I’m A Pretty Pink Hippo, Watch Me Fly!!!

It is finally Friday, and I am in one of those moods where things just need to come out so brace yourself.  Yes, my dear #1 fan, Joe, this is  going to be classic Marvi Marti.  I appreciate that you have missed my better posts.  And you are so correct, my writing has never turned on me, changed it’s feelings for me etc etc.  It is my sanity sometimes.  I so appreciate that you are one of the few able to read and see inside of me through what I write.  I’m just a pretty pink hippo, watch me fly!!!

I watched a few episodes of Criminal Minds last night while playing Farkle and Crime City on Facebook.  I had social things I could have been out doing but sometimes I relish the solitude of my room.  Sometimes, for me, being on my computer and doing mindless crap is just the therapy I need.  It was something the ex-hubmeister could never grasp.  His form of therapy was to work on something, ride the Harley.  He faulted me for what worked for me, who knows why.  I’m not him, or anyone else.  I have to do what works for me.  Don’t hate or judge, if you cannot accept that then leave me the hell alone.

I also spent time talking to my buddy, Tigger.  Not sure why but he actually ‘gets’ me, or seems to understand me.  Tigger and I have an interesting bond that formed one night while laying on blankets, under the stars, on his trampoline.  Bouncing on the trampoline is how he got dubbed Tigger, and only natural that he in turn calls me Pooh.  He has some pretty unique insight into a lot of things, and a pretty easy going attitude.  So, I crashed on the bed and we talked for a while, until the fine citizens of Cincinnati acted up and the trucks had to roll again.  He asked me some questions…one, did I think I am broken? Nope. Nothing broken here just wounded!  Took a bit to mend the cracks, glue back together my heart and get it off life support from my divorce, but all is good.  No, Tigger, I’m not broken, I’m a band-aid.

In keeping with what I said yesterday about being a transitional person for others…I am the bandage for other people’s broken hearts.  Long ago, like 27 years ago, when my faith was very new and I was toddling around on baby steps in my faith, my dear friend, Vicki Melson, told me I was a Barnabas..an encourager.  I was one of those people that could encourage the hurting souls and help heal them.  She used to warn me to use the gift carefully, people would suck the life out of me if I didn’t.  And she told me that the problem with helping others heal is that part of your heart is applied to their wounds, a part you can never get back.  I didn’t understand it then but I sure do now.  I wish I could find her, she was a terrific mentor.  For some reason I got the impression she was no longer in this world, but not sure where I heard that.  She also warned me that no one in this world can heal the healers, the encouragers.  Our healing is through faith in the Great Physician, which means a lot of time in the Word and in prayer.  No wonder I’m running on empty of late, haven’t been filling up like I should.  No Vicki, I never did go on The Walk To Emmaus…maybe it is time to find a sponsor and go.  Lord knows my heart and soul could seriously use it.  Wherever you are, Mrs. Melson, thanks for steering me on the right path so long ago. I fall off and fall hard but I still manage to see the lighthouse in time.  🙂

Maybe the reason I’m not keeper material is that I do keep my soft and vulnerable side locked up tight.  A friend that read the post told me this morning that the reason no one keeps me is because they don’t take the time to look inside me, cause if they did they’d never let me go.  Another friend said people don’t really want a relationship or they’d see their folly and hang onto someone like me with everything in them.  Funny, both are men that are dear friends that have taken time to get to know me, sadly both married and unavailable. But then, it was easy to reveal deeper parts of myself to them, no worries about being left heart broken.  There are so many layers to me that have not been exposed to others in so long out of need to protect myself.  Perhaps I am going about it all wrong?  It’s just that every time I allow someone to peek inside, I place enough trust in them to see things no one else gets to see, I end up alone and wounded again.  Then I lock it up tighter than the last time.  Most people never ask the questions that would open those doors anyway, the ones that allow us to examine the very soul, the core of the other person.  The deep stuff so to speak.  Then again I tend to keep folks at arm’s length so they don’t get that close to ask and know.  Slap on the brash outer shell, paint a pink stripe in my hair and an “I don’t give a rat’s ass” attitude, and no one gets to see the real person under the mask.  It’s safer that way.  Let the shrinks ask those?

So I sit here now myself, wondering….what would you ask, what deep, probing question, of someone else that you wanted to see inside their soul?



  1. Bravo…bravo…[loud whistling]

    There, you did it, and nobody else got hurt along the path of your soul searching writings.

    No swearing at anybody nor any knife throwing, but a classic physician’s “heal thy self” approach.

    Your #1 fan, el primero, is still standing and applauding.

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