Category: Writing Challenge
Posted on April 12th, 2015
Never again will I have to hear those words.
to look into those eyes
that tear me apart, shred my soul open wide
Those mouths that spit fire
Those teeth, that liar
Those words that I hear
The pain that I fear
The insults, the lies,
No matter how hard I try
I ignore, in hope it stops
But that never works.
Never again wills someone tell me it gets better,
that it will go away with time.
Never again will someone tell me to stay strong,
to keep my chin up
so someone has a better shot.
Nobody can understand
because even I don’t understand.
Nobody can relate
because there is nothing to relate to.
There is nothing left for me and everyone else.
That is gone, has been gone, will never come back.
The only thing I know
is I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
Posted on January 19th, 2015
The light of my inspiration has dimmed.
He was a man that most looked up to.
A man who could do what most could not.
Yet now he is a man who seems to have lost his values.
I do not believe it is entirely his fault.
I cannot agree with how he is acting.
But I also do not truly understand the events that have brought us here.
At first I was angry. I knew he needed my support.
I was unable to be of much help, which I still haven’t decided if that was a good or bad thing yet.
I maintained my anger for a while. It still sleeps somewhere in my soul.
But slowly that anger has been replaced by sadness, a sadness I still haven’t quite figured out.
Embarrassed has even been a thing for me. I’ve thought about crying, perhaps letting a tear or two out, because really I’m not sure how to feel. Confusion is about it right now.
Waiting for the next story to be released,
Waiting for his next move and crossing my fingers I don’t feel worse as a result.
I’m trying to keep myself out of the picture here. He is obviously the one with the troubles. But he was my inspiration, and I wonder what my future will be like because I thought I was so similar to him. It seems logical how I can protect myself from the same fate, but the same thing doesn’t have to happen to me for me to suffer in a similar way.
I fear I have lost one of my role models. A part of me can’t let him go, but a part of me is afraid that I have to.
Whenever stories like this drop, you know there’s always more than what is being told. Most of the time we can expect to never know the entire truth. That usually works out for one side, and not the other. I’m not sure which side is holding back what. I want to believe one side is better than the other, but I just don’t have enough information. I hope to someday know more. Maybe then I’ll be able to feel better about things.
Most of you won’t understand the specifics of what this all means, but some of you will know exactly what I’m talking about. And you may disagree with me, but that’s okay. I’m not trying to persuade anyone else a certain way. I’m trying to figure things out for myself, and what it all means to me.
An inspiration is something that leads someone to do something more, or gives the energy to do what needs to be done. He was my inspiration in that I am now a teacher because of what he taught me, and how I could be more like him based on what he valued. I know he still has those values, and it is those values that has led him into making almost every decision he has made. It is a shame that he is apparently confused about the consequences and how everything looks on the outside.
Maybe it’s because he knows you can’t judge a book by its cover. You have to really open up the book and evaluate and analyze everything that’s on the inside to truly know and understand, and reach some valuable realization or conclusion. That is what we are still missing and that is what he is trying to tell us. This is where it gets confusing. Pages are missing from this book. There is no table of contents. It is a work still under construction; one that may never be published, never finished, never for other eyes to see.
At this point in time I can only hope that it all works out in the end, which is lame. For the moment I step lightly, always glancing over my shoulder.
Posted on January 11th, 2015
It hangs in the closet,
Untouched for years.
Dust is upon it
as the light creeks through.
The children come in with bins to gather the clothes.
They are to be donated,
but not the sweater.
You might think that the sweater was too worn out to be donated.
It is, after all, practically unable to be worn.
There are so many tears in the thick, purple material.
We couldn’t possibly donate this. Someone needs to keep it.
But where could we put such a thing? It’s a tattered old mess.
But it was her favorite it. She has kept it for all this time.
Why? We should have asked her.
I’ll keep it in my closet.
The purple sweater traveled to it’s new home on top of old pictures. Corners of the frames showed through the gaping holes in the material.
The sweater may not be able to keep you warm, but it could certainly warm your heart with all it has been through.
There is the hole in the right shoulder from when Marty and her husband walked through their new house for the first time. It snagged on a loose nail in the doorway to the basement.
The bottom seam line towards the back has been losing threads for decades. Baby Natalie pulled on it one day and it’s been getting pulled on by other children ever since.
The left cuff has been unraveling ever since they got Rudy, their German Shepherd. There’s also a good amount of Rudy’s fur tucked into the stitching, probably helping to hold it all together at this point.
There is a slice clean across the chest from Thanksgiving a lifetime ago, when Marty was pulling the turkey out of the oven. The patched design on the sweater had somehow gotten stuck so when she closed the oven, the patch was peeled clean off. It turned out that the patch had been loosely attached simply from being an old, worn out sweater.
The right elbow was worn away from the numerous car rides, road trips, and vacations the family took. All the driving she did left for many hours of the purple sweater resting on the center console.
The lower left side of the sweater, which would cover her stomach, had a tiny hand print-full of loose threads, from her grandson Nathan. He was trying to take his first steps when he suddenly needed to hold on for dear life.
The left sleeve was so loose it took almost no effort to slide her sleeve out of the way on her weekly hospital visits.
All the important memories are etched into that sweater. Her children always tried to get her to get rid of it because it was so tattered. Every time she would wear it, they would remind her how old it was. It was in countless photo albums, it’s history and tears recorded for all to see.
Natalie dumped the pile of clothes into the donation bin.
When she got home, she hung the tattered purple sweater in her closet.
Why is that here?
It was my mother’s favorite sweater.
But it’s falling apart. You can’t even wear it.
That’s not what’s important. It was precious and dear to her. She always wore it even when we told her not to. We’ve been trying to get her to get rid of it for years.
So why are you keeping it then?
I don’t think it’s ready to go yet.
I don’t even understand how it’s still together. I mean, it barely resembles a sweater anymore.
I know… but I think it’s the invisible threads that hold it together.
Well, I’m sure she appreciates that you didn’t just get rid of it like the rest of her clothes.
Yeah, I think so too.
Posted on January 4th, 2015
Love is a masterpiece, a fine line, destructive, heartbreaking.
Love can pick you up when you’re feeling down
Love can tear you down from your high.
Love can hurt you in ways you didn’t think you could hurt.
Love can teach you things you didn’t know you didn’t know.
Love can let you know what you’ve been missing your entire life.
Love can remind you of what you used to have, of what is now gone.
Love can be the one thing that gets you through the day.
Love can be the one thing that ruins each and every day.
Love is pain, love is bliss
But once it’s gone, it’s always missed.
Posted on November 9th, 2014
Vengeance: Part 4
“You know, I really pinned you down as someone who wouldn’t make a big deal of things. Apparently I was wrong. All of this time you’ve been sneaking around and doing all this detective work. But you made a huge mistake.”
Harrison blinked several times. The light was blinding. The smell of mold was heavy in the air. The stony floor was cold and damp.
“But if you were any good at playing detective you’d have known that she never went to see Caleb. She came to see me.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“She could never love anyone else and she knew it. She just had to ‘try’ as she liked to say. So I let her. “ He shrugged and began to take a few steps. “I loved her, you know. And you just took her away like she meant nothing to no one.”
“She was having an affair. She apparently meant a lot to too many people.”
“Are you stupid? You can’t expect to be the only person in the world to love someone. She had family and friends.”
“Of course not, but I should expect to be the only person sleeping with her as her husband!” He was frustrated. This man was making him out to be a fool.
Both men were silent for a moment.
“You know she never loved you right?” Harrison flinched where he sat and tried his hardest not to make eye contact with his captor. “She only married you as an excuse to get away from me. She claimed that since she was married to another man, we could never see each other.” He gave a chuckle to himself. “The ideas she came up with sometimes…”
“I mean, you had to know, right? Didn’t you ever wonder why you never had any kids?”
Harrison’s eye twitched. He knew better than to respond to anymore questions. There was a whole life that Leah had that she wanted to keep private from him. She worked hard to keep him away from the drama of her past. Or was it just so she didn’t have to answer any of his questions? What if she really didn’t love him? But if she only married him to stay away from this lunatic, why was she going to see him all the time? He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything else; he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to all his questions.
“A lot going on in that pea brain of yours, huh? Well don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to think about all of this when you’re in prison.”
“Who are you?” he asked again through gritted teeth.
“If you really can’t get over it… My name is Gil. I am the only man that Leah ever loved. Now will you shut up about it? We have more important matters at hand.”
It all made sense now.
G wasn’t a code name for Harrison in the emails Leah and Caleb were writing to each other. It meant Gil. There was never a ton of detail about G in the emails, but enough negativity that Harrison just assumed it was about different fights that he and Leah had.
But what really hurt him was the fact that Leah was more comfortable talking to Caleb about these personal matters. Harrison never heard a single word about it. Was he that bad of a person that his own wife couldn’t tell him what was making her so unhappy? Had he selfishly taken her life away from the world?
“She was always worried she and I would end up having a kid together. Then she would really be stuck with me. Her words, not mine. And she just couldn’t have that. Leah had a lot of problems and you certainly didn’t make things any easier for her.”
Harrison contemplated all the problems he may have caused her. This man may have been right about a lot of things, but he was wrong about this. Leah had all these problems before they were even married. He knew that she had been married before, but she made it quite clear it was not a topic for conversation. And now he could see why. They must have gotten married when they were pretty young. Leah was only 26 when she married him, so it must have been her early twenties when she married this maniac. He couldn’t begin to imagine the specific reason that pushed her to get a divorce.
Even with all her issues, she was a beautiful, hardworking woman who was sleeping with another man. That’s still what it came down to. That’s what this was all about. That was why he had killed her. No one deserves to be cheated on, Harrison included.
“How do you feel about killing the wrong man, by the way?”
Harrison closed his eyes tight; he had completely forgotten about Caleb. There was no denying that- he had killed an entirely innocent human being. He began to quiver where he sat, thinking about the unnecessary pain he had caused Caleb’s wife, of all the crap he said about saving her and doing her a favor. It was all wrong. His mind kept going back to Leah, and the pain she was suffering silently this whole time.
“Now that she’s dead she probably thinks she’s finally escaped me. But no, Leah. There’s no escaping me. I’ll be joining you shortly, my love, and we can pick up right where we left off.”
“You’re going to kill yourself?” Harrison raised his eyebrows.
“The only way I’ll be able to see her again is when I find her in Hell. But you? You’ll be staying right here in this life, trapped in prison. She thought being with you would keep her away from me. So I’ll make sure you’re out of the picture long enough for her to forget all about you. I’ve already got it all figured out.” Gil walked over to a table on the other side of the room. Harrison couldn’t see what was on it, and he tried not to care. Obviously, he wasn’t going to kill him.
“In a short period of time, you will be killing me. When the cops arrive, you will be entirely to blame for my murder. After they take you into custody, they will have all the evidence they need to find you guilty of Leah and Caleb’s murders as well. Life sentence. And you seem to be pretty healthy, except maybe not mentally, seeing as how you had no trouble murdering three innocent people. But you’ll be in prison for a good long time.”
Harrison looked away from Gil and stared at the floor where he was tied up. Leah was corrupted by this man. What she might have seen in him, Harrison couldn’t, and would never, figure out. He had taken her and killed her out of his own pride. He didn’t even stop to think about what life would be like with her gone, until now. And Caleb was as innocent as ever. He was there for her more than he himself was, and apparently could have been. Leah had gone to him with all her problems. Maybe she was just looking out for Harrison. Keeping him out of her drama. But he was her husband. She should have felt it was safe to tell him anything. Well, maybe not, seeing as how he killed her with his own two hands since he thought it was the appropriate action at the time.
A noise distracted Harrison from his thoughts and he looked up to see Gil coming at him with a large blunt object. Gil had a terrifyingly strained smile upon his sweaty face.
“But that’s enough talk. I’ve got a date.”
Harrison emptied his lungs and closed his eyes.
The next couple of days were a blur, a cyclone of cop cars, evidence boxes, jail cells, and media reporters. Harrison did his best to ignore it all. None of it mattered. He pleaded guilty to everything because he hated being out in the public. The trial needed to be over with. He explained his reasoning behind the murders, and that he bad been wrong about their affair. Some stories leaked that he told of the affair to gain sympathy, which was not his intention. He just wanted everyone and everything to go away. The only thing that didn’t add up in his story was the murder of Gil. The police couldn’t connect Gil’s murder to Leah’s and Caleb’s, but they knew Harrison was guilty, plus he had confessed. He just couldn’t tell them how he did it, as he was not conscious when it happened. He didn’t tell them this, of course. That just would have dragged things out.
His heart had a gaping hole where Leah once lived. He was disgusted with himself. The hatred he had for himself when he saw Leah’s family sitting in the courtroom was beyond anything he had ever felt before. Did they know about Leah’s struggle? They couldn’t look at him throughout the trial and had nothing to say for or against him. It didn’t matter. They were never going to see him again.
He sat in his jail cell dwelling on all the things that could have been, might have been, should have been. He kept coming to the same conclusion: none of it mattered. There was no going back and undoing the terrors he committed.
The one thing his mind always came back to was Leah. She was in Hell. But somehow, he knew she was waiting for him.
Posted on November 2nd, 2014
Vengeance: Part 3
Harrison sat back in the rickety chair with his steaming cup of coffee. Planning the car accident had been easy. Caleb always worked late nights and was just one of those people who worked too hard and was always tired. He often drove around late at night. The accident was ruled exactly that, a man who fell asleep at the wheel and lost control of the vehicle. There was some talk where people thought there was some connection between the two deaths with the project they were working on, but it had yet to amount to anything significant.
With the funeral over, all that was left was to clean up. Nothing else mattered anymore. The injustice could finally be forgotten, wiped away, drowned, eliminated, destroyed. They were both destroyed.
Harrison still had a nagging feeling. Something still wasn’t quite right. Perhaps he would feel better once the rest of the evidence was destroyed.
Where was he going to move to? He still had to wait a while to move, otherwise it might be suspicious. He knew people still thought he was guilty. Maybe that would be an okay reason to up and move now, to get away from all the accusing stares.
But where would he go? There was nothing tying him here anymore. This was where he was supposed to create his family. This town was supposed to be the rest of his life. His dead-end job didn’t matter much anymore. He had held it because it was solid money every week, but he didn’t find much of a need for money anymore, at least not a lot of it.
There was nothing left. Really, absolutely nothing left. There was no meaning left in his life. There wouldn’t be another wedding, that’s for damn sure. How was he supposed to trust anyone after this? After her? There would never be another woman like her.
He saw her picture on the table again, and had a sudden urge to burn it. He suddenly wanted to forget everything that had ever happened in regards to Leah. She was once so special to him. But it seemed he was not special enough for her. What had he done to deserve this treatment? He would probably never know.
The anger in him continued to rise at all the unanswered questions that were stabbing into his brain, all the answers he would never have. He tried to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t important, but it was hard to not think about it. He was fixated on the life she had that he had never known about. All the lies she must have told.
He took a deep drink of coffee and placed the mug down on the table. He could have sworn that at the exact same moment the mug hit the table, something made a noise outside. Harrison sat perfectly still as he waited for something else to move, for another noise. But he heard nothing else.
He could feel his heart beating a bit in his chest. He felt the sweat starting to prickle in his armpits. Something wasn’t right. He thought about going to the window to look but he was nervous about something he couldn’t put his finger on. He was reluctant to get out of his chair as it always made noise. But in order to calm himself down, he had to get up to see.
As he was contemplating the most quiet way to maneuver out of the chair, he heard the noise again. It was closer this time, like it was in the room with him. His eyes grew wide as the sweat beaded on his brow. He was about to turn around when the room disappeared before his eyes.
Posted on September 14th, 2014
Vengeance: Part 2
Something still wasn’t making sense.
Harrison thought back to the day he went into his wife’s office to clear her desk and collect her things. He had to wait for them to request this of him or else it might have been obvious. He made sure to take her laptop as if it was just another thing. But it was the most important thing. This was going to give him his answers.
He had picked up everything that was available to him from her desk and the nearby vicinity. It was just a cubicle. Just to be sure he didn’t miss anything he walked around the whole office and checked public areas where people would stand and chat, like the kitchen area or the water cooler, perhaps to see what she might have seen, been where she had been. He didn’t do that for very long; people were starting to look at him funny. He then figured he probably looked more suspicious than sad.
It was when he was standing next to the water cooler looking out a nearby window that he shed his first tear since her disappearance. He hadn’t really grieved over her being gone since the night she went missing. He stared longingly out the window and felt fewer people staring at him out of weirdness, but more out of sadness. Some of these people were her friends and probably missed her, too. But they wouldn’t say anything to him about it. After all it was his wife, not just a friend. They simply wouldn’t understand.
He returned back to her desk and gathered up the rest of her belongings and got himself out of there. As each minute passed, he grew more and more uncomfortable and unsure of himself. Had he made a mistake?
Harrison carried in the last box and placed it gingerly on the table and sat down in the rickety chair at the wobbly table. He spent hours poring through every single document on Leah’s laptop, through every item she had sitting around her desk. His doubts about his actions were quickly brushed aside when he found her long email chains with a man named Caleb, and this was not the first time he heard Caleb’s name from Leah.
It was out in the open for him, as if she thought he would never look into her laptop. All of the details were there. His printer was humming along in the background.
Most of the emails were about some new business project they were working on, trying to figure out ways to get things approved to get what they needed. He figured that was just code. Leah talked about these things at home in her last few months, which was fine. What wasn’t fine was when she started “working late” more often than anything else.
Harrison fought with himself on the matter at first. She would never do something like that. He wasn’t a bad enough person to have the woman he loved treat him that way. But then there was no hiding it. One of the last times she came home from working late she was flustered and looked like she had been crying. Harrison had no sympathy for her at this point. Dark thoughts had already crossed his mind a few times by then but this was the icing on the cake. Not only was she seeing someone else, she was seeing them in some sort of capacity that she had been crying about something. Perhaps the relationship had ended? But that thought quickly left his mind. She had been in the relationship long enough that it ended and she was heart broken about it. That was more than enough for him.
That’s when he began renting the apartment in the city. He needed a headquarters, a place to put his thoughts together.
It took him four months to organize himself and prepare for his actions. He paid less and less attention to what Leah was doing in the time leading up to her disappearance. She had become detached and quiet, which made it easier for Harrison to continue with his mission.
What took him so long in planning everything was how he was going to get Caleb. He was up in the air about including him as part of the scheme, but he thought the risk was too high if he left him. Leah could have told him anything. Caleb could have put the police right on his track if Leah was emotionally broken enough to complain about all the things he did wrong in the brief times they actually saw each other lately.
It needed to be spaced out enough that there couldn’t be a connection between the incidents. He knew he was going to be looked at for Leah’s disappearance. He couldn’t be too clean. He needed to look innocent obviously, but if he was too ready for the police, well, that could look bad. He didn’t want to be cocky about it. He wasn’t that crazy of a person who enjoyed the crime. He was just doing what was right.
There was one thing that bothered Harrison. After Leah’s disappearance, Caleb had made an effort to reach out to him. He had received a few emails, saying the typical things: sorry for your loss, hope you’re doing okay, blah blah blah.
Was he taunting him with these actions? Was this Caleb’s way of calling him out, accusing him of what a few others may have been thinking? Then, Caleb did know too much. He was too involved. He would have to go.
Posted on September 7th, 2014
Vengeance: Part 1
The funeral procession was trailing down the road. Passengers in cars who were not participating watched with blank faces, waiting for the end to come so they could continue on to wherever they were going. But that was unimportant.
The clouds looked like they were going to open and pour the universe down upon everything in the cemetery. But not a drop of rain fell. The stitching on the clouds was not going to give, not today. The grass was dry and crunchy underneath mens’ dress shoes and women’s black suede pumps. It hadn’t rained in weeks and the dusty earth was crying out for whatever the sky would give. For the past three days the clouds crawled across the sky, full to bursting, but would not share the wealth with those who needed it below. The meteorologists kept saying the same thing: that we needed rain and we weren’t getting it and they can’t quite explain why. All that matters is that they’re wrong.
Everyone is wrong. All these people dressed up in black are here for the wrong reason. They think they’re here to see a good man buried beneath the dirt but they’re wrong. The widow is sobbing into the white kerchief, probably wondering why this happened to her. She does not yet realize she has been saved, and perhaps she never will. But that is not important.
The important thing is to stay focused. The mission is not yet complete.
The tan 1994 Honda Civic hummed along the curves of the suburbs as it made its way back toward the city. It parked in an alleyway that made for a decent driveway in the worn down area, trash littering the entrance. Inside the apartment, water marks on the ceiling seemed to paint pictures, swirling bubbles of brown toward the sky.
Everything was out in the open. Photos, emails, news articles, all of it. There was no need to hide anything. Hardly a need to clean either. Visitors were nonexistent, nor were they welcome. Killing the man had been the easy part. After all, he was ignorant enough to bring this upon himself.
He took out the picture of his wife that he always kept on his desk at home. After the cops had left their house that night, he sat at home grieving for the woman he once loved. He had reported her missing and gave the police all the information he had. A week later he brought that picture and a few other personal belongings that reminded him of her to his apartment in the city, where he had peace and quiet.
He held the picture in his hands, caressing the frame with his thumb. Her golden curls swirled around her shoulders, tumbling past the edge of the photo. Her brown eyes were round and bright, and her smile contained the memories of a happier time.
He put the picture back on the table amidst the messy paperwork. It had been 3 months since she’d gone missing. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, looking out the window as the sun was beginning to set. There was still no more information on the case compared to those 3 months ago. The cops were optimistic, but he knew they would never find her.
He sat forward in his chair again. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper of the sermon from the funeral and added it to the pile of paper on his table. It landed next to the stack of email records and a news article about his missing wife from 2 weeks after the incident. He stared at it for a minute before getting up from the table and going to the small kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.
Posted on December 17th, 2012
This was such a clever point for me to take a time-out from writing. Because now I can make a fun list of all the excuses for why it happened. The main excuse is school. Unfortunately I didn’t have any writing classes that helped lend me some time to work on my creative writing. I had two psychology classes that forced professional writing onto my plate. My education class did something similar, but there was a nice side dish of creative projects there. And then my other class was Spanish which didn’t do much for this site. Working at the restaurant chewed up a bit of time. The Office and Chuck took up a lot of time… The Voice and The Walking Dead too (Daryl!). None of these are good reasons to completely forget about writing, which is precisely why they are being filed under excuses.
But winter break has arrived! And the fact that I haven’t played video games in months is starting to wear on me… It’s not that I haven’t played at all, but more like I haven’t been able to take a couple hours and just play. I’ve always had to squeeze a few matches of something in here or there. I mean, I was pouring hours of my life into Skyrim at the end of the summer and that came to a rather abrupt halt. Is this really worth complaining about? Apparently, because I just did. And I want to read and write more, blah blah blah.
I want to stop making excuses for why I am not writing, and I’ve fully confessed above. Well, maybe not fully, but I’ve thrown a lot of my mistakes out there. And I know I’m not the only one making excuses for things. We all do it. Everything in moderation though. Yes, sometimes excuses are necessary to avoid uncomfortable situations, and sometimes they avoid an uncomfortable situation or conversation that needs to happen.
Okay, I’m hopping off the fence on this one. Excuses suck. We use them because we are lazy. Sometimes we waste more time coming up with the excuse than just doing or saying the thing we are avoiding. We make excuses to avoid the harder decisions. Some of us find change hard, so it is easier to lie to ourselves about our happiness and we end up continuing on miserably because we told ourselves it was okay. Well I got news for you, sister: it’s not okay. Suck it up and do what needs to be done. Excuses generally show a lack of faith in ourselves. Instead of giving ourselves a challenge, we take the easier route and do the minimum, sometimes that being nothing. Instead of just letting go of something that is bad for us, we hold on because we’ve been convinced that letting go is worse. You can’t start healing until you get the poison out.
Posted on July 29th, 2012
I’ve been putting off writing because I was unsure what “seeking solstice” was supposed to mean as my next topic. I did a little research but hardly anything that would help me come up with an answer. And with the warm weather it’s been much easier to fall asleep in the sun or simply do something other than what I should be. It finally dawned on me that seeking solstice doesn’t make sense and, excuse me for crossing boundaries, perhaps there was a typo and it was supposed to read seeking solace. However, other people who have done this challenge have all titled this section as Seeking Solstice. And maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe I’ve got it all backwards. But I’m more in the mood to write about seeking solace and what I think that might mean, so that’s what’s going down.
I spend the majority of my time wanting to do things, and then convincing myself not to do them. And then I make myself feel bad for not doing it. And then I feel like I need to be comforted for a missed opportunity when it was my own damn fault anyway. I don’t want to seek solace; I want to feel alive.
I spend the majority of my time skipping out on things because of what someone else might think, say, or feel about it. I’ll be judged for my actions when it’s hardly a big deal. But I’m afraid of words, somehow. Afraid they will pinch the arm fat. Afraid to talk back, pinch back, and state my own opinions. Afraid to justify myself. I bite my tongue and let the breeze slowly drift things away. I don’t want to seek solace; I want to speak lines.
I spend the majority of my time feeling sorry for myself. Expecting someone to always be able to cheer me up. Expecting when I spew my bull shit someone else will make it better. Someone else with better things to say than what I could muster up. Sometimes I wish I could grow a pair, just for a little while. I don’t want to seek solace; I want to thrive.
I spend the majority of my time blaming my misfortunes on my hormones. But that’s justified, isn’t it? “I’ll be fine, my hormones are just making me act crazy this week.” What, is it a temporary disability? No. It’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be dissatisfied, and it’s okay not to see eye to eye. It’s not okay to bottle everything up with carbonation and shake shake shake shake until it explodes into a mess that no one, I mean NO ONE wants to clean. Not even yourself. Save the Bounty. Open up a bit. I don’t want to seek solace; I want to survive.
I spend the majority of my time being miserably jealous. I’m not an unhappy person, but when I’m jealous I couldn’t be any unhappier. Misery sinks in and festers into a infection, affecting most of my day until I can’t even function. I don’t want to live this way. I don’t need to live this way. I know this. I can use my words and express how I feel without putting on the pouty face and making everyone else miserable first. Big girl words. I can use ’em. I know how. This probably ties in with the hormones, but then that almost justifies me being crazy. I can’t openly admit to that. Or can I? Why yes, I think I will. I am crazy. But I’m a good crazy. I’m not psychotic. I’ve mentioned a threat here or there, but I’m all talk. I’ve said I wanted to throw teachers out windows or punch children, but it’s never happened and I’ve never had any intentions on following through with anything of this nature. I don’t need to be jealous. I can learn to appreciate other people or other things without hating them for what I’m jealous of. But even with that being said, that doesn’t prevent being jealous. It is what it is and I feel how I feel. I can only expect to be understood and respected for how I feel and not ignored. So sometimes on this I want to seek solace; I don’t want to be deprived.
But really? I spend the majority of my time being happy. Happy with who I am and what I’m doing now. Of course it’s not all perfect, but misery doesn’t need my company, that’s for sure. If I spend too much time looking for comfort from others But… where does that leave me? No place good. No place worth my time. I don’t want to seek solace; I want to be satisfied.
Posted on June 14th, 2012
This is another essay from my AP English class, written in November of 2008; a piece of my childhood.
I remember the summer afternoon that my mother turned into Wonder woman. My brother had hopped the fence in our backyard in an attempt to retrieve a wiffle ball that had escaped over the fence. He managed to step on a beehive and he got stung everywhere, and didn’t have the strength to climb back over. That’s when my mother came flying out of the house and sprinted across the yard faster than I had ever seen her run before. For some reason she knew my brother was in real danger and she knew that she had to be the one to save him. She charged the fence where my brother had run up to, still screaming in pain, and she pulled him over to the safety of our yard as though he weighed no more than a kitten three months old. My brother was upset and a little hurt, but he was okay overall. I still wasn’t sure what was happening, but I did know one thing: my mother was not capable of lifting him over a fence that easily. What had happened? I learned about that thing called an adrenaline rush that somehow gave you special powers, like flying and superhuman strength. It was a very interesting theory. To me it seemed like my mother was acting out of fear, and it made her stronger. It didn’t completely make sense, so I assumed it was something you’d have to experience to understand.
In the same backyard a few years later, I was outside in the cool autumn air with my brother and our friend and neighbor. My backyard butts up against the side yard of a white house off of the street behind my property. The white house was upon a hill and a thin wooded area and a small chain-link fence kept the land separated. There was my shed with its back to the side yard of the white house; one side had big doors and a ramp for my dad’s lawn mower, and the side closer to us was a pool shed for the above ground pool that stood behind us.
We were being weird like always doing stupid little things like pestering each other and yelling random things, and we were standing facing the yard of the strange white house, the pool behind us, and the shed to our left. My brother was closest to the shed, our neighbor being the next closest, and I was the farthest away. During our random play, we noticed that one of the strangers who lived in the white house (I believe they spoke Greek) wandered out in his own yard and started speaking in his own language. Even though my brother was the oldest, our neighbor was the biggest risk-taker of the three of us. He yelled something I can’t quite remember over to the man in the other yard and got a laugh from him. He made some strange noises back. Our neighbor said something else and this time the big scary man made a motion towards us, like he was coming after us. Fear overcame the three of us and we sprinted for our lives to those sheds like they were bomb shelters.
My brother ripped past the open lock on the side of the shed with the ramp and the lawn mower inside and closed the doors quickly behind him. Our neighbor had entered the pool shed with me right at his heels. Somehow, he managed to close the door and lock it before I had gotten inside. I stood wide eyed on the little wooden steps as fear overcame my body; he wasn’t going to open that door for me. This was made clear to me when he pressed his face against the glass window then proceeded to point and laugh at me from the safety and warmth of being on the inside of that shed. I feared for my life and refused to look to see if that big scary man was waiting to pounce on me.
My nerves went haywire as I pleaded with him to be a good friend. What have I ever done to you? I never locked you outside in a crisis like this. I begged him relentlessly to open the door before it was too late, before the big scary man would get me. Our neighbor, being the character that he was (and still is) just maintained his big smile as he watched me fidget miserably on the tiny steps.
Something happened inside me at this moment. I suddenly didn’t feel like I was the tiny little girl scared for her life because someone was after her. I was bigger than that. The fear I had of this strange man was gone; it had turned into an endless rage that was craving revenge. I knew by now that this man was not coming and that we had never been in any real danger. The fear of the attack had been transformed into anger that began speeding towards our neighbor, our friend, and his door of safety. My adrenaline rush gave me superhuman strength, and my “friend” was going to be a poor victim of its path. I always tell myself it was his own fault anyway.
I stood looking into the glass with his face hiding behind it and suddenly the fact that I could barely reach it didn’t matter anymore. My innocent, frightened face had changed into the angry, determined look of a sumo wrestler about to crush his enemy. My right fist pounded into the glass where he had pressed his face oh so many times sticking his tongue out at me. With each blow on the glass I became all the more powerful and invincible. I had the strength of a mighty dragon raging within me, guiding my strength to my hand and transferring it onto the window. I recall screaming the words “Let me in!” and as I was saying “in” my fist crashed right through the glass. It shattered upon his little round face and he stuck his tongue out no more. My strength drained out of me so much faster than when I had gathered it. I returned to my state of being a tiny mouse with big beady eyes staring innocently at the gigantic door before me.
All the while my brother had been in the shed next door. He slowly poked his head around the corner when he heard the sound of shattered glass. I watched his face change when his brain had taken in the damages I had done. Then I looked back as the door slowly opened; our friend stood in the doorway with a few tiny shards of glass stuck in his head. The fear on his face is something I will never forget. He was more afraid now then we had all originally been of the scary neighbor man who spoke weird words.
I was a tiny little girl with minimal strength and I had somehow managed to shove my fist through a glass window, pulling my hand out unscathed and wounding my enemy. This was something I was completely incapable of doing, yet I did it. Our friend stood in silence, wincing in pain, just giving me that look of “What the HECK were you thinking?” My brother stood next to me, staring with his jaw dropped at the scene of the crime. “Dad is going to kill you.” I felt the size of an ant and I wished more than anything that someone would just step on me.
Posted on June 5th, 2012
Where to begin? Girls are bitches. They suck, in oh so many ways. Girls are well known for judging everyone else. Seriously, we pick places to sit for good people watching, places where we can sit and talk shit about everyone who walks by. Sometimes at a restaurant I’ll pick a seat at a table facing a wall so I can’t stare at people. But then I’m staring at the fat ass in the picture on the wall.
It’s innate. It’s part of our nature. It can’t be helped. But that’s no excuse.
Girls are constantly in competition with one another. My jeans are cooler. Shoes are hotter. My fake eyelashes are longer. We put make-up on for other women. A lot of guys say they prefer their lady without make-up (generally meaning the bright and obvious stuff). Yet we still smear it on. Got to impress the other ladies, of course. The competition never ends. Even if the make-up is on and the hair is did, there’s still plenty of room to judge. Were you looking in the mirror when you put that on your face? And did you forget to run a brush through that rat’s nest more commonly known as your hair?
HAIR. So easy to pick on everyone else’s hair. If the wind starts blowing, everyone is watching it flutter around your face and by the time you get inside… it looked good when I left my house this morning! Yeah I bet. We are terrible people. Why are we born with this nature to compete? And why do we have to play dirty and judge everyone? It’s disgusting.
I thought it might help to get a direct definition of the word judgment from dictionary.com. It went something like this: the forming of an opinion, estimate, notion, or conclusion as from circumstances presented to the mind. The definition I liked better went like this: the ability to judge, make a decision, or form an opinion objectively, authoritatively, and wisely, especially in matters affecting action; GOOD SENSE.
Good sense. People judge something or someone negatively and for no decent reason, and they make bad decisions all the time. How could this be any good of a definition?
Just because a girl makes duck lips and takes two hundred pictures of herself and posts them online in small groups every few hours so she’s always always always in your newsfeed doesn’t make her a bitch. You shouldn’t call her names and be mean. Maybe she doesn’t know any better. There there, I know. She’s just throwing herself out there. And yes, her make-up does make her look like a clown but all of this doesn’t make her a bitch. But now you’re a bitch for complaining about it.
I don’t think you understand how difficult this is. Rather, how difficult it would be to try to stop judging each other. It would be ridiculous to try and always expect the best from people. We just can’t do it in our society.
That guy looks like a wicked creeper. But I know nothing about him. Be nice. Judgment free zone. Well shit, I just woke up in a ditch with my wallet gone and my clothes disheveled. Bad Life Decision. Our society has made it impossible NOT to judge people. It’s human and part of wanting to protect and secure ourselves. And maybe even make ourselves feel better. “Well at least I’m not them.” You don’t know how happy that person might actually be. They might not need an Acura to take them where they need to go. They might wear out of fashion clothes but they look much happier than you and your thrice divorced ass.
It is absolutely impossible not to judge others. Just impossible. Everyone is guilty of doing it in a negative fashion even if you aren’t saying it out loud. That quiet girl in the corner over there who never says anything? Yeah. There’s a whole different world going on in her head. She might look at you and smile. But what she tells her friends when she gets home is that you’re a man whore who treats women badly because you wear your pants below your waist.
But just because it’s impossible to avoid, doesn’t make it right; especially when we’re wrong. Making petty judgments and becoming annoyed with people over things that really don’t matter in the long run, it’s just unnecessary. But if you’re trying to make a judgment based on safety, it’s a little different to a certain degree. Just because someone looks like a serial killer doesn’t make them one. But sometimes those people who look like serial killers are serial killers and contact with them should be avoided at all cost. In all judgmental situations, I want to say go with your gut. But if I say that, than I fear that everyone is going to loudly voice their negative opinions about everyone without giving a damn.
Why can’t we judge people in a positive light. “Hey! You look really nice today. I like your fucking shoes!” It doesn’t make your shoes ugly if you like someone else’s. It just means there’s more than one type of friggen shoe and everyone has their own tastes and by God you found something in common with someone else! New friend? Maybe, who knows. If you pick on them because you’re jealous of those shoes you like so much, what’s the point? Why ruin everyone else’s day just because you woke up on the wrong side of the mattress? Lighten up, bro.
Some people walk around with the mentality that everything is about them. If I’m miserable, everyone else should be too. Why? Because I said so! Who the hell are you to “say so?” Who are you to decide how everyone else should feel? There are much better ways to spend your time. And why does someone else’s misery make you feel better? It’s a little sick to think about.
So, thanks to society and our own personal insecurities, the world is full of judgment and unnecessary negative comments and making everyone feel bad about themselves for no reason other than our own pleasures and to make ourselves feel better.
Well I don’t know. That doesn’t seem like a good way to end things here. Mostly because I don’t think there’s a way to end this. This is too complicated to prove a point, so I’m going to stop trying. However, I need to acknowledge that it’s not only women; it is absolutely, positively EVERYONE no matter who or what you consider yourself to be. And it needs to be toned down. We live in America. We are Americans and we are entitled to do our own thing, whatever that thing might be. If you don’t like that I do not believe in deodorant, therefore I do not wear deodorant, that’s your problem, not mine. Respect it and move on. It’s not hurting you unless you’re suffocating (which is entirely possible in some cases regarding this particular scenario).
But no matter what, people are going to judge, people are going to hate when most of the time there’s not need to discriminate. I try to declare a judgment free zone when I think I might say something that will cause people to look at me like like I have feathers coming out my nose. I’m not saying it works, but I can only try.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
Joe got into his beat up Buick. It was white but turning a burnt orange color. It was old. It got him from one place to another, but it was dying. He only drove it between work and home; a few other local places too. Booze runs. Getting baked in the car. Nothing serious. He worked in the Macy’s in the mall closest to his house, which was only a few minutes away. He wanted to be part of the older crowd, but spent his time with people his own age mostly. He was friendly with the older guys at work, as well as some of the older ladies.
Joe was thinking about her as he pushed open the car door. It creaked like it was going to fall off, but he didn’t notice. He slammed it shut and didn’t bother to lock it. No one would steal it, and even if they did they would be doing him a favor. There was nothing of value inside. But Joes was thinking about these things as he approached the entrance.
The double doors showed his reflection as he got closer. He was the height of the average woman, perhaps an inch or two shorter. His fluffed hair was dirty blond with curled bangs that dangled to his eyebrows. He was eighteen but could pass as fifteen or sixteen, as most people mistook him to be.
“What’s happenin’ bro?” Ronnie came out from the shelves of woman’s athletic attire and stepped in time with Joe.
“Not much man.” Joe was quiet. He was looking for her. If he had looked at the schedule right she would be there. They were working the same hours this evening. Four to ten. As they rounded the corner, ahead of them off in the distance the mall opened up to all the other stores and shops. And she was leaving. All he saw was her ass walking away as his heart melted into his lungs.
“Well there she goes.” Ronnie added. The depression began to make itself comfortable in Joe’s mind.
“I thought she was working tonight.”
“She was. I took her shift.” Joe punched Ronnie’s shoulder.
“What the hell do you mean you took her shift? I’ve been waiting for this day for two goddamn weeks and you just decided to take her shift?”
Ronnie’s eyes were wide as he rubbed his shoulder and stared back. “You bastard, she asked me to. Can’t say no to that. You wouldn’t even know what to say if she came up to you and actually talked to you.”
“I’ve talked to her before.”
“She asked you to pass her a box of socks as you were leaving one day. Passing a box without moving your lips doesn’t count.” They entered the employee room to punch in. “You do realize she’s twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four, don’t you?”
“It’s never gonna happen, bro. She’s going to be finishing up school and you’ve just started.”
“When we’re older it won’t matter.”
“Yeah, when you’re both old and gray, sitting in rockers on your front porch watching your grandchildren play in the sandbox.”
“That’s the dream…”
“That’s NEVER gonna happen.”
“What are you, jealous or something?”
“Jealous? I’m just a realist.”
“Do you even know what a realist is?”
“I know enough to be able to tell you that you should move on with your life.”
“Get outta here man. I don’t need your negativity.”
“I’m just trying to do you a favor bro. Just trying to help you out.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Joe started to walk away, but turned back. “You can help by not stealing her shifts when I’m scheduled to work with her.”
He may as well have skipped his classes the next day. They didn’t matter much. They were just his general education courses. They didn’t relate to the things he wanted to do with his life. It was all about science. Chemistry. That was everything. An afternoon was not better spent than he with his numbers and elements. But Joe especially despised English and essay writing. It’s not that he was bad at it, he just deemed it a waste of time because someone else would be doing that for him some day. Writing about past events in his life wasn’t all that exciting anyway. Really nothing worth remembering.
“Your next paper is due a week from Tuesday.” Her dress fluttered as she rose from her desk. “Your topic can be generally up to you but you have some guidelines you need to follow. You need to write about an event, a somewhat recent event, in your life that was meaningful to you.” She handed out the assignment sheet to the person in the front of each row, and everyone passed the sheets back until a copy eventually landed itself on Joe’s desk. “It could be something that doesn’t mean a thing to anyone else. It just has to be important to you.”
These papers were starting to become a serious waste of time. He thought he was clever and had a way with words when he spoke, but writing it all down was just a pain in the ass. He wasn’t excited for this essay because all he could think about was her and nothing exciting had happened with that yet.
Joe was home from school by 3:30 as usual. He walked over to the fridge and saw it was rather empty, as usual. He reached in and pulled out a can of Coke and climbed the stairs to his room. The door slammed shut and shook the upstairs as his computer turned on. Once it was booted he opened Word.
He could write about high school graduation. That was momentous. It was more of a “thank God” than anything though. Nothing exciting happened, it just took forever. Or maybe he could write about getting his license. That brought great freedom. Smoking in the car with his buds was always great. Some awesome times had happened. Like that time he and Jay were out at three in the morning higher than the moon in the middle of the woods. Then Greg showed up and tried to rob them of all the pot they were smoking. What a shit show. Probably not school appropriate. And the teacher might get all biased knowing something like that.
He found himself staring out the window. Two sparrows were chasing each other around the tree branches. “Gross. Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be my inspiration.” But it was. He started thinking about her all over again, and thinking about what Ronnie said. It was making him angry. Ronnie didn’t know what he was talking about. So he began to write about Caity.
“She showed me how to punch in my first day of work. Her hands looked soft and delicate, like a flower on a beautiful spring day.”
“Her pants were tighter than anything I’ve ever seen, hugging each and every curve like Dale Earnhardt Jr. in the Daytona 500.”
Well that’s inappropriate. And probably not true. Backspaced…
“She asked me to hand her a box of socks. My tongue was tied but I did as I was told. Her voice was kind and her appearance was beautiful. I tried to come up with an excuse to talk to her every time we worked together, but I didn’t always succeed. But I always saw her, hoping she might ask me to hand her another box of socks.”
Well it’s a little corny. But I think it’s got potential.
He spent the next two hours writing. Planning, or perhaps scheming, might be a more accurate word choice. He wrote and rewrote, spiced up sentences, sprinkled in some romance, looked up words and everything. This was going to be more than just a paper for class. It had turned into a process essay on how he was going to score a date with Caity. He talked about how funny he was going to be, included the jokes he would say; the way she would laugh and bat her eyes at him, and slowly say how she would love to go out with him.
It topped off at three pages. The printer rumbled and shook the shelf it was on. Joe snagged it off the printer catch and stapled it. “I didn’t think perfection could exist, but I’m pretty sure I’m holding it in my hands right now.”
The week blurred by. He turned the paper in early so he could receive feedback as soon as possible. He got it back on Friday, with nothing but positive things written all over. On the last page his professor had given him an A: “Very well written! This is a cute story and it is clear how important this event is to you. There were a few grammatical errors, but otherwise fantastic work.”
That proved it. It was just about flawless. If his teacher thought it was great, or ‘fantastic’ as she so nicely put, then it was bound to work. BOUND to work. Now all he needed was Wednesday to arrive and his plan would be deployed.
Joe spent the weekend as he normally did. He went out Friday night with the guys and worked on Saturday from twelve to six at night. He met his buds at a fire that night and spent Sunday playing videogames.
Finally he sat in the parking lot outside his job, knowing that Caity’s shift had started forty-five minutes ago. He had worn an extra nice shirt today, one that he felt made him look taller. He had received the text from Ronnie confirming that Caity was in fact working and that no shift swapping had occurred. The text had read: “The prize is hanging lingerie. And looking good. Keeps dropping hangers.” Joe wished he had Ronnie’s vantage point.
He popped a cinnamon altoid onto his tongue. The Buick door creaked open, which disturbed the epic music in his head a bit, but didn’t stop the few slow motion steps that followed. He tripped over his untied shoe lace a few feet from the door. He didn’t fall, but his all-important game plan slipped from his back pocket. He picked it up and looked at the first few paragraphs. Tripping over his shoelace had not been included.
Things were already not going according to plan. It was supposed to be flawless. But then again he should have had his shoes tied before he left the house. If anything it makes the story a little funnier. Not a big deal. Just keep going.
Everything was just as he suspected it to be when he saw himself walking into work on this day. The women’s athletic attire was on his right, women’s pajamas to his left. First thing’s first; he must not get ahead of himself. He needed to go to the employee room to punch in. Caity was still hanging hangers, (and dropping them) according to Ronnie. Damn him. No matter. He would be there in just a minute.
After Joe punched in he sat down at the worn down table where workers often sat on their lunch break. He wiped some crumbs to the floor and took out his pencil and his guide. He hoped that reading through it a bit would help calm his nerves.
Suddenly shift manager Mike barged in and interrupted everything. “Sup little man. Working on homework?”
Joe hovered over his paper like a gremlin guarding something he deems precious. “Yeah.”
“Well I hate to be the bad guy but I need you to put that aside at least for now. I need you to go help Caity in lingerie. A shit load of new stuff came in and it all needs to go up.”
What? This was not part of the plan. But it would work. It was actually much better than his own idea. Now he didn’t have to use his excuse to make conversation by sneaking up behind her and pretending he needed her help in the bedding department. He was handed the perfect excuse to go talk to her: she needed his help. He would play the hero.
“Stop staring at that paper, Joe. Are you even listening to me? Another delivery just came in and there are several boxes out back that need to be brought around and everything, I mean, everything, needs to go up. The section is pretty naked.”
Oh God. He threw his paper away, beginning to question why he had brought it. It wasn’t going to be of any use once he was with her. He knew he was better when he just spoke on the spot, and that was obviously how things were going to go today.
Joe paraded out of the employee room and towards lingerie. He stopped in the dress section and peered out as he pushed puffy, flowing dresses aside. Her brown hair fell a few inches below her shoulders and flared towards the bottom. It tumbled and floated through the air each and every time she reached for another article of clothing. Standing and straightening up she flipped her hair from her face. Caity saw him hiding out of the corner of her eye.
“Hey Joey,” she said.
“Hey.” He hated being called Joey but it sounded so right rolling from that tongue. He was staring. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Without thinking he pulled it out and he saw a message from Ronnie. “Awkward dude, say something.”
“Is… everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, it’ just Mike said there was a ton of stuff that needed to go up and told me to give you a hand. So here I am, ready to give all the hands you need.”
She let out a breath of air; a quiet laugh to herself. But he wasn’t trying to be funny yet. That was for later, to break the silences that would arise. He had all sorts of clothing jokes prepped for launch. Like the one where you ask what has several pairs of legs but can’t walk? A few pairs of pants. Classic. You can’t not laugh at a classic joke like that.
“Huh? Got what…”
“How everything is supposed to be hung up. The weird panties go on that table over there. The plus size cups are going on those racks over there and I’ll take care of the kinky stuff because it’s difficult to manage. Just figured I’d save you the trouble, with all the hooks and clips and other nonsense things that men have trouble with.”
Oh God. She’s talking about me having trouble taking off bras. If given the chance I’m so sure I could do it…
“Do you need me to reach something for you?” she suddenly asked. Joe’s hands were reaching around her, by her right shoulder when her voice interrupted him.
“Oh! No I thought I saw a spider web hanging from the ceiling there. You know when you see that one strand when it catches the light? Just didn’t want it getting in your hair or anything. I don’t know if you’re afraid of spiders or something.”
“Nope. Not particularly. I don’t really see anything either… but anyway, here.” She handed him a box of underwear. “Why don’t you go fold these and make them look nice on that table over there. Bigger sizes towards the back, extra smalls to the front. Try not to get too excited.” And then her back was to him and there was silence. He opened his mouth for a joke, but bit his tongue and sighed.
The boys picked up the bright panties and aggressively tossed them on the table, several pairs falling to the floor. Ronnie stood staring with the same dreamy gaze that was sitting on Joe’s face. The pairs they had already folded were messy and lopsided. Then Ronnie’s hand bumped Joe’s.
“Dude what are you even still doing here. You’re shift ended like an hour ago.”
“Yeah I know. Just wanted to see what happened.”
“Well kill it bro, get outta here. I need to do my thing solo.”
“Fine.” Ronnie threw a pair of neon green granny panties at Joe’s head, where they got stuck around his left ear. He ripped them off and watched Ronnie exit the store, and turned to look back at Caity. Her lips were moving and her finger pointed his direction. Mike was standing next to her and he looked for a second before turning back to Caity. Feeling like he had done something wrong by wearing the panties as a hat, he quickly looked back down at the table and began to reorganize it properly.
Did she see the underwear on his head? Did Mike? Was Caity being a tattle tale? What was the finger pointing about? Why would she want to get him in trouble? His hands were shaking like an old man with Parkinson’s. It was uncontrollable, unintentional, and uncomfortable.
They were speaking quietly when Joe first noticed Mike near Caity. He looked up to see that the two of them were gone. He lifted his head and looked frantically around, searching for wherever they might be hiding. They could be anywhere. Joe shifted his eyes around, trying to be casual. The concern was clear on his face.
“You’re not folding those right. Let me help you.” And just like that his world went into chaos. She came up behind him, talking quietly into his right ear. Her hands covered his and together they were touching women’s underwear, folding them gently and softly. His body burned up like coals, powering his actions without thought. He just went. Nothing was making sense anymore, and perhaps it didn’t matter now, because here she was, pure beauty standing mere centimeters away from him.
Her smell was subtle, hidden so that you could only catch it with the slightest breeze, the smallest movement. But now it sat on his shoulder, whispering into his ear, telling him what he wanted to hear. Her hand landed lightly on top of his, almost as if it were planned. Was she blushing? She’s smiling. It’s working. That essay was so useless. Well maybe not completely. Having a plan in mind certainly helped. But most of this was done on the spot, just the way I like it.
He smiled at her, looking up into her eyes. She blinked and looked away, laughing like he had just been punched in the balls by a five year old. Joe laughed a little harder too, because it was cute when she laughed real hard and scrunched her nose up like that. He looked away, still smiling, when he saw Mike reading his essay. It was no longer crumbled up in the trash in the employee room where he had left it. It was in Mike’s hand, and he was reading it to Steve.
Oh dear God.
Caity’s a bitch.
Without a word he walked away, heading straight for the employee room. He would never be able to live this one down. He put his two weeks up on the bulletin board and left. The rearview mirror in the Buick reflected a flushed face and frustrated eyebrows. Joe put it in drive and sped off.
Caity’s a bitch.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
You want to judge me?
You want to tear me down?
You think you’re being funny?
Knock me down
Knock me out
Have you fun
Have your doubts
Pick up your shield
Pick up your sword
I’ll grab my armor
I’ll grab my words
You throw them like knives
You throw them like daggers
Hoping I’ll dive
Hoping I’ll stagger
You tripped me up once
You tripped me up twice
Feel your punts
Feel your vice.
Stand on your hill
Stand on your mountain
Look down on me, still
Look down on me, counting
Your days on high,
Your days are numbered
I will fight
I will have thundered
Let the battle begin
Let the fires ignite
Find the power within
Find the strength to fight
I’ll put you in your place
Because I know mine
The ink you’ll taste
As my words intertwine
I won’t stoop to your level
I won’t drop to my knees
I won’t bow to the devil
I won’t give what you need
The attention you crave
The victory you desire
Will crash in a wave
A vision to inspire
Not as you wish
Not as you thought
So throw your fit
For all you wrought
Fall to the ground
Defeated at last
Without a sound
And with one glancing pass
Words aren’t needed
To show your displeasure
Sweat on your brow, beaded
Is enough to measure.
The ink on my blade
The ink on my fingers
It will never fade
As victory lingers
My eyes reveal the ending
Pounding, like a gong
My wounds, they are mending
Knowing you are Dead Wrong.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
33% of all Facebook posting is mobile.
Like a picture taken while running from the cops with Fogell.
33% body fat can indicate
Well you’re borderline,
Borderline of being not so fine,
If you’re in a range from at least the age of twenty,
‘Til you’re over the hill and finally making money.
33% in a patch download,
In League of Legends where the Summoners go,
Is a number of pain
Because they’re ain’t no gain
in the download screen.
You gamers know what I mean.
33% of our population in prison
Has a number of non-citizens that’s certainly risen…
And only 33% of speaking roles going to women,
On T.V. and In movies
It’s to men we mostly listen
And Men’s perfumes are said to be masculine
But 33% of them all are being worn by women,
and 33% of all the ladies in their lifetime
Will have owned a cat; possessed their very own feline.
Was a description of Reese Witherspoon
Provided by Robert Pattinson,
Words thought to cause a typhoon
But instead. . .
She considers herself a higher-percentage of lesbian.
33% of adult siblings
Drift apart entirely,
Sever ties completely,
Relationships are distant,
Rivalrous in an instant.
And Google brought to my attention
That 33% of hands is equal to
I’m not quite sure what that means,
Or if it makes sense,
But this is a list of crazy things,
About thirty three percent.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
The rain was pounding against the roof. Endless. Relentless. Thundering and blinding flashes of fear. She was buried under the covers clutching her ragged friend, Sir Cuddles. She was seven, and she knew nothing more.
Papa came in the room as thunder roared over their house. He saw the lump under the covers with the dim light of a flashlight glowing from within. He sat down on the bed and took the lump in his arms, just as she was. She leaned into him. After a few moments when silence overtook the room, he let her go and she peeled herself from her blankets, just a bit. Her eyes were wide and wild, yet weary and sleepy. But sleep wouldn’t be coming for this one anytime soon. The storm wasn’t supposed to ease up until tomorrow afternoon. The summer had been dry up until now and the rain was desperately needed, even if it meant thunder and lightning and children hiding under blankets.
“Papa, why do the angels have to bowl so late at night? And why does it have to be so loud? Are they taking pictures up there too?”
“You don’t still believe that nonsense, do you? It’s just Mother Nature doing her thing. She had been keeping the rain away from us, and she finally noticed that our land was drying up to nothing so she’s sending us powerful rain. It’s loud and bright, but it’s not going to hurt us. Not when we are safe in our house.”
Papa looked towards the window. The droplets ran like mini racecars all down the glass. A flash of lightning lit up the window like a Lite-Brite. His daughter clutched his hand with all the strength a little girl like her could muster up. That being said, it was a very tight grip. It was still fear.
Papa decided that it was going to be one of those nights; one of those nights his wife used to speak of. The type of night where he would hear her get up to tend to their crying daughter, and he would wake up in the morning to find her snuggled with the child in the other room. He would always be too tired to get up, and his wife knew that. He would work long days and make it home and stay awake long enough to get through dinner before passing out to bed. She would take care of the house, their daughter, everything on the home front. And she didn’t mind it one bit.
Money was tight. Money was always tight. But once they had the child, someone had to make a sacrifice somewhere. He went to his boss to explain the predicament; she to hers. She came home that night in tears because she had been fired for asking for more than she could ever earn. Fortunately, Papa was given the opportunity to work closer to home and make a bit more money each week. His wife never really forgave herself for what happened at her place of work, but she took her job at home quite seriously. She was doing the best she could to raise their daughter, but Papa could only guess at how that was coming along. Seven years after she was born and it was like living with a stranger. Just the two of them at home.
It had all happened only two short weeks ago. His wife and daughter were on their way home with the groceries. It was only a short walk from the house, and Papa was on his way home from work. He drove by the grocery store, knowing that his family was there not long ago. When he turned the corner to their street, he saw sirens and police cars, even an ambulance. He stopped the car for a moment, wondering what might have happened. Did another child get hit by a car because he darted into the street without looking?
He heard a soft, muffled crying coming from behind a police car. He became alarmed when he realized it was his daughter. He jumped from the beat up vehicle and ran to her, questioning how she was, what happened, is everything alright? She had a small bruise on her arm, but that’s not why she was in tears. A police officer came up behind him suddenly, questioning who he was and how he knew the little girl. “I’m her father,” he replied, “Where is my wife?”
The officer looked deeply at Papa, and then his stern face turned sad. He looked away, and then stepped aside to show him the sheet on the pavement. He could see the outline of her body underneath; her slender arms, her long legs. The words echoed through the air: “She was hit. The car’s gone. No one knows anything about it yet. We’re going to investigate. But she didn’t make it. I’m sorry…”
Papa was at a loss for words entirely. He held his daughter’s hand so tight that her fingers were cold, but he was too dumbstruck to realize it; so was she. He got up to walk to the body, but his daughter was fighting him. He kept walking and she started wailing. He released her hand and she fell backwards on the ground and curled into a ball, her teardrops dribbling to the ground. He kept on moving forward until he was a few feet away. On his hands and knees, he went to her. He found her hand, bloodied and still warm.
That was two weeks ago. Now he was left with minimal hours at work and a daughter he hardly knew. How is a man supposed to raise a daughter without the touch of a woman? Seven years is just not enough. It’s just not enough.
Papa tried to let go of his daughter’s hand. “Papa please don’t let me go again.” She said it so quiet it was almost inaudible. “Relax, my darling. I’m going to get a few things and I’ll be right back. I promise.” Her eyes were wild with fear now, but the thunder grew quieter for the moment. As it rumbled off, so did Papa, in search of more blankets and pillows and another flashlight. He returned to the doorway and saw his daughter anxiously awaiting his arrival. She smiled when she saw the things he had brought. “Just like Mama…” she whispered. It only happened two weeks ago.
While he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, he was just going with the flow. Maybe this was the fatherly instincts kicking in. She made room for him on the bed where he was able to build his own mountain of blankets and pillows to surround himself. Together, it was like they had a giant fortress to protect them from the storm, and anything else that might come after them.
The excitement quickly faded from his daughters face. While she was glad to not be alone, she wasn’t entirely familiar with her papa. She wore a look of concern and seemed to be in a mini state of panic. He wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t like the silence and the feeling of discomfort that was growing between them.
“I brought a book with me,” he said slowly. “It’s a giant book that has all my favorite stories from when I was your age.” She looked up at him, a tear trickling along her cheek. “Mama read this to me all the time.” He was so far out of the loop of her daughter’s life that he hadn’t even realized she knew the stories that were his very own favorites. His classic story book. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.
“Well, what’s your favorite story?”
“The one about the little boy and the rabbit.”
“How well do you know it? Could you tell it to me?” She went quiet at his comment. After a moment she began: “Once upon a time…”
“That doesn’t count!” He smiled. “Here, let me refresh your memory…”
They spent hours up that night, reading stories and making games out of the thunder and lightning. When his daughter finally fell asleep he was able to lay himself down and get some rest too. The next day she was up and out of bed before Papa. He was startled to find her missing from the room, but heard her in the kitchen. He shuffled down the hallway and found a majority of the room with a fine layer of flour on it, and his little girl lost in the mix. She turned to look at him, tears streaking her dusty face. “The kitchen never looked like this when Ma-mama made the pancakes.” And just like that the fact that his entire kitchen was trashed didn’t seem to matter. His daughter was aspiring to be just like her mother, and he knew how amazing a woman she was. And he knew his young daughter was an incredible little girl.
“Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll make the pancakes. Otherwise, you’ll be late for school.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t forget the chocolate chips.” And she was off.
It was going to be her first day back at school since the accident. It was going to be a rough day. The least he could do was put chocolate chips in her pancakes, no matter how unhealthy he thought it to be.
She came running down the hall with clean hands, a clean face, and fresh clothes. Papa flipped a few small pancakes onto a plate and brought them to the table where she was sitting, fork and knife in hand. He drizzled some syrup on top, and she dug right in. “These taste just like how Mama makes them.” She was smiling; a thin line of syrup on her chin. Then her face became serious. “Am I going to be treated different at school, Papa?”
“It’s possible. But you can’t let it get to you. I’m sure everyone knows about it now, and many people, including your teachers, are going to ask questions, apologize, and ask how you’re doing.”
“But what if I don’t want to talk about it? Mama was for me and you, not everyone at school.”
“If you’re anything like your mother, which I’m finding you to be more like her with everything you say and do, you’ll act however you want. You don’t have to tell anyone anything if you don’t want to. But you keep your head up, okay? If you want to cry about it at school, you cry about it. If someone asks you what happened, you can tell them you don’t want to talk about it and walk away. No one is going to get in your way. You’re going to grow up faster than you should.”
The last thing he said really stuck in his head. She was going to grow up way too fast. She was seven years old and she was going to have act older than she was, and there was no doubting that she would. Everyone else had Mama’s shoulder to cry on, but she only had Papa, and he wasn’t always going to be around. Not to mention that she’s said more to him in the past week than she has her entire life.
She was still looking at him when he stopped thinking about it, her head slightly tilted to the left. She was the spitting image of her. “Come on. Let’s get you to school.”
“You mean you’re going to walk with me?”
“I wouldn’t miss a walk with my daughter for the world.”
Posted on June 1st, 2012
If only they knew he wouldn’t be a momma’s boy forever.
If you love her so much why don’t you marry her?
If it would keep her alive…
Why don’t you just climb back into her womb and snuggle with her?
Robb turned around and punched him square in the face. It turned into a faucet as soon as he hit the floor. There was so much force behind Robb’s fist that the asshat was knocked onto his back. When he realized his nose was pouring blood, his hands went directly to cover his face, covering his mouth as well. Maybe that would help him to keep quiet.
A few of Asshat’s friends were at his side with paper towels and napkins. Robb didn’t say a word as he turned and walked away. He was originally heading to lunch, but now he just walked himself to the office. He didn’t want to be summoned over the loud speaker. And he was glad there was no one else in the hallway when he broke Asshat’s nose, except of course for some Asshat minions. He didn’t want people to think of him as a violent person.
He entered the principal’s office and took a seat. The big man with the thin graying beard and the dark rimmed glasses looked up over his lenses, his attention pulled from his paperwork. He saw Robb sitting there, hands folded in his lap. He was looking towards the floor. The principal opened his mouth to speak, but before words could come out- “Just give it a minute.” Robb uttered. Confused, the principal sat back in his chair and waited.
No less than a minute later he heard voices growing louder as they came closer to his office. A bloodied boy and a few others came stomping in, making all kinds of commotion. They completely missed the fact that Robb was seated right behind them. Without having to ask, the bloodied child began to tell an outrageous story about how he had been minding his own business until Robb the Retard showed up and broke his nose for some reason, probably because he was having mommy issues. Robb kept quiet and let Asshat tell his side of the story. His asshat minions claimed to have witnessed this story, and claimed that it was true to the very last detail, yes, even the threats of a wedgie.
The principal sent the boy to the nurse. He would probably need to be picked up and taken to the hospital to get that nose fixed anyway. He sent the witnesses back to class. Robb was still sitting quietly, hands folded and eyes to the floor. The other boys still hadn’t seen him on their way out. The principal let the silence continue for a minute, rather unsure of the situation, and the fact that the accused had walked himself to the office.
“I take it that’s not what happened.”
“Not at all.”
“Why did you punch him in the face?”
“Because I was minding my own business, making my way to lunch when he started harassing me the same way he has been day after day, week after week and I finally just snapped. Can you just suspend me? That way punishment is taken care of, and no one else really has to know this happened.”
“I don’t have to suspend you necessarily, if there’s something more serious going on, we can-”
“I don’t want your sympathy, sir. I would much prefer you send me home now, and I won’t show up for the next two days of school. I’ll return on Monday. Problem solved, end of story.” Robb rose up from his chair and extended a hand showed a slight sign of bruising. The principal rose as well, shook the boy’s hand, and let him leave.
The principal spent his lunch going through the two boy’s personal records. Brad had been in detention nearly every day this week, and had a few in-house suspensions last year. He didn’t need to read much further to determine that he was a troublesome kid who more than likely deserved to get his nose broken. Robb on the other hand was a different story. Nowhere in any of the folders did it list him as being violent or troublesome or anything really. A lot of the information listed him as being quiet, keeping to himself, but being a very hard worker. He had perfect attendance up until this year. He had actually missed out on several days of school starting two months ago. His grades started to slip slightly, but nothing that needed to be worried about. Something was going on outside of school. The question was what, and why was he suddenly being harassed by this punk?
The principal didn’t have much going on for the remainder of his Wednesday afternoon, so he decided to visit all of Robb’s teachers this year to see if they knew anything. They all had the same thing to say, generally. That Robb was quiet but did most of his work. A few missing homework assignments here and there, and his absences were increased as of lately. None of them really every spoke to him, except when he didn’t have a homework assignment. The only teacher that was really of any help was his English teacher.
At the end of the day, Mr. Murphy met with the Principal in his office. He handed over a thick paper with Robb’s name on it. “This was a recent assignment I had given the class. It was a personal narrative that was only supposed to be about five to six pages. He doubled that amount.”
The principal looked at the paper in his hands and saw the title. “Cancer: How it Ruins the Lives of Everyone it Touches.”
“He handed that to me this morning. It’s about his mom. From the looks of it, if there’s any truth to that paper, she doesn’t have much time. And I don’t think he wants to speak much about it. She’s been fighting cancer for the past four months without much hope and this is the first anyone’s heard of it, I’m assuming. I don’t think he knows how to deal with it. But I know he doesn’t want help.”
“He punched a kid in the face today before lunch. Bradley? Broke his nose. Bradley came in telling me his side of the story about how he was minding his own business. I hardly believed it, and Robb was sitting in my office before I even knew what happened. I don’t know what Bradley was saying to him, but Robb just said he was being harassed. Whatever it was, it was more than enough to make him snap. And he voluntarily suspended himself.”
“I would voluntarily suspend myself if I was in this situation, and punch a kid in the face just for the hell of it.”
Robb sat beside his mother at the hospital later that night. He held her hand tight in his. Her pale fingers were cold with a lack of circulation. “I punched him today, mom. I finally stood up for myself, just like you always told me to. I know you said violence wasn’t the answer, but this was a special case. I mean, I won’t use violence the next time I have trouble dealing with something. Don’t worry.”
The room was silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. It was dark except for the light over her head that gently lit the bed and its surrounding area. It made her look angelic. It made her face look not so worn and thin. The white sheets looked like her beautiful white angelic clothes. There was no moon this evening, so the only light was coming from right above her.
“And I finished my paper about you last night. It was so hard to write without your help, though. I could’ve used you big time. But I remembered some of the key things you taught me. Like brainstorming and trying to figure out where I want to go with the paper. I even read it out loud, just like you said. And even though I felt ridiculous, it helped me catch a few things I would have overlooked. What would I do without you? I can’t wait until we’re all home again…”
His voice trailed off.
Footsteps were heard in the hallway, and the door softly opened. A nurse came in quietly. She made sure all of the equipment was turned off. She looked over some of the charts that remained in the room. She had passed away three hours ago. The nurse bit her lower lip and put the charts down, and sat down in the chair next to him.
“I love you, mom. Don’t forget it.”
Robb looked at the nurse. “You should really get home, honey. And get some sleep. You’ve been in here for four hours already. I’m sure you’ve got a busy weekend coming up as well…” She seemed a bit unsure of herself as she spoke, but she had hit the nail on the head.
Robb leaned into her and began to sob. His whole body shook with each breath he took. Her light blue scrubs were streaked into darker shades by his tears. All she could do was hold him.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
“Do it. You won’t.”
She took a puff. She coughed. They laughed.
She took another breath, trying hard to choke back the cough her lungs were begging her to let out. Her eyes were red and watery.
I left. I heard them laughing. I wanted no part of this. And she shouldn’t either. This wasn’t who we were. Ever since we started hanging out with these girls it’s been nothing but trouble. They have a reputation. A reputation all their own. A reputation I want no part of. A damn reputation I’m being lumped in to. Ever since her vacation this past summer, something has been entirely different about her. I can’t put my finger on it. And as her friend, I ask. But as her friend, I apparently don’t deserve an answer. I deserve being told, “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”
I stood at my locker like I’ve done every morning since school started six weeks ago. It was Monday and the last time I saw Tori was Saturday night. I picked up my chemistry book and my matching notebook. I looked at my stupid stressed out reflection in the stupid tiny mirror she bought for me. I was never one to care about how I looked once I left my house in the morning, but now? Whenever I was in a twenty foot radius of my locker I was there fixing something about my appearance. I knew she had stolen the mirror. I tore it down and tossed it to the back of my locker. I closed the door and had a seat on the floor.
Not even twenty seconds later I saw her coming. In probably the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen. And she was with them. Luckily their lockers were nowhere near ours. So they parted before she reached me. As she stood next to me, I tried to peer up to say hi, but I was introduced to some things I didn’t care to see. I was frustrated and a little embarrassed, and by the looks of everyone else in the hall way, I’d say they were disgusted. I got off my ass and finally decided to say something.
“What’s up with your hair?”
I was so confused by her question. “Excuse me?”
“Why don’t you ever use that mirror I bought you? It wouldn’t hurt to check yourself out every once in a while.”
“You didn’t buy it. You stole it.” She looked at me like I had six heads. Actually, she looked me up and down and THEN looked at me like I had six heads.
“And did you fail to look in the mirror after you got dressed this morning?” She turned her attention back to her locker and kept fiddling with the lock she couldn’t open without my help.
“No, but it’s quite clear that’s what you failed to do this morning.” She glared at me.
“Are you kidding? I look hot.”
“Yeah. Nice pink undies, hot stuff.”
The bell rang and I left her standing there. I want to say she looked upset, but I can’t help but feel like she looked quite satisfied with herself, especially when a teacher sent her to the office because of her risqué attire.
I paid no attention in chemistry. My lab partner did all the work because every time I tried to help, I burnt myself. I burnt the shit out of my cookies in my home economics class. I decided to take the hint before I burned anything else- I was just burnt out. Lunch was my deciding moment. I saw Tori at the table with them. I had absolutely no desire to sit there. I rolled my eyes and walked myself to the vending machine. As I fumbled for a quarter I was bumped into the wall.
“Hey lady!” It was Sam.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I practically tackled her to the floor. Sam was my best friend growing up in elementary school. We could very easily be independent of each other, but hanging out together was the greatest thing ever. Nothing was better. “I thought you were all moved out to Chicago with your sister, and you were never ever ever ever coming back?”
“Yeah well… about that. After being out there for a year I realized it just wasn’t me. I hated it. It’s nothing like I thought it would be, and I couldn’t see myself staying out there and actually being successful in life. My sister wasn’t the greatest role model either. I also realized the main reason I was out there was because she pressured me into it all. Long story short, I’m just glad my parents took me back. I’m glad I was able to coming back to this side of the gate before it closed up behind me and locked forever. But I’m starving! Let’s have a seat and catch up, shall we?”
I was more than happy to join her. She led me to a table where a bunch of other people were sitting. They were all our old friends from elementary school that I hadn’t spoken to in what felt like years. And it had been years. I felt so at home with these people. Nothing to be stressed about. No worrying myself over what they were getting into or what they were talking about. They weren’t telling me my hair looked funny or that my clothes didn’t look right. It was just too simple. And more than anything, I enjoyed myself and felt like myself. Everything was totally natural. I was talking and these people were laughing with me instead of at me. I was so used to sitting at the table while those girls talked about things I couldn’t and didn’t want to relate to. I had become accustomed to sitting in silence. Who knew I could have such an epiphany at lunch? It felt nice to breathe again. Then my eyes met hers, and I had to hold my breath.
Tori didn’t talk to me for the next two days. She was never at her locker the same time as me, and I didn’t see her at lunch. Or them for that matter. I didn’t miss them. But I did miss Tori a bit. But I couldn’t figure out why. I know it seems shallow to openly admit that I somewhat stopped caring about my friend, but it was true. Sam was as friendly as she always had been and she wasn’t doing things just to fit in with some group of girls. She was herself. I realized that’s who I lost for the past six weeks. Myself. For the first month and a half of school, my presence was being threatened by the person Tori wanted me to be. So after that first month and a half of school, I think I had finally managed to stabilize myself.
I was confronted before I could figure out what to do with the Tori situation. Thursday, when the last period bell rang and I went to my locker, I found a note taped to the door. I unfolded it to find hot pink highlighter screaming at me:
Stop avoiding me!!!
Meet me on the playground by the track when class gets out!!
I wasn’t looking forward to going, but at least she was reaching out to me. When I got to the playground no one was there but Tori. I was a little nervous she was going to sick her posse on me, in all honesty.
“So why you been ignoring me, bitch?” I did a one eighty and started to leave.
“No no no I’m just kidding come back!” She spewed it all like one word. She caught up to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me so I was looking at her.
“Seriously, what’s been going on lately?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me…”
“Not particularly. You’re the one smoking stuff, stealing stuff, hanging out with girls who hardly give a shit about you, dressing like you’re begging some guy to tear your clothes off, and then making me feel like the tiniest person in the world. In two sentences, you robbed me entirely of my self esteem. And you ask me to explain what’s been going on lately?” She looked down at her feet and slid some sand around. Silence. “Well if you don’t plan on answering me, I have a question for you. What in the name of God happened to you over the summer that you’ve transformed into this person I don’t even recognize? And don’t you dare try to pretend that I didn’t ask this question.” She looked at me like I had just asked her to kill herself. “I won’t pretend that you didn’t ask. But I’m not going to tell you. I am so ashamed over what happened that I can’t even bear to tell my best friend.” She looked down at her feet again, her shoes digging holes in the sand.
“Well I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I’m beyond help anyway. I did the few things that were the gateway to the path of destruction. I’m screwed. Screwed for life. I crossed that line. That gate is locked. I can’t come back from this.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, obviously, but it’s never too late. We’re so young! What the hell could you have possibly done that there’s no coming back from it? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.” She said it so quietly that I almost missed it.
The next day at school, she seemed different. She was dressed in jeans and a gray striped shirt that hung off one shoulder. She smiled at me and said hi. It was the familiar smile and hi I was used to. She sat with me and Sam at lunch too. At the end of the day, Sam told me everyone was going to the football game that night, so I decided to put off my homework and go out for once. It had been awhile since I had willingly gone out to do something I was actually interested in.
I was sitting with everyone just watching the game and eating my fries when I got a text from Tori. She told me to meet her in the dugout of the baseball practice field. I told Sam I’d be back in a few, and got up to meet her, wondering what it was that it required me to meet in a dugout. I was halfway across the baseball field when I saw them sitting in the dugout lighting up. I slowed my pace and stared. I realized that they were burning books. Tori came up behind me. She didn’t smell pretty. Her breath was heavy when she spoke.
“Hey giiiiirl. Glad you could make it.” She took my arm and tried to guide me towards the dugout. I pulled away. “What the hell are you doing? Did you not catch anything I said to you yesterday?” I tried to keep my voice down to avoid getting the attention of them. She gave me that look like I had six heads again. “Did you not catch anything I said yesterday? It’s too late for me and this is where I’m going in life. End of story. You can either join me or leave me.”
“When the hell did that become an option? Is this what you’ve been thinking the entire time? Since you’re screwed for life you’re trying to take me with you? What the hell kind of crap is that? Who the hell are you? I know I’m your friend, but if you think you screwed up hard enough in life that you’re screwed forever and ever and ever, the very least you can do is leave me out of it. You may have gone over that side of the gate, but I’m still on this side. In fact, I’m going through an entirely different gate. This gate is full of happiness and realization that there’s good in life and when you make one mistake, it’s not the end of the world. I hope you figure that out someday.”
I didn’t talk to Tori for that rest of that school year. I congratulated her on our graduation day, but we both knew she had barely succeeded at that. I had gone off to college, and I had no idea what had become of her until I bumped into her on the streets of our hometown one weekend. I had envisioned her as being in rehab, or in jail for something. I had even checked the obituaries every now and then to see if her world really did come to an end. I just couldn’t help but imagine the worst had happened to hear with the way she was talking. But when I saw her that day, she looked good. Not the greatest, but she looked good. She had a small child clinging to her leg, too shy to stand out in the open. I asked the general question that most people don’t care what the answer is when they ask it, but we both knew it was important at this moment.
“How are you?”
“I’m actually doing really well. This is my daughter, Hope. She’s three, and extremely shy.” I was relieved to see a wedding band on her hand. “So you’re married?”
“Yes! So I have this small little family. Unfortunately money is a little tight, but we’re getting by. Just taking it day by day.”
“Well I’m glad to hear you’re happy and doing well. So I take it you managed to back up through that gateway you got stuck in before?” A small smiled appeared on both of our faces, but I could tell I brought up a sensitive subject for her.
“Not quite. You were right about it never being too late. It took me a bit longer to realize that than it should have. I went down that path of life and it locked me in good and hard for a while. But I managed to find the back door.”
Posted on June 1st, 2012
Nothing lasts forever. That’s what everybody says. Eternity is defined as a duration without beginning or end. If we don’t know when or how something began, how do we know if it’s eternal? I mean, we have some idea how long the planets have been around, but no one was present when it all began. We have some idea when the planets and the sun and stars are all going to explode, but what do we care? It’s not going to be in our lifetime (right?). None of us here in this current day and age will know when the world ends (at least according to science today). It’s the whole ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, did it really make a sound?’ We say yes, of course it did. It’s just that no one heard it. But if someone was there, they would have heard it. But there’s no proof. You can’t do anything these days without proof. I always hated doing proofs in high school. So many times I would be tempted to answer with “Just because. That’s it. End of story.” But that didn’t get me any A’s on tests. I never liked math much anyway.
So even though I have no way to prove the existence of eternity, I still think it’s out there. I will never live eternally. I’ll never find the end of forever. It’s there. Just because. Let’s take a look at love for a minute. I think it’s sad that many people would probably say that love doesn’t last forever. I disagree. Love is eternal. It’s those that participate in love that don’t last forever. I mean, technically love can last forever to the one who dies first. Last they checked, they were in love ‘til death did indeed make them part. But that death is mourned. That soul is followed by love to wherever it goes. It’s eternal.
The above argument is flawed. I won’t even try to deny that. I’m not even sure it qualifies for much of an argument. I didn’t care too much for philosophy. And talk about planets exploding and the world ending just freaks me out. There’s no way to prove eternity exists. I mean, I’ve already slightly convinced myself it doesn’t. But then why would we come up with a word like eternity if its definition can’t be found in the world? Just to be able to say this doesn’t exist? Probably.
Eternity is beyond humanity. If scientists are correct (and I’m not doubting them), then someday the sun will explode, which will also more than likely destroy Earth. Does everything end at that moment? We’ll never know. That explosion could somehow swallow up everything we know… But the universe could continue its existence, however it goes about existing.
There are just too many unknowns as far as I’m concerned. But I guess eternity is made up of unknowns. Not sure when it started, don’t know when it will end… I guess it all makes sense then, huh? It simplifies it, too. I’m going to accept it just the way it is rather than break my back looking into it any further than that. Go ahead and call me lazy. I tried. I don’t like proofs, I don’t like creating arguments, I don’t like thinking about the universe and its demise, and I don’t like philosophy. I did all this thinking about stuff I don’t even like. Wait… philosophy is part of the argument aspect, isn’t it…
I don’t know why people think circular arguments are fun. You make all this progress, do all this thinking and thought provoking stuff about trying to make a point just to end up back where you started. And all because of one point. One thing ruining everything. And the only purpose of that one thing is to disprove what you’re saying. It can’t even stand alone. Don’t ask me to debate something if you’re just going to shut down everything I say, and fail to come up with original ideas of your own. Because I’ve got news for you: that’s not a debate. That’s you trying to pretend you’re smarter than me. But if you’ve somehow tricked me into participating in a debate, than perhaps you are smarter…
No, we’re not having that argument.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
Obsessed is such a disgusting sounding word when you repeat it over and over again. I’m obsessed with buying shoes. I’m obsessed with the color pink. I’m obsessed with anything plaid. I’m obsessed with constantly changing and rearranging things. I’m obsessed with chocolate! I can never get enough. I can never be satisfied with what I already have. I can always use more of whatever it is.
Obsession brings us to the point of desperately needing something when in reality, it’s the last thing we need. Obsession can easily be considered an ugly facet of humanity. I can go from simply liking or caring about something to an addiction, and eventually reaching the point of insanity: obsession. There’s a good chance of never coming back from an obsession. It can cause us as human beings to cross lines and overstep boundaries. We can get so wrapped up with an obsession that we become blind to what we do, or how we sound and act. It’s inexplicable to a certain degree. It’s powerful and draws heavily from our emotions.
At least that’s how it feels. I’m no scientist or doctor, and I certainly won’t pretend to be. Those are two fields I said I’d have nothing to do with. And I intend on keeping it that way. Being a people watcher, err, an observer, I’ve seen my fair share of obsessions blossom. It’s quite the tragedy. At the end you just wish you could applaud because it was such a great performance. But it’s no act. It’s real and it’s insane. Obsession pulls on emotions that we’ve lost control over. One of the biggest things we tend to obsess over is each other and the relationships we share. Love is an emotion we tend to leave out in the open; let the world do with what it pleases. This makes it readily available to manipulation and now obsession has a direct route to the mind. Past romantic relationships, or even current ones, are brutal when subject to obsession.
They broke up five months ago but she still drunk texts him every other weekend, pretending it was an accident. He finds her laugh to be infectious and so he stalks her Facebook religiously, sending her messages like daily prayers, even though her relationship status clearly reads “married.” She brings him coffee every morning and apparently confuses “love” with “friends with benefits.” He’s so wrapped up in his newest girlfriend that he has forgotten what his friends look like and he honestly believes he’d rather carry all her shopping bags around the mall than play a pick-up game of disc. Yeah, okay buddy.
Obsession hides reality from us. It toys with our feelings of love and caring and makes them limitless. I know there’s a saying that goes something like “Love knows no bounds” or whatever; that’s all well and good when both sides are still all in. But when someone knows they’re keeping someone else on the hook, or the obsession is negatively impacting everyone else in that person’s life, lines have been crossed and a boundary is needed. And it’s not love. It’s just depressing.
Some people throw the ‘O’ word around like it ain’t no thang. “Oh my God. I’m sooo obsessed with his muscles. I just can’t stop touching them.” That’s really unfortunate. They’ll never give you that kind of affection back. And if he’s jacked while openly admitting to being a gym rat and claiming to be obsessed with working out, you probably won’t get it from him either.
The whole thing is pretty backward. People say they’re obsessed with things then they aren’t, and other people completely deny their obsession when it’s more obvious then the final ending to every Disney Princess movie. Denial must go hand in hand with obsession. By denying it, we don’t see what we’re doing. We’re not seeing the whole picture. We’re purposely leaving things out of our field of vision. If we could see how everyone else saw the situation, if we could see ourselves from the outside, we wouldn’t be doing it anymore, right? If only it were that easy.
It would be convenient if there was some kind of medication to cure people of their obsession disorder. Although it would be nearly impossible to get them to willingly take it because according to them, nothing is wrong. You would have to sneak it in their drink or something. And that could get very ugly. The best medicine for this scenario is a good slap in the face. Knock the eyes out so they can get a good look at themselves from a different point of view. Know what I’m saying?
Posted on June 1st, 2012
I said I’d write that paper.
I said I’d do it later.
Not much of a debater,
I’m a procrastinator.
This habit I have’s a bad one
But I’m one of the million
Who put stuff off like children
Delaying just a smidgen…
I find it undeniable
This habit is unbreakable.
Its power is unstoppable,
Its hunger is insatiable.
Affected by sleep? It cannot be
It gets the job done more easily.
When your eyes are forced closed relentlessly
And hours are lost instantly.
Distractions are for sure contrived
And in no time they have arrived
And in no time you are deprived
Procrastination here has thrived.
Unbreakable, I do repeat.
Solutions just do not compete.
Things are left incomplete;
A hand full of sour deceit.
Procrastination. I see it. I run.
Procrastination. It sees me. It flies.
I approach with caution, with discretion
It tells me I’m wasting my time.
It twists my words.
It turns my ways.
It teases my mind;
Lost me in a daze.
I fight to stay ahead of time
It stays a step ahead of me.
Unbreakable this thing may seem,
Undefeated it is indeed.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
Girlfriends vs. Videogames
Many girls feel that this is a day to day drama. The truth? It isn’t. The girl herself is responsible for any drama that arises in regards to videogames with her boyfriend (for the most part). If it ever gets to the point where you find yourself saying “It’s me, or the games,” the war was lost ages ago. If the tension actually gets this high, then you can be sure that boyfriend will in fact name several reasons to choose the game over the girl:
- doesn’t talk back or argue
- provides a challenge that’s not entirely impossible to deal with
- isn’t high maintenance
- doesn’t complain
- operates based on his actions
- when he gets frustrated with it, he can turn it off and walk away without being followed
- he can scream at it without any fear of consequences
and the list goes on. Of course, there’s the counter that technology can never replace a human in comforting and nurturing, but the point is it can still hurt when he rattles off this list. So do yourself a favor and don’t ever try to put that decision before him.
There are girls out there who claim to just not like videogames. This is a false claim. Everyone likes videogames. Generally what is meant to be said is that they do not approve of the idea of videogames, referring to the spending of hours playing through it and nothing is gained in real life except the satisfaction of being a winner. That in itself is a very different argument that I won’t touch upon. But my point is there is always some kind of electronic game that is liked by each and every person whether it’s Farmville, Angry Birds, Super Mario, World of Warcraft, League of Legends, or anything in between.
There are even some girls out there who try to get away with saying “I just don’t get videogames,” followed by an eye roll and some twirling of the hair. Well, that claim is just a total lie. You’re just not trying. A better explanation is that you’re playing dumb in order to get out of the videogame session, and that’s two mistakes you’re making all at once. Mistake number one: playing dumb is not pretty. It’s obnoxious. And you’re making the rest of us look bad. Guys like smart girls who know what they like doing, or those who try to make an effort at learning and doing new things. Mistake number two is attempting to avoid the videogame session. You are missing out on some serious bonding time. Make him feel special by allowing him to teach you something that he’s into. Don’t be his rival here, he his player two. Be his Luigi.
Once you’ve decided to join him instead of being a thorn in his side, you might find yourself asking, “What am I getting out of playing his games with him?” This goes right back to the point about bonding. It’s all about the quality time and team work, or the creation of some friendly competition. You drive places and go for hikes. You go out for lunch. You cook something together. You sit around and watch television shows and movies together. Add gaming into this mix and you, lady, are on the right track. Start off by playing your own game, something simple like Tetris. It’s a classic. But play this game whenever he’s preoccupied with his game, giving yourself a basic handle on some kind of game. Then give yourself the opportunity to get immersed the same way he does. Ask him about his game; the storyline, the controls, is it hard? (That’s what she said. And if it’s a great cut scene in the game, it probably is.) Comment on his play-style, whether you’re sure what that is or not. Once you’re able to get him to teach you about it, you then have the chance to get a controller of your very own. Once you have that in your possession, it’s up to you. I recommend embracing the experience and trying to be a good player. However, if you so choose, you can try it and be terrible and call it quits for gaming. He will accept your white flag of surrender and give you props for trying, and maybe even a little more respect, but the problem will only come back when his new game comes out, and the cycle starts all over again.
What really needs to be done here is to take full advantage. Play the game. Learn the game. Practice. Master the game. Unleash your inner gamer chick. Gamer chicks were once a very rare breed; some even believed them to be nonexistent. Fortunately they are becoming much more common and the world is a happier place for it. Becoming a gamer chick is like becoming a badass. You will feel this new power over other girls around you, a feeling like no other. It’s quite rewarding in the long run, and now there’s new common ground for you and guys to talk about that isn’t just sports.
The Girlfriend-Videogame War has a simple, classic solution: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Except this is more like, you can’t and won’t beat ‘em, so just make your life easier and join ‘em. With your new found ability to participate in gaming, you both will have a new found respect for each other and how each of you choose to spend your time. When you call him to do something and he needs to finish the level, you’ll understand. When he has to raid in twenty minutes you’ll get why he doesn’t have time for your chick flick. When he starts a game of League, you know you have a half an hour to forty five minutes to slap together some dinner and candles for the two of you. And it’s okay. You get it. You know what’s up. You know he’ll be giving you more of his undivided attention, like playing fewer games daily to spend more time with you, or asking to do things you’re into. So make him appreciate you! Cheer him on. Give him a kiss on the cheek before he puts his headphones on and is in the warzone with his buddies. Check in to see how well he’s playing. Celebrate when he tells you something exciting happened, or that he did really well whether you know what he’s talking about or not. I’m sure he’ll explain if you look a bit confused. But the important thing is to throw the confetti anyway. When you show how supportive and laid back you are, the tension melts away and he’ll feel even closer to you, with a tighter bond and a firmer trust.
It’s clear that this little bit of extra effort says a lot, and can ease many situations. The pros will always outweigh the cons when levels of happiness go up. But while you get into the world of gaming, I would like to gently remind you that it’s unnecessary to play eight hour marathons of games, or stay up until four in the morning every night. Those experiences are fun here and there, but they are not good on a daily and nightly basis.
So you see, there is no rivalry. It was never meant to be a competition. It was made for both sides to enjoy, not for one to pretend it didn’t exist. Embrace the system and all it has to offer. Make it fun. Dress up like your favorite female character for entertainment if you want to. Although, the majority of real women do not naturally have the properly pixilated curves to pull off those kinds of outfits. And by God they just keep getting bigger. But remember; play with him, not against him. Increase the population of the Gamer Chick, and end the war.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
“I want to be famous when I grow up,” the young girl said to her mother. “I want everyone to know my name. And I want to get dressed up every day and be fancy and pretty.”
Mother put the groceries down on the kitchen table. Her pocketbook was slung over her shoulder and it wobbled as she searched the insides of it for her wallet. A few pens and coupons later, she pulled a twenty out and handed it to the babysitter who stood nearby, palm up and ready to go.
“Oh really honey?”
Mother watched the babysitter as she took the twenty, folded it and tucked it safely away in her bra. She flipped her bleached blond hair around then turned and headed for the door. Her jeans hugged her every curve like saran wrap and her hot ping thong sat nestled right below the clichéd tramp stamp.
This babysitter wasn’t the ideal role model, but Mother didn’t have too many options right now. Father was in another country on business and would be for the next four and a half months. This trashy figure was only there to get her feisty young daughter off the bus and keep an eye on her until five o’clock each evening, Monday through Thursday. Today was only Monday.
The door slammed in the background.
“Yeah Mommy. Someday, I’ll be on T.V.s all around the world. All eyes on me. All the time!” she squeaked. Her big green eyes stared at the wall, clearly looking beyond it. Her red hair was mostly pulled back except for a few strands that hung around her eyes. She blinked and picked up a green crayon and resumed her project.
Mother took out the cold, raw chicken and set it on the counter, along with a packet of gravy mix, potatoes, and assorted vegetables in preparation for dinner. She pulled out a bag of oranges and took one out. She began to peel it. “What’s so important about being famous, honey?”
“Everything mommy, everything! There’s so much stuff you can do when you’re famous. Like fly around in jets and appear in people’s shows and talk about stuff. It’s the life!” She had the gray crayon in her hand now, carefully outlining something. “I know it would be hard work, going from a nobody to a somebody, but I can do it! I can do anything I set my brains to. And reach the stars. And go to the moon if I really wanted to mommy. Ms. Shelly told me so. She said I had a good one of these on my shoulders,” as she pointed to her head. “And that I’m a good egg. But I don’t like being an egg.” She continued to color, delicately adding some finishing touches.
Mother brought the freshly peeled and cut up orange over to the table and took a seat near her child. “Why is Ms. Shelly telling you to be famous and be on T.V.? Hasn’t she told you about better, happier things you can do rather than just being a famous lady? Especially if you’re such a little smarty.” The young girl put a piece of orange in her mouth and some juice dribbled down her chin, a droplet falling to the table. “It really isn’t all that being an actress, you know.”
“Oh no mommy, I don’t want to be an actor person. I want to be this.” She handed her drawing to Mother. The picture contained a woman with long red hair and big green eyes in a gray dress suit inside a pentagon. There were several little circles that looked like heads staring at the woman in the gray dress suit. There was a sun with a smiley face, and boxes with her green eyed girl inside them. Her name was on all of the women with the red hair, located where a nametag would go. Everything was scattered all over the place, an aura of colors pouring from the page.
“Someday mommy, I’m gonna find the world peas, and feed everybody everywhere.”
Posted on June 1st, 2012
We say it’s complicated in an attempt to make things easier. Claiming something to be complicated is an attempt to explain, but really is an attempt at avoiding explanation. But this never works. It only makes the story that much more interesting. I mean, if it’s complicated, of course I want to know every single detail that makes it what it is. And you can be sure I’ll be disappointed when I actually manage to get the story out of you and there’s nothing complicated about it; you just didn’t want to tell me. How rude.
Other people have manners and respect the privacy of those who plead the Complicated. The complicated excuse only temporarily deters the conversation from happening, or can put it off from happening forever until it’s unimportant; “It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later.” We all know that later never, ever comes. Ever. That line is just a straight up statement that says, “No, I really don’t want to tell you and I never plan on it. Screw you.” It’s hurtful, in my opinion.
So many things in life are complicated, beyond attempting simple conversation. Financial issues, making forced decisions after investigating all the pros and cons, dealing with jerks, a troublesome job; the list goes on. Relationships are pretty high up on the list. Just ask Facebook and its relationship status update of “it’s complicated.” I mean, really? I saw that and laughed. I saw my friends jokingly post that with their friends who they hadn’t seen in awhile, and claimed that their friendships were a bit shaky at the moment. Then I saw girls go from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated.” If it’s six months later, and it’s STILL that complicated, I’ve got news for you. You’ve been hanging on to that thing by a thread, except he cut it four months ago, and left the strand in his pocket for safekeeping, with you tucked in there thinking what you still had was “real” when in fact he thought nothing more of you than a piece of lint in his pocket. But aside from that, if your relationship is complicated, why announce it for everyone to see? Hey guys! My relationship is unstable but we’re trying to make it work! It’s super complicated but I know somewhere behind that asshole mask he’s wearing he loves me! <3<3. No. Do yourself a favor and disable your Facebook account.
Life is a big ball of complicated and all we can really do is embrace it with open arms and hope to untangle the mess that it is. So I wrote this following poem of big words that somewhat tell a story to look at this from more of a positive perspective.
Trying hard but
Nowhere to turn
New found hope
Posted on June 1st, 2012
*This post was originally written in July 2011. This was the first post I ever created for The Thought Bubble. Back then, my site crashed and all the posts on it were lost and re-posted at random intervals. Most of the posts dated 2012 were written shortly after this one.
What am I doing? What am I not doing is the better question. I do all this talk about wanting to write and create, and the sad truth is that I never make time for it. And when I actually do try it feels too forced. And deadlines suck. If there’s a specific date and time when something needs to be completed, you can bet I’ll be pushing the envelope. I’ve dubbed myself the Queen of Procrastination and while it’s something I’m not overly proud of, it’s undoubtedly true.
Lately I’ve been trying to encourage myself to write just to get going. I definitely needed a push from an outside source, whether that person was my mom, a teacher, or my boyfriend. I won’t call it harassment, but my boyfriend was relentless in pushing me to write, to type, to think. He’s the reason I have this web page and I’m pretty excited about it. He also presented me with a writing challenge to help get me started. The writing challenge is taking the time to write one hundred different pieces in any form that have focused themes. This first one is the introduction and I decided to keep it casual and basically entirely informational.
So, after stating my inability to sit and focus on just writing, how did this one get written? Jury duty. I am sitting in a Massachusetts district court to see if I shall be serving today, and to see if I indeed shall be doing my civic duty. I had to get up too early for this and it’s finally caught up to me. I’m doing my best to hide my yawns but they just keep coming. I expected a cozier room than the one I’m sitting in but at least there are some vending machines.
I’m quite excited about this writing challenge, and my goal is to have a new piece posted each Sunday night from here on out (I understand that today is not Sunday as this post goes up. This is a fluke. And evidence of my inability to keep with deadlines that I make for myself. The goal is for this to change). I also just realized something. There are one hundred themes for me to write about once a week. There are fifty two weeks in a year. So I’ve got just about two years worth of writing in front of me. It’s kind of intimidating when I think of it that way, yet awesome if I can keep up with it. That’ll show some dedication right there. Let the challenge begin!
Posted on June 1st, 2012
They say love is out of fashion
But we wear it just fine
They tell us gone is the passion
But ours it intertwines
They say that love is never lastin’
But ‘til the end of time
My love for you I’ll cash in
Even when we’re clashin’
Through the storm and all the flashin’
You will always be mine.
Posted on June 1st, 2012
10 days before you knew I had
9 thousand thoughts bouncing around my head with
8 different reasons why I should tell you how I feel, and that across
7 continents, and out of
6 billion people in the world, I discussed my feelings with
5 other people be
4 finally turning to you and rambling for
3 hours about stupid stuff neither of us cared about, remembering what had happened
2 years ago, but then you gave me that
1 special kiss that cranked my heart from
0 to 60 within seconds. Over
1 year later we can’t stand being apart; being separated for
2 days kills inside. But we say those
3 little words all the time and survived the
4 week spans of separation. In less than
5 months you graduate and in
6 months I’ll have you home forever. I’ll get to see you
7 days of the week and spend at least
8 hours at night cuddling with you until you start your
9 to five job and all I can do is thank God that we didn’t wait
10 years to remind each other how we felt.