http://k003.kiwi6.com/hotlink/ba889u2kl6/dane_koponen_podcast_1.mp3
For a recent class I was tasked to create a short 3-5 minute podcast. After several ideas didn't strike any inspiration I decided to make my first foray into creative writing. The focus here was on atmosphere and creating strong visual elements, with an extremely specific voice in mind. Notably, I have no experience in accents, so you'll have to forgive my attempt.
If the above link didn't work please try the following address:http://kiwi6.com/file/ba889u2kl6
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
You want it?
She kept her eyes down on her Kindle, her head bent forward as she masked her interest in the young child playing in the sand near the edge of the perimeter of the playground. This one was within easy reach.
Her hand twitched and trembled. She kept still with great difficulty. Breathe, breathe, she told herself, willing her body to remain seated. Not yet, not yet. but soon. soon her hands would be full and busy with purpose.
For now, she waited.
The leaves rustled in the wind. The shade moved and parted leaving dappled bits of sun into her eyes. Warmth on her cheeks. Her stiff fingers were cold to the touch. She glanced at the kindle trying to find her place and realized she had been absentmindedly been clicking the pages along uncomprehending.
She headed backward into the book to synch with the story, to pick up the threads of the plot. She winced at the awkward storytelling and hot mess of cliches that the author resorted to unrepentant.
I can write better than this. She thought.
Movement on the playground, children in chase of one another. Randomness circling round and getting closer, closer to where she was. A ball rolled to the bench and she stopped it with her feet.
The child came forward to retrieve it, but she placed her feet firmly over it holding it in place. He stopped in front of her unsure of how to proceed. She rolled it around with the ball of her foot and brought it closer to the bench, tucking it out of sight.
The child looked at her. He was not scared, but he was wary. She smiled a mischievous smile at him. Ball all gone. she told him.
Ball all gone.
No it isn't. he declared indignant. It's under the bench. She hooked it and drew it forward to the front of her.
You want it? Come get it. she smiled as she glanced at the parents and caregivers to see if anyone was watching.
Come on. she pretended to let it go and he darted in. Her foot came down hard, just missing his little hand in the dirt.
And again. Come on. you want it?
A concerned parent wandered closer. She let the ball bounce away and the boy threw himself onto it with delight and triumph.
She smiled at the father. Your boy is adorable, she said. He returned her smile and lingered looking over her body and taking in the long loose brilliant red hair she wore in wild curls about her shoulders. The sun picked up the highlights in her hair making her look a bit like a back lit angel in a made for tv movie.
She did not blend in easily in crowds.
Her hand twitched and trembled. She kept still with great difficulty. Breathe, breathe, she told herself, willing her body to remain seated. Not yet, not yet. but soon. soon her hands would be full and busy with purpose.
For now, she waited.
The leaves rustled in the wind. The shade moved and parted leaving dappled bits of sun into her eyes. Warmth on her cheeks. Her stiff fingers were cold to the touch. She glanced at the kindle trying to find her place and realized she had been absentmindedly been clicking the pages along uncomprehending.
She headed backward into the book to synch with the story, to pick up the threads of the plot. She winced at the awkward storytelling and hot mess of cliches that the author resorted to unrepentant.
I can write better than this. She thought.
Movement on the playground, children in chase of one another. Randomness circling round and getting closer, closer to where she was. A ball rolled to the bench and she stopped it with her feet.
The child came forward to retrieve it, but she placed her feet firmly over it holding it in place. He stopped in front of her unsure of how to proceed. She rolled it around with the ball of her foot and brought it closer to the bench, tucking it out of sight.
The child looked at her. He was not scared, but he was wary. She smiled a mischievous smile at him. Ball all gone. she told him.
Ball all gone.
No it isn't. he declared indignant. It's under the bench. She hooked it and drew it forward to the front of her.
You want it? Come get it. she smiled as she glanced at the parents and caregivers to see if anyone was watching.
Come on. she pretended to let it go and he darted in. Her foot came down hard, just missing his little hand in the dirt.
And again. Come on. you want it?
A concerned parent wandered closer. She let the ball bounce away and the boy threw himself onto it with delight and triumph.
She smiled at the father. Your boy is adorable, she said. He returned her smile and lingered looking over her body and taking in the long loose brilliant red hair she wore in wild curls about her shoulders. The sun picked up the highlights in her hair making her look a bit like a back lit angel in a made for tv movie.
She did not blend in easily in crowds.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
And so it begins for me at the stroke of Midnite
http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/dashboard
I purpose to write 50,000 words of an original novel by the end of NaNoWriMo
The glow from the computer screen lit up his face as he sat quietly clicking. A few minutes earlier he had been puttering around the kitchen, wiping up a spill here, stashing away a dish. He had a slow slithery manner, almost a dumb witted slowness, that covered a gentle heart. It made her crazy, his slow gentle ways, his gentle kind heart. His healing love that she was so careful to never to scratch at or bump rubbed at her, constrained her.
"Thanks you for being patient with me" he said. She blocked the urge to roll her eyes and snort. She forced herself to wait out the irritation and formed a loving response.
Patient? Patient?! have you any idea how much passion I muffle up and push down, to match your gentleness/ Words she didn't tell him. more muffled down words.
but in her writing, she planned on soaring. She would be angry and evil and dis considerate on the page. Loud and lusty.
It was just a matter of sitting down and slicing open her neck and letting the words flow out.
It is a pig stick. Just pierce a vein and let the bile flow out.
She wrote and wrote. And wrote some more. And in the writing she exposed herself. She came into focus. For a short glorious time there was clarity.
I purpose to write 50,000 words of an original novel by the end of NaNoWriMo
The glow from the computer screen lit up his face as he sat quietly clicking. A few minutes earlier he had been puttering around the kitchen, wiping up a spill here, stashing away a dish. He had a slow slithery manner, almost a dumb witted slowness, that covered a gentle heart. It made her crazy, his slow gentle ways, his gentle kind heart. His healing love that she was so careful to never to scratch at or bump rubbed at her, constrained her.
"Thanks you for being patient with me" he said. She blocked the urge to roll her eyes and snort. She forced herself to wait out the irritation and formed a loving response.
Patient? Patient?! have you any idea how much passion I muffle up and push down, to match your gentleness/ Words she didn't tell him. more muffled down words.
but in her writing, she planned on soaring. She would be angry and evil and dis considerate on the page. Loud and lusty.
It was just a matter of sitting down and slicing open her neck and letting the words flow out.
It is a pig stick. Just pierce a vein and let the bile flow out.
She wrote and wrote. And wrote some more. And in the writing she exposed herself. She came into focus. For a short glorious time there was clarity.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Seeking Passion and Joy to replace what I've lost in my own life.
So recently in the past few weeks at home, I've been struggling with low feelings and lots of tears and regrets.
which sucks.
I've been crying throughout the day and night at odd times, it's killing my body to feel all these emotions. My muscles ache and I just droop, broken.
I"m broken.
I went out into the garage and sat for a while after a bout of crying and looked over in a cupboard. There was one of my precious favorite mugs, set out there, in pieces, not just cracked, but smashed with chips.
It was given to me ages ago, from a dear internet friend who used to talk with me every day twice a day. She sent me the mug from NYC, after we got our dear boy adopted from foster care.
It was a beautiful black boy laying in a bed of flowers with animals surrounding him in love. There were sweet bunnies on him. She had a bunny as a dear pet and the mug meant something very special to us both.
People are more important than things. I know this. This is my mantra.
Dan broke this mug and put it into the garage to hide it from me. He did this a year ago. A year ago?
...
I just looked at it. No amount of super glue is going to restore that thing.
It was so ..so appropriate to what I have been struggling with.
Both the pieces and the hiding. I wish Dan had come to me the day he broke it and let me have it in my hands to decide what to do about it. Hiding it was lying about it, and that sucks.
So anyway I am going to be writing about passion and joy. I realized a few minutes ago, what I was doing all this week and last I was looking for it.
which sucks.
I've been crying throughout the day and night at odd times, it's killing my body to feel all these emotions. My muscles ache and I just droop, broken.
I"m broken.
I went out into the garage and sat for a while after a bout of crying and looked over in a cupboard. There was one of my precious favorite mugs, set out there, in pieces, not just cracked, but smashed with chips.
It was given to me ages ago, from a dear internet friend who used to talk with me every day twice a day. She sent me the mug from NYC, after we got our dear boy adopted from foster care.
It was a beautiful black boy laying in a bed of flowers with animals surrounding him in love. There were sweet bunnies on him. She had a bunny as a dear pet and the mug meant something very special to us both.
People are more important than things. I know this. This is my mantra.
Dan broke this mug and put it into the garage to hide it from me. He did this a year ago. A year ago?
...
I just looked at it. No amount of super glue is going to restore that thing.
It was so ..so appropriate to what I have been struggling with.
Both the pieces and the hiding. I wish Dan had come to me the day he broke it and let me have it in my hands to decide what to do about it. Hiding it was lying about it, and that sucks.
So anyway I am going to be writing about passion and joy. I realized a few minutes ago, what I was doing all this week and last I was looking for it.
Monday, October 8, 2012
He's not perfect...
He's not perfect. You aren't either, and
the two of you will never be perfect.
But if he can make you laugh at least
once, causes you to think twice, and if
he admits to being human and making
mistakes, hold onto him and give him
the most you can. He isn't going to
quote poetry, he's not thinking about
you every moment, but he will give you
a part of him that he knows you
could break. Don't hurt him, don't
change him, and don't expect more than
he can give. Don't analyze. Smile when
he makes you happy. Yell when he
makes you mad, and miss him when
he's not there. Love hard when there is
love to be had. Because perfect guys
don't exist, but there's always one guy
that is perfect for you.
-Bob Marley
Thursday, September 13, 2012
flowers rofl
good lord i forgot where the damn post button was!! its been too long....
flowers
so many memories wrapped up in them..
i have a strong dislike for some and others i absolutely adore..
everyone has a favorite flower.. well anyone who cares for them..
mine..
the bleeding heart.. not the new fangled hybrid pale pink delicate ones.. i have one of those too.. but the old fashioned deep pink full foliaged ones that bush out huge if you put it in just the right place. mine is scrawny. the poor thing has been trampled on .. had insecticide accidentally dripped on it.. transplanted.. and strangled by the onslaught of a determined army of morning glories. she will rise again in the spring... in a new bed of fresh topsoil and mulch. and i anxiously await her arrival.
just like we always awaited the first sign of spring.. when the crocuses ma distributed throughout the lawn popped up out of nowhere. wow.. i could go through a whole list of 'i remembers'.. just about flowers.
buttercups and herbs and violets and foxglove and most flowers make me think of my ma..
columbine makes me think of goldie.. my great grandmother..
peonies.. my childhood neighbor, janey..
spiderplants.. my brother
lavender.. jenny
daisies.. Bianca.. our whirlwind romance.. our love
this year im planting more daisies. black eyed susans.. more purple cone flower.. and white daisies. may our love always be as youthful and fragrant as spring..
flowers
so many memories wrapped up in them..
i have a strong dislike for some and others i absolutely adore..
everyone has a favorite flower.. well anyone who cares for them..
mine..
the bleeding heart.. not the new fangled hybrid pale pink delicate ones.. i have one of those too.. but the old fashioned deep pink full foliaged ones that bush out huge if you put it in just the right place. mine is scrawny. the poor thing has been trampled on .. had insecticide accidentally dripped on it.. transplanted.. and strangled by the onslaught of a determined army of morning glories. she will rise again in the spring... in a new bed of fresh topsoil and mulch. and i anxiously await her arrival.
just like we always awaited the first sign of spring.. when the crocuses ma distributed throughout the lawn popped up out of nowhere. wow.. i could go through a whole list of 'i remembers'.. just about flowers.
buttercups and herbs and violets and foxglove and most flowers make me think of my ma..
columbine makes me think of goldie.. my great grandmother..
peonies.. my childhood neighbor, janey..
spiderplants.. my brother
lavender.. jenny
daisies.. Bianca.. our whirlwind romance.. our love
this year im planting more daisies. black eyed susans.. more purple cone flower.. and white daisies. may our love always be as youthful and fragrant as spring..
The Scent Lingers
Dan's family had five kids and each of them had a garden plot on the south side of the house. Dan won an award for a prize eggplant. His dad would trellis cukes and they would grow five feet tall covered with the veggies. His sisters grew beans and the most amazing tomato plants. The New Jersey climate was exceptionally suited for tall over bearing tomato plants.
They didn't grow flowers.
We grew everything that caught my grandparents imagination. We had as many flowers as we had veggies. Every shack on our property had a bed of something growing against it to soften the visual edge of flat black tar paper. Flowers look wonderful against the black backdrops.
We had 4 oclocks against the smokehouse. I would go over there in the afternoon and check them out to see if they were open yet. I would stick my nose into the trumpet shaped blossoms and smell in till the petals collasped around my face.
I got my morning fix from sniffing the morning glories. They sort of stink a bit, and they often had buzzy visitors, so i would pick a flower and carry it away from the plant and let what ever was on it fly away before I snuffled it.
Touch me nots were next to the 4 oclocks. They are a form of impatiens that pop out their seeds in an explosion when disturbed. Popping out touch me nots was a lot of fun, and it ensured next years fun as well.
They always came back.
Grandma collected seeds from everything and put them in white envelops for safekeeping. She wrote on the front with her beautiful old fashioned perfect script and tucked them away in a glass jar in the cupboard.
I was talking to JC this am about a few random memories and these popped up like we had disturbed our seed pods.
I got ideas cascading out.
not done. not done.
They didn't grow flowers.
We grew everything that caught my grandparents imagination. We had as many flowers as we had veggies. Every shack on our property had a bed of something growing against it to soften the visual edge of flat black tar paper. Flowers look wonderful against the black backdrops.
We had 4 oclocks against the smokehouse. I would go over there in the afternoon and check them out to see if they were open yet. I would stick my nose into the trumpet shaped blossoms and smell in till the petals collasped around my face.
I got my morning fix from sniffing the morning glories. They sort of stink a bit, and they often had buzzy visitors, so i would pick a flower and carry it away from the plant and let what ever was on it fly away before I snuffled it.
Touch me nots were next to the 4 oclocks. They are a form of impatiens that pop out their seeds in an explosion when disturbed. Popping out touch me nots was a lot of fun, and it ensured next years fun as well.
They always came back.
Grandma collected seeds from everything and put them in white envelops for safekeeping. She wrote on the front with her beautiful old fashioned perfect script and tucked them away in a glass jar in the cupboard.
I was talking to JC this am about a few random memories and these popped up like we had disturbed our seed pods.
I got ideas cascading out.
not done. not done.
Monday, September 10, 2012
WE STOPPED THE WALK TO DO THE TALK...
WE STOPPED THE WALK
TO DO THE TALK...
date & setting:
September
Mitch and Abby's wedding
reception...
I glanced to my left and glanced to my right...
I looked behind and straight ahead...in search of Matt.
So many people... standing,
sitting, walking, staggering and bumping...
I cannot see, I am too short...
Here comes cousin Jeremy...
He is built tall and wide...he will help me get through the crowd and
to where I want to be quicker than if I tried on my own. “Jeremy,
help me find Ashley”. Jeremy agrees without hesitation. He leads
and I follow....me hanging on to the back of his shirt, we make our
way around the bar. Laurie, where is Ashley? Her reply is “I'm not
sure but I think she went outside. Just wait a minute and I will
check”. I am hoping Ashley and Matt did not decide to leave the
reception early. What I need to say is eating my innerds. I would
give just about anything for a cigarette and a good stiff drink right
about now. I need courage and calmness... Since I don't do either, I
am on my own. Well, I gave Laurie about 30 seconds and then I started
tracking her footsteps like a bloodhound. I am on a mission. A huge
mission. I opened the door and started walking down the hall...alone
but not for long. I see a very slender beautiful woman standing in
the hall. It is Ashley whispering in her soft voice to Jada, one of
Matt's daughters. To the right, there is a door ajar... and on the
other side of the door stood Matt with his other daughter Hailey.
“Hey Matt, are you hiding from me??? “No”... Matt says very
quietly “but the girls are getting very tired and we are just about
to leave”. I am thinking to myself...No No.....you can't leave
yet...I have something I need to say...don't make me go through this
another day. My mind is spinning, my heart is thumping and I blurt
out, “I seen you on YouTube”. (ok...that was a brilliant move).
YouTube he says with a very puzzled look and I said yeah with the dam
breaking. Then he understood what I was getting at. Taking a deep
breath and thinking to myself..I need to talk to Matt but alone.
Laurie and Ashley and the girls walk ahead and this left me and Matt
strolling slowly behind and just talking about whatever. (Laurie
knows what I am about to ask Matt so she plays along). We are now
about to enter through the last door that leads into the reception
room and I need to make my move quickly. “Ok Matt, I need 2 minutes
of your time”...(at this point, I am clenching my teeth and hoping
he doesn't say that he doesn't have time right now and his family
needs to get home. Please don't say that...I don't take rejection
well......i would never be able to prepare myself to go through this
at another time).
He didn't....we stopped the
walk so I could do the talk...
OK Matt, I'm not getting any younger and you know my health isn't the best and I have a very special place in my heart for Ashley and I sure would love to see her walk down the aisle some day. Whew, I said it...now it is his turn...what words am I going to hear? Will he say when he feels the time is right he will make his move or that it is none of my business what goes on in his life? I waited maybe 2 seconds and he spoke. His response was “It will happen...and soon”! WHAT??? its like repeat that to me...WOW!!! OH, you just made me so happy...Matt was watching Ashley cuddling and comforting his daughters and he smiled so proudly and remarked on how they all care for and the love they have for each other. I could see the gleam in his eyes and almost the feeling that he had been waiting for this conversation. He was prepared with all the right answers. I proceeded to tell him about the card Ashley had posted...the one that Jada drew of a family on the inside of Ashley's birthday card. There are 4 people drawn and labeled. The first is dad and I was thinking that was Gilbert walking Ashley down the aisle and the 2 girls were Matt's daughters being the flower girls. I did not know that Jada had drawn the picture at this time. Soon I realized that dad=Matt standing next to Ashley and Jada and Hailey. What a happy family that would be. I am still just talking and glowing...I took a deep breath and said I that I needed to turn away from people so they cannot see the expressions on my face right now...if anyone had, they would have been able to read right through me. I was not about to let anyone know what had just been secretly worded to me. “It will happen...and soon”. My mind just blew away and all I can remember about our conversation after that was me saying Thank You, I shook his hand (I wanted to give him a big hug but again, it would have been a dead give-away) and telling him he can take his family home now. Right now, all I know is that “it will happen...and soon” and I feel very special for knowing this. Ahhhhh the suspense!!!
I turned, walked away and immediately Gilbert is standing side by side with me...fishing for answers. He also knew I was going to approach Matt. “Well, what happened” Gilbert asked. I replied with a sigh and said “Mitch was easier to talk to...I didn't get any answers from Matt”. Then Gilbert said “maybe he just needs to get to know the family more”and I said “yeah, I knew Mitch longer and felt more comfortable talking to him”. All this is not true...I was equally nervous both times. Matt was a perfect gentleman and had shown much respect while listening to me. I told Gilbert a little fib...wait---it was a big fib. Now Matt, if you know Gilbert like I know Gilbert, there will be payback coming my way for keeping this secret from him...but it will be worth it. I know something he doesn't know!!!!! Ha ha ha!!! I didn't even tell my soulmate...I figured after a few beers, he may let it slip from his lips and I'm not taking that chance.
Monday, August 6, 2012
So the saying goes…
You are never too old to learn…
Her name is Reese…just like mine.
She is 5 years old now…
I swear she has been reincarnated from a past human.
You see, Reese sleeps between my hubby and me. Just recently she started waking up in the middle of the night, getting close to my head and makes a sound like a whiney attention getter…
hmmm hmmmm hmmmmmm…and then if I do not respond, she starts scratching my back…then she goes back to hmmmm hmmmmm until I roll over…
Yes, I must roll over onto my left side…on command… and then she snuggles right next to my face… only she is facing the opposite way…we both lay there sharing 1 pillow…
I kiss the back of her head and quietly say “I love you”!
Cats, dogs, fish, birds, guinea pigs and chameleons have all been a part of my life…but Reese is different than the others. She cocks her head sideways when spoken to as if she understands exactly what is being said. We have had to spell words as her vocabulary grew to an understanding level. Now we must use secret codes or hand signals as she caught on to well to the spelling bee. She is just so real!!! or is she so unreal!!!
Reese is man’s or in this case WOMAN’S best friend!
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
love's impetus..
how do you describe the beauty of movement that is.. woman
she is grace defined
even when she trips.. it is as if the jealous earth shifts to dance with her
as she swirls around me
i am envious of every little thing she touches
and every place her eyes land.. beyond my own
and i smile as i write these words..
in all their ridiculous honesty
we adore her
worship her
live to please her
this house has never smelled so good
felt so good
been so.. peaceful
this house was not.. home
she seems singularly harmonious
with vibrant energy
and calm
love resonates
and it is my favorite melody.
she is grace defined
even when she trips.. it is as if the jealous earth shifts to dance with her
as she swirls around me
i am envious of every little thing she touches
and every place her eyes land.. beyond my own
and i smile as i write these words..
in all their ridiculous honesty
we adore her
worship her
live to please her
this house has never smelled so good
felt so good
been so.. peaceful
this house was not.. home
she seems singularly harmonious
with vibrant energy
and calm
love resonates
and it is my favorite melody.
que sera sera
how do we wrestle with the changes in our lives
i wrestle with the question.. have i changed
i dont think i have
but there is a nearly audible shift in my environment
everything is smooth sailing in my life
except here.
i feel its precarious and rocky..
and im not sure exactly why.
and i cant help but feel i am the catalyst
that my momentum shifting in another direction
somehow halted this wonderful momentum and buzz of energy...
ha.. how egotistical to think this way..
especially when i know there have been life altering changes occuring elsewhere than in my life.
but
there is a shift in tone.
and i cant say i like it.
hmm.. oh well. que sera sera
it is summer and life is in full swing
so many things to do.. to pack into nice weather
until the cold comes and locks us indoors
i am busier than ever
my time divided
i havent changed
i have just grown and stretched my legs a little..
and
wiggled my toes :P
i wrestle with the question.. have i changed
i dont think i have
but there is a nearly audible shift in my environment
everything is smooth sailing in my life
except here.
i feel its precarious and rocky..
and im not sure exactly why.
and i cant help but feel i am the catalyst
that my momentum shifting in another direction
somehow halted this wonderful momentum and buzz of energy...
ha.. how egotistical to think this way..
especially when i know there have been life altering changes occuring elsewhere than in my life.
but
there is a shift in tone.
and i cant say i like it.
hmm.. oh well. que sera sera
it is summer and life is in full swing
so many things to do.. to pack into nice weather
until the cold comes and locks us indoors
i am busier than ever
my time divided
i havent changed
i have just grown and stretched my legs a little..
and
wiggled my toes :P
Saturday, July 7, 2012
ohio
trip to ohio was nice. was all excitement and buzz around the newlyweds. was fun the first day.. then i was ready to come home. Bianca and my sister did some shopping in Columbus and Cincy. dad and i caught up, did a little fishing. i took Bianca to the best ice cream place in ohio, Young's Dairy. wandered the bohemian paradise of Yellow Springs, home of Antioch College. did a little hiking in beautiful Glen Helen. chilled out in Ohio Caverns with my uncle as guide. then i took her to Cedar Point, the most romantic place.. in my opinion.. on earth.
now we are home.. and Bianca is all mine again. :)
now we are home.. and Bianca is all mine again. :)
Friday, June 29, 2012
Fibromyalgia flare ups.
Fibromyalgia rises and falls in cycles for me, with stresses producing flare ups. It doesn't really matter if the stresses are sad ones, or anxious ones, or happy birthday parties with cake, anything out of the daily routine exacts a price on my well being. It just does. My body chemistry has no back up reserves or tolerances.
Deep restful sleep, it comes in patterns, with most nights being battlegrounds. Many days, I have restless legs, so the minute my head hits the pillow, the tremors begin. Twitches. aches. Itches and tingles. Shivers and shakes. It is difficult to relax as my muscles tighten at rest. They shrink and congeal and shrivel up and I stretch and turn and rub and try to pull them out again. There is a muscle relaxing medicine I could take, but I've been taken off it by my doctor. I could replace it with another, but they all have the same side effects. They fog the mind, cause lethargy and are toxic to the body. Long term, you get addicted, they work less well and then have withdrawal symptoms. I never want to go through withdrawal again. It's like being on heroin, which Ironically is a great muscle relaxant. None of them can be used long term. And they increase fatigue which I have enough of.
So the drugs that relax muscles also reduce their tone. When I wake up sometimes, my muscles feel like they have huge weights on them. It's hard to lift my arms or move my legs. I get on my bike and try to push the pedals and it won't move much. It's like the flu, your muscles are weak and don't respond to your bidding. Hands don't grip firmly. Knees are slow to bend. Arms drop down to your side.
Fibro fog is a terrible confusing thing that happens sometimes to my mind. I haven't had it occur in a while now and I am doing whatever I can to not trigger it again. It's like the worse feeling of your mind not working. It comes in flares and it is devastating to me. I feel out of control. It is just like real fog. You can't find your way out of it. I guess it must be like alzheimers. You can't think, add number, know what numbers are, remember names, sequence steps in a task easily. You don't remember the names for things, or how things are spelled. Tying your shoes becomes challenging. Writing a check out becomes difficult. In Driving, I have to remind myself, which is the gas, which is the brake. I depend on my son reminding me where we are going and how to get there. Sometimes he doesn't know, so I have to search for clues. I don't remember which street comes next or which one I just passed to find my way home. I quietly ask him. Is this the right street coming up. I guess he's used to it.
I"m not.
It takes a lot of concentration for me to cook a recipe. I no longer can plan out the sequence to sew or start a craft project. It comes in bits and pieces, flashes. They don't mesh together into a do able task. I have to really want to do something to get it done, and I have to be out of flare. I just got through about 6 weeks of flare. yay me.
I was alert this morning. I had read till 3, experienced almost no leg twitches through the night and woke up when hubby smacked my butt to wake up at 8, with the invitation to go riding my trike while it was still cool.
I broke the first rule of managing FM. I got on my trike tried out my legs and found them firm and strong.
I rode like the wind down the block and just kept going. I rode fast and gleeful and took to the big street. I rode down to the dog park, greeting joggers, getting thumbs up from peeps and relishing the wind, the glorious Florida morning, the lush landscaping, the blue clear sky, it was amazing. I rode past the community garden, round the school, past the swimming compound and made the long loop back to my house. I rode till I was grinning from ear to ear, bit by bugs, dripping with sweat and breathing deeply, with all my pores open. I could feel the toxins pouring out of my body, and I smelled like it too. I drenched my clothes, soaked up a towel, drank 3 large glasses in a row and sat down in front of a fan to glory over the experience. woo hoo.
I will pay for this. I felt so good. I didn't care. I had strong feet, strong hands and strong legs. I was crystal clear and moving fast. It will be worth it. All us fibros do it when we get a painfree day. We overdo it and can't seem to help it. We try to make up for lost time. We seize the day.
Dan saw me stagger back in, flush and grinning and he said with some hope in his voice. Would you like to take a shower with me and come back to bed for an hour?
Uh.. No thanks. I used everything I had in one glorious ride.
Men! He's so cute. I need to save up some more energy. Grins.
Deep restful sleep, it comes in patterns, with most nights being battlegrounds. Many days, I have restless legs, so the minute my head hits the pillow, the tremors begin. Twitches. aches. Itches and tingles. Shivers and shakes. It is difficult to relax as my muscles tighten at rest. They shrink and congeal and shrivel up and I stretch and turn and rub and try to pull them out again. There is a muscle relaxing medicine I could take, but I've been taken off it by my doctor. I could replace it with another, but they all have the same side effects. They fog the mind, cause lethargy and are toxic to the body. Long term, you get addicted, they work less well and then have withdrawal symptoms. I never want to go through withdrawal again. It's like being on heroin, which Ironically is a great muscle relaxant. None of them can be used long term. And they increase fatigue which I have enough of.
So the drugs that relax muscles also reduce their tone. When I wake up sometimes, my muscles feel like they have huge weights on them. It's hard to lift my arms or move my legs. I get on my bike and try to push the pedals and it won't move much. It's like the flu, your muscles are weak and don't respond to your bidding. Hands don't grip firmly. Knees are slow to bend. Arms drop down to your side.
Fibro fog is a terrible confusing thing that happens sometimes to my mind. I haven't had it occur in a while now and I am doing whatever I can to not trigger it again. It's like the worse feeling of your mind not working. It comes in flares and it is devastating to me. I feel out of control. It is just like real fog. You can't find your way out of it. I guess it must be like alzheimers. You can't think, add number, know what numbers are, remember names, sequence steps in a task easily. You don't remember the names for things, or how things are spelled. Tying your shoes becomes challenging. Writing a check out becomes difficult. In Driving, I have to remind myself, which is the gas, which is the brake. I depend on my son reminding me where we are going and how to get there. Sometimes he doesn't know, so I have to search for clues. I don't remember which street comes next or which one I just passed to find my way home. I quietly ask him. Is this the right street coming up. I guess he's used to it.
I"m not.
It takes a lot of concentration for me to cook a recipe. I no longer can plan out the sequence to sew or start a craft project. It comes in bits and pieces, flashes. They don't mesh together into a do able task. I have to really want to do something to get it done, and I have to be out of flare. I just got through about 6 weeks of flare. yay me.
I was alert this morning. I had read till 3, experienced almost no leg twitches through the night and woke up when hubby smacked my butt to wake up at 8, with the invitation to go riding my trike while it was still cool.
I broke the first rule of managing FM. I got on my trike tried out my legs and found them firm and strong.
I rode like the wind down the block and just kept going. I rode fast and gleeful and took to the big street. I rode down to the dog park, greeting joggers, getting thumbs up from peeps and relishing the wind, the glorious Florida morning, the lush landscaping, the blue clear sky, it was amazing. I rode past the community garden, round the school, past the swimming compound and made the long loop back to my house. I rode till I was grinning from ear to ear, bit by bugs, dripping with sweat and breathing deeply, with all my pores open. I could feel the toxins pouring out of my body, and I smelled like it too. I drenched my clothes, soaked up a towel, drank 3 large glasses in a row and sat down in front of a fan to glory over the experience. woo hoo.
I will pay for this. I felt so good. I didn't care. I had strong feet, strong hands and strong legs. I was crystal clear and moving fast. It will be worth it. All us fibros do it when we get a painfree day. We overdo it and can't seem to help it. We try to make up for lost time. We seize the day.
Dan saw me stagger back in, flush and grinning and he said with some hope in his voice. Would you like to take a shower with me and come back to bed for an hour?
Uh.. No thanks. I used everything I had in one glorious ride.
Men! He's so cute. I need to save up some more energy. Grins.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Tits and Ass
We live about an hour and a half outside of Miami. Our beach we go to is a friendly family one that reflects the local racial makeup of our area which is brown, black and white. The Canadians love our beach and come in droves, staying at the same inexpensive small hotels and motels and converted apartment buildings year after year. They put Canadian Flags out front, so you can find them easily. The locals are grungy, blue collar, working poor and some of them fish for their supper. Many of the women are well fed on poor diets of pasta and rice and pour out of their bathing suits. I don't get shy there, it's a relaxed unassuming place. I giggle at the pasty Midwestern tourist gawking at us and the parrots perched up in the trees above our heads. Taking pictures to bring home a bit of Florida with them, their pockets holding shells and bits of seaweed and driftwood to set up on the window sill back in Iowa to remind them of the magic of winter barbeques on the sand.
Now South beach is known for its beautiful people. A totally different vibe. International jet setters, Rock Stars, washed out Reality stars, Foot ball players on holiday, Randy aging Lotharios and slick swarthy Mediterraneans speaking Italian, French, Spanish, gays, and lots of Urban dudes and their honey pots mamas and spouting and prancing like roosters on the walk.
Topless is allowed at South Beach, In some of the private beaches, it might just be required. My hunnybunny hubby was hoping to catch himself a sight of some free ranging titties but the day was overcast and breezie and everybody was up under the shades sipping drinks so big you could rinse out your socks in them.
We saw what we came to South Beach for. The odd balls, the people bicycling with snakes, the guy who was plug ugly and dressed in a mini skirt that barely covered his hoo hah and carrying on a loud arguement with himself acting out all the parts. We saw world class titties and ass and men without their shirts oiled up and bouncy.
And pretty boys. The valet parkers every block wave you in with a flick of their wrist. I locked eyes with one perfect creature and he was the prettiest person I had seen in person. Esquisite ruby lips, natural and full in promise. He was a walking soft porn movie in three acts. I wanted to park there and brush his hand passing him a five... slowly, oh so slowly.
Twice around South beach loops watching the people cruise by, to be seen and to watch, I had enough. Hubby went over the dunes to see the beach and came back quickly, no titties to be seen. he came back a bit forlorn. The ocean looks exactly the same as it does near home. Grey, white caps, beige sand. Tall high rises painted pink and teal and orange and blue.
I dunno. It's not a married scene, unless you are looking for a threesome. And the people were not all toned. There was plenty of imported flab and dimples on butts and droopy overflowing bosoms and Mid West Americans fed on corn and beef and chips..
The beautiful people come out at night. We were just day tripping.
Now South beach is known for its beautiful people. A totally different vibe. International jet setters, Rock Stars, washed out Reality stars, Foot ball players on holiday, Randy aging Lotharios and slick swarthy Mediterraneans speaking Italian, French, Spanish, gays, and lots of Urban dudes and their honey pots mamas and spouting and prancing like roosters on the walk.
Topless is allowed at South Beach, In some of the private beaches, it might just be required. My hunnybunny hubby was hoping to catch himself a sight of some free ranging titties but the day was overcast and breezie and everybody was up under the shades sipping drinks so big you could rinse out your socks in them.
We saw what we came to South Beach for. The odd balls, the people bicycling with snakes, the guy who was plug ugly and dressed in a mini skirt that barely covered his hoo hah and carrying on a loud arguement with himself acting out all the parts. We saw world class titties and ass and men without their shirts oiled up and bouncy.
And pretty boys. The valet parkers every block wave you in with a flick of their wrist. I locked eyes with one perfect creature and he was the prettiest person I had seen in person. Esquisite ruby lips, natural and full in promise. He was a walking soft porn movie in three acts. I wanted to park there and brush his hand passing him a five... slowly, oh so slowly.
Twice around South beach loops watching the people cruise by, to be seen and to watch, I had enough. Hubby went over the dunes to see the beach and came back quickly, no titties to be seen. he came back a bit forlorn. The ocean looks exactly the same as it does near home. Grey, white caps, beige sand. Tall high rises painted pink and teal and orange and blue.
I dunno. It's not a married scene, unless you are looking for a threesome. And the people were not all toned. There was plenty of imported flab and dimples on butts and droopy overflowing bosoms and Mid West Americans fed on corn and beef and chips..
The beautiful people come out at night. We were just day tripping.
Blanket Wars
We've always has a water bed since we were first married. This one we have now is our third one. Our first one was purchased in 1972 from money hubby's dad gave us when we married. It was an early model before they got fancy. It was a bag with water in it. Cold to the touch, nothing insulating it from your skin. If you didn't heat it up, sleeping on it would chill you to the bone. I was suspicious of the heating element and worried about electrical currrents running under our body, but it was amazingly warm when you got into bed. We kept it at body temperture and it ate up the electricity.
It was a full motion bed, so if you got up in the middle of the night, you rocked the other person around. When you got back in, the other person would rise up and sometimes roll out of bed. It was on the floor, no pedestal to raise it, just four bolted together pine boards, with no cross support. It had a half ass liner that fell down and hard corners that knocked into my hubby's ankles when he tried to walk around it. He used to drop down from a standing height and bounce me out of it.
We passed it on to my hubby's little sister and she kept it her teen years till she went off to college. I remember tucking my father in law into it when he came to visit when he came down after a drug induced mania. He slept for a full day like he was in a womb.
Sex on a water bed is easy and relaxed for some positions and impossible and challenging for others. Comical even as we tried to navigate the high seas and keep our balance as we worked our way through the karma sutra. Some things are best done on dry land.
Our next waterbed was a baffled one with channels that kept the waves from reaching titanic proportion. it was more expensive and very complicated to drain and move. The foam baffles had to be pumped completely dry or the thing would weight 600 lbs and it didn't like being set back up. We moved it once and it never recovered from that. The second move to Florida 6 years ago, it broke and ripped, and we filed an insurance claim and got our new one. It looked like a dead walrus on our apartment floor, where it sat discarded for weeks till I managed to get some burly guys to remove it.
This one. This one cost some bucks. We had sold our house and had some bucks to spend. It has a mattress cover zippered around it, and individual cells that fill up with good support. It doesn't wave like the high seas in a hurricane. It sits up from the ground and has covered edges on it. Corner guards to lessen hubbys knocks at midnight. It is a bit easier to put the sheets on. We set it up and moved it twice now. It's a trooper. However it collects lint.
Water beds have walls that keep their shape. Those walls are lined with plastic and the water bed smooshes up against them. Once and a while, one needs to be brave and wipe down the walls, pulling the bed back and exposing the debris that finds itself shed off the people and animals and kids that camp out on the bed, the center of the home, where all family business is conducted. Lost combs, candy wrappers, dental floss, socks, panties, eye glasses, a few squished bugs, lost books and lots and lots of shed skin and hair find their way to the edges and down hidden from the casual vacuum wand. It takes one person to wipe and vacuum and one person to hold back the heavy mattress to expose the sides and bottom. If you try it by yourself, if you are fit enough, using one leg to stand and one leg to nudge back the bed, you can manage. Lose your balance and you end up doing the splits on the bed's wooden edge.
So back to blanket wars.
Waterbeds are tough to make. The last corner of the bottom sheet will not stay tucked in. The three sides are stretched and tucked securely and the last side comes up short. It takes a bit of tugging and pulling to get the last corner even started. For some reason, hubby when he makes the bed, leaves my side the last corner to tuck in.
On bad weeks. I sleep with a sheet that pulls off on my side. When I make the bed, I leave his foot corner for last and he kicks loose sheet around and glares at me. If I am feeling maligned. I short sheet him too, giving him a less than generous top sheet, so his toes stick out.
Well, I fantasize about short sheeting him, but I really don't. I mete out the width evenly. I fear his retaliation. He has huge leverage in his feet and can snag one end of the sheet with his toes and draw them off my shoulders with ease. Off my shoulder, exposing my bottom and he's home free with the sheet wrapped under his body like a malignant buritto, wrapped securely in his ill gotten treasure.
Now that we are in Florida, the blanket wars are more benign. We don't freeze if one gets greedy with the blankets. In Northern climates it woke us up and made us regroup and play fair. Here in the South it's more of a sport.
It was a full motion bed, so if you got up in the middle of the night, you rocked the other person around. When you got back in, the other person would rise up and sometimes roll out of bed. It was on the floor, no pedestal to raise it, just four bolted together pine boards, with no cross support. It had a half ass liner that fell down and hard corners that knocked into my hubby's ankles when he tried to walk around it. He used to drop down from a standing height and bounce me out of it.
We passed it on to my hubby's little sister and she kept it her teen years till she went off to college. I remember tucking my father in law into it when he came to visit when he came down after a drug induced mania. He slept for a full day like he was in a womb.
Sex on a water bed is easy and relaxed for some positions and impossible and challenging for others. Comical even as we tried to navigate the high seas and keep our balance as we worked our way through the karma sutra. Some things are best done on dry land.
Our next waterbed was a baffled one with channels that kept the waves from reaching titanic proportion. it was more expensive and very complicated to drain and move. The foam baffles had to be pumped completely dry or the thing would weight 600 lbs and it didn't like being set back up. We moved it once and it never recovered from that. The second move to Florida 6 years ago, it broke and ripped, and we filed an insurance claim and got our new one. It looked like a dead walrus on our apartment floor, where it sat discarded for weeks till I managed to get some burly guys to remove it.
This one. This one cost some bucks. We had sold our house and had some bucks to spend. It has a mattress cover zippered around it, and individual cells that fill up with good support. It doesn't wave like the high seas in a hurricane. It sits up from the ground and has covered edges on it. Corner guards to lessen hubbys knocks at midnight. It is a bit easier to put the sheets on. We set it up and moved it twice now. It's a trooper. However it collects lint.
Water beds have walls that keep their shape. Those walls are lined with plastic and the water bed smooshes up against them. Once and a while, one needs to be brave and wipe down the walls, pulling the bed back and exposing the debris that finds itself shed off the people and animals and kids that camp out on the bed, the center of the home, where all family business is conducted. Lost combs, candy wrappers, dental floss, socks, panties, eye glasses, a few squished bugs, lost books and lots and lots of shed skin and hair find their way to the edges and down hidden from the casual vacuum wand. It takes one person to wipe and vacuum and one person to hold back the heavy mattress to expose the sides and bottom. If you try it by yourself, if you are fit enough, using one leg to stand and one leg to nudge back the bed, you can manage. Lose your balance and you end up doing the splits on the bed's wooden edge.
So back to blanket wars.
Waterbeds are tough to make. The last corner of the bottom sheet will not stay tucked in. The three sides are stretched and tucked securely and the last side comes up short. It takes a bit of tugging and pulling to get the last corner even started. For some reason, hubby when he makes the bed, leaves my side the last corner to tuck in.
On bad weeks. I sleep with a sheet that pulls off on my side. When I make the bed, I leave his foot corner for last and he kicks loose sheet around and glares at me. If I am feeling maligned. I short sheet him too, giving him a less than generous top sheet, so his toes stick out.
Well, I fantasize about short sheeting him, but I really don't. I mete out the width evenly. I fear his retaliation. He has huge leverage in his feet and can snag one end of the sheet with his toes and draw them off my shoulders with ease. Off my shoulder, exposing my bottom and he's home free with the sheet wrapped under his body like a malignant buritto, wrapped securely in his ill gotten treasure.
Now that we are in Florida, the blanket wars are more benign. We don't freeze if one gets greedy with the blankets. In Northern climates it woke us up and made us regroup and play fair. Here in the South it's more of a sport.
Pillow Wars
I've shared a bed for 40 years now with a sly sneaky rascal. He's a pillow stealer and sheet grabber.
Hubby and I have vastly different body shapes that tangle in the night for space and resources. One of us is very tall and angular 3 inches short of 7 feet and boasting a 9 foot arm reach from tip to tip. That one has knees that are razor sharp when drawn up to gouge the thighs and elbows equally sharp that jab the ribs. The other of us is round and bottom heavy with jiggly mounds and a resource grabbing middle that is soft wherever one might rub against her. Covers are divided and stretched out opposing directions a little more earnestly that average size couples do.
I have prized pillows that I hoard and don't share. They are not interchangable with his motly collection. For some reason none of our pillows are identical. He has a molded medium pillow that is his favorite for his head. I have a soft queen size one for my head topped off with a small support pillow for my neck. My molded pillow is twice as long as his and serves as mediator between my legs. He puts a orphan pillow that needs sewing between his knees and a average unremarkable pillow next to him to cushion his arms.
Before Son stole it. we had a body pillow to support our back. Now that job is vacant with the wind whistling down between us and not enough covers to stop the gap.
Hubby steals my biggest pillow to bolster himself for reading in bed and watching TV. I don't mind if he gets them if he gives them back at lights out. It's the vicious stealing and swapping of the prized neck pillow and head pillow that makes me sore.
Literally. Because if I don't have my right pillows to cradle my head and shoulders I toss and turn and wake up cranky and stiff.
I put my pillows in one set of pillowcases and his in another. They are color coded. I remind him when he has one of mine on his side and he plays innocent. Oh? Is that your pillow? I gave him the benefit of the doubt in our early years, when I had my favorite feather pillow and he has the annoying new fangled foam pillow. We only had two pillows back then. One each and they were matching in size but not in shape and smell.
He hated my feather pillow. I had had it through my wild years and it was a bit old and yellowed from age, and he asserted that it smelled like the inside of a hippies bus. I dunno. I loved it.
One day it disappeared. He looked guilty, but I didn't really suspect him of foul play. Till I checked the trash by the curb and there was a tell tale corner sticking out.
After I calmed down and dried my tears, we went pillow shopping. Not to Good will to get a nice used pillow but to a department store to buy a new one. I strode up and down the aisles looking for a replacement. He helped with suggestions. I put pillow after clean neutral smelling pillow to my face, bothering the watchful sales clerk. I settled on one. A premium goose filled feather pillow, not on sale.
Hubby payed the full price. I decided to stay married to him. When we got home, a few nights went smoothly.
Then he took my feather pillow one night and it started. The Pillow Wars.
We should have bought two identical pillows in the store. We didn't. We have always had the new pillow and the older ones.
He steals the new ones and discards the used up sneaking them over to my side when he makes the bed.
I remake the bed and sort them out. They find their way back to his side in the middle of the night.
The most recent offense was when he swapped out his smallest most pitiful pillow that needed mending with the innards falling out for my head pillow. I slept that way for three nights now, but it ends today. He's pulled off the cases and sheets to wash them and they are lying around unattended.
Today we go pillow shopping. Mhm. It's on!
Hubby and I have vastly different body shapes that tangle in the night for space and resources. One of us is very tall and angular 3 inches short of 7 feet and boasting a 9 foot arm reach from tip to tip. That one has knees that are razor sharp when drawn up to gouge the thighs and elbows equally sharp that jab the ribs. The other of us is round and bottom heavy with jiggly mounds and a resource grabbing middle that is soft wherever one might rub against her. Covers are divided and stretched out opposing directions a little more earnestly that average size couples do.
I have prized pillows that I hoard and don't share. They are not interchangable with his motly collection. For some reason none of our pillows are identical. He has a molded medium pillow that is his favorite for his head. I have a soft queen size one for my head topped off with a small support pillow for my neck. My molded pillow is twice as long as his and serves as mediator between my legs. He puts a orphan pillow that needs sewing between his knees and a average unremarkable pillow next to him to cushion his arms.
Before Son stole it. we had a body pillow to support our back. Now that job is vacant with the wind whistling down between us and not enough covers to stop the gap.
Hubby steals my biggest pillow to bolster himself for reading in bed and watching TV. I don't mind if he gets them if he gives them back at lights out. It's the vicious stealing and swapping of the prized neck pillow and head pillow that makes me sore.
Literally. Because if I don't have my right pillows to cradle my head and shoulders I toss and turn and wake up cranky and stiff.
I put my pillows in one set of pillowcases and his in another. They are color coded. I remind him when he has one of mine on his side and he plays innocent. Oh? Is that your pillow? I gave him the benefit of the doubt in our early years, when I had my favorite feather pillow and he has the annoying new fangled foam pillow. We only had two pillows back then. One each and they were matching in size but not in shape and smell.
He hated my feather pillow. I had had it through my wild years and it was a bit old and yellowed from age, and he asserted that it smelled like the inside of a hippies bus. I dunno. I loved it.
One day it disappeared. He looked guilty, but I didn't really suspect him of foul play. Till I checked the trash by the curb and there was a tell tale corner sticking out.
After I calmed down and dried my tears, we went pillow shopping. Not to Good will to get a nice used pillow but to a department store to buy a new one. I strode up and down the aisles looking for a replacement. He helped with suggestions. I put pillow after clean neutral smelling pillow to my face, bothering the watchful sales clerk. I settled on one. A premium goose filled feather pillow, not on sale.
Hubby payed the full price. I decided to stay married to him. When we got home, a few nights went smoothly.
Then he took my feather pillow one night and it started. The Pillow Wars.
We should have bought two identical pillows in the store. We didn't. We have always had the new pillow and the older ones.
He steals the new ones and discards the used up sneaking them over to my side when he makes the bed.
I remake the bed and sort them out. They find their way back to his side in the middle of the night.
The most recent offense was when he swapped out his smallest most pitiful pillow that needed mending with the innards falling out for my head pillow. I slept that way for three nights now, but it ends today. He's pulled off the cases and sheets to wash them and they are lying around unattended.
Today we go pillow shopping. Mhm. It's on!
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
my day.
you ever get a sick sinking feeling?
the one in the pit of your stomach..
the one that warns something is gonna happen.. something less than pleasant
the one that tells you what you dont want to happen.. will
i got that feeling
ya know.. today was turning out to be such a nice day.
reese.. my weekend was boring.. well not boring to me, just uneventful..
so im going to talk about today.
sun shining
nice and cool
friends chatting freely and openly.. sharing.. unburdening..
being what friends are supposed to be.. positive and supportive.
then i got the sick feeling.
nevermind. i will think about it later.. i have things to do today.
so it gets shelved.
fast forward an hour
i let the dogs out
run upstairs for my shoes
and i hear a yelp.
no worries.. i ask bax casually.. what's up with oli, why is he crying?
oli?.. here boy.. wanna treat? i gotta go.. where you at? olimon?
no answer.. no oli
he isnt inside
he isnt outside in the enclosed yard
gates are shut tight
no holes dug under the fence
he isnt stuck in the garden
or under the bed
or in Bianca's room
or in the basement
or in the shower
or under the deck
or under the shed
PANIC
someone fucking took my dog
hop in the car.. bax, ok buddy.. lets find your bro
nabes on the march
me cruising in the car
two blocks down.. BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP 'he's in your backyard!'
RELIEF
the dog that can decapitate 24 bottles of vacuum packed water with barely a rip in the plastic couldnt seem to push the door to the compost bin back open after going in and the wind closed it behind him. and not a peep from him when i walked by calling him over and over. >.> GAH
fast forward
im at work
playing piano to kill time as i wait patiently for the new student to arrive for her first lesson at 3pm.
my mind is preoccupied with that sick feeling again.
and im in no mood to deal with rude, inconsiderate people who seem to love wasting my time.
3:00 passes
3:10
3:20
3:25 RING RINGGG
i pick up the phone and give my usual greeting, knowing full well who it is on the other end
a casual voice says..
'hi, this is blahdee blah, and i have a voice lesson today that i need to cancel'
oh, the lesson scheduled for 3pm today?
'ohhhh, was it 3? i thought it was 3:30.'
not even an apology.. >.>
and here is where i nearly blow a gasket. i want to say.. lady, it doesnt matter.. 3 or 3:30, it is still last minute. instead of doing my usual swallow my pride and offer a reschedule routine.. through noticably gritted teeth i say something i have never said before in all my years of teaching..
well, blahdee blah, i am not taking any new students at this time. if you are still interested in the fall, there may be some openings. registration is blah blah blah. you may call then. thank you and have a nice day. good bye.
and my 3:30 student didn't even show. -.-
figured i would make it a real winner of a day and call my brother again.
he actually answers.. and says.. 'go fuck yourself' after i say three little words.. i love you.
guess he thinks im somehow being self-righteous :/
so.. the sick feeling returns. and i have time on my hands to think about why.
i feel this long goodbye.. tumbling out before me
after talking about children and parenting and enabling and pleasantries today..
i cant help but feel like i am somehow being firmly but gently thrust from the nest.
i feel tears. my fucking hem wont do..
there is no comfort for this.. pain
it never hurt this much when i left home.
well, i dont want to go dammit.
i belong here..
dont i?
the one in the pit of your stomach..
the one that warns something is gonna happen.. something less than pleasant
the one that tells you what you dont want to happen.. will
i got that feeling
ya know.. today was turning out to be such a nice day.
reese.. my weekend was boring.. well not boring to me, just uneventful..
so im going to talk about today.
sun shining
nice and cool
friends chatting freely and openly.. sharing.. unburdening..
being what friends are supposed to be.. positive and supportive.
then i got the sick feeling.
nevermind. i will think about it later.. i have things to do today.
so it gets shelved.
fast forward an hour
i let the dogs out
run upstairs for my shoes
and i hear a yelp.
no worries.. i ask bax casually.. what's up with oli, why is he crying?
oli?.. here boy.. wanna treat? i gotta go.. where you at? olimon?
no answer.. no oli
he isnt inside
he isnt outside in the enclosed yard
gates are shut tight
no holes dug under the fence
he isnt stuck in the garden
or under the bed
or in Bianca's room
or in the basement
or in the shower
or under the deck
or under the shed
PANIC
someone fucking took my dog
hop in the car.. bax, ok buddy.. lets find your bro
nabes on the march
me cruising in the car
two blocks down.. BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP 'he's in your backyard!'
RELIEF
the dog that can decapitate 24 bottles of vacuum packed water with barely a rip in the plastic couldnt seem to push the door to the compost bin back open after going in and the wind closed it behind him. and not a peep from him when i walked by calling him over and over. >.> GAH
fast forward
im at work
playing piano to kill time as i wait patiently for the new student to arrive for her first lesson at 3pm.
my mind is preoccupied with that sick feeling again.
and im in no mood to deal with rude, inconsiderate people who seem to love wasting my time.
3:00 passes
3:10
3:20
3:25 RING RINGGG
i pick up the phone and give my usual greeting, knowing full well who it is on the other end
a casual voice says..
'hi, this is blahdee blah, and i have a voice lesson today that i need to cancel'
oh, the lesson scheduled for 3pm today?
'ohhhh, was it 3? i thought it was 3:30.'
not even an apology.. >.>
and here is where i nearly blow a gasket. i want to say.. lady, it doesnt matter.. 3 or 3:30, it is still last minute. instead of doing my usual swallow my pride and offer a reschedule routine.. through noticably gritted teeth i say something i have never said before in all my years of teaching..
well, blahdee blah, i am not taking any new students at this time. if you are still interested in the fall, there may be some openings. registration is blah blah blah. you may call then. thank you and have a nice day. good bye.
and my 3:30 student didn't even show. -.-
figured i would make it a real winner of a day and call my brother again.
he actually answers.. and says.. 'go fuck yourself' after i say three little words.. i love you.
guess he thinks im somehow being self-righteous :/
so.. the sick feeling returns. and i have time on my hands to think about why.
i feel this long goodbye.. tumbling out before me
after talking about children and parenting and enabling and pleasantries today..
i cant help but feel like i am somehow being firmly but gently thrust from the nest.
i feel tears. my fucking hem wont do..
there is no comfort for this.. pain
it never hurt this much when i left home.
well, i dont want to go dammit.
i belong here..
dont i?
Monday, June 25, 2012
Don’t tempt me…
The 45 minute cookie…
I’m not going to go into a lot of detail on this one…
My closest friends know that I have never done recreational drugs of any sort…
And I have never said the F word…
These are 2 items I put on my Bucket List…maybe!
I was at a celebration one beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon…
A male species in his 40’s said he baked some cookies…
He said they are special cookies and will help my Rheumatoid Arthritis not be so painful…
A very small amount was broken off for taste…
I was told some of the ingredients were: peanut butter, heath bar, chocolate chips…and others!
Already it has my full attention…I am a chocoholic!
I held this piece of cookie in the palm of my hand…pondering back and forth in my mind…
Should I … shouldn’t I???
I walked around talking with people…cookie still cuffed away in my hand.
My granddaughter asks permission to color my nails…bright psychedelic pink…
I agreed to let her…remover will take it off…nothing permanent!
Grandma, I need your right hand…
I shuffle the cookie to my left palm…
Nails are delicately painted…
Grandma, I am ready for your left hand…
I shuffle the cookie back to my right hand so my left hand is free.
Grandma, what is in your hand…
Oh, just a part of a cookie…
I proceed to mingle some more…
All this time, this lonely piece of cookie is still loosely cuffed in my palm…
Chocolate is starting to heat up…
45 minutes later, I walk over to the baker and he holds out his hand…
I gently placed the cookie in his hand and said “I am not ready yet”…
He popped the cookie in his mouth and smiled…
No waste…
No pressure…was tempted…but not ready!!!
The Wedding…
the start of a very busy weekend...
Reese: Of course you do.
Reese: But still get them a card for in their wedding book.
Reese: You also have to dance with the bride.
Reese: oh yes you do….or you used to. You would have a few beers and do you r own thing. (we partied with them many many times in our younger days) (we even did block parties)
Reese: Nothing at all?
Reese: No, not to church but after pictures you can change.
Lester:> (thinking Gary Gary
Mick: Gary
Lester/Gary: You have to give a speech at the dinner table welcoming Maria into the family.
I have never ever seen Gary
As Gary Leaves, we fess up to some:
Reese/hubby/Lester/Mick: Well, maybe it’s the best man that has to do the speech.
Reese/hubby/Lester/Mick: Well, maybe it’s the brides dad that dances first with the bride.
When Gary
Time to move on with the wedding:
Joseph and Maria’s big day as joining their hearts as one.
They are both teachers.
Bride: Cool and calm!
Groom and grooms dad: extremely anxious!
Setting:
Catholic Church
5 female bridesmaids all in short street length dresses…black…but each one is
individually designed.
5 male groomsmen…all in black tux’s…
ring bearer walking down with a blonde haired little girl hand in hand…making sure she doesn’t trip on her way down the aisle.
the bride, beautiful in her soft fitted white dress…her hair is dark and in soft loose curls
swooped back.
the groom, standing so handsome in his black tux and lime green tie…very striking!
Msgr … gray/white hair…soft spoken voice.
Before the wedding vows, Msgr talks about starting out in married life. Not all is going to be the perfect marriage. It is something that has to be worked at as a couple.
Some days you may feel like you are backed into a corner…
(at this time a motorcycle revs up and has echoed into the church)
Msgr proceeds with saying:
and you hop on your motorcycle and ride out of town.
Of course the congregation roared and thought, what a great ceremony that was!
A big yellow school bus was waiting for the wedding party to enter and be on their way.
I made a comment “I will be the bus monitor for the night”…
In memory of Joe and Maria’s wedding day, they supplied enough trees and plants for people to take home. Since I wasn’t able to attend the meal or the dance, Gary
Everyone survived and had a great time…so I was told!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sadhu
So this kinda ended up being pretty much unrelated to the topic. But when I saw the topic, this is the first thing that came to mind. Once I
started writing, it just flowed. I have been wanting to write this for a long
time but haven’t been able to. So forgive me if it is atrociously long.
Men in saffron robes.
Probably doesn’t mean much to you. You may have seen them
around. Those ‘Hare Krishna’ guys. Clean shaven heads, huge hairy beards,
draped in saffron, wearing beads. Well, their Indian antecedents
are called Sadhus.
Sadhus are ascetic, wandering monks, solely dedicated to
achieving liberation through meditation
and contemplation. They are a common sight in India. They go around asking for
alms and giving blessings.
In my household, sadhus were a common sight. My father, and
before him his father, were devout believers and admirers of the sadhus way of
life. From an early age, I remember scores of these saffron men coming by our
house, asking for alms. Ask is what they did; they never begged, they just…expected.
Like it was their divine right. My father would give them whatever he was able
to at the time. He gave them money, rice, cell phones, tickets to pilgrimage
destinations. He is a good man my father. He believes in helping out those in
need. I did too.
These sadhus would come over to our house and take their alms. Then they would bless the inhabitants, perform some rituals, even do palm readings and the like. I remember being told once that I would get married to a wealthy man and travel a lot and have lots of kids. That is the accepted and desired future for women here. Of course, my plans for my future headed a different way, but I knew they were trying to be nice. They were elders, they were respected by my father, they were holy men. Even though I was a budding agnostic, I had nothing but respect for them. I was a good girl like that.
These sadhus would come over to our house and take their alms. Then they would bless the inhabitants, perform some rituals, even do palm readings and the like. I remember being told once that I would get married to a wealthy man and travel a lot and have lots of kids. That is the accepted and desired future for women here. Of course, my plans for my future headed a different way, but I knew they were trying to be nice. They were elders, they were respected by my father, they were holy men. Even though I was a budding agnostic, I had nothing but respect for them. I was a good girl like that.
When I was 17, we shifted into a new house. My father is extremely
close to his brother. They have their own business where they work as partners.
We used to live as a joint family too, with my uncle and aunt all living under the
same roof. There was some friction between the two ladies of the household and
we shifted into individual flats, facing each other. Our old house served as my father’s office
too. With the change, he got a separate office some blocks away. All sadhu
activity was directed there hence. No sadhu came to our home. Of course, we would
still see them on the roads, stopping cars and asking for alms; but all in all,
I lived a sadhu-free existence. Till last year.
It was summer. I had just come back from college for my
summer break. I had two months of vacation. My parents still had to go to work,
but every evening we would cuddle and have fun. The mornings I would spend on the
computer, reading, drawing, watching movies, just lazing around.
That day, my father left early. He had to go for a meeting to
this secure complex where he couldn’t even take his phone. My mother left at seven,
as usual. I went about my usual routine. I did my morning exercise, fixed
breakfast, took a bath. I was just starting to get dressed when I heard the
doorbell go off. I just grabbed a dressing robe, thinking it would be the maid.
I would let her in and then go back and get dressed.
I opened the door. It was a sadhu. A pretty young one too. It
had been ages since I saw one. The city my college is in doesn’t have the
culture. Well, here was one, complete with saffron robe, beads, stick, alms mug
and that all-knowing smile. Frankly I was a little annoyed. Holy men were scam artists; you heard stories of their
tricks everywhere. Besides, by this time I had been living by myself long
enough to understand the value of money and how every rupee counts. My giving
to the poor phase was over. That sadhu at the door was the next most annoying person,
after salesmen, that could have rung my doorbell. Oh well. I thought I would
just get rid of him quickly and then I could go back and get dressed and get
back to chatting with my friends on skype.
Despite all the metamorphosis my personality had undergone, he
was still elder to me, he was respected by my father, he had come in good faith.
I was perfectly polite and respectful, with a big smile on my face. I am a good
girl like that.
He started talking. Sadhus have this way of talking that
really gets to you. It’s partially obsequious, like a sycophantic whine while
they sidle up to you and get you to pay big; it’s partially vain, with this
innate pride at their being so obviously above the level of mere human beings
and having a direct link with god. It’s sprinkled with praises and blessings and
divinations and predictions, not to mention the obscene amounts of money that
they should get as god appeared in their dream and ordered them to go to some pilgrimage.
They talk really fast and next thing you know, you’re handing over a big wad of
cash. Quite a good scam really. Of course, there are the rare few who actually
follow the way of the true sadhus. I guess these are the ones my father is
affiliated with.
So anyway, this guy started talking. I immediately cut him
off and said with a big smile that I was sorry but my parents weren’t at home and I
didn’t have any money. He paused. He asked for a glass of water. I went and got
him one. He took it. He smiled obsequiously and asked if my father was there. I
said no, he had gone to work. He said he knew my father and that my father
always gave him something and that he has never left our house empty handed. I
told him no can do. He insisted. I caved. My father probably did know him. And
I hadn’t been living at home for a year now; who knew the new customs and
traditions developed by my parents? I wanted to make him go away as fast as
possible so I went to my room, grabbed my wallet and pulled out 30 bucks. I
went back and gave it to him and said it was all I had. He smiled his
all-knowing smile and put his hand on my head, the way sadhus are wont to when
giving blessings.
He asked me if I was married. I said no, I was just 20. He
smiled and said that was old enough. He blessed my future and told me that I
was going to get married to a very wealthy man and give him lots of babies. I
rolled my eyes at this traditional chauvinistic slogan but continued smiling,
hoping he would go away. He was still talking. He asked me what I was doing. I
said I was in college. He smiled and said I would be immensely successful in my
future. Interesting. Finally a deviation from the age old routine. He said I
would get a swanky job and thrive. I smiled. He said I had a good heart. He
lifted his hand from my head and placed it on my heart. Well, my chest. He
started patting slowly while he continued telling me what a good heart I had,
how I cared so much for all that was around me. I don’t know why but I was
starting to tear up slightly. He stopped and asked for another glass of water.
I went to the kitchen and refilled his glass. He was still
standing at the doorway; standing, in fact, just a little within the threshold.
I waited while he drank the water. He gave me the glass and started talking
again. About my future, present, past. My personality. My ‘good heart’. His
hand was back on my chest. This time it was groping. I took a step back and my
hands crossed over my chest. I couldn’t say anything of course; he was a sadhu
and sadhus are to be respected. My father taught me that. He immediately put his
hand back on my head and told me it was ok, he was just blessing me. I felt
calm. He gently removed my hands and told me this was gods wish and I should
not shy away from a blessing. He started groping again. I was in a trance. He
kept talking. He had a melodic, hypnotic voice that calmed me. Suddenly he
stopped and asked for more water.
Somewhere deep inside me I knew something was wrong. But I was in some sort of a trance. I walked mechanically to the
kitchen, filled his glass and walked back with a smile. He drank it and started
talking again. A lot of what he said I didn’t understand. My hindi is pretty
bad and he was using some pretty archaic words. Then he put his hand on my
underwear. He asked me if I had had my menstrual cycle. I don’t even know how
he managed to slip that in so casually, making it sound like a perfectly normal
question. I said I did. He started to finger me. He said you’re not wearing any
underwear now are you? I said I was. He asked me when my last menstrual cycle
was. I think here my defenses kicked in finally and I lied and said I was
having it at the moment. In hindsight, I think if I hadn't said that, he might have proceeded to rape. He took his hand away and started groping my chest
again.. He asked for more water. In a trance I went, all the while smiling.
My senses though were slowly coming back. When he
tried to grope again, I quickly moved back. He told me it was gods blessing and
that I shouldn’t shy away. I smiled and said I was not comfortable. I couldn’t
be rude. You shouldn’t be rude to your elders. My parents taught me that. But
my defenses were definitely building. I think he saw I was about to break
because he immediately backed off and started collecting his things. He said I
was to tell no one about this; this was a special secret between god and
myself. He stressed that I shouldn’t tell my father. I smiled and said I wouldn’t.
He left. I closed the door behind him. I went back to my computer. A horrible sensation
was starting to descend over me. The friend I was chatting with on skype was
still waiting. He asked me where I had been. I put on a voicecall. He picked up. I was still smiling. I remember the effect my words had on him. But it had a greater effect on me. I told him
“I think I have just been molested.”
The poor kid was 14 years old. He had no clue what to do. In
fact, I don’t think he was talking at all. Just replying in chat. I was the
only one talking. My voice was breaking. I recounted the incident. Slowly I
started realizing what I had let the sadhu do to me. I wasn’t crying though. I couldn’t cry. I
think I was in shock. He suggested calling up my parents. I got up on shaky
legs and got the phone. I called my father. His phone was switched off. He had
gone to that meeting. I called my mother. Switched off. She wasn’t allowed to
take calls in school. Same went for my aunt, also a teacher in the same school.
I figured my uncle would be with my father. I sat and I stared at my computer.
I couldn’t think of what to do. I felt numb. I just wanted to stop thinking. And
what better way to do that than be on the internet? I joined a random dmt
match. I don’t know what I would have done if what happened next hadn’t happened.
But it did and it was one of the things that saved me that day. My aunt came
online on skype.
This is my mother’s sister. She is my idol. She is
everything I have ever wanted to be. Both my brother and I are in complete awe
of her. She is I think the only family member(except my brother) who I ever
added on skype. It was a blessing she came online that day at that time. I
tentatively said hi. She replied and asked how I was. I told her I thought I
had just been molested. She immediately called. I gave her the cliffnotes on
what happened. She immediately took
charge. She asked me if I had called my parents. I told her nor they, nor my
uncle and aunt were available. She told me to call the police. In India, calling
the police is….not desirable. The Indian police are a bunch of corrupt, useless
lot who go out of their way to harass victims and won’t take a step without
some money under the table. They were
the last option. I couldn’t understand my aunt’s urgency in getting help. The
thing was done with. The police wouldn’t help at all. I just wanted to sit and
do nothing and have people tell me it was going to be ok. But my aunt knew what
I needed. I needed closure. She was forceful and I was in no condition to
resist so I thought I would give my uncle a call just to make sure he was with
my father and then proceed to the last option. I called him. To my surprise, he
picked up. I started babbling. I couldn’t talk straight. He misheard me initially;
he thought I was telling him a sadhu had come and I was asking him what to do and
he told me to tell the sadhu to come later. Eventually he picked up the word ‘molested’
and told me to stay where I was. Two seconds later, he was at the door.
My uncle was the second person who saved me that day. I hadn’t
known but he was at home, right next door, all along. He asked me what
happened. I told him. I was shaking. He told me to lock the door and not open
it until I confirmed who it was. And he told me to put on some decent clothes;
I was in my dressing gown the whole time. Then he grabbed his motorbike keys and
ran off. I went shakily back to my
computer. My aunt was still on call. Once she was assured someone was after the
guy, she concentrated on calming me down and talking about her own experiences
of being molested and how to handle it.
10 minutes later, my uncle called. He asked me to come to
our balcony. Our flat is on the fifth floor. I went and looked down at the
parking area – he was there. The sadhu. He was there beside my uncle. My uncle
asked me if this was the guy. I nodded yes. My uncle grabbed hold of him and
started beating him up. I don’t even know what I was feeling. I wanted to cry,
but the tears wouldn’t come. I just hugged myself and made this shrill keening sound. All around me neighbors
started poking their heads out of balconies and windows, asking what had
happened. My uncle was yelling. He shouted at the guy how he dared take on the
holy robes and then molest under gods name. He kicked him and stripped him off
his robes. He took his beads and his stick and his alms mug and threw them on
the ground. By this time some neighbors had joined in and were beating the guy
up as well. That’s the thing about India; we may not have decent police but we
don’t have apathy either. My uncle finally stopped them and told the sadhu that
if he ever dared to take up the holy robes again or do what he had done today,
he would be hunted down and punished. Then they let him go, semi naked,
whimpering, bruised.
I later found out that my uncle had asked around the
building and met a maid who told him that she had seen a sadhu somewhere in the
next block. Then he circled the neighborhood till he found a sadhu and got him
to come back with him by saying that no sadhu ever left his house without
getting alms. Then my uncle made sure I was watching and gave me closure. That,
I think, was the one thing I needed the most. He made sure I saw the guy get punished.
I often wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t caught the guy. I would be
afraid to step out of the house, let alone go live in a big city by myself. That
day my uncle and my aunt saved me.
For a short while I blamed my father. I thought that it was
because of him this guy had come to our house. That passed of course. Then I
blamed myself. That still hasn’t passed.
I am not a wimp. I am not a spineless coward. I have always been a rebel. I stand up for myself and my
beliefs. I am pretty big built and have gotten into tons of fights before
protecting my delicate female friends from males bullying them. So then what happened to me? Why did I just take it all? The whole
thing went on for a good ten minutes. Where was I? WHY DIDN’T I DO
ANYTHING? I have been tormented with this question ever since. It has been one
year. I still can’t get over it.
Many people have tried to provide explanations: all girls
become like this the first time they are molested, my defenses were down
because I thought I was in a safe environment at my own home, I was hypnotized
(my mother’s theory), I thought that a sadhu was to be trusted and respected.
Whatever. Still can’t accept it. I have come to terms with being molested. I
cannot come to terms with my behavior. I hope someday I will forgive myself.
Fragile Trust
Thinner than Spring Ice, my trust melts and thaws.
I look carefully before I cross.
Wanting to believe in you.
Hoping it will hold.
I am down. falling. I hit the cold waters and form a ball.
Swoosh. I am lifted up and thrown to the bank.
Which is the dream?
Is it over? Am I safe?
I look carefully before I cross.
Wanting to believe in you.
Hoping it will hold.
I am down. falling. I hit the cold waters and form a ball.
Swoosh. I am lifted up and thrown to the bank.
Which is the dream?
Is it over? Am I safe?
life's little obstacle
right now i'm trusting my dogs not to bite the dudes hanging out in my window.
every day we live
every thing we do
requires some level of trust
surface trust is easy..
it's the deep stuff that's.. well.. damn near impossible sometimes.
i spent nearly a month trusting that my wife ( my WIFE :D ) loved me enough to say yes.. to want to spend the rest of her life with me.. to find happiness with me..
i trust every day that she is happy
but i make it my mission to do right by her.. to never take her for granted
or us
for so long
i didn't trust anyone
not even myself
i blocked my voice
stunted any sense of forward momentum
just.. floated in an abysmal state of fear and anger and lonliness and sadness
is that the key..
trust?
is that the answer..
i trusted her all along i think.. a little
if i hadn't.. she would never have seen that there is more to me than meets the eye.
if i hadn't.. she would never have trusted in me.. or felt safe..
so in trusting.. we open ourselves to possibility
to the.. future
the naive do this so easily
the young have so little fear
they have yet to feel the sting of loss.. remorse.. consequences..
as we experience more of life
trust..
takes tremendous will
and courageous heart
but most of all..
to trust.. is a proclamation to the universe.. DO AS YOU WILL.. I WANT TO LIVE!
every day we live
every thing we do
requires some level of trust
surface trust is easy..
it's the deep stuff that's.. well.. damn near impossible sometimes.
i spent nearly a month trusting that my wife ( my WIFE :D ) loved me enough to say yes.. to want to spend the rest of her life with me.. to find happiness with me..
i trust every day that she is happy
but i make it my mission to do right by her.. to never take her for granted
or us
for so long
i didn't trust anyone
not even myself
i blocked my voice
stunted any sense of forward momentum
just.. floated in an abysmal state of fear and anger and lonliness and sadness
is that the key..
trust?
is that the answer..
i trusted her all along i think.. a little
if i hadn't.. she would never have seen that there is more to me than meets the eye.
if i hadn't.. she would never have trusted in me.. or felt safe..
so in trusting.. we open ourselves to possibility
to the.. future
the naive do this so easily
the young have so little fear
they have yet to feel the sting of loss.. remorse.. consequences..
as we experience more of life
trust..
takes tremendous will
and courageous heart
but most of all..
to trust.. is a proclamation to the universe.. DO AS YOU WILL.. I WANT TO LIVE!
Somebody bully me please.
The viral video of a older white haired bus monitor, (68), clutching her purse that has mottos on it, like Live with Integrity while being bullied to tears by little twerps, moved a Toronto man to start an internet campaign to send her on vacation. His modest goal of 5k has ballooned to donations of over 277k and still growing. She will not need to work again, that will pay her salary for a decade. plus a most excellent vacation.
The fund has gone up 8k in the time it took me to write this piece. www.indiegogo.com/loveforkarenhklein
In the battle of good versus evil, this is a small thing that has been brought to the nation's attention. I'm not surprised if it is forgotten in a weeks time. We don't hold ourselves accountable anymore. The nation can start wars and torture prisoners, without recourse. We allow violence on television at all hours of the day. We laugh at people on reality shows, like Dance Mom, and the Real Housewives series, using foul language and threats and bullying tactics. It is entertainment.
Those children were performing for the camera. It was a reality show published on youtube for a private audience of giggling 12 year olds who have not yet read the Lord of Flies.
In a world connected down to the minute, we have a chance to make accountability go LIVE. We can right wrongs now in a way we weren't able to. No one has to hide in a small town and be bullied ever again.
Our voices will grow and overcome the meanness. Good will survive and thrive in this new post internet world. So help me God it will.
Oh wait. Trust.
wut?
The fund has gone up 8k in the time it took me to write this piece. www.indiegogo.com/loveforkarenhklein
In the battle of good versus evil, this is a small thing that has been brought to the nation's attention. I'm not surprised if it is forgotten in a weeks time. We don't hold ourselves accountable anymore. The nation can start wars and torture prisoners, without recourse. We allow violence on television at all hours of the day. We laugh at people on reality shows, like Dance Mom, and the Real Housewives series, using foul language and threats and bullying tactics. It is entertainment.
Those children were performing for the camera. It was a reality show published on youtube for a private audience of giggling 12 year olds who have not yet read the Lord of Flies.
In a world connected down to the minute, we have a chance to make accountability go LIVE. We can right wrongs now in a way we weren't able to. No one has to hide in a small town and be bullied ever again.
Our voices will grow and overcome the meanness. Good will survive and thrive in this new post internet world. So help me God it will.
Oh wait. Trust.
wut?
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
into the future…
This morning JC, Rosie, Jini and I were on chat at the same time for the first time since Jini had left for school a couple of months ago.
Jini had mentioned for us all to do a twenty. I work at a much slower pace at everything, so I had to ask … a 20??? It’s been so long since I’ve heard the word twenty or the number 20…I forgot it meant to do a writing in 20 minutes or less.
Whats the topic for the day???
Ummmm JC decides on “future”…which can be anything…
Rosie was mixed on today which is Wednesday or is it for Thursday after JC’s talk with his dad.
Finally we got the 20 minute writing, Wednesday evening and on the future all settled with timelines…since we are all scattered.
This is my Into The Future:
I was pooling this afternoon with some random. We were betting high at 500. Random won 1, I won 1…then I said “1 more for the tie breaker and then I g2g”…random said ok.
Random shoots, Reese shoots and random shoots again and again….I was getting bored so I noticed 2 buttons on the side of my mouse. Hmmmm wonder what these do…click on one and it didn’t do anything…click on the other button and poof….pooling is gone and I can’t get back to my game…500 smackeroooos right down the drain. In my future, I will leave the buttons untouched while I am gaming…
I know my future writing will be totally off the wall from the other 3…but I did it in less than 20.
The possibility of Androids
The future. It’s funny thinking about it. Such a vast
mysterious thing. It can be what you want it to be. So full of possibilities,
so full of excitement.
My brother is 25. He is working as a market analyst in
London. He has a swanky job, a swanky apartment, a swanky car. He has a
gorgeous girlfriend back in India. He is happy. Yesterday he told be the best
years of his life were in college.
My flatmate is 34. She is an apparel designer. She works
till 6, then has dance classes, guitar classes and a baking class. She is
beautiful and has an adorable merchant navy fiancé. Every night during dinner
she goes on about how she wishes she were back in college.
My father is 56. He is a mechanical consultant. He owns his
own company. He has a beautiful house, an incredible wife, amazing kids (if I
say so myself). His best years were in
college.
I am 20. I am in college. I have a fantastic time. I am
learning all sorts of things, most unrelated to my coursework. I have a whole future
full of possibilities. I have dreams and goals and hopes. I want a future where
I am even happier than now. But all evidence indicates that that will probably
not happen. These will be the best years of my life, and then I’ll settle down
to the monotony of routine and schedule. My capacity to be happy and be excited
will diminish. My dreams and hopes will be compromised with reality.
Why try then? Why try so hard, get my hopes up when this is
the top point of the graph? After this, reality kicks in with all its
responsibilities.
Of course, there is no way about it. I know that. Nothing
lasts forever. This too shall pass. It’s just a little depressing thinking
about how fast it’ll all end. The supposedly best chapter in my life will be
closing in just a few months.
But I know other doors will open. There will be change, and
that in itself is exciting. I look forward to whatever the future throws at me.
Who knows, in my future, there may even be androids :D
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