New Definitions

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 14 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:

If you had to describe your family what would you say?

It was submitted by: http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/

Oh what a week for me to get this prompt. I think I handled this with all the grace I could muster though. 

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Family is a difficult subject for me. I need to be upfront about that from the get go.

I’ve talked about my family, or at least my old family in the past on a few occasions on this blog. I talked about my father…the hellacious childhood he put me through (and not just me) and the way I found forgiveness after he died, closure for lack of a better term, in the pieces of him I see in myself. And I talked about my estranged relationship with my grandmother who did nothing but bring me down as a kid and young adult to the point where it was no longer healthy to be in her life or have her in mine.

I don’t really talk about my family in the present because I don’t really know how to express the way I feel these days.

For the most part, I am estranged from most of my actual relatives, blood relatives, and I am okay with that. It makes my life easier not having to deal with all the drama that a family like that brings to the table, and really I am just not the kind of person who enjoys faux pleasantries on holidays. Love is a difficult thing to fake.

My brother, mother, stepfather, nieces and nephews are in my life, but those relationships are fairly limited. I see them on holidays and we get together once a week typically for a family dinner at my mom’s house, but even those are strained these days for a myriad of complicated reasons that, for once, I probably shouldn’t discuss on a public blog. I don’t want to make things worse nor do I want to hurt anyone’s feelings which is pretty much synonymous for exactly how things go on those weekly dinners. I show up, give hugs, stick to myself, and leave as soon as dinner is over. The tension is often palpable, and I leave feeling anxious and hollow and foolish for having stayed in this town for as long as I have.

But…oh thank god there’s a but…

My kiddo and I are our own family most of the time which often includes one of my best friends in the world, one of my only friends in the area. We have disagreements and tension like any family. The kid has an honestly gotten smartass mouth and he has a tendency to tell some fibs at times, and oh god is he such a little messmaker, but he’s my everything. There’s no strain in that relationship. Even on the worst days and in the worst moments, I want nothing more than to see him smile even if it meant barfing a glittery rainbow of unicorn shit at his feet for his amusement. We can name all the clichés right here and now and they still wouldn’t hold a candle to that kind of love. It’s like nothing under the sun…no romantic love can touch that mix of protectiveness, nurturing, nostalgia for the baby days, pride, love, and adoration. Nothing. Not a thing. That love makes all the dysfunction and tension oft associated with the rest of the family a bit easier to swallow.

He’s not my reason for waking up every day as I have heard other parents say. The beauty of life itself gives me plenty of reason to wake up, make my coffee, and gaze out the window over the kitchen sink, mug in hand, relishing everything being alive has to offer—the little things like sun-dried sheets and maple syrup and cola candy and cats purring on your feet while you write. But, he makes waking up that much better and a fuckton more fulfilling.

Add in the best friend that makes me laugh and shares my love of movies and music (even if he should read more!!), someone to hold my hand when I need it and give me adult conversation about politics and social issues and a post apocalyptic landscape. He’s lovely and bearded and silly when I need it sometimes to his detriment but he puts up with me and knows how I take my coffee and what I can and cannot eat and what my favorite bands are. Perhaps it is unconventional, but family these days doesn’t have a normal definition to most of the population. Family, now, doesn’t have to come with traditional blood ties and a cookie cutter image of nuclear and extended relatives. Family is what you make it, the people you choose to surround yourself with and love unconditionally. Given that definition, I think, despite the madness of my blood ties, I am one lucky lady.

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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:

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

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

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://mybrainonkids.net My Brain on Kids

http://thelieberfamily.com The Lieber Family Blog

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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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.

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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

That Lamp Really Ties the Room Together

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 14 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 something that you have either repurposed or something that you’re currently using but could see repurposing in the future when you’re done with it.

It was submitted by: http://Bakinginatornado.com 

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One of the things I like to do most in all the world is get up early on the weekend (early for me) and go hunt for treasures and old vinyl at thrift and vintage shops. Maybe the flea market. I can buy pretty much any record I want or find any particular treasure I may be looking for on the Internet, but sometimes you don’t know you need something until you spy it sitting there on the shelf or in the bin in all its dusty glory beaming at you from its spot and beckoning to you with promises of imperfections and just the right amount of quirk. Something clicks and you just know it has to come home with you. Sometimes I’m even like that with new records. You go digging through racks when you see some miraculously in a store and next thing you know, you are 100 bucks in the hole and 4 more records have been added to your collection. It’s black (and sometimes colored) circular magic of the sort that begs to be bought calling to you with its siren song of nearly orgasmic pleasure and who are you to refuse such magic? 

I, for one, know that refusal is absurd.

It was sort of like that the day I found the bowling pin 

in my favorite vintage warehouse. That’s right… I said warehouse. You can’t see it all in just one trip and the best part is that by the next time you go, so much has been added that you fail to see everything again. No two trips are ever the same even if you go 13.45 days in a row.

So there I was scanning dusty shelves, turning over boxes, checking prices, and getting lost in nostalgic bliss filled with plastic 90s lunchbox dreams when I saw it. It was just a regular bowling pin to the untrained eye. But for me, it begged to be brought home and, under my careful creator's vision, turned into something amazingly necessary.

But what?

Décor?

A bookend?

A pair of bookends if I find another?

A doorstop?

A lamp?

A fucking lamp.

That.

Is.

Genius.

It was rather genius actually. See, my favorite movie in all the world is The Big Lebowski. Jeff Bridges as The Dude living a serene life of Creedence, White Russians, and weed is about as iconic

as it gets, and I have to admit he is a bit of an idol of mine. Who else could deal with kidnapped trophy wives, cut off toes, harassing policemen, wrecked cars, fucking strangers in the ass, a batshit crazy converted Jew with PTSD, marmots, fucking nihilists, porn, and a pissy rug with such decorum? In the midst of insanity, I want to be able to drink my beverage, man, and to look someone dead in the eye with the calmest of demeanors, my hair partially pulled back to stay out of my drink and say, “This aggression will not stand.” The Dude, El Duderino, His Dudeliness… The man is a testament to appreciating the little things in life and letting go of all the bullshit around you. And I can dig it. So, it’s no wonder one of the first things that popped into my mind when I saw the bowling pin was The Dude himself, the avid bowler and Eagles hater, and that infamous scene where he dives between the lovely legs of some lady bowlers to enjoy the view.

The film itself is a Coen Brothers cult classic that sort of left the critics in shock after the gritty and violent Fargo the previous year. Lebowski had all the portentousness, wit, and quirkiness that the Coen brothers bring to every film they make, but it lacked the violent overtones and splashes of gore. I mean, Fargo did feature a murder by wood chipper scene after all. In place of those, we got a peace loving bowling enthusiast flanked by a weird-looking underdog and an over zealous ball of fury. In a way the two films juxtaposed one another. Fargo seems to be a commentary on the failings of the American Dream in small town USA or perhaps what that dream might look like to the different archetypes found in the middle of nowhere, in Bumfuck. The lengths one man will go to find some modicum of success and the finer things as interpreted by his bumpkin idea of culture is exaggerated as are the accents and the characters, but they still tell an all too familiar story to anyone who knows the struggle of how differently things work in poverty stricken Nowhereville. The story is manic and driven and all about the depths of depravity. In contrast, The Dude is the story in Lebowski. The plot jumps and hems and haws along with very little actual storytelling, but that's not a bad thing. The significance lies with the characters, with the distinct message that no matter how much shit gets thrown your way, you ask for some Kahlua, man, and you let it ride. You still have a hot bath to soak in with a bit of weed and a beverage at the end of the day.

I abide.

And so there are some very distinct Lebowski features in my living room decked out with its movie theme with this repurposed bowling pin lamp being a bit of pride and joy for me especially since I made it by hand. And if you don’t like it… well, that’s just like your opinion, man.

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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:

http://www.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://thelieberfamily.com The Lieber Family Blog

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

The Feels

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: cold ~ stand still ~ ice ~ new year ~ eskimo kiss

They were submitted by: http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com

*no lips were harmed in the making of this blog

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She stands there in the cold, waiting and looking for him. Despite the freezing temperatures the new year has shown so far and the ice clinging to the surface of the parking lot, every inch of her skin is on fire with anticipation. The last few months of imagining this moment and all that might follow for the next few days has been frustratingly tense, an exquisite ache of sorts that could only be relieved by one person.

That’s when she sees him crossing the pavement. Time stands still stretching out the final few moments keeping them apart for what seems like an eternity while her heart is beating so hard in her chest she feels like a cartoon character with a heart-on. The swirl of competing emotions—lust, adoration, awe, relief, and nervousness--is almost too much to handle when he finally sees her and makes eye contact. The connection hangs in the air between them, electric and intense, as he crosses those last few feet and stops in front of her, smiling in a way that makes her weak in the knees.

She looks up, hair a mess from the wind, and one eye covered as always. It seems unreal to finally be here after all the waiting and wanting, and for a moment, she wants to pinch herself to see if she’s dreaming. Then she thinks, fuck it…if it’s a dream, let it play. The air is warm between them, both speechless. Standing there in front of him, she gets the full picture of just how short she is in comparison, how much she likes his hands and the intensity in his eyes, how blue they are. His beard is a bit longer than when they first met, and his hat makes her smile her awkward, crooked smile. She’s fond of seeing him in that one.

The awe she feels looking at him in real time, face to face has her momentarily paralyzed. Chills wash over her skin, the silence laden with desire she has never felt so intensely, both hers and his. The way he looks at her…the feeling in that gaze wraps around her like a blanket pulling her in until she finally feels herself lift on her toes and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and bring him closer.

She stops just millimeters from his lips. Their noses touch barely almost like an Eskimo kiss. She bites her bottom lip like he has seen a 1000 times before but the strength of emotion in that moment must have gotten to him. He grabs her around the small of her back pulling her in close, so close she can feel just how much he wants her before their lips finally meet. The butterflies that have been so nervously fluttering in the deepest parts of her swarm now flooding her with need. She pulls back, though, breaking the kiss and staring at him intently, searching to see if he feels the same. Her need is mirrored back to her and she gasps. His hand reaches up coming to rest on the back of her neck while his other hand moves the hair out of her eyes. He kisses her forehead.

And she melts.

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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.renasworld.com/ Rena’s World

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

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

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

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

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

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

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

http://mybrainonkids.net My Brain on Kids

Sexcapades.

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 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 is: Start with the sentence "If only I could remember where I left my pants..."

It was submitted by: http://mybrainonkids.net

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If only I could remember where I put my pants, I could get out of here with some semblance of dignity, I might have thought.

Okay, so I wasn’t wearing pants that night but the sentiment is still the same. Actually, I had on a gray corduroy skirt with a teal, thin sweater and gray and black argyle tights. Knee high boots completed the outfit. It wasn’t exactly up to my current standards (this was several years ago), but I definitely looked pretty fucking hot that night. Some asshat at a gas station I stopped at before I drove over even offered me his phone number… which I politely declined with “hell no, fuckface” before sliding right back into the driver’s seat of the car. Apparently, I was also full of sass that evening.

So now, here I was without skirt and trying to find it without either A) waking this dude up or B) injuring myself in a dark room I was unfamiliar with. Why do single guys keep all their dirty clothes on the floor?

I know someone else out there has to know the difficulty in tracking down a garment of yours in a dark room full of haphazard piles of clothes belonging to a man you just banged.

This guy also happened to live in a house with 2 other guys and I really didn’t want to wake either of them up either. I mean, I wasn’t ashamed of what I had done, and I had a pretty fucking great time doing it (pun intended), but it would still be kind of awkward making eye contact on the way out the door considering their extensive knowledge of just how I sound when I do the deed.

I am forever a loudmouth.

It took some time, but I finally managed to crawl around in the dark feeling through dirty man clothes to track down the skirt, the undies, and the tights. I was able to get the skirt and undies on there in the dark, but I said fuck the tights…and the boots. I wadded up the tights, shoved them in a boot, made a stop in the bathroom to make sure I didn’t look too fucking crazy, and made my way out of the apartment into the misty, gray morning. The asphalt in the parking lot was dewy and cold, but it wasn’t freezing out. It was a good kind of cold that refreshed me even as it gave me chill bumps. I made it to the car thoroughly chilled, cranked the heat up, and pulled out of the parking lot. It might have been 7 or 8ish in the morning and I had been there all night; the exact way home was a bit fuzzy, so I navigated on my phone, put on some tunes, and got a little lost in thought about the evening before.

The sex had been good. Great even. And the guy was pretty gorgeous as far as my standards go. Beard. Longish hair. Big. No, not that kind of big. I mean chubby. But he wasn’t bad in the other department either. (insert heart-eyed swooning emoji). Intelligent. Witty. Slightly strange. All the things I like in a dude, right? Right. But like me, he was also a tad bit socially awkward. Okay, maybe saying a tad bit is a little generous. We were a wreck.

It had me laughing all the way home in that way that comes from deep down in your bones because you can’t believe what the fuck you said to another human being. We didn’t just have sex, we talked, we fondled and made out and had sex more and talked some more. That kind of night. And in those times, we talked about life and moving on and the past and movies and music because always.

He said: I wish I had done more things in life, traveled more, seen more… Like what if I stopped at a truckstop on a road trip and blew Michael Bolton the bathroom?

I said: Even *I* wouldn’t blow Michael Bolton in a truckstop bathroom….. wait….

Wtf.

I said: Phone sex is pretty good if that’s all you’ve got.

He said: I don’t know…I feel like I might get all weird during phone sex and not know what to say then suddenly I’m there saying “I want to fuck you on a goat, girl…..” and things just downward spiral from there.

I died.

He said: what if we get freaky with it a church bathroom one day.

I said: Maybe I can get on my knees and pray for forgiveness.

He said: We should do this again sometime.

I said: Maybe we can do more than fuck next time.

He said: I can probably put up with you.

I said: Same.

I don’t know if it counts as a one night stand since we have technically remained in contact over the years, but we never really hung out again. Life intervened and any time we reconnected the cards never fell in such a way that we were brought together again, but for that one night, that one night only, that little single serving dose of human connection made a lasting memory that still makes me feel a whole lot of weird and lust all at once. And for a girl like me, that’s as good a place in my brain as a dude can hope for.

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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:



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

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

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

http://thelieberfamily.com The Lieber Family Blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://mybrainonkids.net My Brain on Kids

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

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

That Inner Realm

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: hope ~ waiting ~ nervous ~ illogical ~ pandering ~ fantasy

They were submitted by: http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/ 

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I live inside my own head a lot.

A LOT.

There in the recesses of my mind is a place where fantasy meets reality, where I can be found pandering to illogical scenarios of what could be if teleporters existed or there weren’t such things as moral implications when it comes to life and love and heartbreak. That fantasyland is filled to the brim with hope and wonderment, and some days those thoughts and daydreams and random naked-dance-party interludes keep me going when nothing else will.

Some days that place keeps me nervous and waiting and sure that I spend so much time living in my own dreams I’ve let things I actually have in front of me fall by the wayside. Do I prefer the impossible, I wonder? Do I dip my toes in the pool of real life and jump in the deep end of a dreamscape? Do I know when to come up for air? Do I have any idea what real life is like anymore?

It’s a difficult thing to manage, balancing real life with escape, reality with fantasy. Coming out of that world is a little like facing a blindingly harsh light after a long morning in a dimly lit room snuggled deep into the covers… You know you have to do it to get things going for the day, but there’s not a chance in hell you actually want to. And when you do finally step out of that little slice of comfort, you’re faced with a burning dose of regret knowing you finally left behind that cocoon where everything was easy and no struggles could be seen.

I often stay wrapped in the coziness of my headspace trying to avoid the starkness of the day before me even as tendrils of light force their way in the nooks and crannies of my mind demanding that reality take over. Writing takes place there. Characters live and breathe and beg to have their stories told. Interactions that will never take place, replays that I wish should have taken place, and intimate moments carved out of complete imagination dwell there, wishful thoughts that take wispy forms of nothingness and fill my heart with empty promises.

And sometimes those empty promises are still better than fighting the cold reality of the day.

________________________________

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:



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://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

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

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

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

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

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

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed

Everything and Nothing

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 15 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 subject is: Clippings. Dozens and Dozens of newspaper clippings. 

It was submitted by: www.someoneelsesgenius.com

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The little house on Clermont drive was filled with clutter.

Okay that was probably an understatement.

When Shannon walked into her mom’s little 3 room bungalow on the outskirts of town nestled under a canopy of trees, she really wasn’t prepared for how bad it was. She hadn’t been here in several years which is something, she thought, she would eventually have to come to terms with rather than letting the guilt eat at her. But she also knew why--she knew she couldn’t deal with the mental instability that plagued her mom over the course of her entire life and rather than be pulled down with a sinking ship, Shannon had jumped and for the last 7 years she hadn’t looked back. She had spent her time swimming to shore and setting up her own life on a relatively mom-free island. She had managed to phone her a couple times a year since then but that was the extent of their newly defined mother-daughter relationship.

Then she got *the* call.

Her mom, now 77, had fallen at home by herself and broken her hip apparently, but she had no way of getting help. She couldn’t get to the phone from where she was especially with all the clutter, and no one was around to check on her. Shannon was the only relative she had left really. She died there in the middle of a pile of old magazines and garbage. Alone and in pain and forgotten.

Shannon pushed her way inside the house and was taken aback by how much her mom had started collecting since the last time she saw her. Even then it was pretty bad, but that was nothing compared to this. The first room is the living/bed room. There were newspapers clippings everywhere covering every wall and every surface, faded and yellowed and falling apart. Crates of old magazines were stacked in every corner, on every table, and covered her mom’s bed in the far corner of the room. Where she slept was as good a guess as anyone’s especially since the couch was littered with old plastic cups from fast food restaurants piled high and overflowing the arms like ants turning out of an anthill, and the recliner was a storehouse for packets of ketchup and salt.

In all the house, there was only one tiny walkway that was clear of junk, flanked on either side by high piles of this and that. She took the tour being careful not to bump into either side out of fear of avalanche and felt more and more lost the further along she crept. The woman who had lived in this house couldn’t have been her mother. Not this bad. Could she? The woman who lived here had been so empty she needed to collect garbage trying to fill, essentially, a bottomless void.

The first room to the left was the kitchen. The doorway itself was open and free of her mom’s insanity, but she had no idea why. The room was impossible to navigate. None of the dishes were clean laying in haphazard piles on the floors and counters and spilling out of the sink. Garbage poured out of the garbage can, fermented and musty and swarming with fruit flies. Rotten banana peels, takeout cartons, bits of rice, and tiny maggots were strewn across the floors. Glass shards twinkled in the little bit of sunlight that pushed its way through the dusty window above the sink. There wasn’t a single spot on the floor not covered by filth and debris.

The bathroom was next and to the right. Magazines were stacked in the bathtub, water damaged and moldy. The toilet was black in spots and the smell alone was enough to make Shannon feel her insides squirming with threats. Toilet paper scraps covered the floor and paper rolls were stacked by the dozens in the sink and on the countertop. Toothbrushes, worn down and unable to be discarded, laid in heaps in front of the linen closet. The toilet might have been usable even if completely unsafe, but there was no way her mom had been able to bath in quite some time from the looks of things.

She moved on then unable to come to any real grips with the hopelessness of collected toilet paper rolls coming to the end of the hall, the back part of the bungalow. Every room had been checked, every room filled to the brim with nothingness, the desperation to walk away and pretend she had never seen any of this welling up inside her screaming at her to get out, get out, get out.

She should have listened.

There at the end of the path wedged against the cold, metal back door was a makeshift pallet of old nappy towels and a worn and yellowed pillow. This is where she slept, her mother. The woman she had loved despite her flaws had slept in her own house on rags in a back corner like a forgotten urchin, house filled to overflowing with trash she couldn’t bear to part with because she had nothing else.

She collapsed then on her knees crying and guilt-ridden and still knowing there was no other way this could have gone.

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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:

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

http://themomisodes.com The Momisodes

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

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

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

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

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

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

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

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

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

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

http://thelieberfamily.com The Lieber Family Blog

http://www.JuiceboxConfession.com Juicebox Confession

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com Climaxed