My co-worker quit which means I have tons of extra hours, but only one day off each week except this week because there is a holiday, yet my immune system tanked which it never does and NOW my nose is raw from blowing it all damn day!
My hips start to sway in rhythm to the angry tempo of my stomping boots. I tread a trail of anger and frustration. The beat of hate is when the sound of broken dishes or the scene of thrown eggs almost seems satisfying. This is the path of a scorned women. This is what comes before the tears. You feel like screaming at the top of your lungs, but instead lift a glass of destruction to your lips.
Who doesn’t feel destructive sometimes? The important part is to find reason before acting! I find writing and drawing very helpful when I feel this way. What about you? If you have anything to share feel free to comment?
Loneliness is a reoccurring shiver that I can’t shake no matter how warm the room is. I find myself turning on noise where ever I go to drown out the rolling thunder inside my mind. The idea that the following days to come are going to be as lonely as the days before destroys me. Memories plague me to the point of exhaustion. Walking home with just the street lights and seeing only one shadow is the sting of reality.
I just want to say I’m not lonely all the time, but when I moved out on my own I had no idea how badly I would struggle with loneliness from time to time. Some people just aren’t meant to live alone. I really don’t think anyone is, but some do manage it.
“Three limbs on the mountain at all times,” That’s what my brother had told me. He was one step farther than me at all times while we scaled the 30 ft. mountain and my eyes were only focused on his moves that way I could exactly replicate them.
The mountain sat 100 ft. from shore and when low tide came the hidden rocky passageway would appear allowing access to any who dared to make the climb.
My forearms, biceps, triceps, shoulders, thighs, calves were on fire, but it was the burn the tells you your alive. Just keep moving.
We were more than halfway up. The next hand hold was out of reach.
“Jim. What do I do?”
“You have to Jump for it,” he said.
What a simple solution. Why hadn’t I thought of it? Well, because it was insane of course. I looked down. I could make my way back down. I looked up. Jim had pulled himself up and over onto the top of the mountain and was now looking down on me. This was the last step.
I couched, sprang, grabbed, and held on for dear life. My heart rate went from upbeat to overtime in two seconds. I scrambled over the edge onto the top. I had made it and it was so worth it.
Do you have any tales of Perseverance? Comment if you do!
View from the top!!!
When I’m happy the meanest attitude slaps against a brick wall and falls to the floor. My smile doesn’t stop upon rose lips, but rises to glimmering eyes. My mornings are blooming flowers because it’s just the beginning of a beautiful day to come. Random humming fills the office even though I can’t carry a tune and a wild energy bubbles inside me which feels like sun rays breaking through a dirty window.
I like to think of happiness as an antidote to the horrible diseases of sadness, anger, loneliness, etc. The cool thing about this antidote is it’s easy to share with others. What are your symptoms of happiness?
So good news and the obvious bad news.
The bad news: I’ve been super busy and haven’t posted anything of recent.
The Good news: I’m MOVING which means I’m getting away from the situation which means I can write about the situation in which I made this blog for! BUT, I have to finish out the three month contract with my job before I can
run move to the coast, so come April I will restart the story! I’ve been story the facts, so that I could return to the story after I moved away.
If you are a recent follower and confused, read the about section on my page and hopefully that will help. If your still confused ignore this post all together, continue to enjoy my posts, and come April buckle up because I will be starting the BUMPY story that I’ve been talking about.
P.S. I’d also like to thank the people following my blog and reading my stuff even though I’ve been hopping from story idea to story idea like a coffee fanatic. 🙂
the force of a rising tide.
Our design won’t last.
I took this picture while visiting my mom on the Oregon Coast. My younger brother and I had walked away from the fire to find roasting sticks for s’mores when he shoved me and took off running. I was laughing and chasing him down when all of a sudden he jerked to a stop and said, Look at this!” It was dark, but the light from the moon showed the outline of a massive city made out of stones. It was amazing! There was a wall between the taller stacked buildings and the shabbier ones located on the outskirts. My Photo doesn’t do the city justice, but you can get the idea. It took me four hours to build seven rock towers and maybe that’s because I was matching colors, but I know this took a lot of time and effort. My second thought was this is going to be gone when the tide comes in.
The Haiku is based around the idea of oceans rising and consuming land, therefor also wiping out man-made structures. The bigger idea is based on our design not lasting. Why would you spend so much time working on something that isn’t going to last even till tomorrow? The person who spent the time to build this could have been doing it for many reasons, boredom, stress relief, or to bring joy and excitement to others. Which spurs the idea of selflessness. So many thoughts because of someone’s simple act is a great thing.
Do you have anything to add or share? Feel free to do so in the comment area 🙂
After the emergency room they move you upstairs
once they know you won’t die right away,
it’s always just better that way,
It’s 3am and the ambulance is still bringing guests in
well, tonight the place is booked like a five star hotel
I wish for once it was like a shanty run down motel.
The nurse just came in and informed us
we will be stuck with a curtain as a door
And old blood stains upon the floor
His Gurney was wet,
he was uncomfortable,
but the least of his worries was this small detail.
Dirt and blood stained the pristine white sheets
but soon to be gone
when the new bed could be retrieved.
Even the bed was one of their last.
Where is our ticket home you might ask?
Well, it comes with an x-ray at nine am.
Nine am is when we shall see
exactly how terrible the two holes in his lungs actually might be.
Nine am is when we shall see
exactly if he might need surgery on his wrecked right knee.
the nurse asks on a scale of one to ten,
but I believe the sale is unfitting
by my calculations, where I’m sitting-
11 for the broken leg,
5 at least for the broken rib
3 apiece for the two holes in the lungs
my addition is sound,
and to me,
22 it looks to be around.
This is a poem I’ve been working on for some time about my brother’s stay in the emergency room early this august. I sat by his side through the night in fear about his situation which magnified my frustration at the circumstances.
You’ve got to be kidding me
I had closed my eyes and rested my head against the unyielding door. How could the key work in the dead bolt, but not the bottom lock? I didn’t know it was an actual possibility when the woman from Wal-Mart warned that sometimes keys don’t work and I needed to keep the receipt just in case.
My phone rang and I fished it out of my purse. The screen was dimmed and the red blinking light informed me the battery would soon die, great another problem. It was “Home” calling. Well home is two hours away, so they really couldn’t help me, but they could probably get a hold of someone that could.
“Hello,” my mom said.
“Hi mom, my phones dying and my spare key isn’t working, so I’m locked out. And I really have to go pee.” Sometimes I just blurt out everything I’m thinking in stressful situations or under the influence of major caffeine.
“Oh, do you want me to call your brother?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We hung up and I jingled, jimmied, and seriously begged God that the key would work this time. No luck.
My breath came out in puffs of white and I seriously regretted wearing a dress today. Even with thick tights, the cold air seeped in, as the night air dropped in degrees.
I bent down to collect the contents of my purse. I had dumped them all over the front porch searching for the other spare key. I had made two just in case I lost one in the future. It was probably sitting on the kitchen table where I left it.
I also threw my phone into the purse since it had died and headed to the curb. My brother would show up soon with the third key or my sister would show up to rescue me, again. I waited and waited, but after an eternity 20 minutes of waiting I thought I should make a phone call.
My downstairs neighbor’s car was parked at the curb and I could hear the TV, so I knocked on her door. I took a step back and prepared a speech, trying not to sound as stupid as I probably seemed, but she didn’t answer. Maybe she couldn’t hear, so I knocked a little louder, but still no answer.
I walked to the small complex across the street and played eeny, meeny, miny, moe with the doors. A middle aged woman answered the selected door in red pajama bottoms, a big doggy t-shirt, and pink slippers. Even though I was super angry I had a real smile on my face.
Explaining the situation, she let me in and I dialed the only two numbers I know by heart. The down side of having a cell phone is you don’t memorize numbers.
My sister didn’t pick up and I really didn’t want to bug my friend, but called anyways. She answered, but I could tell she had been sleeping, so I just told her I’d call her later.
The woman saw my frustration and was probably afraid for her phone in my angry hands, so she offered to plug in my cell phone.
I called my mom and she told me she thought I got in. Are you serious? If I didn’t call you back wouldn’t you be worried. I wanted to take all my frustrations out on her, but it wasn’t really her fault.
“What do you want me to do,” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“I’m not mad at you, I’m just in someone’s house and super frustrated. I’ll call you later.”
After hanging up with her, I called my sister again, but no answer, so I called her husband Kevin.
“Kevin, I need to talk to Mary.”
“Mary? I don’t know who you’re talking about. Would you like to hear our specials?”
“Can you just give her the phone?”
“Is it an emergency because she’s reading to Emily?” Emily is my four year old niece.
“Yes, it’s an emergency.”
“You’re always in an emergency, how extreme is the emergency?”
When I got off the phone with Mary, I declined the cup of tea from the serial killer nice neighbor, and went outside to wait for Kevin. She probably wasn’t dangerous in the least bit, but you never know.
I was waiting at the curb, again, when I noticed a man walking down the side walk. Great! I didn’t want any creepy conversation on top of everything else. Maybe he’d just walk bye. As he got closer, his outfit became familiar. GREAT, it was a cop.
He walked over to me and asked if I was knocking on the downstairs apartment. She called the cops, really? I guess her door doesn’t have a peep hole and she was a little scared. I should have called out to her, but I don’t even know what her name is. What was I going to say? Hey downstairs neighbor, it’s me your upstairs neighbor.
“Yes, I live upstairs,” I told the cop. I explained the situation, again. I hated tonight. The cold, the door, the neighbor, the four letter key, and especially Wal-Mart for giving it to me, but most of all I hated myself, for not trying it in the lock before I left my house this morning.
The cop waited with me until my brother-in-law, Kevin, the jokester, showed up. I think the cop was just bored. He probably thought it was going to be a bogus call and then had some adrenalin when he saw someone standing outside, and then became super bummed when he realized it was the idiot girl who lived upstairs.
He asked me about living in apartments, noisy neighbors, and the neighborhood. I think he was fishing for information about the last disturbance call made on this address, but that’s a different story.
Months ago, I had ripped my broken heart from my soul and put it in a shoe box. Well, this is just a metaphor and I wish it was a little different. I would tell you I took my feelings of love, turned them into a sparkly butterfly, and set it free in a meadow, but that would be a bunch BS. Pretty, but BS all the same. It wasn’t the easiest break off to say the least. My slow stumble of regret/sadness had turned into a walk of embarrassment/letting go and then finally back into a normal happy go lucky jog. It takes effort to just move on, but it eventually does happen.
My story in life has taken many routes and I want to share with people the disaster, hope, love, and comedy of it all. I still have plenty to share with many surprises to come 🙂