Vows, undeserved

So, we usually do Secret Subject Swap where we each get a prompt someone else submitted and no one knows who got what until the day we publish. It's been a blast writing and reading so many different perspectives, but it's been a lot of years now, and most people have sort of fallen off doing these challenges. I've kept going even with intense insomnia that keeps me from writing as well as I used to in part because this has been such a big part of my life for so long and because I know having a deadline keeps me writing. But mostly I just wasn't ready to say goodbye to people whose only real connection to me is these posts. But for the second time in just a couple years, one of the few regulars passed away. Today, our post is about her. Every prompt is hers, a memorial post from everyone in a way, and honestly probably one of our last as a group. It's been rad, y'all. I might still be here righting but I'm just not sure right now.




My “Secret Subject” is:

What is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you in public? Tell us about it.

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I've never had a soul crushingly embarrassing experience that I can reflect back on and still think was as mortifying as it appeared at the time. There have been little things here or there. There were times in my childhood that I thought I'd never be free of the weight of but looking back now I wonder what the big deal even was. Nothing that seemed soul crushingly embarrassing at the time has remained so. Does it count if it wasn't necessarily embarrassing at the time and just increasingly got worse?

Because I was married to a dumb asshole. And I married that dumbasshole in front of dozens of people who knew he was a dumbasshole and couldn't for the life of them get me to see it and he turned into an even bigger dumbasshole than even any of them could have predicted.

And I think about it with the complicated lenses of present me and it is fucking mortifying how naive I was and God all of it is just so goddamn sad.

I married someone who wasn't even an adult yet. For that matter neither was I. We weren't even 25 when we got together and moved in together. We weren't even 25 when we got married a year later. I had a kid at 25. With that dumbasshole. And instead of growing up together, he just seemed to constantly reverse. Every step forward he might make would come crashing to a halt then he backpedaled. He lied. About everything all the time. And when he got caught I was the bad guy for accusing him. He spent money like he actually had the ability to keep a full time job. He refused to learn how to do even the easiest of tasks and once just before I found out I was pregnant he let his still teenaged best friend pull him around the yard with the lawnmower and ended up in the emergency room. He gaslit me and punched holes in things. He drank too much too often He cheated at the end. It was so many things that left me looking like an absolute fool.

And the worst is when I tried talking to my friends or my mom, it was "well told you so" from them and "you expect too much out of men" from her. Maybe I do but I don't think that means stick with someone that makes me hate myself.

We split and he put every woman he ever dated above my kid for years. He wouldn't pay child support. He left me all the bills then begged me for a place to stay with one of his girlfriends or they'd be homeless but wouldn't pay rent and left me sitting with her many nights while he went out cheating on her so I had to be the one to comfort my ex's newbie. He constantly stole money out of my checking account and laughed about it to our friends who laughed at me with him especially when he'd insist I was just the crazy ex who'd die alone. He has a kid with one of these women that he's never seen. He's never paid her a dime. And then he knocked someone up who demanded he marry her or not see his kid again so he did and for a few years he really gave it a half hearted effort. He had kid after kid with this woman that he admitted in private he couldn't stand. He asked me to give her makeup tips. And fashion advice. He let her treat my kid like shit and they both made him uncomfortable with the way they talked about him. He didn't even have so much as a toothbrush at their house and when he eventually asked to not be treated that way and to have things there like he was part of their family too, they stopped speaking to him. Right after he came out of the closet and endured many a gay joke and being called princess all the time.

He hasn't spoken to his own kid in years. He missed every single bit of his own child's teens because he's a dumbasshole and I just keep being increasingly mortified that I was ever so fucking stupid.

Forever, every single time I hear the name Erik, I'm going to be embarrassed. But Im absolutely over the moon about the fact that he ended up with the life he deserves stuck with someone he doesn't like with kids he didn't plan on and absolutely fucking miserable. Good job, buddy. Karma got you.

_________________________________

Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

What TF Sarah https://crazymamallama.blogspot.com

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Crow's Feet Part 2

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: donate ~ plan ~ weeks ~ change ~ senator

They were submitted by: https://www.bakinginatornado.com

The continuation from last week

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I sped to the nearest police station a few blocks from the spa, but it was closed whoever it was stayed on my ass until the second I whipped into the parking lot. I sat there watching and waiting for them to come back by or run up on me on foot from the shadows, but it didnt happen. I sat there in my car shaking and panicking for I don't even know how long. An hour? Two hours? 

I couldn't make myself get out. I was terrified they'd be waiting. And I knew how it would sound. I knew how they reacted already and I'd sound like an absolute lunatic. I can't even begin to stress the good reputation the owners had in town. They were rich, rich. Not "we can afford everything we need and want" rich but like "we could never spend this money" rich. 

But I had to try, right?

I got out and ran inside, heart racing. I tried explaining what I'd seen to the person at the desk in the front lobby... I thought she might really be listening when she told me to hold on a second and went and got some officers from the back. They asked me to repeat myself and nearly every single one busted out laughing. Like just cracking the fuck up at my expense. I should have known better. I think if they wouldn't have been bothered by the paperwork I probably would have ended up in a mental hospital--which in hindsight probably would have saved me at least for awhile. But as it was I left while their laughter was still ringing in my ears. I think I blushed straight down to the tips of my toes.

I needed a plan.

I didn't go home that night. Luckily I kept some spare clothes in the car I could change into and I had some money in savings--thanks to this crazy bullshit job--so I checked myself into a hotel right in the middle of town. Oh yeah I know the cliche is the outskirts but that seemed like a great way to get kidnapped away from the public eye, and if I was going to get grabbed for seeing what they were doing, I was going to make a scene. Might as well right? Make it hard for them to explain it all away especially if I was probably going to die either way. Those guys chasing me didn't look too thrilled.

Once there I ordered some takeout and locked myself in. I had to think of something.

I slept hard that night and woke into the nightmare of what I'd seen last night really settling in. Mindy and I weren't making wedding plans by any means but I loved her. Seeing her screaming at me to get out even in those circumstances...even when she was...when she was cut apart like that. What the fuck were they doing to us? Mindy, Shonda, nova, Sam, erin... Where were the rest?

I sat in my hotel room for days frantically trying to figure out who to talk to. I contacted news outlets, indie journalists, podcasters to no avail. I got the same response as the cops. I settled on calling the closest FBI office because what if it was black market organs? The feds would definitely be interested in that right?

Well, they were. Just the wrong kind of interested. Unfortunately. Well, unfortunately for us anyway.

I got a call back from the office on my cell phone pretty quickly. The guy, Agent Wilkerson, wanted to meet me at the hotel. Immediately. He didn't ask many questions over the phone after I told him my story. He didn't sound surprised. He didn't sound incredulous the way I expected, and something should have clicked for me that things weren't right but it didn't. I was so fucking naive. I think I felt so incredibly alone and afraid that I just wanted someone to tell things to who sounded like they believed me instead of laughing about how crazy I must be. And so I told him.

He arrived in minutes almost like he'd already been on the way here. He flashed his badge at the peephole so I'd open the door and pushed me inside.

"You need to be more careful. They could be looking for you."

He took a look around the room, checked the bathroom, opened the blinds and checked for who knows what. Recording devices probably? I don't know. And then he asked if I'd be willing to testify.

"I mean sure but don't you need to find proof?"

"Oh we have been on this case a long time. Your testimony could finally be the nail in the coffin for these assholes. We can get you in protective custody today. Right now if you're ready."

It really didn't take me long to make that decision. Mindy flashed across my mind and how could I refuse. I nodded, crying, and he gave me a hat and sunglasses to wear then ushered me out of the room.

I wasn't really paying attention at first but my heart sank in my chest when I looked around and realized we were almost back at the resort.

"Where are we going? Why are we in this part of town?"

He ignored me.

"Come on, man!! They're going to kill me if they see me."

"You'll live long enough to donate your body to the Senator who paid for you."

Well, anyway, that was weeks ago now. He brought me back to the spa, and I've just kind of been here in basically a small hospital room completely and totally locked in except I think i figured out a way to escape. I know they've been monitoring some blood work of mine trying to get certain numbers up to get the maximum benefits for whoever it is they've giving me too. I still don't understand the whole process because they don't talk to me, but I'm running out of time. I do know that. They talk enough to each other that Ive been able to piece a few things together. And I do know that they're going to take as much off me as they can while keeping me alive. I don't know what they do with the parts but it sounds like thry figured out a way to reverse aging by at least 10 years or some shit. Probably rich people grifting other rich people and we got to die for it. yay.

I don't know what Im going to do if I make it out. I can't use my money. The police will find me for sure if I do. I can't go home. I don't even have clothes... But I have to try right? Surely someone out there will help me, right?

__________________

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

But, Above All Else, He Is A Reliable Narrator

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 2 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My prompt: If you could just blink your eyes, right now, and be anywhere, where would you be?

It was submitted by: https://www.bakinginatornado.com

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"and...well...if she had known the outcome of that fateful balmy, southern afternoon, she might have allowed herself that one last slice of banana bread. After all, what could it hurt? But as it stood, she would end up wishing she could blink her eyes and be anywhere else on a terribly empty stomach. Or so the contents of her stomach would later tell us."

I was just brushing my teeth, man. That was it. I was brushing my teeth when I heard Keith Morrison--YES THAT KEITH MORRISON OF DATELINE AND MURDER FAME--narrating my day. Who else could get away with remarks so closely balanced on the border between rather morbid and nightmarishly macabre? It's that damn voice. Keith Morrison lulls us into accepting this elderly distinguished gent in his little blazers while black eyeliner, sleeping in a coffin, and teased hair goth are at his very core. The man has The Cure running in his veins. He looks like the nice neighbor who waters his flowers every morning at 7 am and gives out full size bars at Halloween but sounds like a man in spikes and doom boots who drives a hearse to work. Vincent Price in soul and dapper, gentle Grandpa in form. And now I could hear him discussing every step of my day.

When I was choosing what I might wear that day he talked about very weird details of my childhood. My mom apparently said I loved catching bugs and studying them, but I'm pretty sure that was only 2 weeks in the summer between 2nd and 3rd grade. My dad called me the light of his life which is rich considering just last year he asked me why I had to make him look bad with all his friends when I got a tattoo of Benson from Regular Show in that old Burt Reynolds Playgirl pose. But listen that thing was amazing. Either way I was the queer Black Sheep™ of the family, and my brother was definitely the golden child, so this all from my dad came as news to me. I mean, at some points I found myself listening in like I'd done with true crime podcasts over and again including the one with audio of old datelines...it couldn't be about me but it was. The details were just enough for me to recognize the truth while also wondering what the fuck these people who criticized and hurt and bullied thought they were up to talking about me like this. I could hear Keith talking about my best friend while I made my lunch for the day and got everything together for work and wouldn't you know this bitch I hadn't talked to since school after she called me fat and ugly and weird pushed me down and made me break my thumb was CRYING. crying! I was completely unaware I was so important in her life considering we hadn't talked for like 20 years.

Fucking people.

And then I think maybe the coffee hit and I realized either I had completely lost touch with reality and I needed to see someone or I was about to get murdered. And I really needed to figure that out urgently because I did absolutely not want to blink and wish I was anywhere else but there on an empty stomach later that afternoon as Keith, yes we're on a first name basis now, had so described.

I went back at the last minute and ate 2 slices of banana bread. Fuck fate. Or, well, fuck dateline. Same difference here really. And it was the best banana bread I've ever made.

So I'm here at work. No one can here Keith narrating my life story. But apparently I'm also not acting weird enough for anyone to be concerned, so it must not be a hallucination entirely? I don't know. Maybe it's Keith's calming voice keeping me straight. Would people be reacting to me differently if this was like Nancy Grace or those loud assholes from Last Podcast on the Left? It makes good sense that my brain would pick Keith for a hallucination though you know? But hallucinations generally aren't logical choices right? I dont know. I just know that Keith keeps saying I don't know that this is my last day at work and wouldn't I, if I knew, want to blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere else. And I mean yes but that's not helpful really since I now know this might be my last day on earth, and I can't actually blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere but here. It's like rubbing rock salt in a very open wound, Keith.

The end of the work day is coming up and since apparently I never make it back home to the banana bread I wasn't supposed to eat, whatever happens must be happening soon. I had no plans but going straight home once I clock out here. So I don't know. Do I leave? Do I stay and try to circumvent this, this thing ....my murder?

If Im honest I think if I actually could blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere else I'd just want to go hang out with my little sister and watch golden girls...but what if that's what I'm supposed to do and then we both die? So what I'm gonna do instead is hang out here at work. I know the night janitor. He's a pretty nice guy, and he said he wouldn't mind if I just stayed. He even said he had a cot down in the basement I could use if I wanted to go down there later, so that's what I'm going to do. That'll probably be fine, right?

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

Crow's Feet

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

exercise ~ laughter ~ embarrassing ~ whoops

They were submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

_________________________

In the beginning, warning people was an exercise in futility. I would tell people that folks at my job were going missing, that we were being harvested to reverse aging, and it would be met with laughter. Like a "whoops I think she's lost her mind" sort of uncomfortable laugh but also the kind that felt like I'd die from the embarrassing reality of being seen as such a clown and the pain of knowing so many more of us were going to die...that it would be too late before anyone noticed.

I was working at an anti-aging spa resort when I found out what was happening. I actually had no idea how I even got the job at first considering how poor I was. And I mean, I looked it. Cheap polyester blazers, decent skin, a terrible haircut, and the trend knowledge of a flea were what I brought to the table, but I was hired on anyway. I rationalized that they'd seen some potential in me or that my imposter syndrome was tripping me up, and i was being too hard on myself. It was such a great opportunity, and the pay was better than I'd ever been offered.

Everything was great at first.

It was. I know what I know now but that doesn't erase those first weeks when I felt like a new person. Everyone--the other new hires and my supervisors and the masseuses and the estheticians--were very kind and understanding and patient. I learned so much. I was actually really pumped about the whole industry. I was seeing people with real results, and they seemed so happy. I wanted to be able to do that for people--which, looking back, is hilarious in the darkest way possible--and I started to think I'd found my niche. My career. My thinking started to shift. I was looking into programs and thinking about the future.

And then Mindy disappeared. They said she quit with no notice, but that didn't sound like her. We'd become fast friends, and I knew her pretty well even though it had only been a couple months. I don't know. She'd just been such a good listener and funny and witty and I was starting to think I might be like... gay for her to be honest. When I went by her place there were tons of packages on the porch. Her car was there, but she didn't answer the door or my calls and that was pretty much never the case. We talked every day even if we worked the same shift. There were nights we'd been up until 3 am video chatting and watching the same movies and that's if I wasnt already at her place. I actually hadn't seen her posting online either which was very unlike her. She had quite a catalog of memes she constantly posted. If the girl wasn't at work she was usually at home posting the most absurd shit should could find which is what drew us together. We weren't go out to the bars after work kind of people, so when the rest went we usually got tacos and hung out at her place quietly. She hadnt mentioned anything to me about quitting. She loved the job as much as I did. It was pretty easy work and it could be a good stepping stone into an actual field and not just out here flailing and working dead ends. She wanted the job. And there's a part of me that thought there was no way she'd leave it while I was there even if it was awful.

And it occured to me that management didn't know how close we actually were. We were kind of scared they'd have a problem with it. I knew in my heart the crush went both ways. I know now for sure. Either way, I think both of us figured dating coworkers would be a big no no, and neither of us were out exactly either, so people knew we hung out sometimes but not the extent of it. I thought maybe something sinister was going on and they'd just lied to keep from stirring us up over it, and that was right...but also very wrong. I thought maybe she got in trouble for her social media and was embarrassed to talk to me or maybe she was sick and they couldn't divulge her personal status. But why wouldn't she answer me? And I couldn't call family. She didn't really talk to hers. That was another thing that drew us together. Similar trauma.

Then Shonda quit without notice. And erin. and Nova. Then Sam. Esther. Janice.

Uh. That's what you might call a pattern, you know? And like I didn't know them quite as well but none of them talked about hating their jobs either. Nova and Sam were both nonbinary and happy as hell to have jobs where they felt safe and accepted.

Why didn't it click that every single one of the people who went missing didn't come from great families? Every single one of them had talked about it in the break room. On one of the few nights Mindy and I went out to have a drink with everyone else just to show.our faces and not alienate ourselves, we'd all talked about it and how funny it was that we were all from the same backgrounds really. I thought it said a lot about the family structure and society and not like...strategic.

I tried messaging other friends on their Facebook pages but got no responses. I called the police department about Mindy but they told me I wasn't family and that adults can disappear if they want to without coworkers trying to track them down for whatever story I wanted to hear about why she quit her job so I quit looking.

I should have quit the job then, right? I should have. I know I should have. Why the fuck didn't I? I guess I didn't want to leave everyone hanging and disappoint them. The rest of my coworkers were stressed out because we were either short staffed or training people, and my boss's boss had come through and let the rest of us know that if we left without notice like the others there would be no way we could get jobs at other spas in town. She'd make sure of it. And, well, I'm also a bit of a people pleaser which didn't help matters.

If I get out of this--i'm probably not getting out of this--im really going to get some therapy to work on that... Right after all there therapy I'm gonna need for PTSD.

Anyway, I got nosy. I mean, I might be a people pleaser but I'm also basically a cat otherwise, and my curiosity got the better of me. And honestly with how things were going, someone was going to get the better of me either way. Why not let it be myself? I stole the office manager's extra keys after sending her a very annoyingly off key singing telegram to distract her and went back after business hours one night. I really just meant to find their files and see if any of them had emergency contacts listed or if anything was mentioned about why they left.

I didn't make it that far though. I heard screaming coming from the back rooms and instead of running out the front and calling the cops I ran to help. Of course my dumbass did. And that's when I saw the whole setup. All the others were there. They were... They were being cut on. Cut apart. Mindy was being sewn up and a fresh kidney was sitting on ice beside her. I wasn't exactly being quiet in the first place but I was screaming before I even realized. Mindy was still aware enough to yell my name and tell me to run so I did. I don't even know how I made it out of the building. I don't. I can't even run! I never run. But I guess my fear overrode my aversion to exercise and really went for it. I got to my car and peeled out, but pretty much immediately filled with regret that I didn't try to save her. I don't know. I don't. Im not a coward. I swear to fucking god I'm not. But what I saw... The absolute terror in her voice... I just acted on instinct or at least some part of me that moved my feet for me without time for the wannabe hero parts of my brain to step in and slow me down. 

Then, I saw someone with their brights on speeding up behind me.

To be continued...

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Magic All Around

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 3 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

My “Secret Subject” is:

Do you believe in magic?

It was submitted by: https://www.bakinginatornado.comI

___________________

 I believe in the magic we make and in the magic of living every day in a world where I can teach cats how to fist bump and gaze at the moon and watch a bee stirring among the flowering trees I planted in my front yard years ago.

There's magic in your brain chemistry changing because you share time and space with a particularly special human who isn't that particularly special to most other people. Magic happens every time I take a phone call from someone who has been in prison for 20+ years but is still able to laugh with me and at me for 15 minutes.

The pagentry in professional wrestling is a kind of magic. People waking up every day in this country and still choosing to loudly be who they are is magic.

Bob's Burgers is magic. Hearing a song that makes you time travel in the first 2 seconds? Absolutely magic.

Catching sight of dew drops clinging to a spiderweb in the stillness of those moments just before sunrise is so magical it hurts especially when the early rays beam off every tiny droplet.

Mr. Rogers was magic. Making someone smile using a well-practiced illusion is magic but so is making an orangutan at the zoo or a dog from a shelter freak out over a badly performed one.

Growing babies for 9 months who come out with all their teeth stuffed in their skulls? Magic. Cats who eat jellybeans but not turkey are extra special magic. The bond you can have with a tiny creature you dragged in from the side of the road who doesn't even speak or understand most of your language is the strangest magic especially when that creature absolutely hated everything in existence and now suddenly likes to curl around your lap 5 times before settling in and demanding attention.

Friendships that form over instantaneous messages that fly through the ether are magic and even more magical when you know every one of that person's good days and bad and their trauma and their biggest fears but you haven't even seen each other face to face.

Magic is everywhere you look. It's everywhere you exist. Living and breathing and fighting for a better world is all magic. I don't think magic requires the fantastical or spells or witching or wizardry. Every moment is magic if you're willing to see it. Every atom. Every particle. Every breath and photo and written word. We're surrounded every second of every day by all the magic we could ever need.

But it would definitely be nice if someone could actually pull money out of my ear. I need a new tattoo.

______________________________

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Redo

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

plates ~ hobby ~ favorite ~ mystery

They were submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

__________________

It all started after a breakup.

I mean, sure, it was a a particularly bad breakup especially since it was Dee who got cheated on and walked in on it all, but my own advice had been to find a hobby to sink herself into instead of crying over an asshole who had never been anything but mid in the first place. And I'm not just saying that because my friend had gotten cheated on. Jake really was an absolute trashbag. The only reason he was even mediocre was because Dee made sure he bathed and kept a job. I never understood what she saw in him. So yeah, I thought she took my advice and got a hobby.

But that's where the normalcy ends. And Im telling you I don't know what to do about any of it now.

So we had that discussion, right? I say "get a hobby" not in a condescending internet "touch grass" kind of way but in a "you need something to keep your mind off the pain at least at some points in your day" sort of way. It wasn't flippant. I genuinely thought it would help. Sitting around in the same clothes for 5 days binging Gray's Anatomy for the 15th time isn't exactly what I would call a therapeutic approach to getting over a breakup. She'd done that for a month by the time we had the talk about hobbies. She'd wallowed in the pain enough. She dwelled on it. Lived in it. She still had the same rose colored glasses on when it came to Jake as she did in the beginning, you know? So I went over to her house with a big pot of chicken and dumplings, some mini apple pies, and a butt load of cornbread--her favorite foods. I put her ass in the shower, cleaned up, and helped her dry her hair, and then I went through a list of all the times Jake had been an asshole in my presence. I went through all the times he'd knowingly hurt her. I didn't pull any punches. You know that meme template with Melissa Joan Hart and all the plates? It was like that but all the plates were things about Jake she hadnt ever wanted to admit. And I kept count. Then I asked her to sit down and make a list with the same number of items but about times when he made her feel loved and appreciated and valued in the 5 years they were together.

We all know how this goes. And I think or I thought that was the turning point. She seemed lighter by the time she finished her bowl of dumplings and looked at that sad ass list. Really thinking about the reality of him as a partner and not just the truth she'd made up to keep herself sane made her feel better about him being gone. She was actually angry that she'd spent this much time crying over him.

It was definitely a turning point but not the one I thought.

She did the thing a lot of women do after a bad breakup. She got her hair done--fiery red--and started working out. The gym membership turned to martial arts because she might need to defend herself if "things go wrong" which should have worried me but I let it pass. All women have thought like that about getting back into the dating pool with men... She traded Gray's Anatomy for going to a psychic. Weird but maybe she was getting something out of it? At least it wasn't texting Jake that she missed him and crying into a wine stained sweatshirt that used to belong to him. She also spent a not insignificant amount of time sort of cataloguing her life in a journal of sorts but she had spent a lot of time narrowing things down to 5 minute windows if she could find the right data to get her to that conclusion which.. also weird. But not alarming really? I thought maybe she was really pouring over these memories and events so she wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Funny how that turned out to be true but not in the way I imagined.

I came over a few weeks later and found her pouring over some kind of science textbooks. I have zero ability to understand quantum physics, so I had no idea what the fuck she was actually reading at the time, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. And even though something was nagging at me about it, I figured learning some new stuff was better than pining over an asshole. I'd been the one to tell her to find new things to keep her occupied and not stalking his and his new girlfriend's socials looking for things to upset her. I told her to keep herself occupied. And she was... I just didn't think it would end up being the worst advice I'd ever given.

You see I thought I was being honest. I'd made the list right? I'd just wanted to take the blindfold off. It was such a fucking mystery to me that she still, after all he'd done, loved him so naively. So fully. So undeservingly. I wanted her to see that he wasn't worth all the bullshit she was putting herself through. I wanted her to decide she could rebirth herself from this mess better and stronger and more capable of seeing through men's bullshit now.

I guess I just didn't realize how angry she was? She got herself in shape. She did the hair thing we all do. She poured herself into learning some science and then I showed up tonight and she has a new shed. A workshop of sorts really. And, well, there was this giant metal thing she was WELDING on when I walked in... I've never seen her do anything of the sort. So I ask her, ok? Of course I did. I ask her what she's working on.

Her answer? A time machine. She consulted a fucking psychic who put her in touch with someone who gave her the blueprints and the books. A time machine. She says my list made her realize how much of her life she wasted on him and now she's going to go back for a do-over. A repeat. A don't go on the second date type of situation. Leave him high and dry on the first date sort of thing. She quit her job to do this full time because she says she's going back and will still have the job and I don't know what to do because she's ruining her life for this. I wanted her to be mad but not like this. Who do I tell? What do I do?

I think I'm gonna go find this psychic and kick her fucking ass because who in the fucking world suggests time traveling?? But then what? I have nothing good to say about the guy and she didn't want to hear any of my "naysaying" tonight. I didn't really get her into this mess--not entirely--but I definitely didn't help matters, so I have to do something, anything.

But how do you talk sense into someone as blinded by rage as they were by misplaced love? Rage that I planted the seeds for? I'm coming up empty on this one sitting here in her living room and listening to the sounds from the workshop...

Wait. What was that flash just now? What the fuck made that sound?? 

Oh my god. Did she...?

______________________

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog
On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Will She Be Mine?

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 3 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

My “Secret Subject” is:

How did you meet your partner? Tell us your love story.

It was submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

____________________________________

The following is a bit of a short story obviously. Well I'll guess you'll see what I mean about obviously. My actual for real romantic/sex life is just one of those things I like to keep just for me. 

.

.

.

I met the love of my life at work, ok?

It's a bit of a cliche meet cute that Hallmark has overdone a million times to meet your soul mate at work, but this one might be a little.... different. Hallmark probably isn't telling this story any time soon unless they start making Halloween themed movies. Perhaps a little horror comedy with a love angle...

She wasn't a coworker. And I mean I don't think she actually qualifies as a client either since she wasn't the paying party or anything. It's complicated.

Well that's probably a little understated for reality if I'm being honest but I just never figured I'd feel this way about someone and the circumstances just didn't bother me.

I'm just gonna say it.

I'm a necromancer.

There. It's out of the way now. I'm a necromancer. I don't exactly advertise it or anything. I feel like it's one of those abilities that would send us right back into Salem Witch Trials territory, but the right people know. Most of my work comes from attorneys looking to resolve death issues. I can raise someone for an hour with little effort, make 5000 bucks, and their families get a little closure. Did they leave a will? What did they want done with their estate? And occasionally, how the hell did this happen? Answers from a reanimated corpse are nowhere near being accepted as evidence in court, but with the family's blessing I've been able to at least point the cops in a direction...if the person knew and understood what happened. And I've definitely mended some broken hearts left to handle the unanswered questions after grief. I've been worked with therapists to do some final family therapy sessions. I've worked pro bono a few times for families who didn't have the privilege of having 5000 bucks to see their mom one more time or whatever but for the most part the business was pretty steady and I do ok. Some of my peers take dirtier jobs for bigger bucks like scientific research and corporate espionage or whatever but I just couldn't take that kind of money. Absolutely not my vibe. It's already hard enough being with people who have to say goodbye one more time or who point the finger for their death at someone in the family and everyone coming to terms with a new horror. I had to have a conscience about it, you know?

Which is what gets me about meeting Cecilia.... Like, it must have been fate, right? This wasn't the kind of case I normally take. I don't particularly like working for companies, but a friend of a friend got in touch and needed to ask a former employee some questions about ongoing projects. It seemed harmless enough, easy money. They'd said a half hour tops just to get a few key details down after the sudden death of the lead on these projects. Easy money. I wouldn't even be tired after that kind of time. I was used to a couple hours at least for family to get in their goodbyes which tended to make me a little worn out. I tried not to do more than a couple jobs a week. So a half hour? For a few questions? For the 4 grand they offered? Fuck. Why wouldn't I take it?

But that's not what happened.

I went to the address provided, met my contact, Tom, and raised Cecilia easy enough. A lot of times with older deaths, it takes time to work through the confusion they feel being back and she'd been gone a couple months. That really should have been the first red flag because why would they sit that long on work projects without answers? Then she seemed to instantly recognize Tom. She was absolutely pissed which I took as the confused emotions of the newly raised, but she started immediately cussing him out. They did, actually, work together, but he was obsessed with her and his stalking, from what I gathered from her 10 minutes of ranting, was the reason she'd run off the road that night trying to lose him. And she didn't give a shit for the apology and he better be glad the cops never gave a shit the million times she reported him. And that yes she knew he was only "apologizing" to find out how much hot water he might be in so he'd be real fucking lucky if she didn't find a way to haunt him until he ran to the cops himself to confess. 

He ran off in a huff, probably pissing himself on the way, and both of us immediately started laughing. As it died off, we looked at each other, and I felt like my entire body had erupted into butterflies. The mouth on that girl... Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean, she destroyed that man. The vocabulary, the strength, the take no bullshit attitude and in such a beautiful (and yes dead) package. I was smitten, and by the look on her face I knew she was at least interested. Gayyyyy.

I noticed her face fall at the realization that she was very limited on time now and would likely never see me again. She looked, not to toot my own horn here, absolutely devastated. So I told her I didn't mean to be presumptuous but I could see she wasn't ready to go back and like I never do this but could I keep her company for a little while longer. The smile, oh her smile... We talked and talked and flirted and oh boy was I absolutely devastatingly charmed by her. I couldn't get enough and almost passed out from the sheer exhaustion of keeping her animated. Her spirit was so strong though that I could be with her, present, and still keep that lifeline. I felt the most powerful I'd ever been all because of her.

I don't know where this is going because I don't know how to make it work, but I do know I love her. We've been doing our little cemetery dates sometimes 2 or 3 times a week for a year now. It's our anniversary tonight, in fact, and we have a big date planned--a zombie movie marathon for the dark comedy of it all--and I can't wait. I don't want a life without her. She's insisted I find a live girl and live out my greatest lesbian dreams, but how could I ever forget the way she makes me feel? It's more than love, and I swear I'm getting stronger. I can keep her longer. I can raise other people easier.

But I can't keep her forever.

Our relationship is pretty limited physically. I don't really raise the bodies, you see. That's not possible. I know what all the movies and books said, but they're simply not accurate. What I do is more like a hologram. It just helps to be near the body to do it well with as little confusion and emotional deregulation as possible. So there's not a lot going on here. I used to think that the physical side of things was as important as the love part. Sex is a big part of my life. Or was anyway. Now I'm not so sure I wouldn't be willing to make due somehow.

We're coming up on the anniversary of our first meeting, and I think I just might ask that girl to marry me.

Leave it to me with my past with both men and women to make my life the most complicated and painful (and beautiful) I've ever experienced.Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

How To Succeed with Monsters

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

inhale ~ shorter days ~ habits ~ warmth

It was submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

_________________________________

                    Foreword___________

I took a sharp inhale when the creature first walked into my office. I had a long reputation for taking on unconventional clients in my therapy practice, but I'd had no idea that seeing a man who insisted he was a vampire and could only be seen at night or well late early evening on shorter days--who did drink blood and have some pretty fucking weird teeth if Im being honest--would one day lead to me sitting in the same room with a demon.

He'd made the appointment under Adramelech but I didn't think anything of it because the kids I saw who picked their own names really knew how to pick some edgy ones. There was literally no end to the dark entity names, the anime names, the villain and bad guy names... I know, I know. Who cares if it isn't hurting anyone, right? Only sometimes I think the picked name does end up hurting some folks who really lean in hard to the idea of themselves that they or someone who should have treated them better drilled into their heads. So that's what I was expecting--a dark dressing, misguided but lovely despite it, and just in need of a little help sort of edgelord who spends too much time online.

"Something wrong, doc?" he grumbled. And yes, he. I always ask pronouns on intake forms.

"Well, no. Let's say I wasn't quite prepared."

"For?"

"Well, you're mostly a mule of some sort, and I usually see humans."

"Not what I heard, doc. You come highly recommended in all the demon circles. The undead ones too. The trolls as well actually. Dwarves. A couple gods from what I heard not that we run in the same social networks. Not elves though but if ever there was one who could admit they needed help with something then they'd probably come here too."

My mouth must have hit the floor if I'm being honest. I mean I knew that's what they said they were but I just assumed... Well, you know. What would anyone think?

"You mean you didn't know?"

I recovered quite well. In my head I screamed OF COURSE I DIDNT FUCKING KNOW ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME SANTA CLAUS IS ALSO REAL AND WHY DO YOU HAVE FEATHERS, but out loud what actually came out was, "why don't we move on to talking about you and what brings you in today since we're on a sort of tight schedule here? I have written down here that you want to work on some 'bad' habits? Is that right? Could you expand on that?"

"Sure, doc, but if you have questions at the end about all the, you know weirdos you see you can ask free of charge." He laughed heartily for a moment and my skin felt like it might crawl off my body, but it was also jolly somehow. I could feel myself at ease, smiling with him. What is my life?

He got serious after a moment and started picking at his tail feathers. "Yes, I think I need to work on my anger issues a little bit and the sorts of things I get up to when I'm angry, for starters, but there's more we can get into. I think that's my top priority for now though, doc, and I know you helped Beelz stop wasting his time sending flies after people who tried to invoke him and focus on his day to day schedules and appointments as Lieutenant so I was hoping we could do some of that for me."

"I did?!?" Wait. "What I mean is I can't discuss another client's case with you, but we can absolutely tackle some of your bad habits. Absolutely. That's something I see a lot in my practice for sure."

He chuckled but I kept a stone cold face because I am a professional, so he moved on like I hadn't just revealed yet again that I had no idea I'd ever seen another not human but had apparently seen them fucking all just about. "Well, doc, here's one of the biggest ones that I really need to tackle. So you know, not by choice but because it is written, I am in charge of Satan's wardrobe."

"Satan's wardrobe?"

"Well yes. He's got a mansion full of clothes. He has shit he's never even worn but would never give to say someone like me who," he looked down, "doesn't own many nice outfits."

He was naked and I don't even know how pants would work on this guy but maybe it was the principle involved. "So what I'm hearing is your employer takes his wealth for granted and doesn't even offer to help anyone out when he can clearly afford to?"

"Yes, doc, that's part of it. Those are the perfect words for it. But there's also, well, he's Satan and he's all knowing and all powerful or whatever and an absolute asshole. I mean just because you're Satan doesn't mean you have to be a dick to everyone who works for you, right?"

"I'm assuming being a dick to employees isnt written in the same way as your job as head.of wardrobe, right?"

"Right, doc. I respect the word of course and he's contractually obligated to be a dick to, you know, humans. Sorry. But not us. He doesn't even allow us cake on our birthdays. And he yells. And sometimes gives us an ass on top of our heads. Or some hellfire clothes when we complain about his lack of warmth. He once gave some minor demon a cat head instead of his regular head and anytime he tried to talk it came out as a soft kitten mew and that guy will never be ok again, doc."

"So an extremely toxic workplace and I'm assuming there's no HR department."

"Well the H in HR stands for human, doc, so good guess. And nothing like the demon lord equivalent. We just... Well we all sort of have bad habits to let off steam. And it's making things worse. One of us is going to get caught and then everyone gets caught and then we'll all have kitten heads."

"Ok since you're here let's start with your own bad habits and go from there."

"Right. Ok. Well, I steal clothes. He'll never miss them. He doesn't even know what he has! I sort of explained it away like office workers taking home notepads and stuff but it's kind of gotten out of hand. And I can't even wear them without taking them in to be altered and then someone will definitely see I've taken Satan's clothes. I'm not exactly known for blood red velvet smoking jackets. He really spent too much time with Hugh Hefner."

"And you've...kept them? Like the evidence is in your, uh, home?"

"I have an apartment in the big house because even if it's 4 a.m. and he has a booty call, I have to be there to pick out his clothes. And yes. Just sitting there in my bedroom where he can see them anytime."

"So not great. Your anxiety is just sitting there and looking in the face every night. Anything else?"

"Well. Well ok I make his underwear extra itchy. I once put a sort of spell, I guess, on a particular jacket he's fond of wearing to hookups that would give him erection problems. Let's see. I did once make it so he thought he was wearing one of his favorite leather ensembles but it was actually a pink bunny outfit. The list goes on and on, doc. It's petty shit, and I get that. I really do. It doesnt....how would you put this? Yes. It doesn't change the material circumstances that are causing me turmoil and anxiety, but I get so angry with him. And I just need a little way to give him back at least some of what he gives to all of us. Only it's not just me. There are dozens of us taking our shots in little ways, you know?"

I laughed. I laughed hard. I mean I was crying. Snorting. Snotty. But i got a good look at the range sort of boiling underneath this guy uh pers... creature? Entity? Being? This dark lord? Whatever. I'll have to figure it out. Anyway, I noticed he thought I was laughing at him quite possibly the way his boss might and I got hold of myself really quickly. "You put an asshole who fancies himself a Hugh Hefner type in a pink bunny costume and make his balls itchy?"

We both laughed then. A good laugh. A joined laugh. And we kept laughing well past losing our breath. And when we both came up for air, he looked more at peace than when he walked in, less frazzled, more in control... And that's the story about how I figured out I was the go-to therapist for demons. And the undead. Trolls. Dwarves. Quite a few gods actually, a few orcs, and even once a goblin. Never did see an elf but given all I know now I guess that's to be expected. I even have my own special business card.

"Not human? Not a problem. Specializing in all your otherworldly needs. Set up an appointment via scrying mirror today! We can do mirror calls or appointments in office at your convenience including nighttime appointments for vampires. Satan proofed rooms are available!"

Adramelech and I worked through some of his problems but honestly who could blame him for the things he was doing? We figured out some healthier ways to channel the anger though and I helped him figure out a better way to handle Satan. He organized a demon lord's union and now there's no cat faces or ass heads or any of that allowed. By written word. And he gets his own clothes! When he finally left therapy, we both cried and he gave me a painting of Satan in a bunny costume that will hang in my office til the day I die.

_______________________________

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog
On the Border https://dlt-

76

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 3 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. Your “Secret Subject” is:

Tell us about a number that has special meaning for you.

It was submitted by: https://www.bakinginatornado.com

____________________

I don't think I have any particular sort of answer for this. I cherish my kid's birthday for example but the numbers themselves aren't important and I'm not really superstitious or believe in things like this so enjoy some fiction instead! But I will say today would have been my dad's birthday.
76.

Selma had found a note stuffed into her locker at work that had her name at the top. And the number 76. "76. It will change everything." That's it. That was the whole of it.

She didn't recognize the handwriting. It wasn't one of her friends playing a joke mostly because she didn't have friends. And no one at work had the energy for some kind of long con prank like this. They were all tired from mandatory double shifts at the mental hospital where she cleaned rooms and gave out medicine and changed diapers or whatever else was needed that day. No one got out of double shifts not lately anyway. None of them had time to be friends or mean girl each other with pranks. So she'd forgotten about it.

And then while doomscrolling on TikTok she saw a contest for a new laptop which she sorely needed if she was ever going to go back to school. It was pick a number style. So she chose "76" on a whim...and won. Her first time winning anything in her entire life, and it had actually been sent to her too! No scams. Not this time at least.

Then she found a bundle of money in the grocery store parking lot. No one was parked near her, so she counted it. $76 exactly...which also ended up being her total in the store when she wasn't even sure when she pulled into her spot how she was going to afford food and rent. The double shifts were barely helping since the rent increase. And inflation. And having to take her car Fred to the vet to have a tooth removed.

She started seeing 76 everywhere she looked. It was written in graffiti. She'd seen a patient scrawling it into his journal. She saw it on street signs and a mile marker she passed on the way to work, and on the bus route that took her downtown when she didn't want to have to fight for parking. The hostess at her favorite taco spot had a pin that had 76 on it. Selma asked and the girl had only shrugged and smiled like Selma should know already.

It wasn't even happening naturally anymore. Selma started seeking it out. She'd turn to page 76 of a book on her shelf and look for meaning in the words. She played lotto games and online giveaways using the number and variations of it to guide her responses. She would take 76 steps to determine where she would sit in the movie theater or where to stop to eat in the food court at the mall or even, once, at a party she was invited to by an old friend to determine who to strike up a conversation with next which was really fucking hard to do in a small apartment and everyone treated her like she was crazy.

But she wasn't? Was she?

Ever since she got the letter 76 was everywhere and she thought her luck was changing. So what if she got a parking ticket for 76 dollars or woke up in her apartment to find 76 post it notes with 76 written on them that she knew she hadn't written. So what if she saw flies in the shape of 76 crawling on her car the other night.

Everything else was good. Good-ish anyway.

It didn't matter that she couldn't actually find the letter anymore did it? The number was still everywhere. She was winning. She won that laptop!

Did it really change her stroke of good luck if the woman in the apartment 3 floors abover hers had been stabbed by her ex 76 times or that 76 people died in that blizzard?

Did it really matter if she could see 76 everywhere and could hear people whispering it? Wasn't that fate's way of giving her a sign she was on the right track?

The answer to everything she had ever needed to ask was 76. She could see it all now so clearly. 76. 76. 76. It was everything everywhere all at once.

76.

She could hear them.

76.
___________________

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Maybe it's not everyone's lane

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

Silly string ~ diary ~ window screen ~ financial difficulties ~ kitchen knife

It was submitted by: https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

_______________

I opened my prompt for this post seeing words that are primed for discussing the Darlie routier case. These are pretty much all elements found when going over the tragic death of her kids and her ultimate imprisonment from the silly string moment used against her in court to the cut window screen and the financial trouble the couple had experienced and problems found in her diary, and she has been long suspected of using her own kitchen knife to do the crime, but I don't think anything good comes from me discussing what I think about her guilt or innocence this publicly based on the things we know or think we know because of the true crime industry. I do have an opinion, but I'm not sure that opinion belongs in the public sphere.

I guess after that first paragraph it goes without saying that I do enjoy true crime as a genre myself. I knew as soon as I saw the prompt what these words were referencing because of the sheer vastness of the coverage of this case. It's hard to miss. As much as I enjoy the listening and reading and watching when it comes to true crime, I think we've gotten a little bit out of hand with it all. I mean Peacock gave Casey Anthony of all people a paid platform to lie some more, so we must be doing something wrong here if anyone still gives a second of a care about her opinions or excuses. Even if you removed the fact that she very likely murdered her own child, she's still a godawful human being who absolutely lives for the notoriety and attention, and we just keep giving her that.

There are elements of true crime that are beneficial. I've listened to multiple podcasts now that helped solve some cases. Kristin Smart's family finally got a conviction for her murder nearly 30 years after the fact because of a podcast. Tara Griner's case has a solution. Some men in Georgia were recently released after a podcast uncovered proof that police had manufactured evidence in the case in order to get a conviction. The Unsolved Mysteries podcast (and show) are still bringing conclusions to cases. Without the attention these podcasts have brought, I'm not sure anything would have changed. People would still be without answers. But then there's that Jeffrey Dahmer Netflix series which violated victims' families all over again and unnecessarily dramatized an already terrifyingly dramatic real life situation. I've listened to a podcast, well all of 15 minutes of it since this made me shut it off and never look back, that said Jon Benet Ramsey had a "knowing" smile. Or podcasts like Sword and Scale that repeatedly victim blame or True Crime Garage that repeatedly celebrates police brutality... The point is that it's a fine line to walk between good true crime and exploitive true crime, and the general public has yet to be as discerning as they should when it comes to what we watch or read or listen to but especially with what we think we unwaveringly know to be true.

Two different people can believe with the same degree of certainty very different truths about any given case to the point where we kind of forget very real people are involved. The perfect example of this is the Betsy and Russ Faria case and Pam from the multiple variations of The Thing About Pam that have happened on 48 hours and podcasts and 60 minutes and forensic files or whatever and despite all the evidence proving Pam killed Betsy for insurance money along with very likely her own mother for the same reason and another completely innocent and unrelated person to try to reframe Russ since the first time only took for 10 years, there are a lot of people that still think he's guilty for one. But people have gotten so caught up in the craziness of Pam that they forget Russ lost a decade of his life behind bars, that he lost his wife and never got to grieve, that he has to live forever under the weight of survivor's guilt and with the weight of prison trauma and dealing with the fact that so many people believe he's a murderer. We forget the system got it wrong... And gets it wrong way more than we should he comfortable with. We forget that Pam isn't some character in a dramedy being absolutely deranged for our entertainment. She killed real people and she got away with it for a long time.

I don't think that means every aspect of the genre is off limits by any means. But I guess letting the guy from AHS handle cases might have been a bad choice. And going around staking your reputation on just what you know from taking part in both the good and bad coverage of a case isn't maybe a great choice either. It isn't for me anyway, and so I'll just end by saying that a broken industry built off information gleaned from a broken system is ripe for bad opinions. Tread carefully.

_________

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Climaxed https://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com
Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

Ok But I Personally Do Like Owls

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 4 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

What is the WORST present you’ve received?

It was submitted by: https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

________________________________

I read an article a couple months ago that has stuck with me for awhile. It was unrelated to gifts actually and instead about weird or shocking deathbed confessions. 

One woman, near death, was surrounded by family who took the time, finally, to ask her what was the deal with owls. She had a house full of owls. Little figures and wall hangings and bigger sculptures and salt shakers and pillows... She had literally hundreds. Her answer? She didn't really like owls all that much to be honest. She'd bought one thing with an owl on it one time at a secondhand shop because she found it cute and every time she got a gift thereafter, it was an owl. For decades of her life she was surrounded by things she didn't really like all that much because she wanted the people who gave them to her to not feel bad, so she kept it to herself and displayed them over and over and over for all of her adult life. Finally on her dying breath she was free to tell the truth. She wasn't going to be there to face the hurt and bewilderment they'd feel for having not ever really bothered to get to know what she was actually into... The problem is sort of two fold here because maybe it would have been better to tell people the truth but I think the way we socialize women to be grateful for every speck of love they can grab onto, maybe she gets more of a pass than people who could have asked her at any time what she might like for a present. She was grateful for any gift. And I can understand that sentiment. We've also been taught to be grateful to be thought of at all.

I thought about writing a gothic horror about a woman being buried alive under her Nightmare Before Christmas knick knacks. I thought about writing about the few really bad gifts I've gotten like a ring from an ex as an apology for being a piece of shit, a last ditch effort at saving a relationship that he couldn't have saved without finally growing up some. Or the time my stepmom grabbed a $5 set of plastic earrings for kindergartners and gave it to me from my dad for Christmas when I was 16, for example. But I wanted to say it plainly instead of a metaphor in a story or talking about one gift because the problem is bigger than that. I see it all the time. We see one thing about a person and make it their whole personality instead of getting to know the real them. People are complex. I mean yes I do enjoy watching the Nightmare Before Christmas because Henry Selick is a fucking genius, an artist, absolutely crushingly underrated, but I also like everything else he's done. I like movies that aren't about animated skeletons or Halloween as shocking as it may be. I have a couple of very simple elephant tattoos BUT I ALSO LIKE OTHER ANIMALS which 3 cabinets of trinkets later would also shock some folks. I used to be able to have alcohol occasionally but really haven't been able to since getting sick with chronic fatigue syndrome. I've been sick for going on 7 years now and people still tag me in wine memes. I've openly talked about not being able to drink and not just once or twice...

The thing of it all... it IS nice to be thought of in any capacity but it also really fucking sucks to realize no one bothered to think of the real me only some version that they've created in their own minds so far from who I really am that it couldn't pass for my evil twin from the mirror realm. It's not like I hide what I like or who I am. A million times a month I probably share something I'd love to get myself if I had the extra money. I talk about things that are important to me. I live as authentically online as I do around people I see everyday. My family has easy access when they want to know what I'm into. It's all there online like some weird vision board for most to see. I'll answer anytime someone asks actually. Sit with me longer than 5 minutes and I will inevitably say something incredibly gay. It's all hanging out. 

I recently stopped writing a person I'd spent 4 years trying to help. Yes, a person in prison. I helped him work through some deeply wrong ideas he held about women including a specific ex girlfriend and his own mother. I got them to connect with one another about those thoughts he had and work through them together. I got him to appreciate fiction for the first time in his life. He even wrote a story! Just for fun. I had a visible impact on his life because I listened when he told me things and listened in between and we really did the work to pick it all apart. We aren't writing because he overstepped some serious boundaries but leading up to that point he sent me some things for Christmas last year that gave me a bit of a head scratch. A lot of guys at his prison crochet and sell what they make to other guys to send to family, friends, and girlfriends or whoever and he sent me an Olaf from frozen and a minion. I haven't even seen frozen. Ever. Not once. Never mentioned either movie. And like i have said a million times already yes it's nice to be thought of but it wasn't like he chose these things because he knew I'd like them. He just sent them to say he sent something and it showed all that time we'd been friends and through all the hard conversations we had and the work we did, he hadn't ever really got to know me. It wasn't really a surprise when my boundaries were violated. The version of me living in his head would fall head over heels because of a Disney plush, right? Obviously. And so then she'd totally be receptive to advances she'd spent years clearly spelling out she wouldn't cross. Great plan, right? Only I'm not that person, and the rejection made him angry, so now he's out a friend as well.

The point I want to make is to tell people. Tell them who you are loudly and lovingly. Tell them you don't want another owl. It's fine. No one should die surrounded by hundreds of trinkets they never loved that took endless amounts of work to keep clean. But more importantly, ask what the people you love are into, listen to them. Find out about the things they love no matter how silly you find it. No matter how at odds it is with the version of them you already created. Life is too short to do anything else.

____________________________

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

Island

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

Mt words are:

ordinary ~ help ~ funny ~ island ~ language

It was submitted by: https://www.bakinginatornado.com

_______________

I don't have the language required to ask for help I guess.

Ok I think maybe trauma erased my ability to use the right words. The thought of admitting "I can't" isn't something easy to come by despite being aware I need to work on it which often leaves me on an island alone with my own resentment.

It probably also doesn't help that the majority of people I've been vulnerable enough with to ask for help have let me down completely or held it over my head. It doesn't create a lot of faith that anyone else I ask will be the one person who doesn't make me feel like shit about it.

All of that makes having a chronic illness pretty dang hard. Every time I think I have it figured out, something will happen and I have to find a new normal. Like how having had covid twice despite not leaving home and having the vaccines caused such intense insomnia I haven't slept for more than an hour or two at a time in almost 2 years. I can't even begin to explain the hurdles I now have to go through just to be able to write a couple sentences a day or maintain letters. Or just make a ridiculously funny wrestling meme. I can't even enjoy TV shows the same anymore. I can't see them. I can't read the subtitles anymore. I can't even process them most of the time. I just slip back into familiar ones that I know the plots to by heart or things that won't require a lot of brain power. The only thing I can read right now are things I've already read...and reading about new worlds and new people have always been my one method of escape. I have a whole fucking tattoo about it. I just can't anymore. At least not now...

But even with this new problem the world doesn't stop nor does my house. And my house is anything but ordinary. So by 9 a.m. I've gotten up, made the bed, medicated at least 4 animals, swept, mopped, argued with my kid about getting up to walk the dogs or about brushing his teeth or taking his meds (which I still make up for him in his pill minder) or whatever else the teenage angst is about that day, often shampooed carpet at least in spots that need it, washed dishes my kid left in the sink, cleaned up messes the cats made from at least one type of bodily function, wiped down counters and cabinets, made coffee for at least 2 people, made breakfast for everyone, cleaned up after breakfast, entered a bunch of online contests to try to win extra money because we're fucking poor, dusted, vacuumed, folded some laundry if I hung it out the day before... Sometimes there's extra. Sometimes I have help with one or two of these things. But this is just the first 2 hours of my day and it never ends. Every time I think I'm caught up something else needs to be done. I'm on my feet at home for at least 8 hours a day. Most days at least 6 hours at a time...with joint point from my cfs and plantar fasciitis making it impossible to walk. By 8 most nights, my pain level is so high I can't talk. I can't even cry. I'm too tired to fucking cry.

Every time I ask someone to do something and get told "I will" just for it to still not be done 2 hours later that island of resentment grows bigger and the next time I really need help, I won't ask. Why would I?

I keep thinking I'll learn to master my broken energy battery and only do the things that need it, but when your mom has broken into your house and tried to physically assault you over you insisting you have actually do keep things clean all because an argument started when you offered to take her on a spa trip for Christmas, could anything ever be clean enough? Probably not. Not when every time you've ever been in her house her husband still treats you like a 16 year old kid who is apparently utterly incapable and disgusting and conveniently forgetting you're 41 now and even when you were 16 with a semi dirty room you were also dealing with the aftermath of abuse and rape and were constantly threatened and bullied for being gay and weird without any support from the people who should have noticed you were drowning in a bog of torment. I don't exist as a real person to the people who were supposed to love me, and there's not any amount of time that erases the instinct to seek out worth with a clean countertop or scrubbed walls or being 3 weeks ahead on your weekly list of extra chores and thinking "I haven't done enough" and doing it all again anyway.

There's always a voice in my head. There's always trauma. There's always resentment.

And so here I am, dying for help, dying for a break... And what I get is more work.

_______________

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

You Got Jokes?

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 4 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

My “Secret Subject” is:

Rescuer in need

It was submitted by: https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

I can't even blame Reddit for this idea

_______________________

The headline of the craigslist job ad simply said Rescuer in Need. Vanna read it, assumed it was about a wildlife rescue which would kinda sorta be a dream job, and opened it up.

She could not have been more wrong.

But she still sent a text to the number listed.

Curiosity killed cats, but it also probably didn't do anything for the health and wellbeing of easily intrigued busybodies who watched too much true crime.

See, the ad didn't mention murder, but Vanna was certain she had stumbled on a serial killer's trap and wanted in on it. She wanted to be able to tell stories about being there and figuring him out and being the one to get evidence to take straight to the cops.

People say that true crime makes people too fearful and brainwashed with the idea of stranger danger, but the people who said shit like that had never met Vanna. Sure she was prone to jumping to conclusions based on a little too much cynicism when it comes to her fellow humans, but she wasnt fearful so much as determined, and the combination was something to behold.

The ad read: I have recently inherited a large plot of land in this area. Living out of state makes it difficult to do some of the necessary work it needs to make it habitable again. It needs rescuing from years of neglect to be restored to its former glory. Pay scale can be discussed based on personal skills. Permanent caretaker role is a possibility. There's also a camper on the property that can be used for a place to crash rent free. Text INFO to 57968 for more.

It was incredibly sketchy and one of those weird too good to be true job opportunities. Someone down on their luck couldn't possibly pass it up. She'd listened to too many podcasts about people answering similar ads who were never seen again going back as far as at least the late 19th century with Belle Gunness.

Less than a minute after hitting send, Vanna had a reply.

"Go to Canyon St Park and send photo. Wait there for more."

She waited. She thought maybe something else would come through, but half an hour later she gave up on that. She text "INFO" to the number again and got the same response. She fretted a bit. This was every possible red flag... But of course her curiosity was at an all time high and her Spidey senses were tingling, so she grabbed her pepper spray, a couple of self defense key chains, her very illegal sword cane, an extremely loud air horn, a Kubotan, and a taser dropping the smaller items into her bag. You couldn't be too careful. Ok so maybe a gun would be better but she wasn't too great at things that require that kind of accuracy with shaky hands and bad eyesight.

She arrived, but the few people there took no interest in here and didn't really seem out of place. She found a small bench in the middle and sat down for her photo. As soon as she sent it, she received another text instructing her to drive to the McDonald's on 5th Street and send a receipt showing a McNuggets Happy Meal and large fry. It felt strange. She text "why" but after awhile she gave up on getting a reply and went on. She couldn't actually give up now. It had only gotten weirder.

It just kept going like that.

All day.

One task after another. Go here, do this, send a pic. Go here, find this market, take and send a pic. She'd been at this for hours when she finally sat in her car in a Walmart parking lot after finding some condoms to take a picture of and cried. It was exhausting and stressful and she was just done. She didn't know why she always did stupid shit like this. Who in their right mind would do things like this if not her?

Someone knocked on her window and made her jump. She screamed. They laughed.

Are you ok? they asked.

I'd be better if you'd leave me alone, she said.

Suddenly there were more people. And a camera with a flash. Questions were shouted at her asking her name and what she'd been doing all day but she was so confused and tired she struggled and stuttered through answers still crying.

The voices still laughed.

Her phone dinged letting her know she had another text message. It dinged more and more. Each one linked to a TikTok. Of her. Doing the tasks she'd been given all day and the cameraman laughing and making fun of her body, her walk, her determination... The beginning video suggested they were looking for a lazy liberal who would easily fall for a too good to be true offer and give up on the first task. From the looks of it most people hadn't given one iota of a shit about this little project (a bullshit one that proved absolutely nothing) until she'd kept going all day while they made up new and increasingly embarrassing tasks, and they'd still made fun of her for it. There were thousands and thousands of views on these already and they kept getting higher as she checked. Her body felt hot. The rage was suddenly so strong she vibrated. Her heart raced with the absolute and total embarrassment. But she was flying on the anger.

Theyd followed her. Stalked her. Videoed her without consent and blasted her online over and over all fucking day, and they still had the gall to stand here waiting on her to exit the car and get more footage? Well how could she refuse?

She grabbed her bag... Sure she didn't have a gun packed in it but she was about to have a little fun.

___________________

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.BakingInATornado.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

The Signs

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

brink ~ stultify ~ brief ~ gobble ~ right

They were submitted by: https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

______

The nightstand on her husband's side of the bed held another bank card and driver's license from a woman she didn't know and didn't recognize. Third time, now. Third time was definitely not the charm here.

She'd been able to write off the other two as some sort of mistake. The first one she found was an accident. She was actually honestly looking for some tums or something that might help with a raging case of heartburn she had. She knew he kept some in the nightstand in case it woke him up at night. She'd forgotten all about the heartburn when she found the ID and card though.

She'd sort of defaulted to thinking it was a mistress who'd, she didn't know, left it with him? For some reason? Or something he found when he went out drinking after work and planned to return? It didn't really make sense to her no matter how she tried to frame it at the time but who would have thought...well what she thought now felt insane to be honest.

She hadn't found a way to bring it up to him yet without risking one of his little episodes when that woman's name was in the news a couple days later as having disappeared on am early morning run. She was pretty sure it was the same woman because the ID pic had kind of been emblazoned in her memory and it was very similar to the photo shown on the news. Same long dark hair, same piercing blue eyes... Neck tattoos and deep red lipstick. This woman was just his type. Not herself though. Oh no the woman he married was petite and blonde and quiet and wore clothes 2 sizes too big... When she accidentally found his porn stash on their computer that time it had all been women who looked like the one on the news.

Anyway that had been 2 years ago. She'd looked ever so often in his nightstand and then one day last year after she'd come back from visiting her parents upstate, there was another ID and card. And another news story. Another woman missing after a night out with friends in the downtown area near the art school campus.

And now 6 months later, here was another one. This time she hadn't been with her parents though. This time, she'd been in the hospital from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy that had nearly killed her. She'd spent nearly 2 weeks laid up in that bed alone and miserable and wishing she would have died.

He'd shown up once, flipped through his phone for the entire half hour he bothered to be there, then left again without so much as an "I love you."

It hadn't always been like this. She really didn't think it had. Meeting him had felt so serendipitous...a fairytale. She'd often wondered if she was dreaming the sweetest dreams imaginable in the beginning. He brought her flowers. He made her feel like she was the only woman on earth. They'd dated for a year before he asked her to marry him, and at the time, there wasn't a single red flag she could name. He was attentive and supportive. He didn't go cold on her back then. He'd been passionate and gentle and couldn't get enough of her it seemed.

Now though she wondered what he was doing on those weekends he took boys trips with old college chums and didn't speak to her for days not even to check in. Were there actually business trips he went on and came back with a cut under his eye or scratches on his arms? Things lined up now in a way they hadn't back then. Why would she suspect him of anything at all when he'd gone so far to make her feel loved and important?

But then the wedding happened and things...things were off. He'd taken a job transfer without talking to her about it and basically forced them to move almost overnight away from her family and friends and her teaching job. He'd wanted her to wait on finding a job to see if maybe they could try for a baby only, well, he wasn't doing much trying and hadn't for years now. Their 5 year anniversary was coming up and she could count on her hands how many times they'd been intimate in that time. But he'd wanted her almost every day before the marriage and the move. Some nights he didn't even come home. There she'd be with dinner ready and plated looking like a dumbass with no work from him. She'd learned not to even bother calling. He wouldn't answer, and he'd accuse her of being clingy and insecure about it when he finally did show up.

She hadn't been to a single work function or let his coworkers. He never bothered to come back home with her and controlled when and how long she would go. If she wanted to stay 3 days he would insist on 2 weeks and not a minute sooner, but there were also times he'd forbidden her to go.

It's like the dream prince she married turned into a controlling nightmare with the flip of a switch when he said "I do."

So of course she'd long suspected affairs. She was sure he was at least having one night stands. But these IDs and bank cards? She understood now this was something much, much darker and she couldn't ignore it any longer. What would people think of her? That she must have known? That she turned a blind eye to it all? The thought of it made her throw up what little breakfast she'd been able to eat. She still wasn't feeling 100% after the lonely hospital stay... And she definitely hadn't had any more support once she'd gotten home.

What was she even going to tell police? My husband had this woman's ID but I was too scared to keep it? It's happened 3 times at least but I was too scared to call? She slid the items in a Ziploc bag, walked out to her car, and knew she'd never ever be able to set one foot back in that house. She'd have to figure out the rest along the way.

________________


Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado https://www.bakinginatornado.com/

On the Border https://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

What TF Sarah https://crazymamallama.blogspot.com

Part-time Working Hockey Mom https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/