Flowers and Weeds

I have a super serious post in the works for you, Mr. Blogger Sir. But I really want to pour every ounce of rambling powers I have into it so I think it'll have to be set aside for a later time. You know, as much as I enjoyed writing my last post, I don't know that it really told you enough about me and since we are new friends, I feel I should introduce myself as improperly as possible.

The name's Abigail Anne Zambrana. There's plenty to tell. I don't mean to say I'm amazingly interesting or anything, but I really know how to ramble about a subject.

I'm twenty. My life's been kind of odd. I'll be talking a lot about my childhood and adolescence over the course of this blog because just like with most people, my issues are deep rooted in those years. I've never been to school. My mother stopped homeschooling me when I was 10 because she had to switch from being a housewife to a single mom with two jobs. I threatened to run away if she tried putting me in public school. So I was left alone a lot and pretty much raised myself. There is no note of self pity in that. It's just how it happened. I refer to the yin and yang of all stages in life as Flowers and Weeds. Sometime there are more weeds than flowers, sometimes you didn't know flowers could grow there until years later. But there are always flowers and weeds both.

Sometime soon I'll tell you about my spirituality. It's probably the most complicated and important part of me. Every day is part of the journey. I find every beautiful thing in my life is braided into it. I learn something every day.

Being thankful is one of the lessons I've almost learned. I try to do it every day. The days I go without being thankful are always the longest, darkest days. I over think things pretty much at all times. It keeps me from enjoying my days, unfortunately. Being thankful helps me to focus on the love I have for the people and places I'm around.

I've been blessed with the most beautiful and unique companions. Each and every one of them was worth waiting for. They fit me like condoms, and are often about as pale. They're the ones that make me laugh until I can't breathe, dance until I can't stand, sing until I can't speak, think until I cannot stay silent. When I am around them, I find myself in bloom. I find myself surrounded, in love, and loved by muses. Had I not gone so many years alone and cold, I don't think I would ever find their presences so enchanting. Flowers and weeds, like I said.

I was born to frolick in meadows, no shoes, no panties, big long flowing skirt. Pure delight. As far as I'm concerned heaven is just a big beautiful meadow with the softest, greenest grass, with the fluffiest most cuddly bunnies and the most colorful and craziest wild flowers ever to exist, surrounded by the thickest, oldest, wisest, most peaceful trees ever to live.

Also, I was born to write. Whether or not those writings are born to be published is a completely different subject. But when I go too long without writing, I get pent up inside. It's almost like a perpetual state of PMS. My thoughts stick together in my head and swell and I can't tell emotion from emotion. When I write, when I string random letters together to make something whole, I feel indescribably relieved, almost post-coital. Most importantly, I feel well when I write. I feel I'm doing what I should be doing. I feel my bare feet on the grass. I feel a breeze against my skin. I feel magic.

So here I am. Writing to stay alive.

Nice to officially meet you.

all is full of love.

Abbi.