Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Sunday, June 19, 2005


It's a human conceit, I guess, to go through life as if we have all the time in the world. "I'll do it tomorrow, we can do that next week, we'll always get another chance."

The thing is, tomorrow doesn't always come. Sometimes, that one chance is the only one we ever get. And all too often, we let tomorrows slip away from us, only to discover that we wake up one morning, and it's too late.

That's how I woke up today. With a phone call, telling me that time had escaped, tomorrow is gone, the chance is lost. That I had lost another friend. Sonya is gone.

Oh, Sonya. I remember us being pregnant together, sharing stories. Remember how Coryisms and Rabbit Tracks walked hand in hand for a while as our girls grew up. We were talking all the time when you were pregnant with Lukey. I remember sending you out of work and to sleep a few times during it when you were stressing and needed to walk away, me the eternal big sister. The absolute joy when we started playing with paint programs, and you discovered your penguins.

I still have the cyberpunk penguin icon you made for me. It's going into a permanent place in my list.

We always talked about tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Finally sitting together on the porch, the kids playing in the backyard. We were so -close-, so nearby, and yet that distance got in the way so many times, and we let it happen, because everyone has more tomorrows, right?


I want my tomorrows back. I want to do them over again, I want to push and us be able to do what now we never can. It's selfish, and I know it. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO SAY GOODBYE, DAMMIT!

I'm sorry for not being better, for not trying harder, for not making that physical meeting we always talked about happen.

Cory, Lukey ... your Mama was very special. She was a wonderful, intelligent, bubbly woman that I utterly adored. She could make anyone smile, even if they didn't feel like smiling. She wrote about you two all the time, you were her absolute pride and joy.

The words are gone now, numb is starting to sink in.

I just wish numb could banish the ache.

I miss you, Sonya.

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