if my brother really wears a pink tutu while cooking lasagna?  What if the purple tutu would have looked better with his tattoos? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have an endless supply of choices.  The key is not being afraid to make a choice.  I'm discovering that I like the idea of never passing up an opportunity.  I never know what the next moment will bring. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say What If, and watch to see how many doors open.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-2903323115543382234?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/2903323115543382234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=2903323115543382234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2903323115543382234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2903323115543382234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/possibilities-are-endless.html' title='The Possibilities are Endless'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-4094312094841720340</id><published>2008-11-19T19:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T19:50:00.912-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smoke ’em if you got ’em...</title><content type='html'>I don't smoke.  Never have and with my allergies I never will.  But sometimes I need that smoke break.  That extra ten minutes somebody will take to just go breathe.  The last couple of weeks have been very stressful for me for a lot of reasons.  I have the day off today, Wednesday, which is also my chat group day.  My plan for today was not to update my blog, but that's okay.  My plan was to not do a damn thing.  I haven't started my laundry yet.  I haven't painted my nails yet.  I did sweep the leaves off the carport and I took my aunt to lunch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It can be very tiring to try to be everyone's fix-it person.  Hell, it wears me out to be a friend sometimes.  Missing someone makes you tired and grumpy, too.  I'm missing several people at one time, so that doesn't help.  And of course there is the commercial fiasco of the holidays.  Ever notice how depressing a Wal-Mart can be?  I haven't felt like chatting with friends other than a select couple of people.  Yes, I know winter is coming, but I'm usually happy about that. &lt;br /&gt;I just needed a break. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to make Christmas ornaments this afternoon.  I haven't been crafty in a while and I miss it.  I read some last night when I got home from poker.  Been a week or so since I read anything other than mail.  That was nice too.  Sometimes I just need to vegetate.  I haven't even answered my phone today.  I got out in the sunshine and the wind and drove around a bit.  I needed to recharge my batteries.  Still not at full capacity but I'm getting there.  I have vacation time coming after the first of the year.  I definitely foresee a beach in my future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-4094312094841720340?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/4094312094841720340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=4094312094841720340' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4094312094841720340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/4094312094841720340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/smoke-em-if-you-got-em.html' title='Smoke ’em if you got ’em...'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3482565030572341822</id><published>2008-11-15T23:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T01:40:44.150-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Accept No Imitations</title><content type='html'>Are you the real deal?  What does it take to be real?  Do you have to know somebody?  Where certain clothes?  Hop on one foot and bark like a dog?  Oh, please.  Being real has nothing to do with the car you drive, the job you have, where you live.  It has nothing to do with playing in the jungle, redecorating your neighbor's house, or cooking a fancy meal in an hour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reality is what most of us call life.  The grungy, down in the trenches battle of everyday.  But most of us don't realize our full potential.  There are several things you can do to be real. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't be afraid to get hurt.  I'm not talking about a scraped knee or bruised ego.  I'm talking big pain, the kind you feel in your heart.  The pain that comes from losing what you thought you couldn't live without.  This pain will bring you to your knees, make you choke on your own sorrow and wish you really could crawl into a whiskey bottle and drown.  It's a risk.  And without that risk, that danger, you will never know what you are made of.  You also need that pain because it makes you open your eyes.  If you're smart (or lucky) you open your eyes and look into the mirror, and you ask yourself a question.  That question may simply be, WTF?  Or that question may be so significant that it rocks your very soul.  You need to ask yourself the hard questions.  Not being able to face the mirror and answer those questions is almost as unbearable a pain as losing the love of your life.  Sometimes it's worse.  But you can not be afraid of it, or it will control you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being real means you have to be able to laugh.  At yourself, at the world, at those who would hold you back just because they can.  Laughter keeps your brain working, relieves stress.  The sound itself attracts attention and more laughter.  You can't take yourself so seriously that you forget how to laugh.  That's how you make yourself sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love is a part of being real that's not easy.  Love is not easy to get, not easy to keep, not easy to let go of.  But it is what makes us unique.  You need love to grow into an emotionally healthy adult.  Without it, you're nothing but an animal foraging for scraps.  You have to be able to love yourself before you can love someone else, or before they can love you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you start putting all these pieces together, you get the next step, growth.  You have to grow as a person to be real.  If you don't grow emotionally, you will never find true happiness.  You have to look in that mirror to grow.  You have to face your fears and insecurities and move past them.  It's not an easy thing to do.  But the distance you travel once it's done will show you how much you've grown. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like anything else you encounter in life, there is more than one way to accomplish becoming real.  When something new presents itself, consider it from all angles.  Look at every possible outcome and weigh the risks against the potential gain.  But remember that there are many options.  You owe it to yourself to explore all the possibilities.  This may mean thinking outside the box.  Don't pass up an opportunity because of geography, finances, or family obligations.  Life is too short to miss out on something or someone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, whatever you decide to do in life, see it through.  Don't give up on something because it's not convenient.  I'm learning to look in the mirror and see a path, the path I'm supposed to take.  Every time I look I get a little closer to my goals.  Being honest with myself makes the picture much clearer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, are you real?  Me, I am a work in progress.  I will look into the mirror, I will push my limits, I will do my damnedest not to be afraid of what's ahead of me.  So when you come looking for me, remember, I'm the real deal.  Accept no imitations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3482565030572341822?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3482565030572341822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3482565030572341822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3482565030572341822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3482565030572341822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/accept-no-imitations.html' title='Accept No Imitations'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-7979327498648164462</id><published>2008-11-08T19:16:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-08T22:51:36.151-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Comfort Zone</title><content type='html'>We all have a comfort zone.  That one place where you can let your hair down and relax, sit around naked, or pick your nose if you feel like it.  The place where you can do no wrong.  The place where nothing can hurt you unless you let it inside.  But what happens when you step outside your comfort zone?  What if someone pushes you out of your comfort zone?  What do you do when someone shows you that the comfort zone you've so carefully crafted is a big can of BS? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People as a group do not like change, whether big, small, personal, general, or indifferent.  Once you hit that cozy spot you don't want to get out of it.  But if you don't stretch a little, you never grow.  If you don't grow, you stagnate.  Human beings are really good at digging ruts into our lives and not bothering to see how deep in shit we really are.  It often takes a major event, catastrophic even, for us to see what we've done to our lives.  Sometimes it just takes the persistent nudging of a good friend.  But either way, there are times you just have to stop and take a look at where you are. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you where you planned on being at this point in life?  Why not? What happened? Why did you react the way you did?  Why haven't you done anything since then to change the situation?  What can you do now to change it?  Do you want to change it or do you want to stay with the current program and just go on bitching about it?  If you make an effort to change and it doesn't work, okay, you can bitch about it.  But don't bitch and moan just because you don't like it.  Do something about it.  Speak up.  Get off you lazy butt and move. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not easy to find that motivation.  Some people never do.  Some people are so overly motivated they can't be still.  And some of us are just chugging along, seeing where the trip will lead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding that my motivation is coming from a different place now.   No, I'm not where I thought I would be at this point.  I planned on being married with kids and a big Victorian house and the white picket fence, with a job I loved and a husband I adored.  Well, guess what?  The fairy tale is not happening!  No house, no kids, husband turned out to be a very accomplished liar.  I do know I want to change my current situation.  Luckily I have friends and family to support me, and to keep pushing me toward the edge of my comfort zone.  I'm also finding that besides still being the guiding voice a lot of my friends have relied on over the years, I'm now the one pushing my friends to the edge of their comfort zones. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I have to look at myself in the mirror and face the truth, so do all of you.  You may not like what you see.  You may not look right now, but wait until it doesn't scare you so bad.  But one way or another, we all have to look in that mirror. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I will continue to stretch for that boundary between comfortable and growth.  I will rewrite my fairy tale.  Perhaps my Prince will already have kids, or we find a little bungalow overlooking the beach.  Maybe we buy an island and turn into natives.  The only way I will find out for sure is to keep pushing my limits.  Take one risk at a time until I feel brave enough to try two at a time.  Or maybe three at a time.  But I will not shy away from that line. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once you commit to crossing the border it's actually pretty fun.  The path we need to take will be bumpy sometimes, but the destination is definitely worth the trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-7979327498648164462?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/7979327498648164462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=7979327498648164462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7979327498648164462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/7979327498648164462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/comfort-zone.html' title='Comfort Zone'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-1285550678273709873</id><published>2008-11-05T11:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T11:55:21.504-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Thank You</title><content type='html'>Despite the red and green decorations sprouting up everywhere, Thanksgiving is just around the corner.  What are you thankful for?  Me? There have been a lot of changes for me this year, but I'm starting to see the forest through all those trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thankful for.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-my aunt who has helped me through the break-up of my marriage and  the death of my father, plus given me a place to stay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-my boss/best friend who has helped more than either one of us truly realize. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-finally being able to see the true me when I look in the mirror.  It never would have happened if I were still with my ex.  I didn't care for his method, but the outcome has been amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- having my family around me. Not just relatives, but friends also.  Each one means the world to me.  I wouldn't trade you guys for anything.  Not even chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- the one special friend who has shown me that no matter how much the past has hurt, the present can be much more interesting.  He's helped me hear the muse again, and helped me find my passion, passion for life, love, music, him, everything.  He's helped me learn to care again, to not be afraid of letting someone get close.  The funny thing is that he knows there's a connection there, but he doesn't realize just how close he's gotten.  He's given me the opportunity to recognize hope for what it is, another opportunity to find the dream with the happy ending. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to a new year.  I'm sure the road will be bumpy, but I'm much better equipped to deal with those hazards than I used to be.  And I know I'll have good company along for the ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-1285550678273709873?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/1285550678273709873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=1285550678273709873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1285550678273709873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1285550678273709873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-thank-you.html' title='I Thank You'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6238256300762312324</id><published>2008-10-31T11:07:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T11:22:18.109-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrate</title><content type='html'>It's Halloween!  Well, more accurately, it's All Hallow's Eve!  Did you know that it is an American tradition to dress up in costumes?  And the first actual jack-o-lanterns were turnips, not pumpkins.  The holiday did not start out with little kids dressed up like Batman and Jason.  And it sure as hell did not start out as a way for Brach's, Hallmark and Wal-Mart to make money.  To appreciate a holiday ( forgive me for this one) you have to look at the reason behind the season.  It's not about commercialism.  All Hallow's Eve is about tomorrow, All  Saint's Day, and the next, Day of the Dead.  Days to recognize and remember those who went before us.  It's the end of summer, a time to rejoice in the harvest.  A time to make changes in preparation for winter.  It's a time to celebrate the earth and what she gives us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So go ahead and dress up, hand out candy to the neighbors' kids.  I'm going to celebrate my favorite holiday doing one of my favorite things.  I'm going to make cookies and go play poker. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Halloween!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6238256300762312324?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6238256300762312324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6238256300762312324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6238256300762312324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6238256300762312324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/celebrate.html' title='Celebrate'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6665277978993157169</id><published>2008-10-25T19:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T21:24:16.907-04:00</updated><title type='text'>...I ain't skeered...</title><content type='html'>Since Halloween is right around the corner, let's talk about fear.  Is fear the scary movie at the cineplex?  A spooky phone call when you're home alone?  A strange noise as you walk through an almost empty parking lot?  What's hiding behind the winter coats in the closet?  According to the movies Fear is all of these things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't watch scary movies.  I don't need scary movies.  I know for a fact that the things we 'think' go bump in the night, really do exist.  Whether you believe or not, I do.  But I also believe we control whether or not we let these things scare us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear is so much more than just the movies we watch.  Fear can be a living thing that drives us, controls us.  My brother won't sit with his back to a window or door.  My best guy friend is the same way.  They have to be able to see everyone around them and all the exits from the room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear can be a very emotional experience.  Some people cry when they're scared, some get angry, some withdraw.   Our upbringing has a lot to do with how we handle fear, the primal gut-deep fear and emotional fear.  Emotional fear is different.  It's the fear of success, failure, being alone, letting someone down, finding the person you want and not knowing what to do with them.  It's the fear of death, dying alone, being hurt by someone we care about, not achieving the dreams we had when we thought we could rule the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the fear of looking at ourselves in a mirror and seeing the truth.  It's that nagging doubt in the back of your mind, the one that says "You know this is not right."  We all have that internal voice that knows how to strip us down to the bone and scrape it with a fork.  If you listen closely you'll recognize that voice as someone either you feared or who taught you what to fear or someone who hurt you in some way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding that my fears are changing.   I'm separating my mother's baggage from my own and finding a whole new person with very distinct feelings on a lot of things.  I'm not afraid of the same things she was.  I'm not afraid of a lot of things I thought I was.  I'm bolder and braver in some ways.  I'm still learning how to be brave in other ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing I can say without doubt is that I will not let fear stop me from trying something.  Whether it's a blind date, a cooking class, phone sex, a roller coaster, or learning to belly dance, I will not allow myself to use fear as an excuse not to try it at least once.  I will not let fear keep me the wallflower my mother thought I should be.  I am no shrinking violet.  I am a wild rose with velvet petals of flame orange. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't fear the thorns....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6665277978993157169?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6665277978993157169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6665277978993157169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6665277978993157169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6665277978993157169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-aint-skeered.html' title='...I ain&apos;t skeered...'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6380165653374151743</id><published>2008-10-24T17:19:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T18:15:13.118-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anticipation</title><content type='html'>I hate waiting.  In a check-out line, in traffic, on the computer.  If I have to wait, I get grumpy.  Sometimes I get nervous, depending on what I'm waiting on.  I'm not as patient a person as I thought I was.  At this point, I don't mind working toward a goal, but some things I just don't want to wait for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waiting for January so I can file for divorce is killing me.  I am anticipating that piece of paper as eagerly as I am the fading of the mark on my hand from my wedding bands.  I took off those rings after the last big fight (on the phone) back in March ( the day before the anniversary).  The lines are still on my hand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm working toward getting on my feet and getting my own place.  I'm still impatient but I will work for it.  That is really important at this point.  I want to be self-sufficient.  I don't want to have no choice but to be dependent on someone else.  I want my own place so badly I can smell fresh paint. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like anticipating a first date, the first time you meet someone, a first kiss.  Everything you've imagined is about to be confirmed or contradicted.  Adrenaline is rushing, you can't sit still, nothing else will pacify the need to get to that destination.  The phone rings and you have to hide disappointment that the voice is not who you wanted so desperately to hear.  Just the thought of talking to that person makes your entire body tingle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The passage of time kills me, but I like that tingle...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6380165653374151743?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6380165653374151743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6380165653374151743' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6380165653374151743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6380165653374151743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/anticipation.html' title='Anticipation'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3491956027794507259</id><published>2008-10-21T09:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T10:41:36.700-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can we talk?</title><content type='html'>How do you get to know someone new?  Carry on a conversation?  Share information?  We have to talk to each other.  Communication is one of the most important tools we have available to us.  Some of us are more adept at using that tool than others.  There are people who can't shut up.  They simply have to fill the void of silence with a voice, a noise, anything so they don't have to listen to their own breathing.  Then there are people who can go for weeks and not speak more than a dozen words. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A good friend of mine swears that men only have about 15,000 words to use on any given day, and women have 30,000 words for a day.  Once he uses up his words he stops talking.  But trust me, when he's in the mood to have a conversation, he talks more than any woman I've ever met.  However, he knows how to communicate.  It's almost impossible to win an argument with him.  You better have all your facts straight before the topic is broached or he will win every time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have a friend who can't shut up.  I've known him over 20 years and love him like a brother, but he simply cannot deal with silence.  He also knows his facts and can remember numbers, scores, stats and odd trivia to the point of being annoying as hell.  That's why we can go up to a year between conversations and pick up right where we left off the next time we talk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of these guys are great, but very tiring.  They don't exhaust me nearly as much as the few friends I have who don't talk much.  It's hard to carry on a conversation when only one person is talking.  If I'm going to talk to myself I'd just as soon do that to begin with.  How are we supposed to get to know each other if we don't talk, ask and answer questions, trade stories about family and friends and our histories? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is difficult at best to communicate with people who don't talk much.  Are they shy?  Do they get nervous talking about themselves?  Are they hiding something?  Are they afraid of getting close to someone?  I have learned that I am not nearly as shy and introverted as I thought I was.  I'm finally coming out of my shell and discovering that I like talking to people and making new friends.  I can be happy with a comfortable silence.  I don't have to fill the silence with my own voice just to know I'm not alone.  But when I find someone I want to get to know, I'm going to talk.  I'm going to ask questions because I want to know the answers.  How else do I know if we have something in common to discuss? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a writer.  I want to know things so I can write about them.  Not necessarily as fact, but as an idea to use.  Sometimes I go out and just listen to people talk.  It's interesting to see how other people relate to one another.  Nonverbal communication is interesting, too, but that would take a whole other blog to discuss.  For now, let's stick with voice.   The sound of an interesting voice can make or break a conversation.  An accent can also influence conversation.  If it's too strong, people won't want to talk to you.  On the other hand, some people love accents and will go out of their way to talk to you.  The accent will make people want to listen to you speak.   The pitch of the voice can also change the effect of a conversation.  My dad had a disc jockey voice.  I've found a few people with that pitch.  Sometimes we don't have to talk about anything.  As long as you keep purring in my ear I will listen for hours, especially if you have a deep voice.  I admit it.  A deep voice is one of the sexiest sounds I know.  This is personal communication which is very important to a healthy relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't plan to stop asking questions any time soon.  I may try to limit myself to only a few a day.  But trust me,  I'm listening.  I like talking to my friends and family.  I like getting to know people.  So if you get a call or email from me and I ask you 20 questions, don't sweat it.  I'm just making conversation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3491956027794507259?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3491956027794507259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3491956027794507259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3491956027794507259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3491956027794507259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/can-we-talk.html' title='Can we talk?'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-574067241187629023</id><published>2008-10-14T01:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T02:13:09.717-04:00</updated><title type='text'>One Risk at a Time</title><content type='html'>Do you play poker?  I play Texas Hold'em.  Absolutely love the game.  I play in a points league.  I have played for money, but not often.  Poker is a nice way for me to relax with friends.  It is also a calculated risk.  In my 37 years on this planet I haven't taken a lot of risks.  I'm starting to venture beyond my comfort zone, reposition those boundaries that have held me back for so long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always explored risks from a safe distance, hovering on the edge of the situation, afraid of getting hurt if I got too close.  The last few months have shown me that I don't have to be afraid to take a risk.  Every risk I take, no matter how small or large, moves me one step closer to finding the real Becca.  I know she's lurking somewhere behind the hazel eyes and the streaks of gray.  If I get hurt, I will heal.  But I will never grow as a person if I don't take that chance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each risk is an opportunity to find something new and exciting.  It may be an experience, an event, a friend, a new love.  But if I don't take that risk, I'll just be sitting at home doing my nails.  I've taken a few risks lately, doing things I've never done before.  Even my new self won't take the risk unless there is a connection, a reason for it.  I've taken one kinda big risk.  I allowed someone to get close.  I've been trying to keep my distance from people since the break-up of my marriage.  But I felt the need to take this risk.  I found a connection I didn't expect to find.  I definitely don't regret it.  Truth be known I really enjoyed it.  I never know where those opportunities will lead me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will not let my past keep me afraid to explore my future.  Only I control where I go and what risks I will take.  I will look in the mirror and see where I've been.  Only then can I decide where to go next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-574067241187629023?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/574067241187629023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=574067241187629023' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/574067241187629023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/574067241187629023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/one-risk-at-time.html' title='One Risk at a Time'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5458449842025813553</id><published>2008-10-11T07:44:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T08:07:09.717-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Letting Go</title><content type='html'>How do you let go of something?  Or someone?  How do you let go of an emotion? How do you let go of control?  We've all heard the saying: If you love something, set it free; if it doesn't come back it wasn't yours to begin with, if it does come back it's yours.  We have no control over other people's actions.  None.  We can only react to what they do.  We can try to direct them to the course of action we want them to take, but we can't make them do anything.  We have no control over them and they have no control over us.  The answer to my question is a dose of reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to realize that what someone else does only effects you if you let it.  Do you want that person to make you mad?  Do you want to think about the issue that person put in front of you?  Ask yourself this.  Why is that person even in my life?  We can't control who comes and goes in our lives either.  I recently received an email that said people come into a our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  If it's for a reason, once their purpose in our lives has been fulfilled, they leave.  We can't control that.  We have to let them go.  If it's for a season, we can't define how long that will be.  But when it's over we have to let them go.  If we're lucky enough that it's for a lifetime, then we have been given a true friend.  Regardless to what type of relationship we have with that person, they will always be there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You also have to realize what effects us now, probably won't effect us in five years or ten years.  We can't freak out over everything.  Stress like that will kill us.  Stop and think about what a particular issue is actually about.  Did that person really piss you off, or did he/she just make you stop and think about something you don't want to face.  A true friend will help you look in the mirror, and step back so you can see what you need to see.  That friend can't make you look, but they will be there to help you fix what you need to fix and to celebrate what isn't broken.  All the stuff you see in the mirror that comes from someone else, whether a parent or spouse or stranger, you have to let go of.  You have to tell yourself, this is not what defines me.  This is not who I am.  This is someone else's issue, not mine.  Once you can distinguish that, you can see the real you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you have a decision to make.  What do you want to hold onto?  Do you have that true friend who pushes you toward the mirror when you need to take a look?  Do you have that person that you let go of and they're still there, waiting on you to look their direction?  Once you can answer those questions honestly for yourself, life is a whole lot sweeter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5458449842025813553?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5458449842025813553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5458449842025813553' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5458449842025813553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5458449842025813553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/letting-go.html' title='Letting Go'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-1639447384510464726</id><published>2008-10-06T09:29:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T11:26:42.305-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Birthday Wish</title><content type='html'>This blog almost turned into a man-bashing tirade.  It would have been if I had written it last night like I started to.  The short version: learned something new about what the ex was doing behind my back.  The outcome:  I drove around for a bit playing heavy metal really, really loud.  I feel much better now, which is a very good thing.  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because today is my birthday!  I will not give the ex the focus of my attention today.  I have a new playlist on my Myspace page with music that makes me smile.  Plus some really cool graphics.  Today is going to be a beautiful day.  I'm listening to Walking On Sunshine by Katrina &amp;amp; The Waves.  That is my theme for today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've already received several Happy Birthday's, some nice smelly stuff from a girlfriend, and my brother bought me Chocolate.  I did receive a message from a certain someone I was hoping to hear from.  I'm still hoping for a voicemail ....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My birthday wish for this year involves a definition.  I've mentioned parts of this definition in my previous blogs.  What I want this year is a real man.  A man who knows who he is and what he wants, where he's been and where he plans on going.  A man who understands as well as I do that nobody is perfect.  A man who will work as hard as I will to maintain a healthy, passionate, honest relationship.  A man who is willing to take a risk.  A man who knows when to compromise and when to stand and fight.  A man who can redefine romance.  A man who knows when to just hold my hand and when to push me against the wall and kiss me breathless. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know the fairy tale is not reality.  I'm not looking for the fairy tale.  I want to rewrite the fairy tale.  I believe it is possible to find the love of your life, whether for the first time or the second or the third.  All I ask is that he loves with all his heart, with everything he has.  Don't hold anything back, and I'll return the favor.  If you think this sounds like you, feel free to stroll through my door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is my birthday and I've made my wish.  It's up to you to make my day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-1639447384510464726?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/1639447384510464726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=1639447384510464726' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1639447384510464726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/1639447384510464726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-birthday-wish.html' title='My Birthday Wish'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-2128020997532070807</id><published>2008-10-05T09:21:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T16:49:43.158-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rejection</title><content type='html'>I received my first rejection for a story. A friend said I was crazy to look forward to that first rejection. But I was happy to get it. One, it means that I finished a story, submitted it and got an answer. Two, it shows me that this story needs to be submitted somewhere else. Three, it makes me hungry. Hungry to find the publisher that does fit my story; hungry to finish writing the next story and look for its home. I have lots of writer friends. One of the things I admire most about all of them is that they never stop writing. Every one of us is working on something all the time. That tenacity is what keeps the butt in the chair and the fingers on the keyboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always had a love affair with the written word. I learned to read at an early age and have had a book in my hands ever since. I have been reading "grown up" books since the age of 8. My father saw me writing and gave me an old electric typewriter when I was 11 years old. I named it Bronti because it was like a big old dinosaur. I loved that machine. Since then I have loved many books and written many stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I've gotten this first rejection, I feel both relief and freedom. Relief to have passed this hurdle and freedom to write more. It's kind of like my love life. I'm getting divorced -- a big rejection after 13 years. I didn't look forward to it, but now that it's happening I realize just how happy I am to be moving past it. The next chapter in my love life is ready to be written, the prologue has already started. Same with my writing, the next story is already in the works. Now it's time to finish that story and find it a home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to care about the story to write it. I write the stories I like to read. Stories that make me laugh and cry and cuss and blush. Funny thing is, I'm looking for the same qualities in a man that I want in a story. Passion and emotion and honesty. I have learned to only look back to see how far I've traveled. I am on the road and enjoying the ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question is not why did this not work. The question is where will it work. Whether it's a story or a man, the only question I really have is,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who's next?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-2128020997532070807?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/2128020997532070807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=2128020997532070807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2128020997532070807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2128020997532070807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/whos-next.html' title='Rejection'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5201456015889250596</id><published>2008-10-01T02:38:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T16:54:15.154-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's Play A Game....</title><content type='html'>What kind of games do you play? Cards, board games, touch football on Saturdays, ultimate Frisbee? Ever play cat-and-mouse? Chase and be chased. It can be a very interesting game, but both players have to be willing to play both the cat and the mouse. There has to be equal time on the playing field. Sometimes the Mouse has to be willing to be caught and Cat has to be willing to be chased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t mind playing the Cat. Chasing can be fun, especially if Mouse knows how to play his part. But it can also be tiring when you’re always on the hunt. I do enjoy being the Mouse. Mouse gets to tease and then hide to see what reaction occurs. Although, I’m finding the new me is more aggressive than I thought. This makes it difficult to play Mouse. It’s hard to be patient when Cat is not chasing; and I know he wants to chase, but he likes playing Mouse even better. But I’m not the kind of woman to pursue endlessly and never catch my prey. Sometimes you just have to let yourself get caught.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Playing Mouse can be quite entertaining. If Cat is on the hunt and he knows what he wants, it’s nice to be shown that I have what he’s looking for. But if you’re going to pursue me, have the cojones to keep up the chase. Don’t tease me unless you mean it. Like with any relationship, it’s a matter of give and take. One more thing to remember, If you’re playing Mouse to my Cat, you better already know if you want to be caught or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like playing games. And I really like to win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5201456015889250596?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5201456015889250596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5201456015889250596' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5201456015889250596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5201456015889250596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/10/lets-play-game.html' title='Let&apos;s Play A Game....'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-5808214971554226354</id><published>2008-09-28T19:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T19:48:44.433-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Into The Looking Glass</title><content type='html'>How many times do you look in the mirror each day?  Ever counted?  Now how many of those times do you actually take the time to look at yourself?  Not to count gray hairs, not to tweeze an eyebrow straight, not to make sure you brushed breakfast out of your teeth.  I’m talking about really seeing the true you.  Most people don’t like to look that deep.  They don’t always like what they see. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m finding a new appreciation for the mirror.  I’ve been looking lately.  I’ve seen things I do not like.  I’ve seen all the emotional baggage I picked up from my mother, and my ex.  We all carry that stuff around with us.  Sometimes we don’t realize just how much of it there is or how it weighs us down.  It makes us look and feel old and worn out, sucking the life right out of us.  Once you look at it and recognize it for what it is, you can start to shed that baggage.  It’s not easy.  You have to admit what the problem was before you can let go of it.  That means we have to forgive the ones who have hurt us, even it means forgiving ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; It takes a lot of courage to look into that mirror.  Sometimes we need the help of a friend to build up the nerve for that first peek.  You need a friend who truly understands you even when you don’t understand yourself.  I’ve always been the friend who can be brutally honest and still love you enough to help you through the crisis.  I was lucky enough to have a friend to do that for me.  Since she forced me to confront my demons, I am at least 5 times stronger than I was.  But I still have many issues to work on.  For instance, I haven’t actually seen my ex since we split.  I know I will probably go all to hell the first time I do see him. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him see it happen.  It’s not so much that I still have feelings for him.  I do still care about him; it’s hard no to after 14 years together.  It’s like grief.  What I thought I had is dead now.  I’m still dealing with that grief even though most of what I thought I had has turned out to be a lie.  That kind of baggage is hard to let go of.  It hurts.  It’s raw and bloody and it hurts enough to drive you mad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have learned that I am not that person anymore.  I am no longer the scared, dependent little wallflower my mother raised me to be.  I have worked hard on forgiving my mother for that.  I have worked hard on forgiving myself for not knowing how to stand up to her.  I’m still working on forgiving the ex. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am seeing things in my mirror that I love now.  I love the passion in my eyes, the fire and strength.  I love the weird and often perverted sense of humor.  I love how my outside is starting to match my inside.  I’m slowly chipping away at the façade that overshadowed the real me.  Yes I still have a long way to go.  But I have travelled miles and miles from who I used to be.  I now see a creative, vibrant woman who cares deeply and laughs often.  I’m learning to take risks that I never would have considered before.  I’m no longer dodging the small mirrors in restrooms.  I’m standing in front of a cheval in a mahogany frame deciding what to wear for my next adventure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-5808214971554226354?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/5808214971554226354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=5808214971554226354' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5808214971554226354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/5808214971554226354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/into-looking-glass.html' title='Into The Looking Glass'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6282868927882826130</id><published>2008-09-22T22:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T22:24:03.533-04:00</updated><title type='text'>happy or sad, that is the question</title><content type='html'>September is bittersweet for me.  In this month I honor the anniversary of my mother's death, my grandma's death, and my father's death.  I also celebrate my father's birthday.  Today.  They are all remembered fondly and sorely missed.  It has definitely been a Monday.  On the bright side, my birthday is in two weeks.  I'm really looking forward to October.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6282868927882826130?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6282868927882826130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6282868927882826130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6282868927882826130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6282868927882826130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/happy-or-sad-that-is-question.html' title='happy or sad, that is the question'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-747516383623252748</id><published>2008-09-18T23:04:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T15:58:46.003-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Distractions</title><content type='html'>How well do you stay focused? Can you multi-task or do you have to do one thing at a time? What distracts you? The kids, the dog, phone calls? These are small distractions, easily dealt with. I'm talking about the big distractions. Things you simply can not ignore. A child's laughter, a friend's tears, the sound of your lover's voice. These are things that stir the soul, things you can't turn away from no matter how hard you try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we need the big distractions, just like sleep. We get so tied down to the daily grind that we can't focus on what's happening inside us or around us. Sleep allows us to subconsciously work through our issues in our dreams. Distractions do basically the same thing. Every now and then we just need to focus on something different, to block out whatever pain or stress is making us miserable. Then when we go back to that issue, we realize it's not as stressful or painful as we thought. We can look at the situation more objectively and see how to work through or around the obstacles. Or we may realize that we've gotten over that pain that seemed to consume us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have learned to appreciate these distractions. Learning from the experiences we have is how we grow. I have a lot to learn still. And I look forward to the journey, no matter how happy or sad, how painful or pleasurable, how stressful or joyous it happens to be. I'm making new friends, trying new things, finding new distractions. I hope everyone tags along for the ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-747516383623252748?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/747516383623252748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=747516383623252748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/747516383623252748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/747516383623252748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/distractions.html' title='Distractions'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-8554827689224259694</id><published>2008-09-17T09:45:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T09:45:58.027-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Convenience</title><content type='html'>Ever have a conversation with yourself?  Anyone see you do it?  Got a lot of funny looks didn't you?  Sometimes it's not easy to have a conversation with just one person.  Even the most solitary of people sometimes need the contact of another person.  Conversations, like relationships, take some effort.  They are not always convenient.  Getting a loaf of bread at the gas station is convenient. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Relationships are not supposed to be convenient.  They require effort on both sides.  It makes no difference what kind of relationship it is, you still have to work at it to make it work.  Even online relationships take effort from everyone involved.  Effort and honesty are essential to any relationship, online or in person. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not a game of 'kinda.'  You can't be kinda pregnant.  I can't kinda be your friend.  If I'm your friend, guess what?  You might as well be here for dinner everynight because my friends are my family.  I have friends I love more than some of my relatives.  But I also have friends who vex me to no end.  One of my oldest girlfriends, who was my bridesmaid, I haven't heard from in almost 6 months.  I've known her for almost 20 years.  Another girlfriend I've known just as long hasn't spoken to me in over 2 years.  It's hard to be someone's friend when they won't talk to you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't be someone's friend when it's convenient.  A friend is not just a booty call.  Don't be my friend just when it suits you.  A real friend is there anytime you need them.  Whether it's an important issue or just to shoot the breeze, a friend is always available.  We all know that life happens.  But we can't get so caught up in our own little realities that we ignore those around us who care about us.  We all need to feel needed and appreciated.  We all want to feel loved and respected.  We all need that contact with someone else, be it physical, mental or emotional.  I don't ask more from my friends than I'm willing to give.  Even if you don't think I can help with whatever has put a burr up your ass, call me.  Even if it's not the most convenient time for me, I'm still available for that conversation.  You never know.  I just might be the answer you're looking for.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-8554827689224259694?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/8554827689224259694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=8554827689224259694' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/8554827689224259694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/8554827689224259694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/convenience.html' title='Convenience'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-2402282762875359840</id><published>2008-09-12T20:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T20:45:01.563-04:00</updated><title type='text'>stormy weather</title><content type='html'>I'm sipping hot tea, listening to the radio.  The house is quiet.  It's not often I get the house to myself.  Makes for a good opportunity to write.  I have four stories I'm working on right now.  But the knot in my shoulder keeps distracting me.  Too much stress from the day job.  It doesn't help that my hormones didn't get the memo about getting dumped for an older woman.  And yesterday was the one year anniversary of my father's death. &lt;br /&gt;All around, it's been a stressful week.  If I owned a gun, I'd go shoot something.  Maybe I'll find a Schwarzenegger movie and watch stuff blow up.  That usually helps.  Or I could go to bed early and hope I sleep more than four hours.  I need a drink, among other things. Guess I shouldn't have tried working on the erotic short story.  I'll stop grousing now.  Hope the weekend goes quickly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-2402282762875359840?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/2402282762875359840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=2402282762875359840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2402282762875359840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/2402282762875359840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/stormy-weather.html' title='stormy weather'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-3129097652650259245</id><published>2008-09-06T22:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T22:54:26.121-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cravings</title><content type='html'>What do you crave?  What one thing can you not live without once it crosses your mind?  Is it a milkshake? A song you just have to hear?  Crawling into that college sweatshirt you just can’t bring yourself to throw away? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cravings and desires are important.  They are signals to what is vital to us, and what is dangerous for us.  The things we are passionate about do not define us, necessarily.  But they do paint a picture. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My picture is changing.  The colors are becoming more vibrant, bolder.  I’ve been the introverted nerd for so long it feels strange to see in such rich colors.  Being passionate about things is something I’m still getting used to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m discovering that my cravings are changing.  Some things are still on my list, but there are some new things, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what cravings &lt;em&gt;are&lt;/em&gt; on my list?  Let’s see:&lt;br /&gt;Music I can sing along with&lt;br /&gt;Cooking dinner for family and friends&lt;br /&gt;The scent of fresh laundry&lt;br /&gt;Wind in my hair as I drive too fast&lt;br /&gt;Words, all words, written and otherwise&lt;br /&gt;Honesty from the people I care about&lt;br /&gt;A sexy voice in my ear&lt;br /&gt;A caress from someone who understands me&lt;br /&gt;Laughter and joy and passion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t think I could live without these things.  Some things are easier to acquire than others.  The harder it is to achieve some things, the more you appreciate them when you get them.  However, you have to be careful not to hold on too tightly.  If we are meant to have these things that vex us so, they will come to us when the time is right.  That doesn’t make the desire any less.  I keep seeing the Corvette I want and can’t have right now.  But I know I will appreciate it more when I do get it.    I’ve already found the perfect heels to wear when I drive it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-3129097652650259245?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/3129097652650259245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=3129097652650259245' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3129097652650259245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/3129097652650259245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/cravings.html' title='Cravings'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3510798450745370609.post-6289162719667510867</id><published>2008-09-06T22:50:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T22:52:50.505-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Unwritten</title><content type='html'>Unwritten.  What does it mean to be unwritten?  Words not dripping onto the page?  The muse not paying attention to pleas for help?  Playing mahjong online instead of writing?  Life can be unwritten, unplanned, unscripted.  I often hear writers say they let their characters lead them through the story, only vaguely following a sketchy outline.  We can be unwritten as people, too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People who know me know I’m in the process of ending a 13 year marriage.  I went from my parents to my husband.  No time to find myself in there.  In that respect, I am unwritten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; In the months since the breakup, I have written more journal entries than I did the entire time I was in high school.  I have also meditated and had lots of long conversations with people who love me for who I really am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m just now learning who that person is.  I like the feel of rain on my face.  I love to sing.  I’m writing more and I’m actually happy with what’s on the page.  I don’t need anyone’s approval.  I do want people’s opinions.  I can have friends who are hundreds or thousands of miles away and still love them for the true friends they are.  I am smart, funny, quick with a helping hand.  I love one-liners and good comebacks.  I play poker and don’t drink sissy drinks.  I love football and MMA and boxing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People who ‘knew me when’ tell me I’m like a different person.  I carry myself differently and smile a lot more.  I’m happy with the gray in my hair.  I don’t stress over little things.  I’m learning what I can control and what I have to trust to God.  I love my own idiosyncrasies.  I’m learning to release inhibitions that were never mine to start with.  I have a wicked sense of humor.  I love double entendres and dirty jokes.  I’m comfortable with myself for the first time in my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully I won’t intimidate people.  I’ve been told I do that.  I truly find it weird that anyone would be intimidated by me.  Regardless to how smart or straightforward I am, I hope I am approachable.  I’m finding the best version of me.  It’s starting out to be very interesting.  I think it’s going to be one hell of a ride. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for now, I will drench myself in words.  I will feel the rain on my skin. I will gladly share the words on my lips.  I am no longer unwritten.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3510798450745370609-6289162719667510867?l=beccabutcher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/feeds/6289162719667510867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3510798450745370609&amp;postID=6289162719667510867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6289162719667510867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3510798450745370609/posts/default/6289162719667510867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beccabutcher.blogspot.com/2008/09/unwritten.html' title='Unwritten'/><author><name>Becca Butcher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14493607935930707710</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2aAnlx0c110/TQZMzdBei1I/AAAAAAAAACA/KMhzdBra3B0/S220/fairy_sleeping%2Bimage.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
