yes, of course!

A few weeks ago I’m sitting at my desk, typing away in front of my computer, the muse and I having a grand ol' time of fluency and inspiration, when my husband walks by and says: "Why are you working on another story? Why not finish the one you’ve started?"

I pause a moment within this reverie of creation, and reply with the only thing that comes to mind: "Well, Amy has the draft", and he says: "So, you can still work on it." Meanwhile, I’m thinking, well, of course I could still work on it, and I have worked on it since I printed out a draft for her, but somehow there just isn’t enough time to write anymore. Somehow, Thursday nights have become the only time I have for writing, and with the amount of sleep I’ve had since the last Thursday night it’s a wonder I’m even able to stand and drive and work and complete the basic functions and tasks necessary for my survival! For example, just that morning I was awoken at 3am by the voice of our daughter: “Maawm? Can you lay with me?”, so, up out of my nice, warm comfy bed and back onto her cold futon I went. I snuggled up close to her and attempted to place my body between the steel bars that lay beneath her futon mattress, and it must have worked because that morning my right hip did not feel as if there was a knife driving into its socket every time I took a step, and then once I was finally settled into the bed and finally warm beneath the covers and my mind was almost ready to drift back off to sleep, our son woke up, bumped his way out of the top bunk, switched on the hallway light and POOF! Our daughter was awake again and then I needed to be awake, but instead I rolled over and fell into the deepest sleep I had had all night! and then SURPRISE! The alarm was blaring, and since it’s one of those that gets louder as the seconds pass and the volume is set to 100, I really needed to get out of her bed and turn that damn thing off! and then I stumbled downstairs, hoping that I could stand up long enough to find my way to the bathroom and then stand up for a few more minutes to put some water into the kettle for my coffee cuz the house was freezing and there was no way I was drinking day old coffee, even if it would mean it’d be ready in a microwave minute, and our son says to me, even before I took the last step off the stairs: “I want french toast for breakfast!”

So, yes, dear, of course, I can finish the story, but can I go back to bed first? Please???

writing is my religion

The 11^th commandment – is what again? Thou shalt not kill? No, no that’s probably number 3, or something further up there. Thou shalt not steal? No, not that one either. Thou shalt not commit adultery? Covet thy neighbor? … maybe? Yeah, I suppose it could be that one but it’s hard to remember them all, especially since I’ve committed them all at least once since I had them ingrained into my mind during those years of parochial school. Well, since we’re talking about commandments, I should probably be truthful and say, I probably haven’t committed them all, however since I can’t remember them all, who’s to say? And that right there my friend is the gist of this isn’t it? Who’s to say what’s right, what’s wrong, since we know no issue is truly black and white, therefore wouldn’t it be assumed that there is no right or wrong? Just someone’s loose interpretation that they’ve given to themselves during times of psychological distress and unrest? Someone’s random associations and proclamations witnessed and beheld for all the world to see for those viewed and held among the populace amongst the throng of humanity, lest ye be deemed and judged unworthy in the eyes of the lord. … but who really talks to god these days? I bet those who actually do speak to him are the crazy ones, don’t you think you’d be crazy too if you’d spoken with an all knowing, all powerful being? I’d imagine it’s sort of like speaking to a parent when one is young, but how young is too young to behold the grandeur of the human psyche? Shouldn’t there be warning signs, or a statute of limitations, for some of these declarations and proclamations over human behavior? When you get right down to it, down to the heart of the matter, the meat of the meaning behind these demands, doesn’t every child know that these commandments are inherently a good idea? Maybe these statutes should be taught to adults, perhaps they’d have greater meaning to those in power who seem to tout the will of god, if they actually knew what they were getting themselves into? Would they still proclaim the teachings of their savior if they were proven to be deficient in them?

decembered thoughts

clutter migraines dance
spirals around husbands
while wives swim under
currents of circuitous
thoughts brought on
by diurnal timing
of seasons change

former life

In a former life I lived within the lap of luxury. Servants were at my beck and call, and to be honest, I overused them. When my tea was room temperature I demanded a newly steaming cup, when I had worn my clothing for more than an hour I demanded a completely new outfit and I refused to wear any bra or a pair of underwear more than once, cuz while I’m being honest, let me be honest about this, after washing any bra or pair of panties more than once, the elastic just isn’t the same. And of course, one must not forget that when taking my evening bath, the water had to be changed anew as soon as the bubbles no longer covered my gleaming bronze skin and my robes of silk needed to be replenished lest any trace of a water stain be seen. So all in all, in a former life I was a neurotic bitch who demanded excellence from everyone and everything around her.

And so that is why I am the way that I am today, obviously, this is the better choice.

writing/reading

last weekend i attended my first writing conference. one of the keynote speakers, andre dubus III, said in his afternoon lecture, that when we read a book, what we're looking for is to find a part of ourselves, "give me, me", he said.
if this is truly the case, and it must hold some truth, otherwise i would not have bothered to write it down, then which characters are me within the stories i enjoy reading: anita blake? merry gentry? hunter kiss? janelle angelline? vicki nelson? lt. torr?
and before now: the children of v.c andrews, the various victims of dean koontz, emily dickinson, the worlds of edgar allen poe.
the stories and characters i read then were about victims and being victimized, helpless to fight back with little to no chance of taking charge in a world gone mad.
the stories i read now are about being a heroine, taking charge of your life and the lives of those you care about.
anita blake is no one's victim.
merry gentry is no one's victim.
hunter kiss is no one's victim.
janelle angelline is no one's victim.
vicki nelson is no one's victim.
lt. torr is no one's victim.
this doesn't mean that none of these characters have been victimized, it just means that they've lived to tell the tale, and they are stronger now than they were before, and they are able to protect themselves and those around them from anything like what they've experienced from happening again.
these women are nobody's victim and neither am i.

page 271 of my memoir

He’s worn this same jacket since we were in high school. It’s an army surplus, which I just recently found out was from the Vietnam war. I always wondered why he chose to buy fatigues of any kind, since he’s always been dead set against war and did not even bother registering to vote for years due to his fear of being drafted, but I do remember a night when I wore the camo pants that matched them, which means at some point, he went out and bought the set of them.

My only guess as to their purpose would be that he bought them for paintball, and now that I think about it, where did his paintball gun disappear to? Did he sell it before he went cross-country? or before we moved in together? It never did appear in the apartment we shared together in Gardner, so it must have been sold soon after his return from California. Maybe he never owned a paintball gun? Maybe he rented it? I never thought much about where the gun came from until now. Isn’t it funny how you can know something for years, but when you sit and think about it for a minute it becomes a mystery so elusive your mind cannot possibly solve it?

And how about that apartment in Gardner, huh?

It was an attic apartment with slanting ceilings, a gas stove for heat and walls so thin that we could hear our neighbor’s kitten crying for hours and hours on end because no one was there, but we were there, and more than once I thought about breaking into that neighbor’s apartment and keeping the kitten company. However, every time I mentioned it he would tell me, absolutely do not do that, and for some reason I actually listened to him. It didn’t always happen, me listening to him I mean. There were many times when he disagreed with me and I went ahead and did it anyway, some of those times it was for the better, some of those times for the worst, but always, whatever my choice was, he accepted it. It didn’t mean he liked it, or even that eventually he approved of the decision, but he did accept it and we moved on, and this is how we’ve managed to span close to half of our lives together.

I do crazy, slightly insane things, like insist on going to a weekly writing workshop, and he accepts it, just as if normal people do this all the time, but whether he tells me directly, or just eludes to it, I know he knows that this is not normal, that I am not normal, and again he just accepts it for what it is, and only occasionally will I hear him say, ‘freak’, to which I reply, ‘you’re the one that married me’.

Just recently, he’s been replying to my reply: ‘what choice did I have?’

To which I say, 'you could've stayed in California'

16 at 16

… the number 16 haunts my thoughts …

… 16 ways to do this …

… 16 ways to do that …

… 16 years ago i was 16 …

… sweet 16 …

… 16 candles …

… 16 years old …

… 16 years young …

… 16 years + 16 years = 32 years …

… 16 years ago i was 16 years old and i wore a size 16 …

… 16 years later and i’m back to a size 16 …

… what is it about the number 16 that is so intriguing? …

… why can’t i think of 16 things to say about 16? …

… 16 – 1 = 15 …

… 16 – 2 = 14 …

… 16 – 3 = 13 …

ah, lucky 13! i did it!

16 things about 16!