Day 28: When the night comes, I tremble with fear.

It is pretty obvious at this point I am going through some things. Most of them are in the deep caverns located only in my mind and others are out in the real world. Unfortunately I cannot blatantly say what either are. No, I am not considering suicide and no, me and Cal are very, very happy. I just go down a dark path every now and again. Sometimes I come back to the light a little quicker than others. This time it has been a hard and rocky road…if even it was a road, path, avenue, whatever.

Lately, I have discovered that when it gets dark or when it gets late, I become afraid. Not so much of the dark. I am afraid of sleep. Lets back up for a moment, shall we? As a child, I was always afraid of the dark. There were monsters in the dark. Even after my Uncle forced me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street II, I would not sleep with some appendage hanging off the bed or with the closet doors open lest something grab me and drag me away. As I entered into my teenage years, the whole “stay totally on the bed” thing remained but the things in the dark that scared me changed. I was afraid of some stranger waking me from my sleep. If I kept my eyes open in the dark, I would imagine horrible things coming into view and murdering me or dragging me off…half alive. Noises didn’t help. Shadows didn’t either.

Cal used to laugh at me and Number Twenty Two years ago. Both of us had the same habit. If we had to shut the light off and walk across a room in the dark, we would flip the switch and race across the room like something was after us. Thinking about it while not experiencing it seems crazy, I know but its not. I don’t know about our son but for me, it was a very real fear and it did not feel good. Your blood becomes hot as your heart races and forces it through your veins the very second the sound of the “flip” from the light switch would reach your ears. Fight or flight ensues and you take off running, trying to race darkness out of the room. Obviously one never wins that race because you are running through the room which darkness has already enveloped. Loser. Once you get to where you are going; be it the other door, the bed, the couch, whatever, the fear leaves you. Only, it is not so easily spat out. It gradually leaves. While it only takes a few seconds to return to normal, your inner self notes that it seems a great deal longer than that. Even after spending four decades on this planet and am fully aware of what can and cannot be in the room as well as knowing what will go bump, it still does not help. There are certain rooms that I will still flip the switch and run. Dark and I are simply not friends. We never have been. Looks like never will be. (Hrmm, maybe I will be forced to roam this earth forever, hiding not in the shadows but in the light. I wonder if this makes me one of the “angels” that play with babies when they are first born? Ah, I digress. That, dear readers, is a story for another day.)

Back to the dark.

I am not sure words would suffice to describe how I feel when the sun sets. Its primordial fear. Pure and absolute. I want to run screaming into the night and never return but where would I go and what would I do when I outran that fear? That is scary all by itself. I feel the blood rush through every single vein in my body. Almost like I am becoming self aware or something. My heart begins to race and then sets itself to cruise control until I am able to make myself go into a fitful sleep. Sometimes, I have a beer or two to help me become drowsy. Sometimes I take a migraine pill. (Yea, I have a script for these people, I am NOT a pill junkie.) Anything I can do to force myself to sleep. It is not that I am NOT sleepy, I am just afraid of what dreams will bring or what the last thought which enters into my head will be. I have been having very vivid dreams as of late. Most of them relate to my novel. That is ok, The really good ones stick with me and I get them on paper before they vanish from my memory but the other things are what haunt the voices in my head. Horrible, vivid premonitions. Evil laughter and murderous visions.

It is simply not fair. Sometimes I think, the fear of the dark is a cakewalk compared to this. Not only does it make me afraid of myself and whatever is creating this discomfort for me, it makes me sad. I find it hard to describe to my family what is going on and when I just refer to it as “whatever is going on in my brain” they just go “Oh, that.” Its alright. They are not being callous or cold. They are just tired of seeing me torture myself like this and want it to be better. Only, nobody knows how.

I am not one to go to the doctor for such things and I am certain they will just give me some sort of medication to “make it all better” but I don’t want to be medicated. I just want it to go away. Its like smoking. Just. Flippin. Quit. I know its hard. For me, even eleven years later, I still chew the hell out of a pen when we go on road trips. But I have not had a cigarette, have I? Nope. Any crutch or debilitating “feeling” is going to leave its mark on you. That is just life. You just try to live with it.

At work, when it gets busy, we all talk about “Once more….into the breach! AAAAHHHHGGGGGHHHH!!!!”  This is exactly how I feel with ever sunset. I don’t see it getting any better any time soon. Now that I have put this out there, I think I should take it like that. Face my fear. Fight it. Run into the breach, rifle above your head, screaming….into the night.

Out run the darkness. Face your fear. Grab it and make it yours.

That is the ONLY WAY!

What do YOU think?

Day 27: OMG! Get off my foot!

A few years ago, my sister and I were riding down the road during the busy summer season and we were stuck in traffic. Living at a resort area, you see a lot of strange things and people doing stupid stuff when the heat has melted your brain and all you can do is be outside and melt.

On this particularly scorching day, while stuck in traffic, we noted a large group of people in a parking lot of a nearby hotel. People were hanging out, drinking, talking, and just all around chilling. One car pulled into the parking lot/driveway of the motel. It had a moon roof, which was open, and some guy got out of the car. He was really tall and could easily look into the moon roof of the car like a child looking into grandmas mixing bowl during cookie making time. He got out of the car and had to of been about 6'15" (Exaggeration but you get the point.) He also had the worlds largest feet. Well, not Guinness book of world records large but they were pretty damn big.

This guy is saying hello to his friends and acknowledging every one then something happens. It was almost like in slow motion. Later on, my sister said, "You know, it was like that scene was played out just for us. **wipes away laughter tears because, even to this day, we laugh hysterically at what happened.**" Nothing could have prepared random guy or us for what happened. It was only moments but it seemed like minutes as it appeared to happen in slow motion. Mr. Tall Guy turns around. He reached into the moon roof of the car and lifted out a six pack of some frosty beverage. As soon as it was approximately Eight (8) inches above the car, the driver begins to roll the car slowly forward.

Did I tell you the guy had big feet? Correction, did I tell you he had HUGE feet? Yea. He did. No, I mean he really did! Of course, in the next few minutes, one of is feet was about to be a little longer...

The back wheel of the car rolled on top of Mr. Tall Guys foot. He felt it. He felt it in a BIG way. There were still about 4 people in the car. As soon as the car rolled onto his foot. He just wrapped himself around the car in a loving hug. He gently set the six pack down atop the car, and hugged the car. A great big tall person hug. He tapped the top of the car with his hand which was previously holding the six pack and he laid his head lovingly on the top of the car. Instantly, the inside of the car begins to flutter as everyone inside is trying to get the driver to put the car into reverse and roll back just a bit. I am not sure how long it took but the car rolled back and the guy let go of his loving embrace. Suprisingly, he was not mad and  he grabbed his beverages and walked away. The car went in the opposite direction.

From our vantage point, we sat there for a moment, jaws agape and then burst out into hysterical laughter. I don't recall noticing if anyone else around seen what happened. The ebb and flow of the busy area seemed to continue without seeing the plight of Mr. Tall Guy and his foot. I remember thinking....white car....white shoes.....not so white shoes now. Ouch. Thinking about it now, yea, that incident happened just for us to be silly girls and have something to randomly giggle at for no good reason.

I must say that laughing at someone else's pain is not a behavior that is condoned nor would I endorse doing such. However, people have wonderful reactions to things sometimes. We all know I am as graceful as they come, tripping over air, falling off the sidewalk when there is nothing to fall off of or into, bouncing my face off the window sil while jumping on the bed. (Ghosts! That's it! They be trippin!) While I may hurt when I trip over some random patch of nothingness (It was just thick there for a second!) I will appreciate that you laughed at me. Know why? Because it was probably funny as heck!  I looked like a tard, didn't I? Ayup.

We all have to take these little gifts from the invsibles and laugh. That is what life is all about. The happies.

What do YOU think?

Day 26: I just love balls! (Another WP post.)

I don’t know what YOU were thinking when you seen the title to this. Get your mind out of the gutter, dirty reader! (Or take a shower if you really ARE dirty!) This has nothing to do with what you think it does. Nor is this some cutesy doggie post where the dog is bouncing around the room playing with his toys in rapturous abandon. No, no. Something different entirely.
I am not one to take random pictures of people and post them on the interwebs, however, this one was something I could not resist. No, I am by no means putting this person in a bad light nor is it some funny thing where someone is wearing jeans that are obviously not theirs. Its not some crazy thing where they are twisted up on a contortionist ball either. Its just a dude….holding some balls. (Wow that sounds….wrong too. Ah, but no, I DIDN’T digress. Not yet.)
While at one of the kiddos basketball games last night, I happened to look across the gym and see some random guy standing by the game room. The only reason I noticed him is because only certain people stand in that area during the basketball games and he certainly had not been one to be in that area in the past. At first, he was just kinda hanging out…talking to the youth sports management staff and other people in the vicinity. Then he had a basket ball in his hand. No big deal. He was right next to the ball rack anyway. A few minutes later, I looked up and he was holding two basketballs. Hrmmm. Back to the game. Cheer….yell…cheer….yay! score!….yell.  Look at the “ball guy.” Um…He is hugging FOUR basketballs! I lean over to my Cal and tell him. “Look at that guy! He’s so happy. It’s like he is saying ‘I just love balls!'”  Now this is a win for me because my skewed view of the world and the acknowledgement of such made my Cal laugh at me. YAY! I WIN! (As the Number 7 in our life would say. Ah, but I digress. All you need to know is YESSSS!!!! I WIN!)  I did not have my phone because the real Number 7 was playing a game on it and I asked Cal to take a pic so I could write about it. He didn’t feed into that insanity. The great thing was, at that very moment, the Number 7 lost a life in his game and I told him “Lemme see that for a second..**Micaa snatches the phone leaving the game player looking at her like WTHeckles!?**   CLICK! Yes, I got my picture and here it is in all the glory of someone who loves balls as much as the ball guy. Feel the love peeps. Feel the love!

I just love balls!

Day 25: When killing off a character

When I started writing my current book, I had no intention of killing someone off. Nor did I have the intent for it to take the turn that it has. I have found it difficult to convey the feelings and emotions my characters are experiencing but the story must come out like it has. It is not that I am having difficulty coming up with the circumstance, but I scare myself when the words begin to flow. I assume that is how it is supposed to be. If the author can invoke emotion by simply rereading and tweaking the paragraph, the first successful step has happened. Or is it something else?

I find that I have pieced this together haphazardly and can only hope that the finished product (for this part of the story at least) conveys the amount of terror and fear that I intend to convey. I am by no means a horror writer but I have found that I hate this character just as much as the character that is committing this brutal act. I am not saying the person doing the killing is right or wrong or evil or not. I will leave that for you to decide when the time comes to publish. I just scare myself sometimes. It also has become an all encompassing thing in my thoughts. I dream about it, I eat it, I breathe it, it is in the far reaches of my brain and I feel I can only get over it when it is finally on paper.

Therein lies the difficulty.

I am by no means a monster but I have created one. It bothers me. Just like seeing someone hurt someone else in real life or on a Facebook video bothers me. It keeps me awake at night and I just know if I can get this damn thing done, I will be ok. It would be different were it someone real I could base my vengeance on and do what the general public believes authors to do. You know, piss me off and I will kill you in my book. That is a terrible connection. What if the writer has always been one who writes in the horror genre? I have a hard time believing that writers like Stephen King and (in other genres) Dean Koontz or eve Louis L'amour had that many people piss them off in their lives. Come on people, be realistic (hehe, get it? Realistic in a fiction author's mind? Ah, I digress.)

This is the first time I have tried my hand at a fiction novel. I have done short stories and paragraphs before and this thing is making me sick. Not in the sense that I hate it but in the sense that if I don't get it out of me soon, I will explode! I used to wonder why people took so long to write books. Some authors will put into their forewords or introductions how long they worked at a piece. I now understand.

Just. Wow. I get it peeps. I get it. For those of you who write, what is the most difficult piece you have ever done?

What do YOU think?

Day 24: I am not an editor

When writing a paper in high school or college, they always tell you to go back over it and check for grammar mistakes, miss-spellings, and other things that just do not "flow."  In this modern age, spell check has made us lazy. Well, most of us anyway. I have never been one to "edit" my work. Aside from my books and novels, I rarely will edit anything. Since I have been blogging more, I do make a half-hearted effort to go back over and speed glance over my post before hitting publish. This is a vain attempt to find anything that may look like it is miss-spelled. I will say that my phone, from which I do most of my blogging from, does not have a spell check feature. Sometimes when I re-blog my own work between blogging sites, I see how horrible and stupid I must look. Those squiggly little red lines are every where. It makes me believe that is why this particular post did not get much attention on the other site or vice versa.

Were it not for the lovely folks that created Word or similar programs, I believe the half hearted effort I put into editing would probably be a little more sincere. Maybe....  Even in high school, I was not one for going back over my papers. I made C's and B's and once entering college, I could fork out a good B+ paper in a matter of minutes. (Speaking of which, I have one I need to be working on. See, even as a student, writers procrastinate the important stuff. Ugh....such it is that we are. But I digress.) I am certain if I honed my editing skills, I could be a straight A student and my stuff will likely flow a little better.

But computers have made me lazy. This is why I write my novels by hand first, then into my word doc and then I "edit" for pure sake of editing. I feel that editing is like hearing your own voice on a recording. For most people, it is uncomfortable to hear yourself talk from anothers perspective. I hate the sound of my own voice. I will put a vacation message on my phone and people can believe I am on vacation for years simply because I refuse to change it. My own voice coming from the speaker of my phone. Ick.

What do YOU think?

Day 23: Dad's Little Red Car (Originally posted on WP)

Dad had a little red Fiat. Fiats are notorious for being little cars. If you think about it, have you ever seen one all grown up? Yeah me either. I remember he had this car for many years and It certainly seen many miles of this country. This is also the same car which was the instrument of my near death at the ripe old age of seven. Let me digress from my story by retelling this little snippet of my life. (Hrmmm, now that I think about it, from ages six to nine, I was a pretty persnickety child. But I digress from the digression. Haha, now THAT is talent!) Car…death…seven…ok. I used to spend time with Daddy by playing nearby and bombarding him with questions about what he was doing while working on the cars. He fiddled around with them a lot. I believe he was good at it because I don’t have a recollection of taking a car to a shop for repair when I was a kid.

One sunny afternoon, Daddy was working on something kn the interior of the car. This was different than sticking your face under the hood or sliding on a box under the car with your back. Curious, I hopped into the passenger side of the car and started berating him with questions. (After I gave birth to uor daughter, he told me it helped him figure out tough fixes sometimes. :)  ) This conversation is very clear to me because it was the day I received my education about the meaning of the letters next to the gear shift. Park, drive, neutral, reverse, one, two. Got it. Daddy warned me to neverr messwith the gear shift; even when the car was off because it could roll away.  Ok. Got it.

Remember I told you I was seven? Remember I said I was curious? Remember I was persnickety? Yea. One could say I was an “amazing child.” Keep this in mind as I lay out the scene…

We lived in a Seattle neighborhood in the community of White Center. We didn't have a traditional driveway. Instead, we had a gravel/dirt area that ran along the street at the front of the house. Sort of like a parking lot, you would just pull onto the dirt and park the car. There was a wooden fence that divided the parking area from the front yard. Our house was two upper stories that could be seen from the street. There was a slight opening that went from the street to the house. What you could NOT see from the street was a sheer drop to the back yard. If you were to look at the house from the alley, it would be a three story house as there was a full apartment in the basement. There was a wall on each side of the house which had stairs leading up to the front yard.

Back to the front yard. Looking from the street, Daddy parked his Fiat on the right side, perfectly in between two bushes that were on peering over the fence from the front yard. This means there was nothing but grass and open space to the wall that dropped to the back yard. Note seven year old Micaa playing nearby. (Ya that's me.)

I decided to hop into the drivers side of the car and pretend to drive. After about ten minutes, I looked down at the gear shift. Surely the car wont move while it is off. Daddy just told me that so I would not mess with it whole he was working on it. I reached out and pushed the button and pulled the gear shift back. It stopped in neutral. What happened next seemed like five minutes but it was more like five seconds.

The car began to roll. It crashed through the fence. Just flat ran it over like knocking over a domino. It quickly rolled across the yard toward the wall leading to the back yard. At first I panicked. I just watched the crab apple bush get bigger as I rolled toward it faster and faster. I snapped back into reality, looked down, and popped the gear shift into park. The Fiat came to a jarring halt. The wheels inches from the edge of the wall. The fiat was a millisecond from dropping 12 feet into the back yard with a seven year old driver.

Whew! I got out of the car, looked around, making sure no one seen me and went to my room to play. Later, when asked it I knew what happened, I pretended I didn't know. The car was put back and the fence taken away. (Breathe!!! Mini digression over. But yea, not so mini.)

Dad had this Fiat for many years. When he could not fix it anymore, he traded it in for something else. It was still in “driveable” condition. He drive up to the lot and swapped cars. A few days later, the owner of the car lot angrily called the house and gave my mother what for. Now Daddy is a smart man. He told my mother not to worry about it. He went on to tell her that “I proved to hom tha Fiat was driveable. He never asked me if the bottom was going to fall out of it 45 minutes after I left the lot. Its his problem now. The papers say as-is, Pat.” He then flashed that smile and did that Douglas giggle only a Barrett can do.

That was the end of the Fiat.

What do YOU think?

Day 22: Little late is better than big never

Yea, I have fallen behind on this. I was hoping to at least get to March or so before I became slack. I have such great ideas and wonderful intentions. However, my mind as of late refuses to let the follow through get up and go to work. I seriously hate feeling like this. I DID write something on the 23rd and I will post that here in a bit and HOPE that I have inspiration to write here again for today before the gumption leaves me.

I apologize dear reader, I have let you down. Booo.

Day 21: Reality Smurf Hunting

The elusive Teen Smurf lives amongst the trees in the Miles house forest. She grumpily migrates from Meadow Room to the Kitchen Watering Hole when she is in search of food. It is custom for this creature to play a game by which she bounces a sphere upon the ground and amazingly tosses it into the hoop tree. The hoop tree is outside of her natural habitat in an open meadow called Street. While Street is very dangerous, Teen Smurf takes great care not to bother other creatures visiting at the same time. Munchkins, trolls, behemoth v6 creatures and the random wheeled mice all share Street Meadow with the Teen Smurf.

Let it be known we have been observing this creature for almost seven years. When she is aware of our presence, she growls and even snaps. Similar to other curous creatures, she will, on occasion, come close and be nice. However, it never lasts long. I have only observed one such creature with these characteristics. I am certain there will not be another.

Here we see Teen Smurf observing us through the forest near the Kitchen Watering hole. Amazing.

What do YOU think?

Day 20: Alarming. Isn't it?

About a month ago, my husband happily got a new phone. It is always fun to explore the phone setting and see what ring tones and alarms it has. While you can download ringtones and noises to suit your personality, getting a new phone is "like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are gonna get." (credit Forrest Gump, of course!) This particular phone makes me want to shoot the world when the alarm goes off. 

Let us take a step back for a moment. I used to have a lovely "Good morning! Bing Bing Bing. Good morning!" song on my phone. While it was grating, it was not terribly annoying or shake you out of sleep type of thing. It was just bad enough to make you want to get up and at least move around. That is the point of an alarm clock isn't it? To get your azz out of bed to start the day? My Cal hated that alarm. I believe I now know why.

In anticipation of doing the sheeple thing, by that I mean, waking up on time or even a little earlier so I do not have to rush to get everyone ready for the day, I set two alarms. One that is not so annoying and then the real one thirtyish minutes later. It is during that second alarm that my Cal's phone goes off. That alarm of his sounds like some catholic boys choir has suddenly caught the holy ghost and they are really flippin happy about it. It also sounds like they are conveying to you that the train is awake and is chugging happily away down the track, in open space, at full speed. "Goooood morning! Good morning! OH. OH! Good morning! Good good good morning! OH! OH!"  It starts right up in the middle of the happy crappy and will make you stand straight up from a horizontal position. I sleep pretty hard sometimes but that damn alarm does it every stinking time. To make matters worse, Now that I have been jarred awake, I look at my dear soul mate and he is just laying there....snoring away....like nothing has happened. 

That makes me want to shoot up the moon too. (Speaking of that, how in the heck can I do that. Really. The moon is made of cheese and full of holes already. Wait. Maybe someone already did that for me long ago. Poo, taking the fun out of being grumpy absolute first thing in the morning. Grr. Grumpier already and coffee is not even made. I digress.) I am already standing up and now have to look for his phone because he obviously is NOT going to turn that damn choir off. I got it babe. I find it. After much consideration, I turn it off. The phone lives to see yet another day. 

In the fashion of my peeples, I will do the same again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. At least every day after that until the phone dies a mysterious death. We won't talk about that right now. It will never accidentally die on purpose maliciously, will it? Never.

Off to get coffee. At least it is quiet. (Oooh! Imagine if I made coffee with red bull instead of water? THEN turn that alarm on. I bet I could SEE the choir then!  **Micaa shudders**)

What do YOU think?

Day 19: There are unsaid consequences behind the thought that counts.

There are organizations out there who help people get ahead in life. These organizations (assuming they are legit) have good intentions and mean no harm if something bad results from their assistance. Often, it is not noticed for years that the thought of helping someone could have ramifications. I am no exception. There have been times when I have needed help and have been offered it. Humbly I took the offer.

In a specific example, I am referring to where I live. My family had the opportunity of a life time after working several years with an organization. We were able to have a home built and purchase it outside of conventional methods. While it is all legit, I am constantly reminded that I am in an area which is not the best for me or my family. To begin with, the "development" was built against a lot of opposition from the neighbors. There was a large chunk of land that the community services office purchased on the cheap and were allowed to build about 8 houses on that land. The neighborhood the land was situated in is an older neighborhood and the majority of the people living in the neighborhood have been there their whole lives or were raised nearby. It has roots in American History and the people here have that lovely southern charm. When I say charm, you should hear black undertones of sarcasm. Against their protest, the new homes were built and we were placed in one of them. 

Don't get me wrong, I love our home and it is beautiful to me. While it is not perfect in anyway, it belongs to us and we have no plans of going anywhere. (However if we become filthy rich by accident, there will be a vacancy here. I am sure of it.) We have been here nearly ten years. 

There is always opposition or some type of drama here and it all amounts to jealousy and hate which can only be found in the deep south. To begin with, I am nearly the only white permanent resident here. This makes things difficult for me. Not because I am the minority but I am obviously "not from around here." I think that the existing neighborhood has accepted the fact that we are here to stay but our children are constantly picked on and whenever I have to walk past the end of my street for something, a cop will ask me what in the hell I think I am doing walking in this neighborhood. I can even go and pick up something from the grocery store or a child from a game and the  minute I pass a patrol car, I am followed because I am "out of place." They must think I am up to no good. It doesn't help much that there is a high homeless rate in this city and there is a severe problem with prostitution and drugs. Hello officers! Not EVERYONE fits those categories. 

Once, in broad daylight, I was walking to the bus stop to get our children off the bus and a cop stopped in the middle of the road and asked me what was I doing there. I told him I lived a few houses over and he told me to show him some ID and that, it was not good to provide false information to the police. Yea, I flipped him my ID. He was embarrassed. I told him that it is not a good idea to "assume" things about people. Especially when they don't fit the description of the "typical out of place white female in this neighborhood." When he gave me my ID back, I just walked away. He had no other reason to keep me there and the bus was already at the stop. I gathered the children and walked back home. 

There are also people who are around who have ill intent to ANYONE that is not an ingrown stitch in the fabric of this community. They like to start trouble. They play cruel tricks on people because they are jealous of what others have and dislike outsiders. These people cause problems and laugh when their efforts result in fights and arguments and disagreements. One such trick was played on me not long after we moved here. While it is something I would rather not talk about, to this day, I still get blamed for something I had no part of. 

If there was a way I could prove my innocence, I would do it in a minute. Even if it meant giving up this house and going back to renting for the rest of my life. 

Like I said before. I like my home. I like my yard. It is nice and it belongs to my family. However, some neighbors just need to quietly go away or (in a different life) we could just chisel out our hunk of land here and put it down somewhere else far, far away from here. I try to keep to myself and I do everything in my power to keep people out of my life. Too much drama. This place around here simply will not let things be. They want to cause my family and my marriage to fall and that is why they cause trouble. 

Jealousy. 

The result of helping me has made my life a living nightmare. They should have thought about what they were doing before they put me in this spot. There were other spots but apparently, it was the thought of "you are blessed to have your own home! You should be grateful!" Whatever. 

Yeah, no digression here. No funny here. I am sorry. Bad day. 

Also, I hit draft instead of publish so this is a day late. There will be another post later. 

What do YOU think?

Day 18: Once More, Into the Breach

After four decades on Terra Earth, I have fome to an understanding. Every world has a separate set of fears for each soul which comes to visit. The visitors never know what the fears are and have to figure it out on their own. This is a higher level of consciousness that many never achieve.

I came to this understanding at sometime during the last twenty-four hours.

Stephen King tried to convey this level of consciousness in a series that was published over a span of thirty years. In the Dark Tower, Roland Deschain (The Gunslinger,) comes to face his own fears while an inhabitant of Middle Earth on his Journey along the Beam to the Dark Tower. Essentially it is similar to my plight. Every day, he goes...into the breach.

For me the breach is dark. I am afraid of the dark. Even as a child, the dark was not one of my favorite times. I tjought oily t strange because I loved to star gaze. Well, maybe that is not so strange because the stars illuminate the dark.

Every night, I prepare myself. I have no choice...to enter into the darkness. It's not so bad when I am dog tired. I just turn the light off, run to the bed and pass out. Nothing to face, fight or fear. Its different when I am alone with my thoughts.

The voices are always long gone when it becomes trench warfare.  They desert me and retire to their havens in the library of my mind. I am. Utterly. Alone. This may be ok for a Squidward or such but I am not such a creature. Besides, he had light when he was alone.

While in the warzone, this dark, my brain becomes clever and cruel. I begin to think about things that are horrible and destructive. The digressions are NEVER announced. They are all random and seldom humorous. While the thoughts and images which race through my mind, they never stop for conversation and it is never pleasant. The chaos make me tired and hurts my being. It. Never. Stops. There is no one to ask: what do YOU think?

Yes, some of my ideas come to me during these moments but many of them (ironically) never see light because I am too tired, petrified, angry, and exhausted to get up and jot them down. Even the thought of recording the random blurb on my phone feels like work. I just...can't.

Maybe this is why Mr. King sleeps with I the light on. I dont know. It is now night here. As each day passes, I find it harder every time the sun sets. My brain, laughing, tell me...its time...

Once again. I prepare to go into the breach.

**Micaa grabs her rifle. Holds it above her head and runs, screaming, into the night. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!** In th distance the reader hears-faintly:.
Ratta tatta tatta tatta.....echoes. The sound of rapid gunfire.

Face your fears. Do not let them have power over you.

What do YOU think?

Day 17: I am a snitch, they are after me

This appeared on my blog just yesterday. It is part 2 of my stove saga.

Enjoy!

Remember the other day I told you the stove attacked me?  Apparently I was supposed to keep my mouth shut about it. Yes, I blabbed it to the world. I told everyone the stove committed a battery and now it was soon to go to stove prison for all eternity as it is being replaced. My bad. I was soo frazzled by what it did, when it was “arrested” I failed to heed the warning and keep my mouth shut.

From inside…

It put a hit out on me.

Fast forward to today. We had to replace a TV in our daughters room because the picture would fade out for sometimes 20 minutes at a time. She had the temporary replacement for a few days. She finally got around to switching them out. I suggested to her younger brother that we take it apart.  So we take into his room and commence the dissection. Now let me blatantly digress (but not really) it did not occur to me to grab the rubber gloves before this and I am certainly glad this was a teachable moment for the whole house. (We will get to that.) We had been at it for about thirty minutes. We had the back off. Some of the connectors were off. We had a happy mess. I sent number eleven to bother Cal for something and I seen something. I said “Ooooh! What is under here?”

Without gloves, being grounded, AND with my rings on, I put two fingers and a thumb on each side of the circle and attempted to peel the circle back. (If you don’t already know…the wire was connected to a capacitor that was unplugged from electricity less than thirty minutes prior. The circle was made of rubber and whatever the hell was under that circle was connected to a cathode ray tube. A.k.a. the CRT. The CRT is a big ass light bulb in older TVs. Digression over. You have been educated.) What happened next can only be fully understood if you have done it before.

zzzzzZZZZAAAAAPPPPPFFFFF!!!! **SHRIEK!!!!!!** — INSERT ALL THIIRTEEN FORBIDDEN SPONGEBOB WORDS, LOUDLY, HERE —

That thing grabbed me and told me things. In all of point zero zero one seconds, the Television told me it was from the depths of hell and it was giving be a stern warning that the stove didn’t deserve what I had done. It was there to teach me a lesson. Courtesy of the stove.

“Ya hear? I am going to run circles through your arms so fast it will flippin hurt then your feet will go numb. You will feel my wrath for a long, long time blitch!”

And just like that. It was done.

Magically appearing stage right…every child in the house morphs into the doorway. From nowhere. I finally came back to reality and looked up at them. I expected Cal to be there too. However, in his classic style, he comes after I come to my senses to dance circles around me. :-D ” I know what you did! You should have known better!” (Of course you sing this in a childs teasing voice and only imagine it because he is more somber than that but its fun to pretend. Hehe.) No. Really he comes to the room a few minutes later after each child, one by one, goes to tell him “Mommy did something!” To which the reply is “I know but what?” He comes in, puts his hands on his hips and looks at me with that ‘look at you’ look and just shakes his head. (Ya, when I do dumb chit, all you have to do is enter the room and come to the RIGHT conclusion.)

I can say this: Lesson learned. Nah…

I sit for a second. Take this picture and ask the grumpy teenager to get me the box of rubber gloves. I was not going to let this thing get the best of me. Uh…I should have had these to start with?

Yeah. I got other things taken off but was overly cautious and quit about ten minutes after this. Lesson learned…a little bit.  Number eleven learned what NOT to do. Graphically and I  your face..sort of.

Cal later told me I needed to quit before I am the star of the next Final Destination movie. He may be right.

What do YOU think?

Day 16: The Stove committed a battery

I know this is a day late. My phone was not allowing me to post. I wanted to post 2 stories that were a part of my main blog because I learned a hard lesson here.

Enjoy!

It is no question that our stove has a serious attitude problem. Over the years we have had to increase the oven temp to get it to the right cooking temperature. Example… if the required temp should be 400° we would have to set the oven to 425° just for it to work.  Other than that, it was ok.

Until today.

Well…the main burner was having an issue all of a sudden and that was made us begin the replacement discussion. I went to make spaghetti today and the burner had an attitude. It simply refused to come on. With most analog gizmos powered by electricity you can shake the thing and it will work. That is exactly what I did. I said “Burner, gadget, gizmo, thing, that would never hurt me because it has 220 volts of breaker behind it…TURN DAFUQ ONNNNN!!!”

Oh. It came on. It even got hot. In my expert electrical opinion, you know because a doctorate in law qualifies me to be an electician, it did not get hot enough. I poked it with a fork. You know…wiggle…wiggle…wiggled it. (You know you just whistled. Yeah because you can’t help it. All OCD and stuff. But I digress.) I swear what happened next was seen all the way to the front door. No exaggeration! The kitchen is at the back door and the stoves’ teenagery attitude was seen at the front door. That stove made a demon zapping sound and shot a spark that I was later told went to the dining room. Now…when things happen, especially bad things, I have been known to spit rainbows out of my face and said rainbows are covered with explicit lyrics stickers. This time was no exception. Both the boys heard me. (BAD Momma M!) All I could do was then stand there. Staring at the stove, all I could think was that the stove had committed a battery against me. That zap really flippin hurt!

Enter Numer 7 stage right. “Mom? Are you OK? WHAT HAPPENED? I seen a spark come out of the door.” This lovely being was sitting at the dining room table.

Once I got my bearings, I decided to clear off the stovetop and lift the “hood.” For those of you who don’t know, on an electrical stove, the top lifts to allow access to clean under the drip pans as well as to maintain or replace the electrical components of the burners. Before lifting the hood, I tried to unplug the burner. That sommablitch was not coming out. At first, I pulled like I was scared. I was scared. While the burner was off, I was convinced it was gonna bite me again.

After I grew my balls back, I said to heck with this and yanked the dang thing out. If it ws not broken before, it surely is now.

It was bent all to heck and fried. I then lifted the hood and found the electrical component the burner plugs into. Wow. Just. Wow. Thw whole side of the thing was just…gone. it was fried crispy and gone.

Well. The stove committed a battery and I retaliated. Guilty as charged. Sadly, the stove is set to go to stove prison very soon. Poor stove. Should have taken anger management.

I think we are going with gas the next stove. You know, cuz playing with fire is so much fun! (Yes, I kid. Don’t be so serious!)

What do YOU think?

Day 15: Why stifle the creativity?

This morning, I woke up to a series of stifling posts from one of my favorite blogs. "Harsh Reality" is one of the most out there and real blogs I read. That is why I enjoy reading it so much.

Apparently the host of the site wants to limit the creative and uplifting abilities of this blogger simply for trying to encourage those of us who are starting out. They reblog interesting posts, have guest bloggers, as well as provide tips and tricks to be a successful blogger. Further, they post random things that are quite interesting reads. They stifled ALL of that.

Just when I was beginning to like that particular site and was considering using them to host my own domain. Should I think again? The whole purpose of a blogging site or having your own domain is to get your stuff out there digitally. It is freedom of expression and a new avenue for writers to be heard outside of the markets they sell in. Many people are not even book writers. They flourish on the blogger "genre."

By that site stifling what this author was doing for others (including me) it has made for a bad experience and I now am questioning keeping that other blog going. I have put a lot of time into that one and I love the way it has evolved.

Stop stifling the creativity folks. There is not much left. Some of us refuse to be sheeples!

What do YOU think?

Day 14: Benedict Cumberbatch Called me....WHAT?

One of the best bloggers ever (in my opinion) finds some of the funniest stuff on the web. In a recent post, she shared a link to a name generator. Specifically the " http://benedictcumberbatchgenerator.tumblr.com/ " one.

I am a sucker for a good laugh and decided to give it a go. Most of the names generated were pretty silly. But then this happened:

What did THAT just call me?

**Turns and looks at her butt.**  Micaa is no blubberbutt! Tha Heck! (as the grumpy teenager would say.) As far as the rest of that, ummmm. Yea. Not gonna comment on that. Where do people find these things?  In hindsight, it was pretty funny. 

Ayup. This is a short post. Because......reasons!  Feel free to post some of the names you received from this lovely thing. We all need a good laugh sometimes. 

What do YOU think?

Day 13: YOU can die in there! The house is screaming!

I added a comment to my post yesterday. It made me think, yea, lets put that on for tomorrow! (This post a day thing is working out well so far, ask me in February and we will see. Haha! Digression first thing! Boy, I am on the ball or I just have to pee really bad. Who knows.)

You all heard the smoke alarm from the crispy bacon. It happens. Every single person who cooks on a regular basis has burnt SOMETHING in their lives. Whether intentional or you fell asleep on it, people are human and chit happens. Get over it. However, should you be a cooking goddess (or god) then maybe not. I just do not believe there is such a thing. Even the Nazi Chef on TV burnt at least one thing before he became a professional screecher. Back to the bacon.....Yes....bacon. The smoke alarm goes off. Yes, we are safety freaks here and there are about a million of them in the house and they are wired into the house so even if one goes off the ENTIRE HOUSE can be heard for miles around. (I can tell you that every single person on my street has done this too. Cal, the kiddos and I will be outside playing ball and you will HEAR it. We just look at each other and go "Well, so and so is cookin and they flucked up! Well, not the kiddos but you get it. I digress......again.)

Wow, it is taking me a hot minute to get to the point huh? Glad you are still with me. :)

So, off the kiddos and I run to fan the smoke alarms and get them to shut up. I felt that it was not moving along fast enough and I went to the door to use it to fan some of the smoke out of the house. As soon as I open the door, our elder dog shoots out to the porch and turns to look at me. I nearly smashed her with the door. I was not looking and I was like O.o....WTH!?!?  I look on the porch and she is standing about three (3) feet out looking at me.

Her eyes spoke to me.

"Hun, YOU can stay in there all you want! The house is SCREAMING! You always tell the little people that if the house screams to run outside. Well, I was first and here I am. I am NOT going to die in the screaming house. However, I have one query....WAT DAFUQ DO YOU WANT ME TO DO NOW THAT I AM OUT HERE!"

I stood there and took that in for a moment. I may even have been mesmerized. What brought me back to reality was when the smoke alarms stopped. I don't think I even waved the door after elder dog shot out to the porch. My next thought was "Where is the younger dog?"  Of course her scary tail was in the cage like WTH!!!  Eyes bulging out. I don't think she has ever heard the smoke alarms before. Ayup. She'll be the first dumb blonde to die in a scary movie. Only...she is not blonde, she is brown and even has a five o'clock shadow. Hrmmmm....

After the house stopped screaming, elder dog was like "Ok, Its all over, lemme in!" Then she continued to lay down in her spot like nothing happened.

Silly dog.

What do YOU think?

Day 12: DAMMIT! I am workin out here!

It is said that one can begin to relax by watching their pet fish swim about in the fish tank. Unfortunately we have a bully gold fish and he is the only one left. He stressed the other fish out by chasing them around until they died. It is fitting. When we first started this tank, each person in the house named a fish. This lovely beast we have was named after a video game. His name is "Saint" after Saints Row III. Yeah, the uber gamer of the house named him. Lime I said, perfect fit for a bully fish.

Recently, Saint got too big for the half gallon tank we were keeping. He wa suffocating. Besides, it was time for a new tank anyway (I digress.) At first,  I am not sure saint knew what to do with three full gallons of water k n which to stretch his fins and he didn't eat for three days. He would hide behind the new little rock decoration in the tank for hours. The good news is that Saint got over his fear of the new environment. He must be training for the Olympics or something. Every once in a while,  he will swim circles in the tank. I know what you are thinking...how can you swim circles in a square tank?? HAHA!! Fooled you! It is a flippin circular tank. :P

The time I decided to pull out the camera and tape Saint's workout, he had already been swimming in circles for about three minutes. Someone was in the kitchen cooking bacon. They wanted it crispy and boy did it get there. In the middle of Saint working up his fishy sweat, the smoke alarm went off. In the video I attached, you will see him stop at the left of the tank and look at the teenager like "DAMMIT I AM WORKIN OUT HERE!!!" (Note: you have to say that with a thick New York mafia accent or it just won't seem right.) It was perfect timing I was recording the "workout" with the intent to write a different piece but this morphed out of it.

After he got an attitude with the teenager about interrupting his workout with the smoke alarm, he was like "Aw fluck it." Then he went back to working it out.

Only in this house. ** Shakes head.**

What do YOU think?

Update: This was inadvertently saved as a draft yesterday instead of published. It was a technical flaw with the app not wanting to attach the video. Enjoy!

Day 11: Writers constipation.

I have been working on the latest novel for almost 2 years no. I know sometimes it takes time but I am ready to move on to the next story. I assume that is why I am hyperfocused on blogging. That is ok because it allows me to write about a variety of things and take a break from the sick and twisted minds of Jake and Anastasia. I must say that their story has taken a turn down a different road and it has evolved into something entirely different. I am sad because a lot of the stuff I jotted down in the beginning will not be used and it was pretty brilliant. (In my mind it was, anyway. Not that it would see the light of day in my lifetime.) However, I am happy because it takes the story from something mainstream to a darker topic. I have always wanted to try my hand at the (OMG! Exactly why I am writing this! I will be on a roll and then when I get to a certain point, I space out and stare at the blinking cursor for about 5 minutes. You know, sort of like walking into a room and trying in vain to understand why in the HELL you came in there to start with! I JUST did that chit. RIGHT NOW!  Ah, I digress....I remember now.  Haha, Yes, my brain walked back to where it came from and figured it out, we walk back into that room for the thing.) darker aspect of the human way of thinking and I believe this is the way it is going now. Ya, I know, Not giving you much am I?

Right now, the few things that people know about this writing is that the main characters are Jake and Anastasia, I am currently writing about killing someone off, AND I believe I have my book cover. I have some tweaking to do on the cover but when it is done, I think the daughter will kill me. Ironic huh?

I am at an impasse at the moment. Not that my family knows the habit yet, but when I am carrying around whatever it is I am writing my current story on nearly everywhere. There is something that needs to be written but it is..stuck. Sort of like being constipates. Only, for a writer, it hurts much more than the physical discomforts of not being able to take a crap. I take my writing pad into every single room in the event that inspiration strikes or I get that moment of....freeflowingthoughtwhichmy writinginstrumentcannotkeepupwith.  It has yet to happen. I cannot sleep right, (right....not well...different things here) I cannot eat without thinking about how to put it into words and I cannot do anything without that blue tablet calling to me. Its almost obsessive.

So here I sit. Waiting. Waiting for the plumbing to get backed up so I can get it all out and Oh. My. Gawd. Will it feel good. This book has been a long time coming and I have promised a 2015 publish date since I did not put one out last year. I hope this is one that will be liked and I hope to overcome a lot of the errors I made with my first book. For now, the tablet sits upon my desk taunting me. Asking me to add the....OOPS! I almost gave it away! BAD Micaa!

Until then, what kinds of things do you do to relieve the writers constipation (or for those of you politically correct lovelies-writers block.?)

What do YOU think?

Day 10: I Wish the Rumbling Would Stop

Stop....(echoes)...stop......stop....stop....https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E2DNT5bsrnY

(You only need to go to 2:52 to get the point here. However, a true Floyd fan will watch the whole dang thing. Ya, I did, even when I went to copy the hyperlink I watched it. There you go, digression right off the bat. Haha. Beat THAT!)

I feel like that. A LOT. Lately. I don't know where it is coming from. Just....STOP. I know part of it is that I am tired of feeling fat. I know I could do more to fix things but that means I would have to NOT be lazy and I am not sure if I feel up to that just yet. Heck, I just got back in touch with my own self and am getting used to cleaning every day again. One thing that I am proud of is that I am not taking 5 days to get laundry done anymore. Baby steps. I now am at the point where I have to force myself to clean something every day. That is not always an easy feat. I just become overwhelmed and say "fluck it." I hate being this tired of life.

The above is not what I am talking about here. I admitted before that I am a flavor hog. However, I have grown past that and now I just eat for the sake of eating. I eat because my body needs it. I just wish there was a way I could drastically cut back and not feel like crapola or hungry all the time. Maybe I should just accept my fate and go with it but I am certain I would lose the love of my life if I were to let go and get any bigger than I already am. So it places me at a crossroads. To top it off, when life gets me down, the only thing that helps is eating because I don't talk it out like the rest of the world does. Drinking only makes me feel worse and I am not a personality type to turn to drugs. What does that leave? A plate.

I hate it. Hating it drives me insane! That and the roller coaster of emotions that come with it. Some days it gets better and I look in the mirror and almost like what I see. I feel ok. I just wish it would last longer.

What do YOU think?

Day 9: Mommas Dont let your babies grow up to be cowboys (Waylon Jennings)

This is for all the ladies out there who are lucky enough to have a man bring you to meet his family. On many levels, this is a big step. It is one for the relationship, your love, and you. It is an important step in the relationship because it is an indicator that things are becoming serious and this is more than just some fly by night romance. It is a big step for your love because he thinks enough of you to 1. Expose you to his family and the eccentricities and 2. It opens the relationship and you to scrutiny. It means he is prepared to answer for all the flaws found in the relationship and your personalitym it is inevitable, he will be drilled and asked a mollion questions the next time he talks to the parental units without you. Finally, it is a big step for you because you will see the environment that produced this man and give you insight for some things that may need explaining but you were too afraid to ask.

It is a good thing that first impressions are important. Most of the time, the first meeting will be brief. You want to look decent, use your manners and still be you. This can be hard for some personalities. That is ok. Just don’t be too nervous.

Now ladies, I want you to be aware of something. Your other half may be the farthest thing ever from a Mommas Boy. He may not even get along with his mother that well. There may even be a step mother that raised your love. Take to heart every single thing this woman has to say. This woman knows more about your man than anyone else on the planet. No amount of long relationships, exes, or best friends can have a more candid opinion about this man than his mother.

The point I am getting to is this; if she gets you alone, things may be said. Mothers are protective of their sons just like fathers over their daughters. There is one conversation that I am going to discuss that you really need to pay attention to. (I personally never had this conversation with Cals mom. So this is not one of those been there, done that things. However, ecperience makes us stronger and I learned over the years. Strength with experience works fine too. Be strong phenomenal woman….I digress.)

Should this mother take you to the side, offer you a cup of coffee at the kitchen bar, look you square in the face and say:

“I hope you are ready to love my baby.”

Sit up and take notice. What follows that statement will give you great insight to the future. More specifically, should she follow that up with:

“It takes a special kind of personality to be attached to a (insert you loves last name here.)”

You have three options. 1. You run. Run very fast and very far. 2. Politely stay out the visit and break it off later. Or 3. Hope you have the intestinal fortitude to take whatever this man may have happen and dish out lest you become so frazzled you will want to jump off the pier during shark season.

Its easier said than done. Just remember lovely lady. Should you have that presented to you, consider your strength. This man will test everything you are about and you have been warned. Should you accept the challenge…it is for life and nothung will be the same.

What do YOU think?

Day 8: Roomba Coffee Server

While at work the other day, we were discussing coffee and other general Work at Home topics. I have no clue how we went from coffee to Roombas but it gave me a brilliant idea!

I want a Roomba to bring me coffee with the push of a button!

Now, I can certainly bypass that and just purchase a coffee maker for my office and get on with my life but this is in the category of NEAT! I have always wanted a Roomba because they are just....cool. However, I am cheap, and I squeak and it is not likely that one will be in my future. UNLESS (so the Lorax says, Love the book by the say. I can read it emphatically to you, with my voice, without the book, right now, and LOVE it. Ah, but I  digress) someone buys me one then I will happily put it to use!

Add in the coffee integer....I push a button, send it out to "navigate the heckacious hallway traffic" and get fresh, hot, coffee and bring it back to me. Oh the joy!  I would even go so far as to install a little "RooombaDoor" for it to come into my office without human intervention. OMY that would be soo cool. I could bring it out when we entertain and it would be great!

Alas, things like that have yet to exist but it is cool to think about. What neat gizmo would you want to bring YOU coffee?

What do YOU think?

(Note: Ya, this is a short one. My brain is fried today. Poo.)

Day 7: Glitter sticks because it has phantom super glue

Anyone with a little girl or a child who loves to do arts and crafts knows the fight of the glitter fairy. If you have someone in your home that uses glitter, you KNOW to what I am referring. Even if you forbid glitter from being used in your home, should you have kids, the glitter fairy will still pay your home a visit. This is certain to happen around the holidays. Silver for Christmas, orange for Halloween, red for Valentines day. You get the picture. Once you find that you have come in contact with glitter, it is like a contagious disease. The chit gets EVERYWHERE. Not only that, it is often worse than sharpie markers. It sticks around and is impossible to wash away.

The last time I painted my fingernails,  (not something I do often, but I find it relaxing. I should do it more. Maybe....) I used a clear top coat with glitter flecks in it. Every single time I use this stuff I fail to remember how difficult it is to get off. Its like it becomes imbedded into the nail or something because fingernail polish will not take it off. I have to scrape it off and damage the heck out of my nails. No amount of rubbing with a rag or cotton ball or tissue drenched in fingernail polish remover will get that chit off. I imagined once, using turpentine or kerosene to try to get that glitter junk off but I was too chicken to try. My nails may fall off! These are MY nails and they are real. Not something you see everyday. They are "salon length" too. (Just about the only part of myself I take pride in currently, but after yesterday, THAT will change. Yes, I digress.)

So here I sit. At work. Scrapping glitter that the glitter fairy has seen fit to adhere to my nails simply so I can paint my nails to match my shirt. Note: New fingernail polish has even tinier glitter pieces in it. The removal of THAT should be just as fun!  I am certain I have done enough to my nails to ensure the next color I paint them will become a permanent part of them until it grows out. Thank gosh my nails grow fast.

This is where I get to the point. The glitter fairy has this secret superglue stuff that she lovingly coats each piece of glitter ever created. This is why it has that lovely permanence. Mind you, it is purposely done. Glitter Fairy Super Glue has this chemical in it that allows for it to time release (I mean let go) of any Elmer's glue, paste, or glue stick simply so that it can be found every single place your child's art work or craft has been. This is where you have to be careful. If your child grabbed the toilet paper roll and used some during arts and crafts, think twice before wiping your rear. Gosh forbid you go to a colonoscopy and your Doctor find glitter in your crack! Yipes! Haha. Remember that story of the lady who had a "woman's" appointment at the OB/GYN and her daughter had placed glitter in a wash cloth near the sink?  How mortifying. Also, you don't want to go to an interview or a court date looking like you had been puked upon by the Glitter Unicorn of Shinydom either.

Point is, glitter is horrible stuff. While it may look good and is very shiny, it is DANGEROUS!

What do YOU think?

Day 6: Self loathing

I have always had issues with self. I have cone to realize that I checked out of the self love department many, many years ago. I understood this today. I don’t know what caused this light bulb moment. I think it was the culmination of many things. Not sure where to start but here goes.

My self image has always been skewed. I imagine this is the same flaw that anorexics an bulimics posses. I say this because when I see people who are the same clothing size as me, I do not see this huge person that my reflection shows. I am sure that when I look at my own reflection, I see this fat person who is a whole lot bigger than what she really is. This disgusts me and makes me feel bad. Psychologists will likely tell me its a good thing I recognize that. Not beeing happy with the vessel which encompasses your soul causes a lot of inner conflict. For me is creates self hate and that is destructive. This where I have been for almost since I can remember. Before being fat bacame an issue it was some other thing. Why did I have nappy curly hair when all my friends had shiny straight hair or why was I a red head? No one else was. When I got into my teen years that damned whit stripe that appeared in my hair (off center like a cockeyed skunk) every summer and I had a pooch for my lower abs and not a flat stomach like everyone else. I hated it. I hated me. This has been a lifetime of self hate.

Fast forward to late teens ane early 20’s. I had very few boyfriends and the ones I did have were not nice to me. Called me ugly and would pick on me in front of the circle of friends I thought I had. This is where people don’t believe the bubble I lived in. Not much happened. I just existed and not much more. My first real “party” was not until I was 21 and it was the first birthday party of Cals that I went to. To this day, I have picture of us at that party on my desk. I was almost human. I have been in and out of serious hate with myself over the course of my whole life.

Tyler Perry’s Madea says “Honey how in the hell can you love someone else if you cannot love yourself.” Today, I finally understand that sentiment. It took a couple days of self loathing, too many beers and nearly a year of wandering in the dark to come to that conclusion. Know what else attributed to this life changing moment? It took the intentional trespass of someone whom I thought to be a friend to trample all over my feelings, heart, and soul. She took my very being and slammed it on rusty spikes of betrayal and then walked on it like it was an afterthoughtm she took pure bitch and rubbed my face in it then walked away laughing. What she did was unspeakable and hurt me beyond anything I can put into words. For that, unnamed woman, (you know who you are queen sandwich maker
There is your digression peeps.) I want to thank you. I forgive you for what you did. I forgive the threat, for what you still are. (Two meanings there.) And I forgive you for what you are. Also, I have a great fondness and love for you. I wish the best for you and yours. For you are a sister in kind and the divinity of the Mother Goddess is in you as it is in all of us. Prosper sister. I will take what you have shown me and learn from it ad return it to you tenfold.

As a result of this thing that was done, I fully understand that I will find peace only when I truly love me. I have started down the path to healing from the harm that was done to me as well as the years of being spiritually checked out. I know I have a long way to go and it wont be easy but I do know who will ride or die with me.

I know who is with me and who is not. I know my ride or die family and if some November Rain washes it away, I know I will be ok because I have discovered that I can get back up, pick up the pieces, and continue on. Also know that the bond I have with my Cal cannot be broken. His is my rock and nothing can break that. Any thing that comes along and tries is only temporary and external.

I am going to love me. I am going to fix what has been broken and move on. Watch out world. Its ALL about to change. I am strong and beautiful. I am phenomenal. I SHINE.

Whaylt do YOU think?

Day 5: Giggles make me happy

I guess the rain still has me feeling blue. I simply was unable to get motivated to get up and get my day going this morning. After finally convincing myself that I must do what I have to do, I was going through my morning routine. Because it is quite early and the kiddos are still on winter break, the house is unusually quiet and all I hear is the jingle of the dogs bell when she walked into the kitchen to check the water bowl. (I don't know WHY she does this but she will get up, walk into the kitchen, sniff the water bowl, and walk away. Sometimes she will drink but it is like she is making sure it is there. Has it gotten up and walked away or something? Ah, but I digress. You know me.) While I was brushing my hair, I heard a small giggle. O.o.  Nobody is up at this time when they don't HAVE to be! I shrugged it off and continued what I was doing. "hehehehehehe!"

Yes, I am sure of it. That giggle made my heart dance and smile. This is something only a mother can know. Those little giggles only last about ten years or so before they morph into teenagers. I know that giggle anywhere. It was the laughter of our youngest. Number 7. Apparently, he got enough sleep last night to be back on track and get up at a normal time instead of 1 p.m. every day. He had awakened and was watching TV in his room. Uncle Grandpa or something. As I walked down the hallway, I could only smile. I must say, hearing that happy guy made my day. It was only 5 a.m.!

I never miss an opportunity to tell the children (and the husband too) how much I love their happiness, grins, and giggles. When I told him he made my day by just being himself, he lit up like a Christmas tree. Its funny how our children try so hard to make us happy as parents and their innocent kindness is the sweetest ever.

I hope to never lose that in my children. I am proud of them all. I just sometimes forget that they are little ones in this big world and do not yet understand things as an adult would.

Love your little ones. Embrace their effort and pure joy. Get to know them and take time with each and every one. Let them know you are happy with them and accept them for who they are. They will grow and blossom into loving human beings as a result. THEN and only then will there be hope for humanity. (And the ants wont move forward with their plot. Hehehe)

What do YOU think?

Day 4: I am water and rain makes me sad

I have been doing reading on elements. I find it fascinating. I used to think that earth or fire was MY element but in the research I have been doing I discover that I may be wrong. The more I read, the more I find that I have a great deal in common with the element of water.

Even when I read outside of pure element research, I find that the things related to me revolve around water. For example, this morning I was reading the "native american zodiac" (for lack of a better description, it fails me to remember what it was and I am too lazy to go look. Ya, I digress. I am supposed to!) The animal that was related to my birth time was the salmon. Nice, a water animal. Other things that are too many to mention lead me in the same direction. Water water water.

Today, it is raining where I live. Rainy days always bum me out. I have also noted that, sometimes, I can pinpoint precisely WHY I am sad in the first place. Those reasons have nothing to do with the elements but they DO revolve around rainy days for some reason. This makes me mad...sort of. If it were not to rain would I ever be sad? What possibly is happening that my sad days happen to be on a rainy day?  Here is where we insert the analogies. Rain drops are shaped like tears. Some children are told that when it rains the angels cry. Crying is a way to wash off the old stuff and make things anew. Yea, I am aware of that. That is not the point of this post.

I guess I am just sad today and today it is raining and water is my element. Enough said.

Yes, this post is short but other than nonsensical ramblings, due to my current mood, I have nothing more for today.

What do YOU think?

Day 3: Quarter machine bouncy balls in my brain and I went to work

I went to work yesterday and it was Friday, my day off. I get one day off a week and you would think I would take great care to avoid the office when I don't have to be there. For those of you who DON'T know what I do for a living. This may seem laughable.

She gets up, gets dressed, eats breakfast and has coffee. She gets in the car, drives ALL the way to work, sits down, turns on her computer to start her day. THEN she stares mouth agape at her computer screen realizing she could have slept in and avoided the whole work place thing. You had ONE job girl, to enjoy the day off and you flubbed it up. However that is nothing like how it actually went down.

Background! I work from home. I have done so for many, many years. I have a very small hallway from the bedroom to the office which encompasses about five steps or ten shuffles.  There is also access to the bathroom in said hallway and that is why I sometimes say "navigated the hallway traffic." Ya, that is supposed to be funny. Though, I think I have used that so often that I don't find it as hilarious as the first time I said it. (TINY digression there. Hehehe.) Any way, this is more of how it went:

I woke up, brushed my teeth, got dressed, made coffee, navigated the traffic in the hallway, sat down at my desk and started to get my workspace up and running. As I navigate my way to the support chat that I have to utilize, I announced to the fellow employees the following important message:

 

Morning..........DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DID? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST DID? I AM SUPPOSED TO BE OFF TODAY!!! WTFLIP!  GOOD BYE! **Michele has left the support chat.

 

 

I was so mortified that I was at a loss for what to do next. So I wrote. All of my blogs got something yesterday. I know on one of them I already told this story and if it was this one, I apologize, however this is going somewhere I promise. I even had the intention to study and that would have been great had I actually did it but all that writing made me tired and I ended up sleeping the day away anyway. (Except for the part where Cal's best friend came home after five years and I was rudely awakened by him to get up and watch him hop like a rabbit down the driveway to greet his friend. I needed the air so I was ok with that. ACK! Digression again! You are all in for it today!) Now we turn down the road I wanted to talk about in the first place. You know me, back story and all.

 

The compulsion to write struck me in the head like a baseball bat. Every little thing I did was followed with a voice in my head going "Hey, that would be a great post! Whip out the phone and write it RIGHT NOW cuz you got time and its your day off!" That is all good but I usually stew on a post for a day or so because I have to think about exactly how to word it. Sometimes I will fork it out right there but it falls short of my own expectations and I am never satisfied. The ones that I think about for at least 24 hours are the best ones to me because I have had time to contemplate the course of action. Still, I only fork out my posts in one sitting because that is how I believe a blog should work. (Warning: I DO have a post coming that I have been a week working at. It is a serious post and nothing like this. Probably why it is taking so long.) I know, not everyone blogs like that but this is just me. So, yea, the voice.   While they were all great ideas, it made me tired. I never realized the creative process could whoop you azz like that. Of course, I never had an over burst of creativity like that either. No wonder artists and writers are sooo....different when they are about their craft. I have to learn to use this to my advantage. However, I do not do sleepy tired well. My Cal will tell you I can fall asleep within seconds of laying down. Once I am sleeping, that is it. TKO. Game Over.

 

I wish there were a way I could sit down, get it all out and NOT be tired when I am done. It makes me tired because when there is more than one story in there (and there always is, I am trying in vain to finish this book that's not on paper yet,) it feels like those quarter machine bouncy balls just recklessly bouncing around inside my brain cavity. It just turns everything in there to mush. I have to sleep that tired off and while I am asleep, I imagine my body is un mushing my brain and making it whole again. Once I am whole, I wake up. I must say that when I wake from that kind of sleep it is a deep, hard sleep. I assume its because it takes a lot of work to un-mush a brain huh?

 

Until then, when I have days like that, steer clear because I am having an 'artist' or 'writers' moment.

Horrible, horrible feeling.

 

What do YOU think?