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been listening to a mish-mash of gospel praise, (not my sort of music at all) but Tye Tribbett got me rethinking that and in between listening to all this amazing worship that makes the praise well up in me, i would prop up the headphones and listen in to radio , the rock show on Xfm, 'soft , hard and heavy' and go all bananas... pop a few chocolate bits in my mouth and almost cry...it is raining...in that all too slow wash. where the universe feels it should do it slow and deliberately , for the heck of it and more psycedelic accoustic tunes fused with slow melancholic praise wrestle their way into my ears... right down to my heart and making a disturbing lasting impression more especially on the raw, rough edged corners of my soul that cant help but feel both pleasure and pain, nostalgia and relief. a need to pray and a need to cry.

It’s been hard waking up lately. The maid was fired and duties had to be shared. the hardest are the mornings after a long days work, a late news bulletin and only a few hours of shut eye is hard on a girl. Hardest but most interesting part is waking up my 2 and a half year old nephew to get ready for school. In between rousing myself and then nudging him gently (his mother believes he should not be stirred harshly, bad for his day and heart)

she always wanted to date a man with a cleft chin, just like her daddy. all the men she met were not like her father: tall, built,wore jeans all the time like it was all there was in fashion, kind but firm, intelligent and amazingly funny. the super dad she always believed he was. and that dimple in his chin. the one she played with when she was three, sticking her pudgy fingers into it and giggling, 'daddy has a hole in his chin,' she would blat out with a lot of eloquent effort and he would roar into her neck till she's squealing with hearty laughter. she hoped for that kind of man twenty seven years later. but good men were hard to find and work proved more predictable and likeable but her friends would hear none of it, forever setting her up for a date or two in a week something she just could not afford what with her 7-7 schedule at work, the bank was no place for fun loving people but Paula wasnt looking for fun now

maybe we should just go, just go, just go away...lazy sunday afternoon, country music lazily seeped out the car radio enveloping us in the backseat. i drink it in leisurely, like my soul depends on it and relax. i sit backwatch them pull strands of something out of their hair, not just strands, mounds of sand and pieces of seashells from their shorts and open back tops and swim suits still dump from playing crazily with water and sand. now and again they double up and laugh at the pics they took.their backs against the setting sun as it streams through the half rolled up glass.Micheal, in the driver's seat goes on and on about something, i cant really hear it, the hum of his deep drawl makes me drowsy and i am staring ahead half shut eyes, lethargic, tired and smelling of sea weed and fish.