10 Reasons Why Depression is Good for Your Skin
Posted on September 30, 2008 - Filed Under acts of idiocy, bad hair day, brain farts, satire
So this week has been bitch and moan week for me. Oh the drama. On the other hand I look simply mahvelous, so I can only conclude that my sad mood has been good for my skin. Think I”m kidding? Nope, and here’s why:
1. You don’t smile - thereby avoiding those pesky laugh lines that leave tracks around your eyes.
2. You’re too sad to talk and it’s impossible to read through your tears, so you sleep. Sleep rejuvenates the body, helps to grow new cells and gets rid of the puffiness around your eyes that you got while you were happy and up all night, managing on 3 hours of sleep.
3. You extend your beauty routine in order to make yourself feel better, so you slough more, moisturize more, give yourself facials and pop for mannies and peddies, again to make yourself feel better.
4. People leave you alone lest they have to console you or something, which gives you space, which gives you peace, which gives your skin a very dewy look.
5. Because you feel like crap you are spurned to ‘cleanse’ the body, therefore you begin drinking water with slices of lemon, swap coffee for herbal tea and nibble on salad because you have no appetite.
6. Because people are leaving you alone and it’s too much of a chore to read or do anything you dig out all of your chick flicks and watch them non-stop. You thereby expose yourself to an over-supply of romance, happy endings and things turning out right (instead of how they really turn out) - this quickens your pulse, thereby increasing the blood flow and circulation which equals a rosy complexion.
7. You call all your girlfriends, many of whom you haven’t spoken to in months, the console, commiserate and help to really pump up your self-esteem. Again, this quickens the pulse, increases the blood flow, gives you back your swagger and does wonders for those fine lines.
8. Because you are railing against that which is making you sad, you decide you must change everything about your life. You throw away all your clothes (except for the really nice designer items, good shoes and bags) which necessitates a huge shopping binge. Since you are depressed you don’t care that you are putting it all on your credit card and nothing makes your skin wake up like a new wardrobe.
9. Since you’ve already dropped a wad of credit on a new wardrobe, you feel that you must take the makeover to completion, so you go to the most expensive salon in town and get a brand new edgy cut and color, while wearing your new clothes and walk out feeling like a super model. Definitely good for the skin. Are you feeling all rosy and glowy yet?
10. And to top it all off you make an appointment with that hunky massage dude Sven, who is a golden god with rippling muscles and during your hour and a half massage you have the best fantasy you’ve had in years and you’re rosy from head to toe.
See, I’m telling you feeling bad has it’s upside. 
Note: This is satire, I am not making fun of people with real depression, I am making fun of myself. In case you were wondering.
Maybe it’s All About Cats?
Posted on September 28, 2008 - Filed Under my opinions
This past week has really been a bit strange - especially in the blogosphere. For the most part it has seemed excedingly quiet and my stats have been awful. Which is always depressing to a blogger I guess and I know we aren’t supposed to take it to heart - stuff happens - there are slumps, blah blah. I know that. I’ve been at this for quite a while and you’d think I’d have learned by now. Still, it gets me down.
I spend a lot of time coming up with ideas for posts and writing them and so on. Just like everybody else so when it turns out that the effort doesn’t seem to be worth it… Oh well. But I do wonder maybe that’s the problem, maybe I do spend too much time working on posts. Maybe I should just do that whatever is in my mind at the moment thing. It does seem to work for a lot of bloggers. I don’t know. Maybe I should just start trolling for lots of pictures of cats, dogs, mice and hamsters doing stupid things. I just got an email from a friend proclaiming how funny the contents were and when I opened it I found the standard 10 pics off the Cheezburger site. Yet people just can’t seem to get enough of them. Maybe it is all about the cats.
I mean who doesn’t want to see a bunch of pics of crazy cats doing crazy things? Playing banjos and golf or jumping up in the air with a funny photo-shopped expression on their face - now that’s entertainment, yeah? Although cats really have been done to death, so I’d probably have to find a lesser used animal. Maybe a bass fish or a bunny? Bunnies are funny, right? Or hedgehogs, they don’t get very much play in the blogosphere and that seems rather unfair - salamanders too are a greatly ignored species for funny pics as well.
Perhaps words are passe? It could be, I think honestly that people do think in pictures, so to speak. I mean when you think of something you don’t get an image of text in your mind - you get an image, right? So maybe pictorial posts should be the order of the day? In fact, I probably should have done this post in pictures instead of words because you’re probably not still reading - you’ve moved on to find some funny pictures that make you spit coffee all over your monitor. Am I right? I thought so.
It could very well be that writers are dinosaurs, a breed moving dangerously close to the edge of extinction. I know I spent 3 hours yesterday looking for some poetry to read on the internet. I went to one of those sites that is supposed to be a directory for poetry/writing blogs. I was astounded to discover that I found just about everything but. Even the poetry blogs didn’t have poetry, they had marketing news, politics, funny pics, commentary and meanderings of the author’s daily routine - but no poetry. Out of the 100 sites I went to, I found ten that had some poetry, of those maybe 5 that seemed to really be about poetry. Shocking I must say. Shocking.
Oh well, I guess this writer will have to change with the times, start using pictures and learn how to use photoshop. I may need to up my RAM though, cuz those graphics eat up space like nobody’s business. What do you guys think? Should I change the name of the blog to “I Can Haz a Chilidog”?
Bad Penny - Theme Fridays
Posted on September 26, 2008 - Filed Under What If?, mind games, original fiction, theme fridays, writing
The Bad Penny Blues played on the anceint jukebox and tremored as it blared out boogie woogie to an unappreciative crowd. The place smelled of old wood, stale beer and the sweat of lonely men. A baseball game flicked on the television screen over the bar but nobody bothered the score. The rain pounded on the roof and added to the percussion wailing through the room - music, mumbles and shots of cheap whiskey made a nice mixed drink.
Brian slouched on a bar stool as the leak from the roof kerplunked fetid water next to his beer, joining the ring of condensation and forming a little pool of germs. He had a stack of napkins upon which he made furious notes - oblivious to the atmosphere and forced laughter. Stopping occasionally to look up to the corner of his mind for a word that raced to elude his grasp and pleased when he closed his fist around it. Drunks jostled past, knocking Brian in the back and arm, causing his beautiful silver fountain pen to fly more than once out of his hand. Unruffled he would only fish it out from wherever it landed, never letting it phase him or swat away his train of thought. He wrote every night in a place like this, among strangers and chaos. About her. Avoiding the dark quiet of his own four rooms as long as possible - well after last call.
But the night was young and Brian had some words that needed to be free and he lit a cigarette, paying no mind to no smoking signs and admonitions. He raised his empty mug and waved it at the bartender. And drank down half again when a new one appeared.
“What are you writing?” a small but clear voice asked to his left.
Brian didn’t care to stop but the voice puzzled him because it was out of place here - it possessed no edge, no wheeze or whiskied breath. A sidelong glance revealed a petite, old woman peering over his arm, lips moving as she read the scratch marks jotted on the napkin. “Poetry,” Brian grunted.
“What kind of poetry?” the woman asked with curious clear green eyes meeting his.
“The private kind,” Brian snapped yet could not look away from those unblinking eyes.
The woman nodded, “All right then.” She waved to the bartender which made a delicate gold charm bracelet twinkle a little dance. Shortly, a glass of green concoction was delivered to her. With dainty hand she brought the drink to her lips and sipped. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and with her free hand, she smoothed the skirt of her green knit dress.
Brian lost interest in his poetry and studied the woman content to sit in a raucous bar and quietly drink. She looked straight ahead and focused on no particular thing - her gaze flitted in a lazy comfortable way that Brian couldn’t imitate. “Are you here alone?” he asked.
“Yes, quite alone,” the woman nodded.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your home? This is not a safe place for a woman alone.”
“Alice,” she said and smiled, “my name is Alice. And you are?”
“Brian,” he answered without thinking.
“Nice to meet you, Brian. Now you see I am not alone.” She winked and continued to sip at her frothy green brew.
Brian shook his head. “Oh no, I cannot be responsible for you. I have come here to write and be left alone,” he insisted. Why was the woman dressed from head to toe in green? Ghastly green at that?
“Yes, I know,”Alice nodded. “You come here quite a lot. You like to write on the napkins and stuff them in your pockets and mutter to yourself, don’t you? I wonder though why a young man who can afford such a pen can’t afford a pad of paper. Those napkins cost money you know.”
Brian smiled but Alice was impervious to the standard charm. “Oh, it’s just a few napkins. I buy plenty of beer around here. I think I’m entitled to a few napkins.” But he felt himself flush and wanted Alice to be somewhere else especially because her eyes bothered him, clear, unblinking, challenging in a way he couldn’t discern. “I have to get back to what I’m doing, Alice.” He picked up his pen again but the mood was gone and with it the words.
“Writer’s block?” Alice asked a little sarcastically and Brian felt those eyes on him again. A flash of recognition bolted through his mind and was gone. “I say, writer’s block?” Alice repeated.
Brian capped his pen and stuffed the napkins, all of them, in his pocket. He drained the last of his beer and threw some cash on the bar. “Sorry Alice, I do require the absence of company.”
Alice nodded. “I suppose I should be going too. Walk me to the bus stop?”
Brian’s gut told him to get away from the strange woman but his manners dictated that he oblige her. “All right then, let’s go.”
They stepped out into the night and the rain had slowed to a misty air that fogged gently over the slick streets. They walked slowly toward the bus stop which was only a block away but seemed so far to Brian because of Alice’s chattering. She went on about her daughter, recently deceased and how sad she was to have lost the one dear thing in her life.
“Yes, yes,” Brian muttered in mock consolation, wishing the bus stop were closer.
“She killed herself you know,” Alice said. “But of course you know, don’t you?”
There was a two second delay of the words impinging on Brian’s brain. “Suicide,” he said involuntarily.
“Yes, that’s right,” Alice’s voice sounded different and Brian looked over at her. She stood stock still, aiming a large gun at him.
“What?” Brian chuckled for a minute, the vision of the tiny woman weilding a weapon seemed so ludicrous - but there was a glint in those eyes, even in the dark and misty night, that made him suddenly cold. “Now Alice, why are you pointing a gun at me?”
“Because I want you to feel what she felt. Hopeless and seeing her life at an end. Unloved. Beaten to her knees. Are you feeling a litte bit nervous now, Brian?” Alice had transformed into a predator in a wink.
“You must have me confused with someone else…”
Alice smirked. “The pen dear, I helped her pick it out. There is not another like it. It is special, just like you.” And Alice pulled the trigger, relishing the shock in Brian’s eyes. And again and again until there were no more bullets left to discharge. Alice looked down at the lifeless body for a long while. No one came, no sirens, no shouts - just her, the gun, the body and the wet, dark night. She bent and emptied his pockets of the napkins, the pen and just for good measure his wallet and watch and stuffed it all in her green purse. “Didn’t you know, Brian, a bad penny always has a way of turning up? But if you’re smart you toss them in the gutter.” Alice smiled and shuffled to the bus stop.
CHRISTINE’S BAD PENNY IS THATTA WAY
Following
Posted on September 25, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, WTF?, What If?, i dunno, my opinions
About ten year ago maybe a little less, there was an independent film that came out called Following. It was a very quirky British film that centered around an odd duck who by chance one day followed someone, the whole day and watched what they did. For some reason this became a fascination with him and ultimately led him into a whole passal of trouble and he found the tables turned in a very uncomfortable way. I thought it was an interesting film and moreso an interesting concept because it makes one ponder, why would one person want to follow another?
I don’t know if any of you have been followed but I have and it’s a rather surreal experience. Because at first it may seem a bit flattering, you know? Like “Wow, I must be interesting, woo hoo.” But then ego gives way to reality and you really do start to wonder why it is a certain person just keeps turning up wherever you are. How they just manage to be anyplace you are, get involved in activities you are involved in and so forth.
I guess I’m not a total bore, but I certainly wouldn’t call myself fascinating. I just go about my business, have some fun, talk, chat, read, write, have a few laughs. You know, pretty much like anyone else - so what is there to see? I suppose it does have something to do with attraction or maybe it is just flat out curiosity. Is it possible that an average person like myself could be so alien to another that they would feel the need to study me, watch me, see what I do and say? Since it has happened I guess the cursory answer at least would have to be yes.
On the other hand maybe it has little or nothing to do with me, the watchee (if you will) and more to do with the watcher. I ponder sometimes what goes on in a mind like that - that they would follow someone else and just watch them. What would be the point, what need or desire would it fulfill? Is it that they are simply so unengaged in life that they have become a permanent spectator, too afraid to actually make direct contact and outwardly learn about someone, get to know them? Are they just taking notes because they are trying to develop a character study for a story? Is it only the unattainable that interests them? I’ve come to no real conclusions just more curiosity about the whole thing.
Anyone have any thoughts on this? What do you think the motivation is? Why do you think that? I’m seriously interested in your thoughts about this.
Play Ball!
Posted on September 24, 2008 - Filed Under Baseball, Just For Fun, brain farts, laughs, my opinions
So my little sister, Kathy was in town over the weekend. She comes out once a year to see friends, she once lived out here and then ultimately decided to go back to Michigan and make her permanent home there. Anyway, usually when she comes out we meet have a long lunch and then that’s it. This time out however, I suggested we try doing something more fun than a house salad and iced tea at the Black Cow.
She was receptive to the idea and we decided we’d take in a ballgame. She took care of getting the tickets and scaring up other chums to join us and all was cool. A few days later I got an email from her husband asking me to call her because of course she didn’t have my phone number with her. So, I took down the number and made the call. Now, you have to understand that Kath lives in the Detroit area and I always forget how much more direct they are out there, it’s been so long since I lived there and I’ve lived in California for pretty much all of my adult life - you know land of the nuts and twigs where everything is just nice and easy? Anyway, I call her cell and get her message which goes like this -”This is Kathy, you got my cell phone, leave a message. Good bye.” If I were to explain the tone though the message would have been more like: “this is Kathy, you wanna make something out that? So, you wanna leave a message, huh? Well go ahead, I dare ya!” I swear I was laughing so hard I could hardly leave the message. But that’s my sis, God love her, she is nothing if not direct.
So, she gets in town we have a nice breffy on Saturday morning - she asks if I want to join her at the LaBrea Tar Pits, which I decline because I have work to do and we part company. Sunday, is game day and her friend Dar comes by my house (since she lives nearby) so Kath can just swing by and pick us both up because still after four years it is a mystery to her how to get around my little burg - not sure why since there is only one main road and is quite a small little place but it just causes her problems. So Dar comes over we have coffee and some toast and chat away, waiting for Kath. The game is at one and it’s nearly noon so we’re wondering. Sure enough the phone rings and “I’m lost, pick up the phone, where are you - hello, hello, helloooooo?” Okay, pick up the phone, yes turn around, hang a right at the Starbuck’s - okay see you in a minute.”
All right then finally she’s there, we all pile into the car and we’re off. As we’re driving toward the 5 she says, ‘now how do you get to Dodger Stadium again? Should we be on the 5 or the 2?’ She says this to a car full of women who of course have no fricking idea where we are going. We resolve in the end to stay on the 5 because the 5 leads to all things in Southern California and we figure we’ll see the signs for the stadium. Well as soon as we start to see them then traffic comes to a halt and it takes about 35 minutes to just get off the off ramp to the stadium and another 10 to get the half mile to the stadium, people racing up the turn lane and cutting in front which pisses her off more.
At last we reach the stadium, park in the lower 40 and start the half mile hike to the stadium - when we’re just to the gates she remembers she’s forgotten her camera and wants to go back but oh no, we won’t let her. Then through the three bag checks and ticket showing, blah blah. Okay, so here’s the thing we entered at the exact opposite of where we should have, so we walk the entire length of the stadium only to discover we are on the 7th level, up the escalators, into the cramped elevator and at last we find our section, then down to almost the bottom where we find our seats smack dab in the middle of the row. Which is fine for us - not so much for the people who have to stand up during our constant comings and goings.
So I sit down and I say to Dar and Chris at the end of the first inning - ‘okay, well we aren’t going to get any real action til the 7th inning and then it will be neck in neck and then we’ll go into extra innings.’ This is a thing I do - predict ball games. Don’t know why but it just comes into my head and I say it. As the game progressed and my prediction became truer and truer, my seat mates kept glaring at me and saying, ‘God, can’t you let them score already?” I assured them I only predicted I didn’t have the power to intercede. It was good though because that gave us plenty of time to go and buy stuff and visit the bathroom and smoke a couple of cigarettes. I had my hotdog and beer for a mere $15 dollars. Yup, beer was 12 ounces and cost $8 - hey somebody has to pay those salaries right? So we sat in the sweltering sun - watched inning after innning with no runs, over and over. It did start to get a little interesting but by the bottom of the 9th Kathy says, if they don’t score by the end of this inning you want to go? Of course we did, we are girls after all and none of us really had a horse in the race -so yeah, we were game for leaving. Sure enough no runs so up we got, promising the people on the aisle it was our last departure from the seats and we started for the exits. Of course the other three had to hit the ladies room first - go figure. Then just as we got to the car we heard the crowd going ape shit, which probably meant that somebody scored and since the Dodgers were playing their arch rivals the Giants I’m assuming it was the Dodgers who scored. Ironically, we didn’t bother to turn the radio on when we got in the car to see who scored or if anyone scored, the ball game now just being a thing of the past and air conditioning and finding a frozen margarita far more parmount in our minds.
And that my friends is how four women enjoy a baseball game. Oh and the magaritas were divine. And I still don’t know who won that game.
I Wonder…Why Life Can’t Be More Simple
Posted on September 23, 2008 - Filed Under Deep thoughts, Life, Opinions, adventure, i dunno
Don’t you? And I have been wondering it more often lately. When I was a kid, life was the personification of simplicity: Sleep, school, play, eat occasionally, then sleep again. Though childhood is supposed to be simple so that may not be a fair comparison.
I sometimes try to look back to see when things became complicated and there doesn’t really seem to be a specific time that I can point to, in terms of the past. When I was first on my own things I don’t think were all that complicated I had only to work my job, pay my rent, eat, sleep, write, stay alive, basically. But then as we go on in life we start to pick up things. Obligations, debt, relationships and suddenly we are knee deep in all these things that eat up time and seem to add to the confusion and non-simplicity.
While these may be a common part of living life, I often wonder if they are necessary. We dont’ have to run up our credit cards and take on debt, but then things happen, emergencies, shoe sales at Nordstrom’s, dreams we want to fulfill that require schooling or training. We want a home of our own and so we sign onto mortgages, rental agreements, and ditto for cars, and of course family too. Accidents, illnesses, deaths, all these things add up to our sometimes having to take on the burden of others because, well hell it’s the right thing to do.
Then there are relationships - which are very funny animals when you think about them. I mean if you can for just a few minutes blow out the back of your head a few feet and really examine them, it is amazing what you can find. Some relationships are so very good for us, they nurture, they share, there is a wonderful balance of give and take and rarely any issues about who should have done what, rarely quarrels or disagreements, etc. - they just flow like the perfect natural rhythym of a lazy river on a summer day. Beautiful.
Then some are a bit iffy, those in my estimation tend to be family because with family you have this built in obligation/emotional connection - you are supposed to love your parents and your siblings and your children and so on but sometimes they make that very difficult and quite honestly you can’t really get rid of them. They are stuck to you with emotional and historical velcro, so you are forced to solve these relationships and juggle them on a regular basis. Unless you just want to change your name and work for the circus, they must be dealt with.
And then we start to get into the really potentially icky relationships - the co-dependent ones where they are not good for either person involved but are compulsive as though you are forced to play out a role decided upon by a exterior force and often over which you feel no control. These are tough and honestly, I’ve never found a good way to deal with them - generally I manage to tear myself away and try to just never go back. It doesn’t always work but it does most of the time. (For me.) This can be more complicated if they are co-workers or bosses or peers in some way as you are in constant contact with them. Boy, talkr about complicating things - they can really wreak havoc with your life. But they can be overcome, I think - sometimes too if you see your own co-dependency you can stand up to it and then it all kind of melts for lack of a better term. The compulsion just disappears and it’s like a release.
Then of course you start getting into the realm of stalkers and harrassers. These too can add to stress and are difficult to free yourself from. They start out innocently enough, of course you don’t know that that kind of potential is there until it’s screaming you in the face. What to do? Honestly, I’ve never really figured this one out. It can be terribly introverting because I have a tendency to ask myself why I made this happen to me. Why I hadn’t made better choices, hadn’t seen it coming. Which is unfair because I don’t have the power to see the future, nor does anyone else. And though these relationships often come in on a romantic line, they can also come in on a friend line. Have you ever had a friend who became utterly obsessed with you or a co-worker? Believe me, it’s plenty scary and it doesn’t matter if the person is really into liking you or hating you - it still feels like someone is trying to get inside your soul or something.
Jeez louise, what was my point here? I guess my point is this that for me of all the complications that can arise in my life and make my life not simple - relationships are the it for me. It’s because I like people. I like to know people, I like to get other people’s ideas about things, see and learn different viewpoints and leave myself open to that. For me, it is natural and is how I prefer to live my life. The only trick is, how do you keep it sane? How do you factor in those great relationships and factor out the icky ones? I’m not sure I know but I do think that if I could figure that out then my life would be so much more simple.
How about you guys? Same problem? Different?
I’m a Bloggy Writer
Posted on September 22, 2008 - Filed Under Blogging, bloggy writer, bully for me, writing
Apparently, I am. I was told in no uncertain terms quite recently by another writer that I was a ‘bloggy writer’. Hmm, I thought - I think that’s an insult. I do believe they also threw in the term cynical while they were at it. Again, hmmm - yup, that was definitely an insult.
But here’s the thing even if it is true, why should that be an insult to me? It takes an enormous amount of work of work to put together a blog and maintain a blog, gain an audience and keep that audience engaged. Between my two blogs I have written a total of 850 posts over 25 months - I gotta get some love for that, don’t I? I mean just the sheer volume of it, has to say something about me as a writer, doesn’t it?
Now granted not all of those posts were writing per se - some are vids, some are toons, some are quotes but I dont’ think I’m exagerating when I say that close to 90% is writing - just writing, whether opinion pieces, rants, humor, fiction, poetry, political analysis, satire, or parodies. I’ve written a helluva lot of words over the past two years on these blogs and for the most part I’m damn proud of those words.
In addition to that, I have written thousands more words in my work as a freelancer for websites, ads, business copy, etc. And let’s not even go into the novels. So, I’m thinking I’m nearing a pretty big number when it comes to my overall output of words. Yes, I hear some of you saying but quantity is not necessarily quality. Well, okay that’s true. However, between the two blogs, I have gotten close to 200,000 hits - that has to mean something doesn’t it? I think it might mean that somebody somewhere is reading me. What do you think? Am I right or am I wrong?
And even on the quality issue, the way you do anything I believe if you want to succeed is in this sequence: quantity, quality, viability. In other words, first let’s get the production up, let’s get writing, then let’s work on improving that production without losing momentum, and then finally let’s pick out the best of the best.
While not all bloggers are writers proper it is my belief that not all writers can be bloggers. There is a certain savvy that is necessary to succeed as a blogger and it’s not just a bunch of beautiful words, though those don’t hurt, it is a mixed medium with actual interchange of ideas with others - it’s visual, audio and text. It’s the whole enchilada. And it’s intensive training in my humble opinion for any writer who wants to become good at their craft because they have to run the whole production, they have to learn to write on deadline if they hope to keep their audience and they have to learn to improve to keep their audience and the interchange happening.
Hey who knows, Pulitizer may someday come out with a best in blogging award. If Algore can get one I figure all of us have a chance.
So while being a bloggy writer may not make me a proper writer, it does make me a very productive and fast thinking, fast typing, happy writer. And without these blogs there are so many things I would have never thought to write about, think about and talk about - without these blogs there are so many ideas I would never have been exposed to, so many viewpoints I’d never have known about or shared, so many, many things - so, I’m thinking being called a bloggy writer might not actually be an insult at all. What say you?
For Your Amusement (caution - conservative humor)
Posted on September 21, 2008 - Filed Under Humor, Joke Time, Just For Fun, Politics, brain farts
Okay, here’s a few that might make you laugh.
Have a good weekend everybody.
Weekend Meme
Posted on September 20, 2008 - Filed Under Just For Fun, Life, joy of creating, meme
Well it’s the weekend, so it must be meme time again, eh?
This one is from Alex over at Someday Syndrome. Thanks, Alex.
I am: just me.
I think: too much, too often
I know: I can survive anything
I have: too many ideas and too little time
I wish: people were kinder to each other
I hate: as little as possible, it serves no purpose and resolves nothing
I miss: having my own little house, the room mate thing is getting old
I fear: I won’t have enough time to do everything I want to do.
I hear: what people think
I smell: everything, which can be a little distracting.
I crave: chocolate sometimes but I’m not a craver at heart, if I want something then I usually just go get it.
I search: for the truth, not just mine, but the truth in all things
I wonder: why life can’t be more simple.
I regret: nothing. what is done is done, you cannot call it back. there is no point in regretting.
I love: the ocean, the blue of it, the sky above it, the vast space of it.
I ache: when I exercise too much or don’t get enough sleep
I am not: trying to be anyone but myself. What you see is what you get.
I believe: all people are basically good, despite evidence to the contrary
I dance: when I am joyous
I sing: all the time, especially old jazz standards and blues
I cry: when I’m happy and when I am sad, my emotions are volatile and at the surface.
I fight: when I have to, I don’t like to fight but I’m not afraid either.
I win: when I remain true to myself, regardless of the circumstances.
I lose: when I give in to things I know aren’t true or me.
I never: want to stop writing.
I always: believe change is possible.
I confuse: people sometimes.
I listen: with all of my senses.
I can usually be found: at a computer keyboard.
I am scared: of very little.
I need: space, a garden, writing implements, friends and purpose in what I am doing.
I am happy about: sunshine, flowers, laughter, song, art.
I imagine: a world in which there is no war, crime and insanity but peaceful co-existence where everyone strives to improve the state and condition of the world and nothing more.
I tag: no one, do the meme if you’ve a mind to. It’s an interesting exercise actually.
Autumn - Theme Fridays
Posted on September 19, 2008 - Filed Under changing seasons, ghosts, love, theme fridays
Emma brought her coffee to the livingroom, turned on the old stereo and carefully placed the needle down on the LP. Her heart rose with the violins as the music began to play. The Autumn leaves...
She drifted to the window and looked out at the old sycamore, bent and reaching toward the sky in all directions, crowned with gold, amber, crimson, russet and topaz. A gust of wind came up, rattled the window and danced the fallen leaves across the lawn. The music continued to play and rose the flesh on Emma’s arms. And it took her back to him and them and all their many years. David’s eyes were blue and bright in the sun that he loved, his black hair shone like an obsidian miracle always wore an impish smile that teased out of tanned face. Happy to pull at weeds and coax the lawn to grow, which never did no matter how many tools or potions he took to it.
Emma put her hand to the window, as though David’s was there on the other side, touching back. Reassuring her that he was there and all was well. And the ghost of him smiled for an instant before the wind rose up again and shimmied the sycamore into involuntary trembles.
The music ended and Emma went again and placed the needle carefully down to bring back the music and loosen the squeeze in her chest. David held her in his arms and they danced in the dark, the music leading them, love guiding them. And he tugged at her hair and smacked her behind and they laughed. They argued politics and secretly read each other’s books. When Katie came along it made them a family, bonding them in ways they could never fathom before her entrance into their lives.
“Don’t give your child beer, you mad man!” Emma chided.
David shrugged. “A little taste won’t hurt her.”
The little house on Manhattan Street with the blue shutters and screen door that never closed properly no matter how many times David wielded his toolbelt. The old oak table they found at the side of the road and worked weeks sanding it, smoothing it, rubbing oil into it. This house they were so proud to buy, to nurture to fix up with paint and nails, new windows and rosebushes.
Every moment they spent, every adventure, every tear, every joy they had, stood with her at the window and watched the Autumn leaves swirl as the music played.
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