As a hybrid southern gal I love my country music. Somehow I can always find some tune within the genre to capture whatever mood I happen to be sporting at the time.

Songs like “What Hurts the Most” or  “My Give a Damn’s Busted”, “Wide Open Spaces”, “Strawberry Wine”.  “You Won’t Find This” still makes me cry.

But today, while talking with the Canadian, he asked me if I was ready to ‘move on’. And while he was specifically referring to my change in career, several events has occurred over the past several days that made this particular question resonate in my mind.

I’ve unloaded several burdens over the past two days. I don’t feel the need to address the specific, surprising and individual feelings of relief and liberation I’ve experienced upon their gradual easing if not complete dissolution from my mind.  It’s been a ‘letting go’. It’s been a ‘moving on’.

Once again the poetry of Nashville has expressed exactly what I never could. I’ve loved this song for a long time, but for the first time. I understand, really understand its meaning.

Life has been patiently waiting for me over the past six months, but I don’t think it will have to wait for much longer.

Sometimes the truth is the only way out.

Five -- Count them FIVE people have sent me this "Piece of Flare" over Facebook today. What does this say about me I wonder?

I know its a lousy excuse for a Wednesday post, but I've been sick! The only interesting things I have to share is that I've been having some trippy NyQuil induced dreams/nightmares:

1. I have a reoccurring dream that i have random conversations with Fuckhead. Conversations about life, us, etc. Last night I ended up yelling and throwing things, but its not always an unplesant cerebrial encounter. Could be I just miss talking to him, could be he randomly popped into my IM list before I went to bed? Could be the drugs laced in decongestants are more potent than any of us imagined.

2. Last night, I dreamt I was dating David Cook (of American Idol fame). Could be I find rocker guys to be hotter than the strings of Jimmy Hendrix' guitar? Could be I reminded myself to TiVo the finale? Could be it is my psychic ability telling me that David Cook will win American Idol...???

Frankly, I think it may be all of the above.

As a child, pre-teen, early teen, I never had it. I was a terminally un-cool.

I was daddy’s little girl, and daddy is a double PhD who’s cocktail party trick consisting of herding everyone upstairs and challenge one of his academic cohorts to name a country so that his three year old daughter could point it out on the giant map of the world which hung on her wall obscuring the Rainbow Brite decorations. A seeming prodigiousness destined to fade throughout her academic career.

Always the last picked for gym teams – not because I was the slow kid, or the fat kid, but I was the kid who would always be playing with her hair while standing out in center field, failing to run and catch a pop fly because I was mid-French braid.

I was shy. I deliberately worked slowly on all my morning schoolwork so that I would have to finish it over the lunch hour and avoid the social Amazon that was the elementary school playground. Instead, I found my kindred spirits among the characters of Anne Shirley, Mary Lennox and Laura Ingles Wilder.

And when the Coolest Girl in the 4th, asked her “so, do you like the New Kids on the Block”?

I replied quite honestly, “I don’t know – I haven’t met them yet.”

A pop culturally illiterate answer that would continue to haunt me throughout summer vacation 1989.

Maybe I’ll get it the second time around?

I would like to point out that I did eventually mature socially and was voted Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen and 20 years later, that 4^th grade “cool girl” is working at the local Burger King in our hometown. See – its good to be a nerd!