Insomniac by Toni L.A. Clegg

Coveted sleep-state

You shy bird

Flitting and flirting

Just beyond me

Elusive slumber

You sly fox

Slipping and slinking

Just out of reach


An exercise in description…


She sat cross-legged on the floor, her mind wandering about as her fingers typed madly at the bedraggled laptop perched precariously on her knees.

The house was still, but not too still. It held the sort of silence that was cozy, like an old blanket, broken in and soft in all the right places. It was made up of simple things; the lulling drone of the air conditioner, the small rustling sounds of the cats prowling about, the nondescript hum of outside noises drifting in from under the door.

I’m going to start trying to challenge myself by writing more regularly. I haven’t been writing creatively at all and in the past, the best way I found to get past that “block” was to just start typing whatever popped into my head. Today’s tiny excerpt is totally unoriginal, as I just ended up describing myself writing right now, but hey! It’s something, right?


intensity of desire


consumed by internal fire


needing what I don’t require


a pursuit that doesn’t tire


always reaching just a little higher


Longing by Toni L.A. Clegg

Tired Musings on My Life, Disorganized Thoughts, and Random Journaling

I was just reading back over some things that I wrote 4 years ago and I am both amazed by how much has changed… and how much hasn’t.

Be prepared for a somewhat complain-y and rant-ish post to follow, if you choose to continue reading… I’m pretty much just journaling my thoughts out in a stream right now. I just felt like blogging instead of writing it out on paper.

Anyways, in many ways, compared to 2014 me, I am in a totally 100% improved place in my life.

Thomas is amazing. Our relationship still continues to awe me with how open and natural and safe it feels. I didn’t know a marriage could be like this and no matter what complaints I may have about other things in my life, I wouldn’t trade what we have together for anything.

As far as employment is concerned, I’m working with children on a daily basis, which is something I wanted for so very long. It’s exhausting, to be sure, but also in many ways, what I love to do.

I’ve made a good friend here, which has been a huge blessing to me. We’ve found a church, even though I’ve been much less faithful in attendance than I feel like I should be.

I’m so much more at ease with myself than I used to be, now that I’m not constantly in a state of fear or anxiety. Being physically removed from several very toxic people that were in my life then has done wonders for my self confidence and self image.

I’ve nearly completed getting my CDA, which in it’s own right is an accomplishment, but also represents another thing, which is pursuing further education in regards to teaching and children. That has long been a desire of mine.

In other ways, I’m in the same or a very similar state to where I was years ago, however. I still find myself longing, almost obsessively, to be a mother and wondering if I ever will be. I still feel decades older than I am and I’m still scared by the passing of time, probably now more than ever. I still struggle with depression, though not in the same way and definitely not for all the same reasons.

And in yet other ways, there are new struggles that I face now.

Loneliness is very present here. I miss my church family back home and my multitude of friends and the comfort of knowing most people and places around me. I still haven’t adapted since the move almost two years ago, which admittedly, is my own fault and due mostly to lack of effort on my part.

I’ve gained enough weight to be officially classed as obese, something that’s never been an issue to that extent previously. I mean, I’ve been chubby, but not like this. I know I need to make some drastic changes, but I haven’t been able to stick with anything so far.

Even though I love my job and many aspects of living here, the counter-balance is how very tired I am all the time and how often I get sick, not to mention how much I loath the heat. As a far northerner, born and raised, I literally have zero tolerance for the combination of humidity and temperature that the south exists under, especially during the summer months.

So yeah, that’s… what I’ve been thinking about. I just looked at the time and realized that it’s really late and I have to work tomorrow and the long holiday weekend is over, so I’d better sign off for now.

I’m going to try and get back into creative writing more. We’ll see how that goes!

Not-A-Mother’s Day

A deep desire has possessed me to write of late, and yet, I’ve been fighting it. I’m not entirely sure why, but it is almost as if I’m afraid to unleash the torrent of thoughts and feelings swirling within the depths of my heart into actual words. So, that said, please forgive the word vomit that is about to come out of my fingers.

Mother’s Day is still probably the hardest day of the year for me. I hate that it is. I don’t want to feel like this annually. I despise my own weakness every time that the sorrow and melancholy takes hold of me.

I sobbed last night, like I haven’t in a long time. Grieving for the child that I never got to hold, who would be six years old now. Glimpses flit through my mind of the little one I never met. My fingers long to brush tangled hair back from my offspring’s sleeping face, to hear the breathy little sounds of contented sleep.

I move on and find myself mourning for the self-imposed loss of my own mother, due to estrangement. Remembering her in the good times, the sane times, the happy times. Wishing for a moment that I could reach out to her, but reminding myself why I had to establish such strong boundaries to begin with. Flashes of memories I wish I could forget, things I’ve tried to bury deep in my mind.

And then come the waves of terror that I’ll never experience motherhood myself and that somehow it is just punishment for some unknown horrible thing that I must be. Am I like my own mother? Am I worse?

Then, I’m flooded with regret for focusing on myself. So many others have it so much worse than I do. How they have suffered makes my own hurt seem insignificant and petty. I know I’m being terribly selfish. I know I should be bigger than this. But I’m not. I’m here, raw and naked and broken inside.

This particular Mother’s Day, my sweet husband and best friend, along with her impishly awesome toddler, did their very best to cheer me up for the whole first part of the day. They were sunshine and wonderful.

But now, I’m here alone, my body gripped by the remains of a nasty stomach bug. It’s quiet, the only sounds in the house being the hum of the fan and A/C, the rustling of my cat and the ominous music of a paused video game in the background. The twists and stabs in my abdomen seem almost appropriate to how my heart feels.

And again, I can’t help feeling ashamed of myself.

My life isn’t that bad. In fact, there are many, many good things happening right now. But on this day, in this moment, it all seems faint and far away. Like the warmth of a fire you can see through a window, when you are outside in the snow… I know it’s real and bright and beautiful, but in this fractured bit of time, I am numb to it.