Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Friday, February 4, 2022

Haunted Love



Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 5 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 other half? Or if not tell us a love story.

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


There's a part of my life I like to keep just for me so please enjoy some fiction today! Thank you!

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I hadnt slept well in so long I'd lost count of the days--enough to keep going but not enough to keep myself from dissociating into daydreams every time I turned around. Get through making breakfast? Sure. Eat it before it got cold? Not a chance. As soon as I sat down I'd be staring off into space until my grits were lumpy as I was the day I met her.

"oh come on! This is ridiculous! How can you see me?!? Are we just not going to talk about this?"

I snapped out of my daydreaming. Did I really just hear that? That voice? Was I hallucinating?

"Don't pretend you can't hear me. I know you can. Answer the question."

She sounded real, but then again, I didn't know what a hallucination was supposed to sound like.

"Um...hello?" I risked. Holy shit I have to be really losing it. Was I actually dreaming right now? I had stopped being able to tell dream from reality at times, and maybe this was one of them?

"No. Over here!"

I looked around. Up. Down. Twirled and searched the entire room. I heard giggles while I peered out the window.

"Well I guess you actually can't see me then huh? You had me fooled, girl."

I was kinda getting weirded out and frustrated and curious all at once and afraid of my own pending insanity. I half sobbed, half laughed out, "what the fuck is going on????? Did I finally...I've lost it haven't I?" and then promptly burst into tears.

"Shit." I hear over the sobs. I thought I caught a blur of motion, a light orb...something less than solid and then I felt so warm like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer. And better like a friend had a stopped by armed with tea, fuzzy socks, weed and a white noise machine determined to help me relax and sleep. Taken care of, then. It's like in that moment everything was ok.

That's how I met Frannie, the ghost who lived in my house for the past 50ish years or so.

I know, I know. I didn't believe in ghosts either. I knew all the shows were fake and all that. I didn't go seeking out ghost stories. I just went on about my life insistent they very likely didn't exist, and if they did, I damn sure didn't want proof of it. So no I wouldn't buy that charming doll at the antique shop, and I damn sure wasn't picking up that old trunk someone left by the side of the road. Like I really, really didn't want to test the odds on that. I even bought a house I really thought has a relatively short history with just two owners to limit my odds!

And yet there I was in Frannie's warm embrace in the precipice of a mental breakdown from lack of sleep and not knowing if i was actually already in need of some grippy socks and a long stay at a facility.

"There, there. It's okay. You're ok."

I could almost feel pats on my shoulder. It felt like a milder version of the zap you get after rubbing your socks on the carpet and touching a doorknob. I certainly wasnt having tactile hallucinations right? I mean I was still ahead on my deadlines at work and the house was clean. My clothes were appropriate. I went shopping for a new vacuum the day before. I was ok like for real ok right? This wasn't in my head.

It wasn't.

"Don't take this the wrong way or whatever but what the fuck are you?"

I sense her hesitation despite not being able to see anything at all.

"Um... I don't know entirely. A ghost I guess?"

"Ghosts aren't real, dude. What's going on? Am I on some prank show?"

Oh great. Now she was the one crying. I could hear her. And I couldn't return the favor of the hug either and it was all my fault she was crying so then I started crying AGAIN.

I'M NOT EVEN A CRYER.

Things quietened down but I could tell she was still there. It's like she wanted me to know but she didn't know what to say.

"So you're a ghost?"

"I think."

"What does that even mean?"

"Well. I lived here a long time ago, and that's really all I remember. I know this house. I know it was mine, but it just keeps changing, and the people keep changing. I don't know. I'm just hear, but no one can see me. I really thought you could though. It seemed like you were always looking at me especially lately but...I guess not."

"Well I haven't been sleeping lat--"

"Yeah I noticed..."

"That's a little weird you know that, you know?"

"I'm a ghost."

"Ok. Point proven. But ok so I haven't slept. And I've just kind of been staring off into space most of the time I guess. I dont really know."

She started crying again. And I guess if no one had seen me in that long I'd probably cry too. But I could hear her which was new. Maybe it was the not sleeping. I haven't figured that part out...yet. I don't know if I ever will. I really don't know if I want to know. Would it break the spell or ruin it all to know? If I believe she's a ghost or don't believe, does it ruin it? If I investigate too hard, does she leave? It's been almost a year of having her around. It's been even longer of not sleeping. And I don't know what we have or don't have or what she is or isn't but I know I can't imagine my life without her. I mean, we're not pulling a Bev Crusher on Star Trek or anything with her ghost sex and all that (what were those writers thinking? Seriously?) but I love her. I love making her laugh and knowing when I get home she's there...fucked up because she has no choice but it is what it is. And for now at least, I'm going to love her for every minute we have together.


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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/

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

A ‘lil HooHaa https://hoohaa.com/

Friday, February 7, 2020

First But Not the Greatest Love

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 9 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: With Feb we think about love. Who was your first love? Do you know where they are now? Are you friends?

It was submitted by: https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com

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I've talked about my first real love a time or two on this blog. It's not a sore subject. The relationship ended badly and our attempt at a redo ended even worse. But overall, I don't look back in anger. Oasis taught me not to anyway.

Let me back up a moment and focus on the qualifier "real" that I used here.

I had what I called, at the time, relationships in both middle and high school, but these were extremely superficial. I mean what else can they be in middle school? I had a longer relationship in high school, and I really was infatuated with the person at the time, but I can't reflect back on it and say I was in love or loved them. It was something to do really, and I didn't even cry when it was over. I was relieved. I wasn't in the right place to meet my high school sweetheart, fall in love, and marry at 18. That wasn't who I could be nor was it who I wanted to be. I was still exploring my sexuality, still not processing having been assaulted, still with so much resentfulness over the shitty childhood I had and how fucking awful living with my father was and then my stepfather after that. It wasn't an easy time and having been assaulted at such a young age, I wasn't every going to be able to have an intense romance. My innocence was long dead along with the child I never got to be.

I was so very angry.

It was the year after I graduated that I started this first real, serious relationship with one of my good friends all throughout school who had expressed having feelings for me but at the time I hadn't been ready to date. Anyone. It wasn't personal. I just couldn't do it. It took awhile for me to get to a point where I thought I was emotionally ready for it and to recognize the feelings as genuine and not some silly crush or feeling obligated because he had those feelings. Even then I recognized we're so often taught as young women to prioritize boys' feelings and shit over our own. Realizing the genuineness of my feelings did very little at first though. It was some kind of heartache for awhile when I first figured things out. I thought I had ruined my chance by never wanting to take it further when he did.

It all worked out eventually, and we moved in together when we were just 19. I really think that was our downfall. It was too much responsibility too fast. He had been really sheltered and never had to do much for himself. We both had issues, dysfunctional families... I had unresolved trauma. I HAD to get out of my mom and stepdad's home. It was all too much too soon, but we kept at it for a year and a half. Trying to manage an apartment and college and jobs and still make time for each other and our friends really made enjoying our new found freedom pretty difficult. It didn't help that my past with other dudes and me being queer made him insecure. And it certainly didn't help that I had like zero self esteem. We were an absolute mess.

To be clear, I don't think if we had gotten together under better circumstances that we might still be together. I'm so vastly different than I once was, and he's more or less an adult version of the same guy. A few more wrinkles, a little less hair, some life lessons, and even more responsibilities now than when we failed, but essentially he's the very same person I once knew. I had to go through literal hell to address my traumas and be reborn as something mostly whole. Kintsugi for the proverbial soul isn't exactly easy. And the older I've grown the more my humor has changed, the more I've addressed my innate biases, the more I've become intersectional, a feminist, and a far leftist. I would hardly recognize the girl I was when he met me, when we were together, or even the girl he left behind. Ive fixed so many cracks, she's virtually unrecognizable.

Life happens, as they say. And I'm okay with the direction life took for me. It hasn't been easy, sure, but I'm okay. I'm at peace with WHO I've become even when life isn't easy, and I think coming from where I did that's really the best I can hope for. It's better than a lot of folks who walked a similar path.

We aren't friends. I don't think we're allowed to be because new partners get insecure about friendships with old ones. At least that's how it usually works around here. (On his end not mine. I don't go for that shit in my personal life ever.) I do miss the friendship, but if I'm really truthful I know it wouldn't be much of one even without insecure significant others. We're too different. My values and humor are too different. And I draw a hard line on people who use vulnerable populations as a punchline. I stopped even being Facebook friends with all the people we hung out with at the time especially since one of those is a trump supporter who literally grabbed me by the crotch one night WHILE we were dating and they all still make excuses for it. Go figure.

We did talk a few times over the years expressing our responsibilities in why things went bad without reminiscing, apologizing without it being awkward. I don't duck or run when I see him in public which is rare now that I'm housebound. So it wasn't awful even though it really was my biggest heartbreak to date. And it wasn't something I held onto resentment over. But it's never going to go down in history books as a great romance or in my own history as the one that got away. But I did love him, and I'm thankful for everything I learned about myself and relationships along the way.

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Here are the rest of the participants!

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

Spatulas on Parade https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

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

A 'lil HooHaa https://hoohaa.com/

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo https://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

Medicated Musings https://mymedicatedmusings.blogspot.com

Friday, January 4, 2019

Exes

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 6 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: You’re grocery shopping & run into your “first love”. What do you do? What do you say?

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

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Here's the thing about relationships: I don't do them often.

 I am commitment phobic, independent to a fault, and I have high expectations in a partner. Not too many people understand that and can jive with it, and I can't stand most people, so my relationships have been few and far between. I don't have many exes at all, and those I do have I don't have some weird bad blood with. There is only one person from my early high school days with whom I will never speak again, but that had more to do with things he had done before we met over anything that happened between us while we "dated"...and I mean, does high school even count anyway? Either way, my first actual love came a few years after, but either way I just don't have a lot of hate or anger when it comes to the few people I tried the commitment thing with...

 Here's the thing about first loves: I don't think I was able to have one in the same way a lot of people do.

 Being sexually assaulted at 13 changed me forever. Even my first really serious relationship wasn't uncomplicated and without baggage. I held back, grew depressed, and was a large factor in why it ended. I absolutely couldn't be happy, and I couldn't be confident or feel safe. I had entirely too much anger and resentment, and I couldn't relinquish any little bit of control. A lot of that stemmed from trauma, and in so many ways everything from the moment that trauma occured has been shaped by this sliver of time in which every part of me was violated and rebuilt into someone wholly different. I died for someone's 2 minutes of pleasure and became someone who had REALLY BIG ISSUES to work through. Love was always and will always be a very complex topic that needs a lot of navigation for me, and since it happened so young, I didn't get a chance to explore love and relationships without that stain of trauma. 

Here's the thing about MY first love: A part of me still loves him. And always will.

 There's no anger or resentment that he couldn't handle me as a mess. I'm not angry that he, too, was a mess. He's probably still a mess to be honest. He was (is?) a beautiful, dorky soul. We didn't remain friends, and honestly, sometimes I miss that friendship. It got me through dark times in high school before we dated after graduating. We were friends first, dated for a bit, got our first apartment ever together. It was freeing but chaotic and stressful. Between always hurting for money and the messes we both were, we destroyed what we had. So what I ultimately mean is that there's no reason for it to be tense and weird because we dated. We made good memories and really loved one another...it just wasnt the time and place in our lives for things to work.

 Here's the thing about social standards: fuck 'em.

 I know it's supposed to be weird and taboo to run into someone who saw you naked a bunch, but I just don't operate that way. I'm still friends with several people who have seen me in all kinds of states of nudity, who I have shared myself with just once or plenty of times. It's really not all that odd for me, and it wouldn't be a factor in how I reacted to seeing this person.

Finally, here's the thing about unexpected social interaction: I avoid it like my dog avoids me anytime she hears the word "tub."

 If I saw him anywhere, I might duck and run like I do when I see anyone I know because I hate social interaction, but if we happened to wind up in the same checkout line, I'd speak and treat him like anyone else I feel forced to socialize with--like I'm the most awkward human being in the world or perhaps an alien just getting used to posing as a human for the first time. I might respond to questions like "how've you been" with "thanks, you too" and turn 15 shades of red in a record .2 milliseconds. Rest assured, though, that's how I am with anyone not just someone i gave my battered heart to nearly a couple decades ago.

So. If I ran into my first love...it'd be just another thing.

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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/2019/01/team-summer-secret-subject-swap.html?fbclid=IwAR1JVZUKpAytvUQ-5UEHGTRvgi85AZ20ZNIyX_siCSUSlpFri4P1SizPD6Q

Wandering Web Designer https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/2019/01/jasper-jan-2019-sss.html?fbclid=IwAR2w-WszcjXApy401KzHhZhiO_E9GvMHEF6wgs-GbOREe1UA0e7EYy34UXg

Southern Belle Charm https://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

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

Friday, July 13, 2018

McKenna Speaks (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.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.

I’m using: reconcile, abracadabra, book, learn, celebrate

They were submitted by: https://Bakinginatornado.com


This is a continuation of part 1 of McKenna Speaks which you can find here. I really enjoy a tiny subgenre of stories online that are essentially wholesome demon stories. I'm not sure if the intent with this was ever to symbolize that the very kind of people we demonize are not necessarily what we make them out to be through our beliefs or religion, but that is why they mean so much to me. People like me are often demonized for being queer and looked down on, and so many of us are the kindest people you will ever meet, and it is certainly not just my community who deals with this. The prompt I got for Secret Subject Swap last week kind of fit perfectly for that meaning and this genre, so I excitedly dived into telling my own story about a heartwarming demon. It kind of took on a life of its own, though. The more I wrote, the more I enjoyed it, and in doing so, the entire thing ended up being far longer than I would have guessed going in. I won't apologize for that because I absolutely feel like I created something beautiful here, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The words I received for Use Your Words this week could not have fit better with what I was already writing so here we are. I didn't even have to make it fit. I love when things work out so perfectly like this. Also, thanks to Ash from the blog More Than Cheese And Beer for essentially being my editor on this piece and for always making me laugh.

Content warning for ableism and abuse

To summarize part 1 for you in the briefest way possible: McKenna is a young child who is nonverbal and autistic. Her mom hears her talking one day and finds her with a demon who she banishes out of fear. We see the dad come in later and it is obvious he is not at all accepting of McKenna. We left off when McKenna's mom discovers how her child accidentally summoned a demon because she accidentally does it herself. The father is just about to walk in on that scene.

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Chet burst through McKenna's bedroom door and stopped dead in his tracks stammering and stuttering and unable to form an actual question about what was going on.

"Wha--, wh-wh-who, w-w-w-what?"

Tiffani looked back and forth between the demon and her husband trying to figure out what to say and to who or if maybe she should just make a run for it and let them settle things when she noticed McKenna running into the room smiling ear to ear making a beeline for her "fren."

She squealed a little as he reached down and scooped her up in his arms not a claw catching on her skin as if he could retract them like a cat. "FURFUR! YOU BACK TO TELL ME YOUR STORIES?" she yelled so full of excitement she couldn't possibly turn her volume down.

His gravelly voice made Tiffani's insides squirm when he replied, "Yes, tiny girl. But, your mother summoned me, so I shall answer her question before you get your stories."

"Aw, man! I don't want to waaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"Tiny, I will tell you an extra one if you let me conduct my business with your mother. Do we have a deal?"

"DEAL!!"

Mckenna wiggled down out of his arms and ran about the room getting some of her dolls and plushies lined up on the side of her little white four poster bed against the wall for "story time" while Tiffani marveled at the conversation that just took place. Her baby. Her nonverbal tiny baby had things to say. Real things. She had interacted with someone with both words and emotions. It was everything she had prayed for... Tiffani was lost in the wonder of those moments when she felt a sharp pain across the top of her back and fell to the floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO OUR DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH?! WHO IS THIS?!"

She felt Chet's hands in her hair pulling her to her feet. The demon pulled McKenna to him shielding her from view as Tiffani stumbled and felt some of her hair rip out into Chet's fist. She pulled herself to her feet again and twisted to face him. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me."

He pulled her face toward him and sneered. "Not a chance. Not until you tell me just what the hell is going on in my house."

"You know what, Chet, if I knew myself I would surely let you know just so I wouldn't have to see your ugly ass for the rest of the night, but I don't, so here we are. If you want answers, you're going to have to get your greasy womanizing hands the hell off me so I can get them, you goon."

The shock registered on his face. She had never dared talk to him that way, but it didn't last long before it was replaced with more rage. He backhanded her across the face making her lose her balance. She crumpled on the floor, shocked herself. He might have been terrible since McKenna was born. He may have thrown things in anger and had to fix holes he punched in the wall. He may have worn her down until she was afraid to say no, but he had *never* actually physically hurt her. Not like this.

From her spot on the floor, she could still see the action. Furfur was standing his full height and had McKenna in one arm wrapped in a wing to stop her seeing what was going on, but it didn't muffle her cries. She sounded terrified begging Furfur not to let her daddy hurt her.

Chet was headed in their direction screaming about delivering his child from evil and getting her to the church. Before he could get there, though, Furfur conjured (the best word, she guessed) a ball of light or maybe it was fire. Whatever it was did not at all look like it was good news.

"I do not recommend you attempt to take this child out of my arms. You will not live long enough to hurt her if you do."

Chet stopped mid-stride and watched as the ball grew hotter and redder. She could feel the heat of the thing from her spot on the floor across the room. He stood there 2 feet from it, skin turning pink, mouth open, and eyes wide. Furfur smiled creepily and bellowed out a laugh as the ball disappeared. When his laughter finally died down, he didn't utter another word; he simply pointed at the door. And out Chet went. But, he did turn back looking down at Tiffani and warned, "this is not over. You WILL be answering for what you've done as soon as I make sure I run off this thing you've given our child to." The door slammed, and she just stared, tears streaming down her stinging face.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Furfur apparently felt sorry enough for her to offer to help her up. She took his hand...and felt, well, nothing. Nothing strange. She thought she would certainly feel the evil coming off him. She knew the stories. The church talked about demons so much. In fact, in bigger places the priests were taking exorcism classes. How could he feel so normal?

He knelt down and let her see that McKenna had cried herself to sleep. She looked so comfortable there on his shoulder, at home. Or surely at peace at the very least. Tiffani looked from her to him and back again wondering just what the hell was going on.

"Sit down, mother of Tiny. You still get your 1 question."

She sat at the Hello Kitty table watching as he tucked McKenna in. He knew all the rituals--which plushie slept on which side, to take the larger pillow and put it on the open side of the bed, and turn on the little unicorn nightlight plugged in beside the night table. He even pulled the quilt up just right (which meant past her armpits but not quite up to her neck or she would throw down). He absolutely knew her child, knew her quirks, and Tiffani had no idea how to feel about it.

He crossed the distance from the bed to the table and sat across from her. She hadn't really noticed his smell until he got close--burnt musk (which was not pleasant). He folded himself miraculously into a small enough shape to relax at the table and watched her intensely.

Tiffani thought a lot about what she wanted to ask. "Confused" didn't even begin to cover how she felt. This whatever-he-was had acted in ways that contradicted everything she knew. She wanted to ask about God, about life, about how he came to befriend her daughter, if he stole McKenna's soul to help her talk... But, there was one question she kept coming back to that shown solidly and brightly above the others.

"Do you love her?"

"That is what you want to know of all the knowledge in the universe?"

"No. No, of course not. But...I mean, I think right now for me in this moment it is the most important."

"In that case, the answer you seek is 'yes.'"

"But how?"

He laughed knowingly making Tiffani sigh in exasperation. "You get but one question. Does the 'how' change anything?"

She connected with his eyes for the first real time since all this began, searching. "It could change everything I know, to be honest, but, no, my questions about my faith are not as important as knowing my daughter is loved and safe. But let me tell you, I want her soul safe, too. I want her to be loved for who she is not some version of herself you created with...with a magical 'abracadabra' or whatever it is you do. She deserves that, you know--genuine happiness, to be loved unconditionally by the people who look after her, to be celebrated..." She faltered on that last word. The sobs that had been building thundered out of her body, loud wails of absolute mental fatigue and anguish. The demon never moved, never looked away in embarrassment, never violated her boundaries. He did, however, take a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and pass it over wordlessly and waited her out almost as if refusing to make her cry alone. That can't be right, she thought as she pulled herself together. These are supposed to be the most evil, selfish, violent creatures to exist.

"I am not required to explain this to you. You had your one question. I do, however, want you to know, I cannot lie in answer to a summoning question. She is loved without conditions as you say. I have not harmed Tiny in any way. She speaks because she wants to, when she wants to, no other time. I do not want to see you suffer this as it would cause Tiny great distress, so understand I will be at her call as long as she would like me to. I have no words of explanation for it. I believe when she called accidentally her first time, she needed someone to hear her, and I took the time to learn how to listen."

Tiffani nodded through more tears and tried to get up from the table. Her hip had taken most of her fall earlier, and she was beginning to feel it. The demon was at her side in an instant, though, and helped her to her feet then over to McKenna's bed. He stepped back intuitively giving them some space as she leaned over to kiss her little angel on the tip of her nose.

Quietly the gravelly not-quite-human voice from behind her said, "I shall stay the night to see Tiny is safe from that man you call her father. It is my belief you should stay as well."

So she did. Hesitantly. She was torn between the stories she had heard in church, what the word "demon" was supposed to mean, and what this actual demon in front of her was like. But he made her feel...safe. At the very least she wholeheartedly believed he would not let Chet hurt "Tiny" as he affectionately called her daughter. As soon as she climbed in bed and snuggled against the child with these thoughts whirling in her head, she was out.

Gray light was filtering through the windows when Tiffani was shaken awake. She sat up in a panic startling the demon who already had McKenna cradled like a newborn in one arm.

"Something is wrong. The man left and has returned with someone else. The air feels off. Get ready. He is coming soon."

"Wait. Is your name really Furfur?"

"You ask this now?"

She frowned at his amusement. "It just seems like something I should know, ok?"

He nodded affirmation, "Essentially, yes."

Whatever that means, she thought, as she heard Chet's footsteps hit the stairs. She had no idea what to expect.

He slammed through the door without knocking and swaggered inside exaggerating his steps, hat cocked, looking like he was on the set of an Axe body spray commercial. Behind him, Father Wayne from their church looked on the scene with a horrified expression and signed the cross over himself.

Father Wayne had welcomed them with open arms from the very first time they had attended services. His sermons often ran over time. It wasn't unusual for the first Sunday Service to cut into the second Sunday Service, eventually becoming a single, three hour service of monotonous scripture reading with the occasional self-deprecating jokes about being a bald, overweight, middle-aged man. He was prone to heavily preaching on the submission of wives to their husband, conveniently forgetting the rest of the verse regarding a husband's responsibility to his wife. He insisted on pre-marital counseling sessions for newly engaged couples where he gave the ladies 1950's era advice on how to be a good wife, advice which he persistently extended, unsolicited of course, to Tiffani which she attributed to Chet's not very discreet indiscretions. His sermons were peppered with intolerance disguised as God's Word, and while not everyone in the congregation agreed they often wrote it off as a result of him being a "devout Catholic from another time." But, he had welcomed them unconditionally, and something about the unvarying tone of his sermons often lulled McKenna into a nap. Chet always eyed their child sleeping on the pew between them with irritation, but Tiffani was grateful for the opportunity to worship in the Church with other believers and regarded Father Wayne as a slightly misguided but gentle Man of God.

"When Chet told me you were consorting with demons, I just couldn't believe it, my child. But here you are right in front of my eyes in the presence of true evil and allowing your daughter to be ruined by it."

"But I'm not 'consorting' with anything, Father. McKen---"

Chet interrupted as he always did. "We can see quite clearly with our own two goddamn eyes, you bitch." He glanced behind him at the priest sheepishly. "Sorry, Father."

Father Wayne stepped forward and crossed himself again while Furfur hissed and covered his face with his wings. "BEGONE FOUL BEAST IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, SON, AND HOLY SPIRIT." And just as before, the demon disappeared like he was never there leaving McKenna with no support. She hit the ground hard, head bouncing off the hardwood floor, and immediately began screaming.

"Get the child and hold her down, Chet!" the old priest said, elevating his volume above McKenna's wails. Tiffani looked in horror as Chet dragged the child towards the priest and put his knees over her shoulders while Father Wayne opened a book, a Bible maybe?, laid it on the floor beside him, and knelt down to hold her feet. McKenna screamed even more and bucked wildly on the floor obviously in pain and terrified.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY DAUGHTER?!"

Chet turned and glared at her. "This is OUR daughter or did you forget when you laid down with the Devil, Tiffani? And I'm undoing your evil. I'm taking back OUR daughter. Watch and learn how to be an actual parent. Tough love is a fact of life, baby. Suck it up."

"Tiffani, as your Priest, it is my duty to help your family and your child in any way that I can. Chet has asked me for my aid. We have agreed exorcisms must be performed. I called Bishop Bachman a few hours ago for permission upon which he agreed after Chet laid out the facts of your, uh, sexual relationship with this infernal invader leaving you and your child open to possession--if I could verify for myself that this was the case. As I live and breathe I cannot fathom why you would turn to dark powers to fix a child when our Lord was doing his work. How dare you question his timing? You know, I have an incontinent cat at home. You should try living with that! But I get on my knees and pray daily for assistance from our Lord in helping me care for Humphrey rather than doing sodomy with the Devil's brood. Count yourself lucky we no longer burn people like you at the stake. Now run along and get your chores done before it's your turn."

Satisfied, they both turned back to McKenna while Tiffani sat dumbfounded and more confused than ever. Incontinent cats? Sodomy with the devil? She had not a clue what was going on here as Father Wayne began a prayer.

"May Thy mercy, Lord, descend upon us. As great as our hope in Thee.

We drive you from us,
whoever you may be,
unclean spirits,
all satanic powers,
all infernal invaders,
all wicked legions,
assemblies and sects."

McKenna screeched and growled--nothing new--and clawed at Chet's legs trying to get up. She punched herself in the face and scratched anything she could dig her claws into. It was quite a show, but it was nothing out of the ordinary when she was overwhelmed by the unexpected, afraid, or just overstimulated. McKenna absolutely would not stop trying to hurt herself and anyone around her until she was worn out completely and who knew how much damage would be caused by then.

"In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb."

Mckenna growled again. "It's working, Father. It's working," Chet said almost giddily, but when McKenna managed to get one of her feet loose and kick the old, bald priest in the face, his expression darkened again. Chet reared back and slapped the child across the face splitting her lip and quieting her screams and movements for the moment, maybe knocking her unconscious. "I told you not to spare the rod, babe. She throws these tantrums because she is spoiled as shit, and it's your fault."

Father Wayne had gotten her feet restrained once more and glanced at her bloody lip with slight concern before continuing on, but Tiffani had seen enough. She ran for McKenna's drawings still on floor near the table where she dropped them what seemed like a lifetime ago already. The priest recited his prayers while she frantically searched for the page with Furfur's summoning symbol. She pictured him in her mind holding McKenna so sweetly as shaky fingers traced the design. The paper grew hot, but she held on this time pushing her will and thoughts into the rising shape. Fix this, stop them, make this stop, help Tiny, I need you, please let this work, Tiny needs you.

Furfur rose into his usual shape, wings extended to their full size, but Tiffani felt different this time. She could feel him taking up space in her mind, feel his energy. His voice echoed in her head, "Mother of Tiny, did you push your will into the summoning?"
"My name is Tiffani," she responded in her head.

He sighed out loud and in her mind. "This name obsession again?" He chuckled, and it almost instantly put her at ease. "Tiffani. Did you mix your will with the summoning?"

"Yes. I don't know why. I just....she needs you."

"It is good. I cannot stay here long in the face of such prayer alone. Keep doing what you are doing."

"Why not?"

"Mothe....Tiffani, we do not have time for such long stories now, but if we get our Tiny back, I will tell you the history of my kind. Deal?"


She nodded and pushed her need to help McKenna at him hard enough to make him stumble. His eyes widened a little. "Don't underestimate the power of a mama bear needing to protect her baby," she said out loud this time.

He strode forward, grabbed Chet by the collar and threw him through the bedroom doorway. Father Wayne stood up simultaneously pulling a small cross and vial out of his pocket. He uncapped the vial and tossed the contents on Furfur, who howled in pain and rage, and began praying more intensely.

Little tendrils of smoke rose from the demon's fur where the water hit him, but he was otherwise unfazed even as the priest began shouting the prayers up towards him.

"Most cunning serpent, you shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God's elect and sift them as wheat.

The Most High God commands you, He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal.

God who wants all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth."

The demon laughed viciously and leaned down to look eye to eye with the priest. "How DARE you talk to me about TRUTH. Do you tell your flock the truth of why you left your last church? How you filled its pews with the blood of innocents you whipped in His name? Even children? How you were relocated as punishment for your actions?"

The priest stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide and head shaking. He never said another word but turned and walked out of the room stepping over Chet as he went. In the quiet afterwards, Tiffani heard the slam of the front door and the familiar rumble of the priest's truck starting then fading as he pulled out the driveway.

Chet groaned from the hallway. Furfur's voice echoed in her head once more, "what about him?"

"I have never wanted to hurt someone so badly in all my life...but I could never live with myself if he were seriously hurt. Or worse. Can you get him out of here long enough for me to get things sorted so we can leave?"

He nodded. Tiffani went to check on McKenna as the demon made his way over to Chet. She was breathing, bloody but alive. Tiffani felt the tears begin to roll as she heard the demon telling Chet to get out and stay gone, or things would be a lot worse for him the next time. To Chet's credit he was actually smart enough to heed the advice and skulk out but not before he shouted a parting shot of "demon whore" to Tiffani and got a backhand from Furfur for his trouble. That was definitely going to leave a bigger mark than McKenna's split lip.

He'd never leave them alone, though. Not really. And to reconcile would mean McKenna would grow up in a house with a man who didn't understand her and couldn't possibly love her the way she needed. Leaving with her baby was her only option for now.

She watched as the demon picked McKenna up ever so gently and carried her to the bed humming an unfamiliar tune. He sat with his wings against the headboard and his Tiny cradled in his arms while Tiffani started packing suitcases and and called to transfer what little money they had in their joint account to a secret savings she kept from selling crafts and the occasional odd job. Furfur held McKenna the whole time occasionally leaning over to kiss her forehead, clean and ice her lip, or move a stray hair from her face. When Tiny finally woke up, she hugged the demon tight then scooted out of his lap and ran over to hug Tiffani--something she had not willingly done in years.

McKenna didn't say a word from the back of the car as they drove down the Interstate, windows down, a classic rock playlist of Furfur's (Demons have spotify. How appropriate.) playing through the speakers. For once, McKenna's silence was oka--not something that Tiffani felt compelled to fix. She was going to learn to listen to the other ways McKenna communicated, and she knew just the person--uh, demon--who could teach her how.

She glanced over and couldn't help but smile at the demon's long arm reaching back to hold up a tablet so McKenna could watch old episodes of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. He'd only been doing it 2 hours or so...if that wasn't love, the kind of exhausting love of a parent who would do anything to keep their child content and safe, she didn't know what was.

______________________________________________

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 Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

The Blogging 911 http://theblogging911.com/blog

Cognitive Script https://cognitivescript.blogspot.com/

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

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

Wannabe Linguistics https://wannabelinguistics.tumblr.com/

Friday, February 2, 2018

Cupid Swap



Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 10 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:

Tell us about a time you witnessed an act of love.

It was submitted by: https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

I'm not sure the following short story strictly adheres to the prompt, but I wasn't feeling especially lovey-dovey this month, and this story had been rolling around in my mind for awhile now, so here we are.

A few things before you start: Reddit is a social site. Let's Not Meet is a particular area of that site where people share stories about creeps they met in the wild. The stories must be true and often require some sort of verification to stay up. Downvotes are basically dislikes on Reddit. A Chad is a term used by men with issues to describe any man they see as successful but especially a muscled jock type. Normie is a "normal" person so far as I can tell--someone who isn't an incel (involuntarily celibate person who things sex is a right and owed to them). If you spend any time researching it....well, you're just going to get angry. But sometimes being angry is a good thing.
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Herman's pudgy, pasty fingers moved furiously over the keyboard. His cheeks shone a vibrant red, his brow sweaty with rage and concentration. It was another Friday night spent playing World of Warcraft and obviously NOT getting the respect he deserved or that cunt Bitchicorn on Reddit wouldn't have tried to give him any shit on the Let's Not Meet sub. And what was with all the fucking downvotes? Anyone with half a brain cell would agree--if the guy stalking the op, CandiedGams, was a Chad with 6 pack abs and a 5 figure bank account his daddy gave him, she wouldn't be complaining. And really if you think about it, all she wanted was a pity party. Attention whore. So fucking what if that Uber driver killed her dog when she wouldn't go out with him?! Who the fuck did she think she was anyway? A queen? Hardly. She was less of a lifeform than the last shit he took. If she wasn't such a stuck up bitch and went out with the Uber driver who was out of his way nice to her during the ride, she wouldn't have had this problem. CoD is call of duty, and WoW is World of Warcraft. Both are games.

He was so angry by this point his chest felt tight. He wanted badly to shut Bitchicorn up forever, but she had an army of feminist harpies backing her up by then, and his breath was shortening to the point he had to reach for his inhaler. He logged off, a flood of self-loathing for not even being able to deal with women online and put them in their place rising up through the Baja Blast Moutain Dew and 12 pack of tacos he had for dinner. It was all he could do not to punch the wall, but the last time he lost control like that he bruised his knuckles and couldn't kick anyone's ass on CoD for a week.

So, he turned to the one place he could always count on to make him feel at least somewhat sane. He logged right back into reddit under his alt account and hit the Incels subs--the few that were left after Reddit's hypocrisy anyway. It didn't take long for him to realize his mistake. The first few threads were filled with stupid normies who would never fucking get it telling them all to get therapy, wash, and workout. Like that was going to rearrange his facial aesthetic, give him a fat wallet, or make his dick big enough to satisfy those whores.... he could feel the pressure in his chest again, couldn't catch his breath through the weight of the rage, and felt the pain travel in bursts down his left arm before his room started looking hazy and dark.

And that's when he passed out. Apparently.

When he woke up, he wasn't in his room anymore. Maybe. All he knew was he was sitting on a plush, velveteen lounge, and that was definitely not part of his decor. After looking around a bit, he noticed a few hanging plants, some golden lamps, a harp... weird shit. There were hearts of various shapes plastered on the way and in a wide array of styles from realistic to pixelated.

What.
In.
The.
Normie.
Hell....

He spent a panicked few minutes on the verge of tossing his Taco Bell trying to figure out where he could possibly be when a door opened in the wall across from him where no door had been before, and in walked a guy who looked vaguely familiar. He was well dressed in a white suit with a blood red shirt, pink tie, and matching fedora perched jaintily on his head. His dark brown hair was cut short, beard full but trimmed, and he was in decent shape. Not built but not fat. Not really slender but healthy. He walked gracefully without the labored breathing Herman was used to.

The dude stopped a couple feet from the lounge and waited.

"Well... who the hell are you?" That was Herman.

"I'm you. Well, I'm not really you. I'm me, but I look what you might if you gave two shits about that sort of thing and gave it any effort."

Herman's mouth hung open. That was his only reaction. No words, no grunts, no bodily reactions, or change in his slumped posture...his oily double chin had lowered to it's maximum width, and there it stayed.

"Nice look on you, that slackjawed, slow-minded wonderment. Look, I'll save you some trouble. It doesn't matter who I am so much as who you will be when we're done. No, you aren't dead, but you DID have a bit of a heart attack. No biggie. No real damage. But I saw my chance to make a difference in the world, and now I have a job for you. Ok maybe not so much the world but for me."
"Wh-wh-what? A heart attack?"

"You weren't exactly living a healthy lifestyle there, Herman. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Too much grease and rage being pumped into your body with no effort being expended on, well, anything. For fuck's sake, man, when's the last time you brushed your teeth?"

Herman snapped out of his daze then and felt the usual rage rushing through his veins. "None of your fucking business, you stupid Chaaaaaad."

"Hahaha just what I thought. Either way, yes, heart attack, not a big deal. You'll be fine physically IF you make some changes like eating better, getting out of your house, exercise, medication....OR you can take my job and I'll fill in for you. You can look any way you want, eat anything you want...oh, and you'll be immortal."

"Wait. What?"

"Either you keep on progressing your heart disease because we both know you aren't going to change and die of a heart attack when you're 39 or 40 or you can be me and be immortal."

"What does it involve?"

"Well. I'm in the business of love. Have you ever heard of Cupid?"

"Stop fucking playing. There is no way I'm buying this. Cupid is a myth. A story. A load of bullshit."

"I assure you, Herman, the story is real. I'm real. The offer is real."

"So what exactly does this involve? Going around making people fall in love with each other? If that's the case why the hell did you choose for me to spend my whole life alone?"

"Look, I don't match people up who expect to get laid or only looking to get laid. I bring together couples who under ordinary circumstances could last forever. True loves. Boy, you don't love so much as your pinky toe. That's part of the job...learning what love is and means to other people. Do you know how much like you I used to be? I have been doing this 200 long years trying to figure out what this girl saw in that one or what this boy saw in that girl, and let me tell you....it's not what YOU think it is with your internet posts droning on about Chads and normies and women only loving rich, built assholes. It's not so neatly defined. It's actually NEVER like that. Not for couples who will actually make it, who are actually in love. Shit. Listen at me going on like this. Man, I used to hate the very idea of love. Like you."

"Am I trolling myself in my own nightmares? Is that what this is?"

"No, I assure you this is very real. And it's a serious matter. And you don't have much more time, so I'm going to need your decision."

"Why me?"

"Because you've ruined yourself really. You need an out more than anyone I've ever seen in my time doing this. And you probably have the least idea what love actually is than any poor sap I've ever met. So as my final act of love I'm passing the torch to someone who needs the lesson."

"Fuck you."

"Take the deal or go back to WoW and hating women until you die alone jerking off to sex robot porn. Those are your options."

"Oh. How do you know about.... uh. Deal."

______________________________________


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 http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2018/02/perspectives-of-temper-tantrum-secret.html

The Lieber Family Blog http://thelieberfamily.com

The Bergham Chronicles https://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/2018/02/set-your-dvr-secretsubjectswap.html

Friday, February 12, 2016

This Beast

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: 1,2,3 ~ 4-leaf clover ~ 5 a day ~ 7/11 ~ 9 to 5

They were submitted by: http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

I fully admit that when I got these, I scoffed. Loudly. These were not okay by me. haha. But, a phone call led to some inspiration, and here we are.

___________________________________

She flips through the channels mindlessly. A kids’ show, 2 girls in pigtails jumping rope and counting “1, 2, 3…,” appear and disappear on to the next one.

A commercial flashes on the next channel, an ad for a new energy vitamin. A ripped meathead holds a bottle and points at the screen saying, “Only 5 a day and you can look like this!” She huffs at that wondering just why anyone would think a few pills will get them magically fitter and keeps flipping.

On the next another commercial appears… a little leprechaun with a 4 leaf clover on his hat talking about a blowout March Madness sale at a local car lot. It’s a creepy little thing and she shudders a little before flipping on.

The next channel shows some kids in a 7/11 type store at a Slushie machine, two teens in ripped jeans and faded metal band shirts discussing the cultural relevance of Pantera in some kind of indie comedy. She almost pauses, slightly intrigued, then sighs and changes the channel again.

Movie channel this time. The 1980 classic 9 to 5 and she’s almost tempted to stop. A bit of a feminist tale, of course, and that almost makes her settle on something, make up her mind and stop flipping incessantly with that restlessness she feels inside, that dissatisfaction with everything. Almost. But she flips on then clicks the television off and tosses the remote on the couch beside her.

She feels uncomfortable in her own skin. It’s just one of those days when nothing or no one will fill a space that only she can, when every little thing is an exercise in patience. She wonders if everyone has those days when everything is an aggravation and nothing makes sense, and she realizes that it’s probably true. No one is as perfect as they make themselves out to be on Facebook and Twitter.

The throw she has over her legs is a little too warm on top of the leggings and flannel shirt she wears, so she tosses it to the side unable to really get comfortable today, everything pushing her buttons. She can’t even get lost in her own head, and maybe that’s the problem today… maybe avoiding that safe space has her wound up and unable to relax. There in her inner world is a perfect romance that could never really exist in life. She fell in love with a unicorn, an imaginary beast that was equal parts myth and reality…a beast that would never really be able to give her unhurried moments of unbridled passion that left sheets sweaty and hearts melted. Because life intervenes.

Life intervenes.

Instead, she is here on her couch alone, flipping channels and unfulfilled. Longing for something that she can’t have which is one of those ironic parts of life…wanting what can’t be and not finding fulfillment in what is.

Perhaps the universe really is a troll.

Perhaps she just likes to troll herself.

She pushes off the couch and makes the walk to the kitchen, clicking the light on and surveying the room. She washes her dinner plate, stacks it into the too-full dish drainer and wipes the counters off. She grinds some coffee beans and goes through the motions of making a cup of coffee. The process soothes her nerves a little, the familiarity of it, and the work involved. She pours liquid comfort into her favorite mug—the one with the owl on it. She adds the sweetener and creamer like always and leans back against the counter to take a sip, loving the heat of the mug in her hands.

She shakes her hair out of her face, biting her bottom lip in thought. A phrase she read recently comes
https://www.instagram.com/j.raymond/?hl=en
back to her in that moment, “And she grew tired of being asked if she’d ever fallen in love. Like she wasn’t complete otherwise. With a world full of insecurities and short-sighted sheep, she was a wolf with her chin held out high. She took its worst, and she took it with a smile that made the bravest take note. Ask that questions to someone, anyone else. This beast decided long ago that everyday she’d fall in love with herself.”

She repeats the last line of it once again savoring the way it rolls around her mind, and she smiles that knowing smile while she lifts the coffee up to her lips again.

Everything will be just fine.

________________________________________


Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:


http://bakinginatornado.com Baking In A Tornado

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/ The Bergham Chronicles

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade

http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/ The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://www.southernbellecharm.com Southern Belle Charm

http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com Not That Sarah Michelle

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/ The Angrivated Mom

http://batteredhope.blogspot.com Never Ever Give Up Hope

http://mybrainonkids.net My Brain on Kids

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/ Confessions of a part time working mom

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com Someone Else’s Genius

Sunday, October 18, 2015

I Loved

Before I post this, I just want to say this is fiction. I have never dealt with this personally and hope that I havent done any injustice to the topic by writing about it. I like to explore characters and potential reactions to life's problems like grief and loss and love... And I honestly hope I never have to know what it feels like to be in this narrator's shoes because I'm not sure I would handle it so well personally.

___________________________________



“At least we aren’t that bad off yet, right? Fighting each other in the mud for a scrap of water. What kind of life is that?” I had asked her during the first parts of Mad Max: Fury Road. We were home that night, neither of us being too keen on going to the cinema anymore with people on cell phones the whole time, loud ass, disruptive kids, and the recent rash of theater shootings.

“Are we really all that different though? Aren’t we all fighting for scraps while the rich keep the power and the money?”

This was another reason we didn’t like going to the theater, these conversations.

“Well… we have water and no one makes us shave our heads.”

“Shaved heads notwithstanding, does everyone have water?”

“Not everyone, no.”

“But isn’t there enough money in the world to make sure they do?”

“I’d have to do the math on that, but most likely.”

“And isn’t there some random rich white person that decides on occasion to do some charity and bring medicine or food or water instead of everyone pulling together and actually resolving the issues that cause it? Sort of like raining down water from a gushing pipe every now and then?

“I mean…I don’t think those people are necessarily as evil as this guy, Sadie.”

“Some famous guy somewhere said something about the biggest evil being inaction.”

And with that her point had been proven for the most part, I guess. We enjoyed the rest of the movie, but the conversation was done. That’s the kind of thing I remember about her most, the thing I might miss the most except smelling her in bed beside me, feeling her heat, being able to put my cold toes against her calves and start a wrestling match in bed. I miss those moments beside her in bed the absolute most, but I also miss that quick intelligence, the snapshot conversations that didn’t take a debate or hours worth of back and forth. She dropped in and made her point, and that was that. It was like that idea was waiting inside her perfect little brain just for the right moment to show itself.

I’ve dated since Sadie.

Let me rephrase that. I’ve been out with other women since Sadie, but ultimately I end up comparing them to her or her to them, and it never works out. And even if I like someone, she inevitably asks me how I deal with it—having been with someone who committed suicide.

Is there an answer to that question, though? Truthfully, I haven’t dealt with it. Truthfully, every time I sit down to dinner with some other woman, I feel like a lying cheat. I hate myself for it. My heart still belongs to a woman that never wanted to be in this world in the first place, and all I can do is lay awake at night and think of all the things I should have said or done or not done even while knowing there was nothing that would have changed it. Rationally, I *know* it wasn’t the first time she tried to end things and that it was a constant battle for her. I *know* that it was going to happen sooner or later because even when she got the help she needed, it was only a temporary fix. But, the part of me that doesn’t give a shit for rationalization, the part of me with all the feels…that part of me is always and forever going to search for something I maybe could have done differently that might have made all the difference.

I love her. Even now after 2 years in this world without her, I think I love just as much as the first time I ever told her. Or maybe just as much as the 12th time I told her. I did kind of rush into things, but the first time I met her I just kind of knew that I would fall head over heels in love with her. I don’t scorn her memory for leaving me with all this baggage, and I don’t think she took the coward’s way out of things the way her family seems to… What I do think is that I was lucky enough to spend 6 long years with her through the hard times and the best times, through the tears and the depression and through the days when we laughed so hard together that my face ached the next day. It hurts to be without her. It hurts more than I ever thought anything could hurt me, but she was honest with me from the start, so how can I fault her? She told me on our 3rd date that one day she would probably commit suicide one day, and if I was going to date her, she needed me to understand it would never be forever. It was a serious conversation, but I already had a serious crush, and I thought naively that maybe it wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. That’s when I told her that life isn’t worth living without taking risks, and that I needed to know what falling in love with her felt like despite those risks.

She kissed me for the first time that night and cried softly into my neck afterwards.

So how do I deal with it?

I don’t.

I don’t think there’s a way to deal with losing the love of your life. Sure, life goes on and all that. I don’t cry every day anymore, so there’s improvement to be had, but there will never be a time when her memory fades, that I don’t fall asleep at night wishing she was here, and I’m okay with that. I took the risk with her and saw it through, and for at least awhile I knew how it felt to love someone more than I loved myself.

_____________________________



I hope the strength of my narrator shines through instead of this being seen as bleak and depressing... thanks for reading and be sure to check out the rest of the link ups and the More than Cheese and Beer blog!!



Friday, October 16, 2015

Relationship Anarchy



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: deviant, haunted, desolate, transparent, wretched. 

They were submitted by:  http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com

____________________________________________________


Matters of the heart require a person to be completely transparent. I don’t mean that you have to tell someone you don’t like the way their eyeshadow looks that day (because maybe its not about your preferences), but you do have to be perfectly clear about what you want and how you feel.

I am, always. Transparent.

But, that doesn’t make things any easier for me.

You see, I’m sort of aromantic. That doesn’t mean that I can’t fall in love with someone. It doesn’t mean that I’m some sort of wretched creature haunted by the past who has had her heart stomped on one too many times or a desolate, lonely cat lady who can’t find love. I’m not some deviant who only cares about herself and has no regard for others. But, I can’t be in the confines of a traditionally defined relationship without feeling like I’m suffocated. I get depressed, anxious, lose all sense of self in relationships that come with all these expectations of how people are supposed to act and feel, what they do and don’t do, how they relate to one another.

The first reaction I get, typically, is a statement that I haven’t met the “right” man yet which doesn’t even make any sense to begin with since I don’t *only* like men. Regardless, the idea that everything I know about myself can be resolved or changed because of a man is a bit absurd. And then there are the people who assume I have a broken heart that just needs to find love to mend itself or that I need to get laid. There’s always a few people who believe I don’t really know what I want and need to figure myself out, or that I need someone to sweep me off my feet or that I have only had shitty relationships. I’ll come around. I’ll want to get remarried one day. I’ll stop wanting to have my cake and eat it, too. No matter how transparent I am about my thoughts and beliefs, rarely can anyone accept that they might just be the truth. Instead, how I feel and what I believe is treated more like a challenge to prove me wrong.

Not being heard is quite an annoyance to say the least.

The thing, for me, is that I don’t really need the labels. I don’t necessarily have problems being monogamous, but I don’t want someone thinking I’m not allowed to be my flirty self, that I can’t call on others for the conversations I crave, that I shouldn’t spend so much time on the people I write or my hobbies or writing period. And, in my own experience, even when the idea of a relationship is (even falsely!!) a remote possibility, I am expected to make changes that really aren’t me. I am perfectly willing to make comprises and sacrifices for someone I love, but I am not, absolutely not, going to lose myself in someone else’s insecurities while they attempt to control aspects of my life, theirs, and ours together that are truly beyond both of our control.

To me, any social relationship, even one without clearly defined labels, is existential in nature. It’s going to end. One way or another, the relationship will either run its natural course or at least one member of the relationship will die. It’s a fact of life. There is no escaping the fact that forever is sort of an arbitrary term that doesn’t mean what it implies. To me, and in my experience, promising someone forever is taken to literally mean forever, and both parties end up trying to control every little thing they can to ensure the other person’s promise is upheld. Controlling another person’s behavior, though, is really sort of impossible without a pretty severe level of emotional abuse. See, I can make a commitment, a promise, and focus on my own behavior, what I do, how I behave, and how I treat the other person, but I can’t *make* them treat me the same way, behave the way I do, or not sleep with anyone else. I can’t make them love me and only me for the rest of life. As human beings, it seems like controlling things is what we want to be able to do….but it’s just not the way things work.

My existential responsibility, then, is to enjoy what is in front of me while I have it because I really have no control over how long that person is in my life. All I can do on my end is love them, treat them fairly and with affection and the way I want to be treated. I can choose monogamy and hope that person does, too, but there’s no way I can put a metaphorical chastity belt on them with a label or a piece of paper. I can tell that person what I want and what I expect, but I can’t enforce that in any way, so why should I spend the time we do have together worrying about it? I’d rather just *be* with that person for as long as we decide it’s good. And when it no longer is, we can agree mutually to go our separate ways. Does that take a label or a marriage certificate? Maybe it does for other people, but it’s not what I want. I just want to appreciate what I have for as long as I have it with someone and live life instead of spending all my time worried about what the future with that person holds.

I concede that may be odd in the world today, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what I want and how to get it or that I need someone to come along and show me everything I knew about myself was wrong. In fact, I don’t *need* anything except coffee in the morning, hugs from the kid, and Halloween candy.

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Thanks for reading! Here are the links to the rest of the participating blogs: 

http://bakinginatornado.com Baking In A Tornado

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade

http://themomisodes.com The Momisodes

http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/ Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

http://www.southernbellecharm.com Southern Belle Charm

http://www.renasworld.com/ Rena’s World

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch Confessions of a part time working mom

http://batteredhope.blogspot.com Never Ever Give Up Hope

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com Someone Else’s Genius

http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com Searching for Sanity

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/ The Bergham Chronicles

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com The Angrivated Mom

http://eileensperpetuallybusy.blogspot.com/ Eileen's Perpetually Busy

Sunday, July 5, 2015

To The Boy


We were sitting, you on your DS and me reading while snacking on cauliflower with cucumber dill dip, when you asked if you could try a bite. I, knowing your extremely picky palette, was not exactly hopeful that you would enjoy but acquiesced anyway partially out of morbid curiosity imagining what sort of gagging noise and horrid face you might make this time after you had barely touched your tongue to it. To my surprise, you didn’t squint your face up and making your usual round of retching noises. Instead, it was a face of mild interest followed by only half a grimace, but in my steadfast watchfulness I noticed the smile threatening to spill forth before you opened your mouth.

“Not bad,” you said. “It has a bit of an aftertaste, but I can DILL with it.”

You didn’t burst out laughing, but looked at me knowingly, cunningly even. The joke laid out so well, so punny, that I couldn’t stop my giggles giving that look on your face a little more strength and a whole lot more satisfaction.

I was struck in that moment how it seems that overnight you’ve become something all your own. In the blink of an eye almost, you grew from the sandy blond baby who laughed uncontrollably at the silliest things to making me laugh with your own quick wit, puns, and smartassery.

You’ve evolved from loving any sort of music I play to finding your own styles and loves, to discovering things that speak to your own core.

We watch movies or read books together and notice different things gathering different meanings from what we see or read and enjoying the chance to talk about it and enlighten each other.

You have your own taste in clothes no longer content to let me pick it all out and want your hair your way worn the way you want.

I look at you, a perfect mixture of me and your father…you with his eyebrows and my freckles, his eyes and my nose, his lips and my smirk and it's hard not to think of you as my baby. It seems nearly impossible that you, almost 10, have grown from the tiny little wiggler that thought it quite hilarious to play in the toilet or eat cat food or shove a green bean up your nose to the almost-tall-as-me ball of limitless energy you are now.

I see my influence, assuredly, whenever we talk, when you make me laugh, when you give me that look of exasperation because I. just. Don’t. get. It. I can’t look at you without seeing a little bit of me, can’t talk to you without knowing that I’ve been someone you love and look up to, and that certainly makes me proud, full to bursting. But, I suppose the thing that makes me proudest is that same independence that shocked me as a sat giggling at your little pun. I love that you are becoming your own self not content to mirror me, to share in everything I love because I love it. I am so proud to watch you explore and to want to exert your own identity on the world, to seek out what makes you happy unafraid that I won’t like what you do. You only care if *you* like it and that is an incredible feat at just shy of 10 years.

I want so desperately for you to be your own man, and I see you are headed in just that direction. It thrills me to no end to see these changes in you, changes you are unafraid to make because you know through and through that I will love you always and forever no matter what you like or who you are. I have told you that time and again, but it means so much to see that you have taken that to heart and are content knowing that even if you do listen to dubstep, I love you no less even while I squint my face and make retching noises.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

19 Tips for Modern Dating


1. Don’t expect a free meal unless you’re willing to pick up the tab the next time.

2. Do have enough money to cover your portion of the meal or activities as well as part of the tip instead of assuming your date will pay unless this is discussed beforehand.

3. Open doors *for each other*

4. Don’t ask a person you meet online or in a bar to feel comfortable enough after a conversation or two to meet you at their house or for directions to theirs. Respect their common sense approach to remaining safe. It isn’t a reflection on whether or not you are a good person. You never know if your date is planning on making a pencil skirt out of your skin until it's to late

5. Do offer to meet the person in public and do not expect that person to get drunk with you in public or not. Do not get so drunk that you spell “I love you” in pee on the sidewalk in front of your date.

6. If your date spells his or her name a certain way, do spell it that way also. You don’t really have a better idea of who your date is than he or she does, I promise.

7. Don’t question your date’s food choices especially if *you* feel he or she is ordering too much, and don’t eat off your date’s plate without asking first. Some people are assholes about that.

8. Don’t spend the entire date talking about yourself and your hobbies especially if your hobby is collecting pogs.

9. Don’t tell your date she owns too many cats and would be happier without cats. Also, don’t tell her you hate cats. If you hate cats, go fuck yourself.

10. Ask questions, engage in friendly banter, keep the topics as light or deep as the person you are with feels comfortable. Also, even if your date is into politics, please keep your libertarianism to yourself.

11. Don’t offer to eat your date’s underwear.

12. Do compliment the person, but don’t say things like “ I want to eat your pubic hair.”

13. Don’t call your date a tease if you don’t get what you want at the end of the night. Respect his or her right to say no and to wait until a more comfortable time to engage in whatever activities you want like when that person wants to do those things too. Sex shouldn’t be one-sided unless you’re at home alone and your pets aren’t watching.

14. Don’t push or try to force the person into what you want.

15. Do follow his or her cues for a goodnight kiss. It is more than okay to hope the kiss includes tongue.

16. Don’t call your genitalia a ding-dong or tell your date you have a badass “Weiner”

17. Do be upfront about what your needs are in life—if you don’t want a relationship, don’t lie and say you’re open to it. If you wanted the nachos as an appetizer, get the fucking nachos.

18. Don’t disrespect your date’s needs—if he or she expresses no desire for a relationship, don’t decide to wait it out and be a good friend until his or her mind is “changed.” That’s not how it works. Friends don’t fantasize about banging their friends all the time. That is something else entirely.

19. And, I suppose, it goes without saying, don’t be a self-serving dick.


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Sunday means Sunday Confessions! This week our prompt was "For" so this is where we ended up over here at Climaxed. Not eating underwear or wearing skin suits. So yeah. Anyway, be sure to check out the rest of the submissions at More Than Cheese and Beer

Friday, June 12, 2015

Dirty Little Secret

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: Instead, Weight, Caught, Perspective and were submitted by the oh so awesome Jenn at http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

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Instead of taking a right turn towards home when she left the bleached and in-need-of-a-paint job parking lot in her office building, she went straight then took a sharp left. A right would have taken her to her life. This way would let her escape domestication for a little while.

At work in that rundown office building adjoined by that disaster of a parking lot, she was a telemarketer selling products to people who couldn’t afford them from a cubicle that looked like millions of other cubicles staggered across the country like cardboard cutout prison cells. Every single day she was roused from dreaming by the shrill scream of the alarm clock. Every day she hit the snooze button until she was almost late to work. Every day she skipped dressing up, she skipped makeup, she skipped doing anything to her hair but pulling it back in a half assed pony tail. She didn’t know when she stopped caring, but she had. She used to wake up ready for the world to light her on fire. Now, she was mostly a fizzling match waiting to be tossed by the wayside. She sat in her cubicle dialing numbers, hating people, hating herself in a whirlwind of monotony that killed her little by little every day. Then she would leave her boring, shitty job, travel the 14.58 miles to her house by the same route (every single day), and warm up the same rotation of Hungry Man meals for her far-too-round husband who couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her existence.

Once upon a time they were happy. They wed, they loved, they dreamed of a bigger life together. Maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe life happened. Either way, the dreams had shriveled and the love went right along with it. She hadn’t felt wanted in longer than she cared to remember. If she didn’t feed the man and wash his clothes, she’s pretty sure her existence in her life wouldn’t have mattered at all. Over the years, she lost any sense of self she had ever had.

Until she met him.

That day at work had started like hundreds before it. She sat at her desk wishing she were anywhere else, wishing she were someone else, wishing she could stick to a diet, that she could be bothered to do something with herself just to feel some semblance of confidence and hating herself for not bothering. She pulled numbers from her computer files contacting people who either hung up on her immediately or who called her any number of words that made her blush and want to waste away and die just for doing her job. This time she was selling some kind of shitty wireless mp3 headphones from china that probably cost a buck a piece and were being pushed for $49.99. Of course people were hanging up for that. Who needed a fucking mp3 player with everyone having ipods and iphones and other bullshit?

When she got Ken on the phone though, he was immediately different. She started in on her spiel speaking so fast hoping to catch the consumer’s attention before the phone was slammed down in her ear. He was laughing in her ear before her second sentence though. She was blushing and bracing herself for the worst when he said, “Slow down, Sugar. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

She apologized then, but he laughed that off, too, and asked for her name. She introduced herself and felt herself smile when he said he liked the sound of her voice. He asked her age. The two of them were only a few months apart actually with her being the oldest. She felt oddly euphoric when he said he wanted to know everything about her, but she told him that she couldn’t talk about that sort of thing on the phone for work, so he wanted to know when she got her lunchbreak and if he could call her then. It was odd, but she gave him her number unable to say no to the kindness she heard in his voice, unable, really, to say no to the butterflies she felt fluttering in her gut. What harm could it do? she thought. It was just her phone number. It’s not like she was meeting a stranger at his home only to end up on the 6 o’clock news when her body was found shoved into a couple suitcases, in pieces, and tossed in the dump.

Eventually, though, she did meet him at his house. It wasn’t until several phone calls, hundreds of texts and shared photos, and a couple of lunch dates later, though. He knew she was married. Unhappily married. He was divorced and after just a few dates said he was failing for her. It was passionate, a chaotic swirl of lust and caring and maybe love—things she hadn’t felt in a long time if ever--and it hooked her right from the start.

She hadn’t slept with him yet, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about it time and time and time again. She wanted it. Needed it. The most that had happened even when she was at his apartment were short kisses that she quickly broke off out of guilt. That hadn’t stopped her from seeing him, though. It hadn’t stopped her from being at his house alone. She knew that no matter how little physical contact the two of them had, it was still an affair, but from her perspective, if things hadn’t been so shitty in her marriage in the first place none of this would have happened. It was just a matter of figuring out where to go from here…if she were honest with herself, though, she could have taken the steps to make this right by now. She had promised Ken that she would, that she was going to leave, that she was going to have *that* conversation at home, and she had had every opportunity to do so, but when it came time to do it, she paused. Every time. She was holding back.

The weight of her secret and the thought of getting caught were exciting in a way. This was the craziest thing she had ever done in her life besides that one time she went into a sex shop and bought a vibrator to keep herself sane. She was scared that taking away the secretiveness, the thrill of it, would take away the very thing that made her feel alive. She was like a junkie begging for another hit so she could feel something more than numb, so she could escape from the consequences of her reality. Then she would trudge home to her apartment that smelled of regret and microwaved Salisbury steak (hard to distinguish between the two) and smile a knowing smile even as she threw Hank’s yellowed briefs into the wash. She would hum to herself when she stood under the hot spray of the shower letting Caress Tahitian Renewal wash away her sins. When she laughed to herself at some inside joke she shared with Ken even while Hank was in the room, she felt free.

In deception she had found salvation. It wasn’t Ken that saved her though he was certainly the catalyst. She had saved herself, proven that she could still take chances and make her own decisions and break the psychological chains that had held her in such an unhappy place for so long.

A phone call may have started it, but in the end, she was the one who determined life was meant for more.

Maybe it wasn’t right. Maybe a lot of people would judge her, but it had been a long time since she felt this good and she planned to hold on to that feeling just a little longer before she decided where to go from here. The only direction she would be going soon enough was up.

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I don't necessarily agree or disagree with the character in this story, but I go where the voice takes me and this was the road she and I traveled together this past week writing this story. Now, I hope you will check out the other bloggers who joined up for today's challenge. You can find the links below. And thank you for reading. 




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

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

http://themomisodes.com The Momisodes

http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/ Stacy Sews and Schools

http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/ Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

http://eileensperpetuallybusy.blogspot.com Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

http://batteredhope.blogspot.com Battered Hope

http://www.southernbellecharm.com Southern Belle Charm

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com Someone Else’s Genius

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch Confessions of a part-time working mom

http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com Searching for Sanity

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy