About Kimberly Theriault

My name is Kimberly. I'm a self-proclaimed history buff. I'm the mother to one amazingly wonderful autistic girl named Mia. I dabble in arts and crafts. I'm sarcastic. Roger is my rock. My family is beyond important to me. I think life is beautiful.

I’m sorry for this post

I have spent the better part of this snow day thinking. Mainly because Mia has reached the age where I am no longer welcome to sit by her side at all hours, waiting on her every move. So, because of this I try to busy myself, usually failing miserably. I tried to read a book, but was unsuccessful – too many thoughts. So, I sat down to write a few e-mails that I’d been putting off. I started them in my usual fashion, which is mainly to say I apologized profusely for bothering the recipient; I write this every time no matter how much I believe the receiver wishes to hear from me. I am always apologizing.

Hello, my name is Kimberly and I am chronically apologetic.

sorry meme

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So I Bluff

I haven’t posted anything in quite some time, although I still write incessantly. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I have been a bit dispirited lately and haven’t felt secure enough to advertise this. Again, I’m not sure why (about the dispirited part atleast). Life is good. Life is usually good. Life, lately, is unusually good. I’m finally chasing down dreams, and making them reality. I’m officially halfway through my journey in becoming a Dental Hygienist (and my teeth look better than they have in years! Ha!). Nonsuch Novelties has taken off and I have more orders than ever before – and a constant slew of compliments to go along with my work. Mia is flourishing, there truly isn’t a better word for how she is doing. And, yet, I can’t seem to shake away my own feelings of dejection. Sorrow. Incompetency even. Continue reading

Untitled for Lack of Trying

I don’t think I’ve ever published one of my poems here (actually, that’s a lie. I “published” one.). I don’t usually feel the need to share things so private. I’ve always felt that poetry is intimate. The word play choice that goes into it can be extremely personal. And most of my poems are privately owned; but for once, I felt like sharing. (And, yes, I am still alive!)

 

Selfsame

Physically burnt & mentally abused

Purely abashed; every moment suffering

I am spinning

I am falling & running

Fast, faster

Aching sides, elevated heart rate

Gasping breaths that lack the required amount of oxygen to survive.

And so I stop

Give in and let him take me

To hell

Or, is it heaven??

 

It’s hard to tell when the line between pleasure and pain is so convoluted..

 

Love

People talk all of the time about love at first sight. Something about the way a person moves through space, their demeanor, that makes an individual fall in love with them. I’ve always taken that concept a bit further and wondered if it were possible to love someone you’ve never met – and I mean truly, unequivocally love LOVE someone. I’m not talking about loving someone the way a school girl loves a celebrity they will most likely never meet. I’m talking real, real love.

So, is it possible to love someone you’ve never met.. and someone you’re never going to meet – well, at least not in this lifetime. Is it possible to truly love someone who died before you lived?

I’d like to say it is possible…

My Grandfather, Thomas, goofing around in his wives nightgown.

My Grandfather, Thomas, goofing around in his wife’s nightgown.

Yesterday I checked my email to find a forwarded message from my mother. The text was short and sweet, she wanted me to see a few pictures of my grandfather that I had never before seen. Photos she had never before seen either. The way I felt when I opened them is hard to put to words.

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