The Great Internet Apocalypse
I’m sitting at McDonald’s with an overheating car and Peppermint Mocha, and, free internet. God Bless Micky Dees!
The inevitable has happened: my internet, cable and phone has been axed. My bill is $426, which I’ll pay in January- there were just too many things piling up at once, particularly the car, which has been overheating for several weeks now. Let me tell you, you really haven’t lived yet until your car, internet, cable, Netflix, and phone all go down at the same time.
The upside is, my house is spotless, and I’ve lost several pounds from cleaning and caring for 4 cats and a dog.
To all of you guys who have written, emailed (sent smoke signals, etc.) please know that I’ll return your emails as soon as I’m back up and online. (Two more weeks.) Bipolar Barbie, I’ll return your 6 emails then. I promise! ;0)
In other news, I’m absolutely ecstatic to be a single woman again. I just realized today that I’m fairly smoking hot at 44 still.
Taken today/12.16.13- Helios film lens
My butt is the size of Montana, which explains why I “look thin” yet weigh 160 lbs. I’m pretty sure about 25 lbs. is the junk going on back there; not that I have any plans on doing anything with it other than carting it around to do more laundry, shopping, and kitty poo duty.
Just finished reading Nikki Sixx’s The Heroin Diaries. Wow, he was total trash back in the 80’s! (I may have been as well…the whole world was stoned throughout the hair band days, including me. Or is that hair band daze?)
As much as I’d love to hang out here at McDonald’s discussing my rear , house chores and Nikki Sixx, I should probably get going as I’m on a tight schedule! Merry Christmas to all of you guys! I’ll pop in in a few more days for another sprint through blog-land.
Oh, and I made a sale at Redbubble. To the mystery buyer of my print The Longest Dream, thank you so much! I do hope you enjoy it, and if you bought it as a Christmas gift for someone else, I hope they enjoy it as much as I enjoyed shooting it. (Shot in the rain at Perrin Park on a cold winter’s day.)
Email from today:
You’ve Made A Sale – 3045208
- Redbubble
- Dec 15 at 5:48 PM
- To
-
- rushingthunder@yahoo.com
Hi Ḃḭṙḡḭṫṫä,
You’ve just made a sale on Redbubble! Your work was so brilliant that someone showed their appreciation with their wallet. Unfortunately we have to mark this event with a very boring email but it is full of Useful Facts (TM) about the sale.
‘But when will I get this money?’ we hear you cry, and rightfully so. Well you can find out here: http://support.redbubble.com/faqs/top20/when-do-i-get-paid
Thanks for being who you are and doing what you do, we love having you around Redbubble.
Mr Baxter – Chief Officer of Sending You Good News
———————————————————————
1x Canvas Print of “”The Longest Dream””
Size: Large (24.0″ x 4.6″)
Your Margin: US$57.00
———————————————————————
The sale details:
Retail Price: US$157.00
Manufacturing fee: US$100.00
Total Margin: US$57.00
You’ll receive: US$57.00
———————————————————————
The Show Must go On
It’s 2:10 a.m. and the rain is gently falling. My graduation rehearsal is tomorrow and I won’t be going.
I’ve been hit by an infection train, and now I’m hacking up green stuff. I’ve had it for over a week now. A woman at a buffet hacked and coughed all over the food, spraying me in the process, and two days later it was pretty rough sailing! Fast forward 4 days, I went to the bathroom and it felt like I was peeing glass. I know that feeling; I’ve been here before. The bronchial infection in my lungs has caused the infection to go systemic, triggering the (UTI) Urinary Track infection that grew so bad, it too contained puss. (That’s a first.) I’ve never been hit so hard in my life! This is a beast. My head is swimmy and I am coughing almost constantly. Most people would be in bed, barely moving, believing they are “sick”, but I don’t like that word, so I claim other words (like “infection”, etc.) I think when we use words like “sick”, the behavior follows.
I tell my body that I am merely battling an infection and I can still go about my day as usual. So, I believe myself. That said, I still have to make wise decisions and not inject myself into a cluster of 1,000 people in a performing arts center. Not a chance. So yes, after 4 long years of college (1 at community- 3 at the University) I won’t be attending my graduation.
Here’s a rundown of my day:
Morning: hack, cough, rest, take care of pets, take out trash, sweep hallway and bathroom floor
Midday: Mom brings over my car (hers was broken down) and so I drop her off at her house, then go grocery shopping ($200 of food/not a small amount to be lugging around), two other stores, return home
Late afternoon: Put on classical music, clean living room, take care of pets, drink Ruby Red grapefruit juice and lots of chicken broth (take vitamins), + ginger shooter
Early evening: Head back out into the rain (bundled up like an Eskimo) go to doctor’s appointment, then Rite Aid’s to fill prescription of mega-strong antibiotics.
9:30 p.m. Come home, do dishes, disinfect entire kitchen, take out trash again- scrub out fridge with bleach-water and soap, put away groceries.
11:00: take care of pets, make big pot of homemade chicken soup + hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows
Midnight: Bundle up, head over to Mom’s house with chicken soup and hot chocolate for her and my brother.
12:30 a.m.: Settle down with warm chicken soup, a clean house, happy animals, medicine, and my remote.
Yeah. I’m Superwoman…I know. :0)
I don’t sit around waiting to “feel sick”. I work through things in life that would make many other people collapse, such as the killer 3 day migraines I’ve had for several years now. When you have to clean the house and go grocery shopping (or write a 5 page analysis or research paper) when your head is splitting open and you’re almost vomiting from pain- yeah. You can live through pretty much anything!
So this is a cake walk in comparison. Even though my circumstances are “trying” at best, right now, I’m super happy. 🙂 I feel like I’m FREE. Josh and I are no more and I’ll refrain from speaking of him here. This blog was meant (and still is) as a documentary-type account of my life. He’s no longer in my life, and I can accept that. No tears, no grief- actually, it’s quite the opposite!
I’m happy and am in control of my life again. I’ve been bouncing around today because I feel light at heart; what a great feeling! Where have you been old friend? I have the next month to do what I like on my down time, before my spring classes start.
There will be lots of Judge Judy, bad hair, and funky PJ’s involved.
Who knows, I might even relax a little. :0)
I N S P I R E D
It’s 5:34 a.m. and I’ve been thinking about school for hours. I have one remaining assignment, which is a book report/critical analysis/personal reflection paper (3-5 pages, Times New Roman, naturally- MLA, my favourite) in Social Psychology. It’s supposed to be 3 to 5 pages and while part of me wants to chince out and celebrate (which means a 3 page paper), the academic in me tells me to throw every ounce I have into it (5 pages) to show my professor that I care. So, 5 pages it is! My final grades are:
Intro to Criminology- A
Spanish II- A
Therapeutic Intervention with Substance Abusers II- A
Lifetime Fitness and Wellness- A
Social Psychology- B
There’s no way I’m going be able to get the A in Social Psychology, but I still want to show my professor that I care enough to do my best. I have a great relationship with 99% of all of the professors that I’ve ever had and we usually email back and forth and get to know each other. I think personalizing the relationship makes students want to try harder and that’s proven true in my case again and again.
School has helped me so (so ho ho) much. When I first started, 4 years ago, I was a bit hyper-spiritual. Thought everybody needed saving (yada yada) and I pretty much lived on that plane. [insert groan here] Studying psychology and sociology over the years has been the best form of therapy for me, personally, and a very necessary anchor. I think like an analyst or statistician now. I’ve learned through my studies to problem solve using the scientific method, which means, taking your emotions out of the situation and gather hard facts. It’s still hypothetical at that stage, so it needs to be confirmed by others in your area of study or field. Once confirmed, the hypothesis becomes a theory. I’ve learned to take this approach when dealing with others who are judgmental and/or spiritually hyper-manic (such as several of my siblings) so that their hatred won’t rub off on me.
Take for example, the email I received from my oldest sibling (name withheld) only yesterday who offered to exorcise me. Uhuh…you read that correctly. Said he was getting into exorcising people these days and if I ever wanted prayer…da da da. (He was doing this to “help me” because he knows my past is “riddled with demonic forces”. Right. And, for this reason, he took his daughter away from her favourite Aunt, because Aunt Birgy isn’t in Church on Sunday morning, so Aunt Birgy must be “bad”. It’s just enough to make your mouth drop and it’s been a perpetual witchhunt.) I’ll tell you, that tested my boundaries on a whole new level. That’s a bit out of touch with reality- it’s pretty freaking scary. I had sent an invitation to my graduation and er, that was the reply.
In the past, I would have been have been utterly wounded. I would have internalized, thinking of lots to say in return. I’m not like that any more. I realize that we cannot change others, not when it gets right down to it. We can only try to improve ourselves for ourselves and ultimately, the benefits of others. The classes in Behavioral Sciences, however, have helped me to understand that I had been seeking my older siblings approval my entire life. (Love me! Love me! Please accept me!) As human beings, we all do it, but this has almost destroyed me in the past. It’s liberating to be able to assess the situation (again, like a social scientist) and comprehend that my two oldest siblings are exhibiting signs of paranoia, conspiracy theories, fear, terror, mania, and in a nutshell, the just-world phenomena, which is something I learned in Social Psychology, which is, believing that if something “bad” happens to a person, they brought in on him or herself. That is so dangerous to think along those lines. It means that you’re always justified in your own eyes while others “get what they deserve”. Social Psychology is fascinating and it’s helped me quite a bit. I used the word bad in quotation marks because I believe “bad things” is just a matter of perception. What is bad to one person is a blessing to another. I apply this in my life, everywhere, and know that there is good to be had in every situation. We don’t always see it, but it’s always there.
I’ve had to clinically remove some of the people from my life who expected me to be their tragedy. As long as they tell themselves I’m “sick”, or pitiful in some way- they can love or “accept” me. They cannot accept me as a peer, though, or an “equal”. My siblings and I were raised to believe that college isn’t really a good thing. (Yes, shocking, I know.) There’s a lot of sickness in this family. We were raised with a good bit of patriarchy and misogyny going on, even still. That really didn’t fly with me- at all. I’ve chosen to stop these generational perpetuating cycles of diseased thinking. I decided years ago that thinking along those lines (college not being a “good thing”) is just a little bit wacky. Needless to say, of my 4 siblings, I’m the only one who chose to go to college and say, “What the hell is wrong with everybody?” So yes, thank God for college.
I’ve had to cut 1/3 of my family clean out of my life! But it was only after doing so, that I actually got “well”: emotionally, psychologically, spiritually. So many of my friends are what others think of as “mentally ill”. It breaks my heart to see the chains that swallow them up because somebody thinks he or she is “sick”. I’ve had my battles in life, sure. But when you think I need an exorcism, and you’re going to perform it? I’m probably going to block your email (in record speed) because you need your head examined. That’s just waaaay too crazy for me even, and that’s saying something. Ha. Let’s recap: Your sister invites you to her graduation and you offer to exorcise her. You’re out of touch with reality, dude!
If it wasn’t so sad it would actually be funny. Like, ha ha funny! I can’t wrap my head around it. I just have no room in my life for people who cannot love. And that’s all this is:
“I cannot love you, sister; I’m not capable of it, so I’m going to judge you so that I can validate my hatred. You are a bad person because you do not fit my mold of who I want you to be. You are not in church like me so you must be evil. I will tell my child that you are evil and have “bad spirits that need exorcising” so she will not love you either.”
This is sooooo wrong on every level, and to teach your child that? Just unspeakably wrong.
I have a lot of friends in the art world (a lot) – hundreds, and I’ve never met anybody who is actually “cruel”. Only good people! My friends are the sweetest, kindest, and most considerate people I know, truly. (BB, Y, Wendy S., Marion, etc. the very long list goes on.)
For those of you who I’ve gotten to know through this blog also (Amy, Jen, Sean, Jenn, Al- and many others) you have no idea what your love and support has meant (and does mean) to me. I’m inspired by all of you and am encouraged in my life. I can’t thank you enough for that. :0) Thanks most of all, to my children, for being strong, independent, free-thinking beautiful people. I’m most inspired by you guys.
I found out today that I only need 18 credit hours to obtain a second degree- an A.S. in Social Work. Ohhh that’s so tempting…classes start in January. 18 credit hours! I’ve racked up almost 100 college credit hours, so a lot of my required classes have been knocked out already. I’ve actually knocked back 21 credit hours (7 classes) in one semester before and did exceptionally well: I’ve pretty much tapped out the Social Sciences department at my school.
Josh and I are sicker than dogs. We were both hit (hard) only yesterday. I think we got it from “hacking woman” at the homeless shelter. She was coughing and hacking all over the food, right next to us, and now we’re quarantined to the bedroom. My graduation is in 6 days! Ugh. Not sure what’s going to happen there; it’s almost 200 miles away. I need to kick this bronchial infection out fast.
My son, “Bob”, natural shadows/natural window lighting. Shot in monochrome- intentional high ISO for added grain.
Turkey Drama and Toilet Paper
Well I’m glad to say that we’ve all made it through “Thanksgiving”. What does that even mean? Thanksgiving. To me, it means knowing that your kids are alive and well, you’re still breathing. We all have our meanings for it.
In my situation, it’s a bit peculiar. My sister (name withheld), and I haven’t talked since last September. Not this past September, but the September a year ago. (13 months.) Now, that said, if you and a certain family member have an unpleasant kerfuffle, you shouldn’t host Thanksgiving at your house. Why is that? Well, because you would alienate said member. Completely. Everybody and their grandmas would be welcome but you. That would be…well, rude. But that’s the case and that’s what’s happened.
My sister is devoutly “right” all the time. (Note the sarcasm.) She is the president of the hate committee of her “private sanctuary”, and services start at 9:00 a.m. every Sunday, weekly- sharp. She has wrapped every family member up in her glorious existence for more than 5 years now. If you’re less than “chaotic and dramatic”, you don’t stand a chance. Sorry…I’m thinking that there are other survivors out there like me that feel this way.
So, this year, Josh and I have chosen to eat with homeless people than to be with her and the rest of the “family”. Yes, it’s true. We’ve chosen to spend our time with street people- drug addicts and alcoholics- degenerates and the mentally ill, than to be with them. We didn’t get “an invite”, but that’s alright- we were already gone.
On the bright side of things, Josh and I are getting along splendidly. We don’t focus on the “might be’s” of the future. We’re taking each day and applying it to our lives. We’ve pulled through some amazingly difficult times. We don’t know how much time we have together, but we’re grateful for every single day and we show it. I think that’s what’s most important- that our lives are vital and static.
And today, we have toilet paper.
Can you really ask for more than that?
(Not really.)
.
Josh’s pic- guy walking in the park/SOOTC (straight out of the camera)
G3. Taken yesterday- Thanksgiving, on our mile walk at the park.
Congratulations Almonds!!!
Not that you’re going to see this anytime soon, because the internet is going down like a bad ship in a few hours. But on that note, a very big congratz to you for getting your driver’s license today! We’re going to party like it’s…ok, we’re not, because I have two tests tonight, but congratz to you just the same. You’re a rock star. :0)
My two beautiful daughters, Brianna/Almonds & Heidi.
Flatline
I woke up this morning to a sink full of pee. Also, there are two rolls of toilet paper missing. I scroll through my mental rolodex of people, friends, animals, and other beings who have been in this place for the past 24 hours. What could this mean?
It’s kind of like the game Clue, except the wrench or gun has been replaced with a sink of pee. Josh thinks our dog did it. He does sometimes climb up on the counter (over the sink) and tear into the trash. Yes, yes, perhaps. Could he have peed in the sink? It’s possible. But the two rolls of toilet paper. How could they have simply vanished? No traces of their whereabouts.
These are things that I can ponder over the next twelve days without the internet. I’ve been stashing game and entertainment folders like a hoarder preparing for the apocalypse. Twelve days without the internet! That’s a lifetime. I’ve been chained to this bed and laptop for days- knocking out assignment after assignment. Criminology final- check. Cultural essay (with MLA citations) in Spanish II- check. Five remaining assignments in Lifetime Fitness and Wellness- check. I’ve knocked back 4 classes (and my finals) a month early in preparation for the internet crash. I remember taking pictures outside…and shadows! I like shadows! Two more days of school madness and it’s over. I’m hobbling through the finish line but dang it, I made it.
I’ll be back with stories of my graduation. Until then, farewell all!
♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻♪♥☺♫☼☻
Non-tipping Homophobes
Wow, I’m pretty disturbed by a news story I just read. A family (husband/wife-two kids) went out to eat and racked up a bill of $93.55. Their waitress, who was a lesbian and an x-marine, received a “non-tip” with the following note scribbled on her receipt: “I’m sorry but I cannot tip because I don’t agree with your lifestyle & how you live your life.” They had based their assessments on her short hair.
Thud.
I can’t believe the sheer stupidity of some people out there! And to do that in front of their children. I feel really bad for the waitress. I think people use the whole gay thing sometimes as a springboard for their every day good old fashioned hatred. It’s just so wrong on every level. As a Christian, I’m highly offended at the family’s behaviour. My favourite waiter ever (at the Olive Garden) was gay- he’s no longer there- and to be honest, at first I was taken aback. I just didn’t expect it when he first spoke, but we had a good chat and I warmed to him quickly. He was a great waiter! Apart from that, he was a very likable guy- funny, and a college graduate. I tipped him well and requested him personally the next time my family and I were there. He was really on top of his game and I love people who are on the ball. It’s a shame that there are people out there who make it a sport to condemn gay people. On the other side of that coin, it’s not right to go on Facebook attacking the offender and rallying the troops. Hate is hate- and it’s all bad.
And on that note, Johhny Weir, if you’re reading this, you’re still my hero. xo
What does god say?
I noticed today that somebody stumbled upon my blog by searching for these keywords:
what does god say when u fallaid a test
Oh dearie me- let’s just leave that one alone.
In other news, I’ve managed to knock out three of my five classes a month early. I still have 5 strong A’s at this point, but I’m approaching my finals- let’s hope that sticks. Things have been a big messy blur lately; it’s pretty standard stuff for rounding up another semester. High stress, deadlines, cramming 200+ pages and living as a virtual hermit for days on end, lost in my studies.To top things off, I’ve just discovered my internet may be shut off on the 20th. And wait- there’s more! Although I paid the rent this month on the 1st, as I always do, there was a notice on my door this morning. Something about having 5 days to pay the rent or having to vacate. (WTF?!) I’m going to chalk that one up to the fact that my landlord is pushing 90 or so. (I have an excellent rental history and have had for years.) [grumble]
On the bright side of things, I’ll be graduating on December 7th of this year. I really wish I didn’t have a chronic case of PMS PMDD so I could report that I’ll be graduating with lots of exclamation marks and enthusiasm, alas, that’s not the case. I’m wanting chocolate and tea and I think I need to cry or break something. I guess I’ve been semi-depressed since finding out yesterday that Micah died. He was Josh’s former roommate and a closet junkie. Josh had come home on numerous occasions to find Micah lying on the floor with his dope needle in his hand- blood and dope lying messily about. I had told Josh that he needed to get away from him before Micah took them both down. Josh was always being taken advantage of by his friends, giving them a place to stay and letting them slide on the rent, etc. One day, when Josh was hanging out at my old apartment, Micah called on the phone ten times or so and then he finally showed up at my door. I was highly annoyed. He continued exhibiting bizarre behavior over the months and finally, I told Josh that he needed to kick him to the curb. I could tell that he was going to drag Josh down into an ugly black hole eventually. Josh didn’t want to, but I kept pressuring him to throw him out. One evening, I walked down to Josh’s apartment with him and refused to leave until he literally threw him out. Josh had already had numerous items stolen- valuable jewelry that had been given to him, small sums of money- Micah was constantly stealing from Josh to support his habit. I was livid that Josh had been taking my son around Micah- sure he was a “nice guy” but a junkie is a junkie. So, Josh threw Micah out the night I was there. Josh had dropped out of school when Micah was living with him and I could see him losing direction. The changes were small at first, but more and more, I could see how Micah was influencing him negatively. We don’t know how Micah died and the obituary didn’t reveal it. I can’t help thinking it was a drug overdose.
Josh has just finished up his semester; he did well.
I can hardly believe I’m one week away from completing my degree in Behavioral Sciences and CPC in Substance Abuse. Finals are always so stressful! You can have a strong A in a class, consistently throughout, then fail a final, bringing your overall grade down to a C. All of that hard work for a C! That’s happened to me before so I have to avoid that like the plague. Study study study! My grades are very important to me and a C just isn’t going to cut it.
I think it’s time for my Sleepytime Tea + Ambien.
Happy trails.
Homeless man sleeps. Downtown Louisville, KY.
Sabbatical
I’m feeling strong tonight. I’ve been reflecting on my life and the directions I want to go in. Sometimes my vision gets a little blurry just like the next guy (or gal) and I find myself at a crossroad, not knowing which way to go. I guess we all do.
I have already enrolled in a prestigious New Hampshire/New England college- it’s a great school. Poor girl like me, I should be doing a tap dance, and, well I did for a little while. But as always, I put my head on the chopping block and engaged in some necessary introspective Q&A. Why am I doing this? What is my purpose? Am I changing lives for the better? Will I be happy?
If I can’t answer every question with a resolute, unwavering answer- then it’s probably not the right decision. I don’t do things halfway- I throw every ounce of my heart into it or I don’t do it. And well, I’ve been waiting for four long years to dive back into my fine art/writing/music and songwriting, and my children’s book that I published almost a decade ago. I’ve done one school book reading in years- one! That’s how busy I’ve been, and that hurts, because there’s nothing like school readings, especially when you’re sharing your own book (and your own life, which my book is- in poems) with a whole new generation. To know that you’re able to influence a child- for the better- and give him or her something that they can carry with them into the future (such as being kind to people, remembering to love, and especially- not bullying their classmates), and hopefully become better people- there’s just nothing that can compare to that.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to immediately work on my BA in Creative Writing: I’ll be taking a year off. I’ve already accomplished something that many people don’t, and that’s self-publishing your own book. [pat on the back] But, I want to actually do something with it. I’m going to shop it around to publishers soon. If nobody bites, I’m going to have to do some grant-writing and such, and that’s ok too. I simply don’t have the necessary funds to do a U.S. book promo and two consecutive books (and promote those too) without executive backing. Without the funding- it’ll sit on the shelf and the best I’ll do is contribute time and energy to Boys & Girls clubs, children’s cancer hospitals, and homeless shelters, personally. That’s alright too, but everything will be out of pocket, and right now, it just wouldn’t be possible.
I’m going to give it a year. If I’m still sitting here a year from now- without one grant, fellowship, or publishing deal (for my fine art and “photo therapy”, the therapeutic photo-program I’m hoping to develop, or a book deal)- I’ll go back to school and work on another degree. I have to follow my heart though, and my heart is telling me to fly…
Canron Rebel digital camera/Helios film lens/back deck.
Rejected: Get Used to it, Kid!
So I just received my second rejection. The first was from the Beliot Poetry Journal (which was really sweet of the editor to tell me that although they were going to pass on my “self-confessional PSYCH ward poetic experience” he’s glad I’ve survived all of the things I’ve been through- haha…love that) and the second was from The New Yorker- a different poem entirely.
I won’t lie. The first one stung. Like a bee. Right in the head. (Obviously, it hit the ego more than the heart, but at least I’m aware of this.) What, I have an ego? YES. I frikking have an ego! Guh…it gets old. I’m fairly certain any artist, musician, or writer knows damn well what I’m talking about. There’s a fine line between wanting to share your art and wanting to feed your ego: this is the truth and it’s how it is. As artists, we like to dress things up like that old beast just doesn’t exist and we simply “are driven to create!” but what drives us? If we’re honest, we’ll acknowledge that at least sometimes, it’s the ego. If we’re in denial, we’ll say, “it’s just something I feel I have to do!” (Etc.)
So, there’s always that battle: self vs. art vs. self and striving to be more than simply wanting to get that little stroke that pushes you to your next piece. This is what I’m always thinking of when I submit new art somewhere: what am I searching for? Simply sharing this piece? What is my message? Am I imparting enough of myself in this piece so that people can feel it? I need to be saying something. Yes, the “praise” and the feedback come with the territory- that does feel like a warm, squishy blanket of “acceptance”- sure it does, but I want to know that I’m making an impression on somebody and adding something- no matter how small- to their lives, or the way they think, see, and feel.
Which brings me back to rejection. As in, “rejected by editors”. Maybe I’m a bit of a sadist, but I’m celebrating being rejected. Yes, I’m serious! I was rejected from the New Yorker,-come on…it’s The New Yorker for crying out loud. Being rejected from The New Yorker is a rite of passage. While the first rejection stung (get over yourself, kid!) I was completely elated by the 2nd one. Tickled. Serious tickled, because although I’ve been writing since I was a teenager (poems, songs, short stories, etc.) and have never had any education there at all- even having dropped out of high school in the 10th grade- I’m still acutely aware of my own ignorance as a writer, and, a poet. By claiming total ignorance, I can open my eyes and mind and have the necessary depth to fill in with an education in Creative Writing. Because I’m going into this saying “I know nothing”, I can learn so much more. Ego deflated!
I’ve created a Poem folder on my laptop, and also, a “Rejection” folder. It’s the rejection folder that will drive me in my art and work far more than any other. It’s proof that I have tried and do try and will not stop trying. I’m copying and pasting every rejection into that folder (dated, filed away).
Failure is nothing more than proof that you have tried.
I also entered my first short story competition last night- the top prize is $3,000. That one is going to hurt. Ha. But, it’s being slapped down in life that I have turned into an art form, so, the more rejections I receive (and there will be plenty); the more food for more art. It’s a self-sustaining cycle but one that holds valuable lessons for me, and I cherish them dearly.
Changing Lanes
It’s 6:57 a.m.
I’m listening to Sonata 3 in C Major BWV1005 by Bach and crying over Sylvia Plath.
I’ve been on this Plath kick for almost a year now. I used to be so harsh and judgmental of her. (“Well that’s what she gets for sticking her head into an oven!”) I didn’t understand her, nor did I try to until I read Rough Magic- her biography by Paul Alexander. Sylvia and I share several things in common. We’re both writers (dare I make such a claim?), perfectionistic overachievers, we both lost our children, we both went mad, and we were both locked away in an institution many years ago- having suffered breakdowns halfway through our college majors (and before)- and then immediately dusted ourselves off and jumped right back into the academic ring- no small feat.
I have a new respect for her, and until I began comparing notes, I had no idea how similar our lives were/are. I think she’s one of the most courageous women I’ve ever known. It’s not easy to have a colossal breakdown (pardon the pun) then pick yourself up again and carry on in the faces of all of the inquisitive eyes and naysayers…dream shatterers…
I’ve been reading her recently published (very private) journals, all night in fact. What a privilege to be able to wile away the hours reading her personal diary! I clearly have a fascination with her, but not only that- her poetry is by far, my favourite of anyone’s- Anne Sexton weighing in at close second. For me, nobody can touch these immensely talented and troubled women, who were both personal friends of each other (In fact, they shared a poetry workshop class and Plath admired Sexton greatly) who took their own lives at their own hands.
I read this in Sylvia’s journal earlier, and this is what made me cry:
Remember about the shadow of past knowledge. Write about your own experience. By that experience someone else may be a bit richer some day. Read widely of others experiences in thought and action– stretch to others even though it hurts and strains and would be more comfortable to snuggle back in the comforting cotton-wool of blissful ignorance! Hurl yourself at goals above your head and bear the lacerations that come when you slip and make a fool of yourself. Try always, as long as you have breath in your body, to take the hard way, the Spartan way – and work, work, work to build yourself into a rich, continually evolving entity!
I’m listening, Sylvia. :0)
I received my audit from my University several days ago: my petition to graduate has been accepted and I’m expected to graduate this December on the 7th at the Red Skelton Performing Arts Center. It’s been a long four years! I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to pull off a Behavioral Sciences major- I had to face certain doom and unspeakable tragedy (sexual abuse as a child, institutionalization, the loss of my children, insanity, years of being battered relentlessly by an unforgiving system), but it’s been worth fighting for and I had to prove to myself that I am more than a “label” that has a fancy name of this disorder or that. I will not be defined by a clinical title or even the thought of another person, for I’ve chosen to maximize what I’ve learned in school and minimize the trauma I’ve lived through.
Still, I can’t help but to be heavily influenced by the likes of Plath- she stood up in the face of terror itself and fought as long as she could. But what an incredible talent! I’m going to heed the words in her journal and I’m not going to be ashamed of my past and what I’ve lived through. It’s a miracle just to be alive.
I’ve decided that after I graduate, I’ll transfer over to Southern New Hampshire University, which is a private coed and one of the best schools in New England to work on my BA- not for Criminal Justice- but for Creative Writing with a concentration in Poetry. Plath has inspired me, completely, and has reminded that I’m an artist and a writer, and have been my whole life. I have the skeleton already- which is the passion- but I need the BA in Creative Writing so I can flesh out the bones.
I’m already a starving artist, what will it matter?
Life has been a blur lately of exams, cramming, writing essays and reports: I have 5 weeks to go!
And, I have 5 A’s in all 5 classes still. Go me. :0)
Josh stands in the golden hour sunlight down at the River.
Canon Digital Rebel/Super Takumar 135/3.5 film lens
And Heidi, if you’re reading this, thank you so much for your introduction to Plath at Olive Garden years ago. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be doing this whole school thing. xo
We March Like Soldiers
[based on a true story]
For Sean, because I know you understand. xo
We March Like Soldiers
Shuffling forward
We march like soldiers
Invisible chains rattling
That only we can hear
All crammed together
In that box
We jiggle a little
I keep my eyes on the numbers
In that crammed elevator and imagine
That death awaits me at the bottom
Like a gas chamber
Waiting to spit out its last breath
Jiggle
Jiggle
Down we go
To meet a collection of many tables
And glue and sparkly things
I don’t die
There is an exercise bike
And a fat woman rides
Always going
Nowhere
The piano makes me sad
I remember other things
And better days
Before I flew
Out of my mind
But down I sit
My fingers stumble like a bad lover
And I play the song of my life
Wanting only to cry
The crazy people look at me
They are smiling
I smile too- at what
I do not know
But on with the show!
I do not understand
How I got here
Or why
I march outside and watch the worker
Water the flowers
In the burning heat
A man walks in circles
And circles and circles
He is pleased to be talking
With himself
Round and round he goes
A curious machine
That brings
A heavy verdict
He discusses
Heaven and hell
Another jumps up and kicks the wall
Is he real?
Is he an angel? A devil?
Did he come up from a pit?
Did I see bats?
Are they birds?
I watch them fly away
Up and out of the high walls that surround
All of us here on lock down
The sunny workers in the flowered pajamas
Are careful to say lovely things
So we know
We’re sane
I swing and swing
Every day
On that damn bench
That never goes anywhere
Up we go
Jiggle
Jiggle
Back to the halls and walls that are plastered with rules
That we’re supposed to understand
There are smiley faces
That tell us
We are people too
Here on this safe floor with no lighters or sharp metal things
And we wait
Watching the new ones march in
I am uncertain
If I am dead or alive
I go to the bathroom
Shut the door
And try to cry
No tears
The night brings another solemn gathering
Of people standing in line
For the third time
Today
To eat
And snacks too
I am a wild animal in these glass-windowed walls
I do not know how to get out
My eyes are black as mud inside
And my tears have been taken
By terror (the mirror does not lie)
Out I shuffle
With bare feet and no socks
In my spotted gown
Down
The hall
And we all
March like soldiers
And stand in a sad line
To get our pills
Which make us feel
At least for a little while
Like we are sleeping
As we lie awake in this place
Flying out of our minds
– B. Lindsey
(original poem)
Written on 10/28/13
White Linen
For Shreya. xo
One of my short stories from several years ago.
White Linen
Her fingers felt like two hot stones that had soaked up the angry sun. The sweat was gathering on her back and Ellie knew that she was racing against the clock. She’d been out there for two hours now; digging, planting, and turning over the dry, crusted earth. She wiped her brow, smearing dirt on her face; mixing it with the sweat that ran down into her ear. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze.
“Good thing too,” she thought.
A gentle breeze would only have lulled her into the hope of being comfortable. She wasn’t much of a gardener, but her mother (and her mother’s mother) had toiled away in the burning sun, just as Ellie was doing now, and so she felt it was her womanly duties, if nothing else, to keep the grounds. It was her heritage. Her land now. Her large fingers tore at the soil and she carefully placed each small stone that introduced itself, into neat little piles. The smile that was beginning to form at the corners of her mouth, was evidence that she was quite pleased with herself. She squinted and stared up into the sun. The lemon-yellow glow, radiated out from the heavens, wrapping itself around her very heart it seemed. Panting, she let her eyes drift across the canvas of the sky, and thought of the tangy lemons in her basket over the stove. She would take a few, squeeze them tightly into a pitcher (after cutting each in half), careful not to let the seeds fall in. She’d add a few cups of sugar (she could practically taste it now), rushing to the pit of her stomach as if it too were trying to get away from the burning heat.
Ellie wiped her hand on her brown, faded dress. You know the one. A rip there at the hem from rushing through life, month after month; chores and endless lists to check off. A button- missing in the back- directly across from her burdened waist; proof that she’d rewarded herself bountifully after each carefully planned meal. The floral pattern had been beaten away by the unforgiving sun, year after year of hanging out those old stained linens. Why, they must be forty years old by now! Ellie wasn’t aware that she’d drifted off again; her eyes fixed to those linens as if it were the sheets themselves that took her back to her Jonah, and the sound of his harmonica…and her laughter. But Jonah was gone and so were the years.
She wiped her eyes, again streaking dirt across her lid. Her parched mouth brought Ellie’s eyes away from the sheets and back to her tired old hands. Lemonade. Ellie put her packages of seeds next to the neatly stacked stones, and tried to rise. It felt as if the sun had exploded in her chest; her breathing, coming in heavy gasps, and she fell to the ground, scattering the stones as she went. Ellie closed her eyes, for the sun was blinding, and she pulled at the grass, reaching for something (for what, she did not know) something to feel connected to. Even with her eyes closed, she felt the shadow move over her face. Ellie opened her eyes. The sun was hiding behind the peculiar man, causing a cool shade to fall on her. For that, she was grateful. The ripping pain in her chest, seemed to have vanished, and Ellie was wondering who the stranger was that stood before her.
”Can I help you Ma’am?” he asked kindly.
Ellie shook her head, as if to say no, but then nodded her head in confusion. The glow of the sun seemed to make him glow as if he too, were indeed part of the sun.
”Y-yes…thank you….sir….,” she answered; her voice trailing off, barely above a whisper. She looked up and into his eyes. How could it be? Her Jonah was gone, and he looked nothing like him, but his eyes…she could almost be certain they were Jonah’s. Yes. She was absolutely certain that she’d seen them before. She reached up, placing her hand into his waiting one. The man pulled her up; smiling and nodding gently as he did and Ellie let out a breath of summer air, returning his smile, and gently squeezed his hand. The sight of her linens, dancing happily in the breeze, caught her eye. The gentle wind kissed her hair, refreshing her for the first time in months. She could hear the faint trail of a harmonica playing, as many do in the country, and still holding the man’s hand, Ellie looked around to take stock in all that she had to be thankful for. This is the house that sheltered her through the many seasons of her life. The garden there, was her daily companion; patiently teaching her how to grow.
”Are you ready?” asked the man.
Ellie paused, and looked back at the scattered stones. Lying next to them was the body of Ellie Parkins. Ellie saw herself, but felt as if she were looking at a stranger. Dirt streaked her forehead, and a faint smile was still painted on her mouth. Hanging on the clothesline, were those white linens, which also seemed to glow with the strength of the sun shining through them. Ellie looked up at the man, and with one last sigh, she pursed her mouth together and nodding at her new friend, walked toward the shining sun…
Speak to Me, Lord
It’s 2:52 am: I’m getting to bed early tonight.
Somebody’s been misbehaving again, and it isn’t me. I won’y mention any names, but I’ve gone and gotten my heart broken again. Damn. We were doing so well too…
I’ve moved into Brian’s old room; it’s comforting seeing his graffiti on the walls, I’m sleeping with his big, squishy teddy bear. I can admit to that. :0) I’ve been crying my eyes out for two days and haven’t eaten for 2 & 1/2. I’ll eat when the tears stop flowing. In all of this pain, I know God has lessons for me to learn. Pain is one of the best tools God has. My heart right now, can be compared to the earth, and when the ground is broken up, it seems destructive and things are ripped apart on a microscopic level. It’s dark…it’s cold…the seed that’s been in the ground for days begins to shake- there’s a revolt, and a miniature earthquake. After much pressure and tumult, that seed busts open, and new life springs forth. After a while, the roots seek out the deep and they thirst for water. This is my heart right now. I know there are seeds of love that are bursting forth, but in order for that to even take place, I have to deal with the cold, dark, isolation and the tightly squeezing pressures around me. I remember that these situations bring new life, but I must suffer the pain first. For whatever reason, it’s for my growth.
I was able to get the sunrise that I was after. I hadn’t taken a sunrise shot in years and it certainly paid off.I was admiring the abstract composition of the distorted lines interweaving themselves in and around the dock, when I turned around to take one final glance behind me [insert Hallelujah chorus here] BAM.
Abstract waterscape by the docs
Super Tak 135/3/5/manual
The In Between
The purples, and blues and pinks faded away and was quickly replaced by a small, white. orb that was surrounded by the most beautiful shades of yellow, gold, and orange I’d ever seen. To make it even more epic, it all happened while the church bells down the street began ringing, as if on cue, to accompany the sun up from his bed. It was spectacular.
I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Speak to me, Lord’.
And He did.
EOS REBE/SMC Super Takumar 135/3/5/natural lighting/manual
Super Tak: Film Lenses on Digital Cameras
It’s 5:17 a.m. and I cannot sleep. I’m sitting on the bathroom floor with my laptop deciding what I want to do next. It’s been a long time since I snuck off to another room while Josh slept! Alas, I cannot sleep. I’m actually waiting for the break of dawn so I can go on a sunrise photoshoot. It’s freezing outside! But that’s alright. I like the cold.
I’m missing Brian so much. He’s rarely here any more. I’m very happy for him though; I’m fairly certain he’s happy, and as long as he is, that’s all that matters. I’m confident that all of my children know this about me: I support them in everything they do- 100%.
I’ve decided that I want to start shooting with film lenses. Digital just doesn’t do it for me…at all. it’s too clear, focused- intentional. It cleans up all of the imperfections right away and leaves little to the imagination. I really don ‘t like it. So I picked up my first film lens (apart from two cheapies in the pawn shop), which is the SMC (super multi coated) Takumar 135/3.5. I must credit my British friend, Mark for this idea: he sent me a few pics a year ago and they blew my mind. He was using film lenses on a digital camera. Huh?! Yeah. You just have to know which adapters to get, so after a bit of research, I found the adapter for my Canon body: the M42. My Tak (or, “Super Tak” as it’s known as) came in 2 days ago, but my adapter came in today. (I could cry!) This is probably why I can’t sleep. The quality of this lens is jaw-dropping. The colours are so fantastic that I’m breaking my own self contract and will be shooting in colour- and lots of it. How could I not?
Here are a few sample images from the Super Tak:
I am completely in love with this lens! But it gets even better. I have two more that will be arriving in the upcoming week- they’re film lenses as well. I’ve decided that I’ll never shoot digital (lenses, anyway) again- only film from here on out. I love the texture and film grain that the older lenses provide. The two new lenses will be: Carl Zeiss (YES!!) 35/ 2.8 and the Helios 44M-4 58 MM f/2. They’re flying in from several different countries and I’m so excited………..!
More on this later. I have a sunrise to shoot.
Academic update:
It’s midterm, and here are my grades in the following classes:
Criminology: A
Lifetime Fitness and Wellness: A
Spanish II: A
Therapeutic Interventions with Substance Abusers II: A
Booyah!
Little Things
For my friend: All the Avenues Look Ugly.
I know you hate the world, I do too sometimes, and I know you want to die and think about it a lot. I want to tell you while there’s still time that you are a beautiful person! We all shine in different ways. Some of us are happy, bubbly, people that refuse to see negativity in the world, and some of us see the wreckage because we know it’s there.
I wish I had something profound and life-changing to say. But I really want to say that even dead flowers in a jar can be beautiful, and the point to all of this is that I care. You are loved, friend.
xo
Pancake Geography
So I’ve been sitting here doing homework for the past (30 hours with a sleep break) few hours, and have decided to do the self-challenge that I’ve wanted to do for years: I’m going to leave my camera in monochrome for a whole year. After my next birthday, I’ll take my first coloured photograph. The majority of everything looks better to me in black and white anyway, and when I compose a shot in monochrome- as opposed to colour- it always tells a story.
I can twist the lighting any way I want and distort and change my image: pancakes become mountains- the syrrup the sea- and the edge of the syrup-filled pancake looks like a gashed-open knee. I love the way the light fades off into the syrrupy-darkness.
Clearly, I’ve done too much schoolwork and am creating little worlds now in my plate of food.
Back to the schoolwork.
[groan]
Newsflash: Blood Pressure People
“Why does this bathroom smell like pee?” says Josh. Well I don’t know Josh. Why would a bathroom smell like pee?
I’m obviously in one of my sardonic moods. Perhaps I’m tired of lying on the living room floor, bleeding profusely. Silly me, I didn’t factor in that Black Seed Oil actually accelerates blood circulation. Black Seed Oil is a essentially a panacea that is extracted from black cumin. It’s said to “cure everything but death”. (And PMS.) Because well, I’m still a &^%$#!
But as the saying goes, “this too shall pass.” Except I don’t think it will because I’ve noticed that I’ve been a &^%$# for quite some time now. I’m hoping this goes away after I graduate.
In other parts of the world, apparently, “simming in sea” is good for “blood pressure people”. I’m guessing it’s also good for “blood sugar people” and “heart and lung people”. I honestly don’t know how people find my blog sometimes but I swear, one day, I’m going to put together a post strictly on key word searches.
At least I’m not like “Bitter Ben” who is always bitter about everything. (You’re my here, Bitter Ben.)
I’ve managed to wipe out 3 major Lifetime Fitness and Wellness assignments (PMS-style- flat on my back) as well as a 5 page Criminology report, a Discussion Board posting and am getting ready to dive in to my Therapeutic Intervention with Substance Abusers II report. I’ve discovered that wine makes all of this better. Especially the last one. (Catawba Rose, to be precise.) We had a bottle left over from our trip and well, we’re just not going to let that sit around in the fridge with all this homework going on.
Josh is in the kitchen, knocking out a web page design assignment and I’m getting ready to study for my 4 chapter Criminology test that I must take tonight- after-
“HOW MUCH WINE DO WE HAVE LEFT?”
“Probably another cup,” Josh replies.
– after another cup perhaps. Brian Bob has been gone for weeks now. 😦 He pops in from time to time to re-up on smokes, money, food, and then he’s out again. I miss him so much! He’s my only son- the big seventeen. I remember being his age though. I wanted to be with my boyfriend- what 17 year old girl just wants to hang out with her Dad?! So, Dad let me go. I moved in with my boyfriend’s family early on. I didn’t think about how my Dad would feel- not really. And now I do, with a bittersweet smile and tears in my eyes. Life has come a full circle. Bob is spending most of his time with his girlfriend, Amanda, and I am happy for him, and her too. Doesn’t life have a funny way of catching up with you?
Brian Bob and his little lady (So busted- behind the bushes).
Jellyfish and Psycho Stalkers
Jellies at the Aquarium of the Smokies- Gatlinburg, Tennessee (Canon G3/manual)
Today is my birthday; I’m 44!
I have a roaring migraine.
🙂 <<<<<<<<<<
But, given the circumstances, it’s not surprising. I could write a book on the (mis) adventures of our vacation in the Smokies, but my head won’t let me and I have to start on homework soon. Right- on my birthday-with a migraine. I’ll keep things short.
As we were leaving Maggie Valley in North Carolina on the 15th (Sunday), putting along down the interstate, my Mom’s car died. On the interstate. We pulled over off the highway and sat on the roadside. (It was 3:00 p.m. or so.) Numerous calls were made to AAA- hours went by- my daughter, Heidi, was violently ill and my Mom, who is almost 70, was exhausted. People needed to pee and we were making very little progress with AAA. More time passed. More calls were made. (More waiting. More calls.)
Finally, after being stranded on the interstate for 7+ hours, our guy pulls up in a (very) small tow truck. He then tells us that he can’t tow more than two people and we were basically screwed. I was able to pull a few strings and he called his buddy (unbeknownst to AAA) who owned a double cab who promised to come and tow us to a hotel and auto body shop.
More time passed. It was now pitch dark and we were on the side of the highway in a black car and a dead cell phone. Nice.
Finally, after much cussing and praying, our 2nd guy pulls up and tows us to safety and a Comfort Inn in Ashville, N.C. After hanging out on a small hill the following day, among the sweet smelling pines for several hours, we were told that the mechanics had found the problem and we would be on our way soon.
By this point, I had incredibly bad “highway hair” and could feel my head slowly cracking; I just wanted to prevent “the migraine”.
After returning home that evening, I was informed that our dog, Chance, had run out when Brianna left that morning. Naturally, I couldn’t receive text messages on the road because my cell phone had died hours before. After I was told that he had run outside 10 hours earlier, I was crushed. Josh and I spent the next few hours combing the city; whistling, calling…we didn’t find him. I was devastated. I couldn’t blame Brianna, of course. Chance no doubt wanted to be with us and might have run out to try and find us, but really, he’s a “bolter”. He loves to get out and run- full blast!
I didn’t get much sleep that night and cried, so much. Chance is my baby. I’ve trained him to fetch things, to give me a kiss, and he’ll chew on Josh’s beard, as if to groom him; it’s totally adorable. He’s been our baby for 10 months now, which makes it especially weird when I received an email from his former owner’s girlfriend, telling me that they received a call that Chance had been picked up (when we were broken down in N.C.) and at first, I was glad to see her email, as we have stayed in contact with each other, remotely. She has written me several times asking for updates on “Willy” (his previous name). I had felt a bit uncomfortable with her wanting to stay in contact with us (regarding Chance), but didn’t see any reason not to send her a few shots of Josh and Chance out at parks, etc. and share some information on how he’s doing. (Big mistake.)
After spending the night searching for Chance, crying- exhausted from being stranded on the highway and just exhausted in general from not eating and sleeping properly because of the whole chaotic “stranded situation”, I continued reading her email, and quickly became outraged. She had the audacity to tell me that they received a call that Chance had been picked up, and that she and her boyfriend were going to go and get him on Thursday (tomorrow), and that, “We are going to pick Willy up from LHS thursday and he will not be given back to your custody.”
WOW.
After keeping her updated on his well-being and even sending her cute little pics of him? What the hell is wrong with people? They’ve lost their decency and ability to exhibit a smidgeon of compassion anymore it seems. She had no idea we were stranded, or that we’d all just been through 2 days of highway hell. (Yeah, and his name is not “Willy” lady! It’s Chance. Get it straight!)
When Josh and I got Chance from her and her boyfriend (also named Josh), they failed to mention that we would need to register Chance’s microchip with us. They gave us no information on it at all. It’s not absolutely mandatory and it has no bearing overall on actual and legal “ownership”. It’s a good idea for new owners to do that, but if the new owners choose not to, that doesn’t mean that the dog still belongs to the previous owners simply because his microchip number still bears their contact information. She could have chosen to contact us in a civil manner rather than outright threatening us. Not the best idea.
After researching microchip ownership and conferring with an attorney, I discovered that many animal shelters refuse to let a new owner register the animal’s microchip in his or her name, because often, the animal will wind up right back in the shelter and the shelter gets tired of having to (re) register the new contact information over and over again.
I would have been completely willing to continue to apprise the former owner of Chance’s well being and maybe even share a few more pics, but certainly not now. I believe she’s a bit unstable and out of touch with reality. Who would give you a dog and then tell you almost a year later that your dog is still named what they named him?
Psycho much?
Things are slowly returning back to normal now; Josh is in the living room playing the guitar and singing, our feline and canine family are lounging around enjoying the music, and Bob is at the table with me- he wanted to come and see me for my birthday- it’s a treat. :0)
In other news, Carl is losing his fight against feline AIDS and although he’s still eating voraciously, the food is just going through him so quickly- like water- he’s wasting away. Brianna has made the executive decision to have him put to sleep tomorrow; she doesn’t want him to suffer further. She’s being incredibly strong right now and I’m so very proud of her.
Even with the migraine, the crazy mishaps in the mountains of North Carolina, and the psycho- former owner of my dog threatening to “dognap” him, I can say that all is well still: I’m alive and still carry a smile.
(selfie in the Smokies)
Getaway
Tickles the cat.
Canon G3/manual/RAW/natural lighting
Heidi is here with us now; she’s hacking and coughing but still going to the Smokies with us; she’s a trooper. We leave in the morning. I’ve just finished an assignment (at 1:30 a.m.) and just want to shower and collapse. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take my laptop with me and complete several assignments overlooking the mountains on the cabin deck. Lovely.
I’ve purchased our Ripley’s Believe It or Not oddities museum and Aquarium tickets and have printed them out; they’re tucked away snugly in my purse. Josh says we’re both “overpreparers”. I can’t disgree- we spend more time preparing for a trip than we do actually on a trip. Brianna won’t be able to come along because she has to work.
It’s way past my bedtime.
Next time I write, I’ll be in the mountains. I hope the sunrise out on the deck with be misty and majestic. I’m craving coffee just thinking about it. Man I’m getting old…
m o n o c h r o m e j u n k i e † 