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The content contained within this journal will only change as often as my mood. |
| This is a journal of my random thoughts, and its content may vary greatly. I have lived a lot for someone my age, so eventually, I will have something in here to appeal to most adults. However, because I am an adult, and these are my random thoughts, this is not geared towards a child's understanding. I do not use profanity, but some of the topics may be of a mature manner, and will not appeal to most children and teenagers. |
| This is my last entry. I have three classes for which I must purchase books, and a little girl's 10th birthday party to throw (help), so I will not have the privelege of this blog anymore. It is just as well since my schedule has been overloaded lately. I barely have time to do my homework. I hope you all have enjoyed my writing. Maybe you will see it in print someday! Good luck and keep writing! |
| I have been watching more movies than usual lately, but they have been exercising my brain in a new manner. For instance, I have seen The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy a few times, but watching it the other day had a profound effect on my thought processes. When I watched it before, I was thinking about how difficult or easy it can be to recover from just about any loss, as Arthur did, throughout the entire movie, if you have a certain support system in place. This time, however, I kept thinking about the mice and the super computer. Do you remember when Arthur is asked what the question for the answer of 42 was? The mice had been searching for the purpose of life. The computer said the answer was 42, but did not give the question. Then Arthur quotes a famous song, "How many roads must a man walk down..." , and he says maybe it is 42. He said he never bothered to count, because it didn't matter. How many roads must a man (or woman) walk down to achieve his or her purpose in life? In my previous post, we analyzed the possiblity of calling our shifts in perspectives completely different "lives". We could also say we are simply walkin down a different road now, unless maybe we have left the road altogether, or we are no longer "ourselves". Then this topic really becomes controversial. Let us look at this example: When my son was 2, he was a terror. In his mind, he was just having fun, and nobody really got hurt. He crashed the car, busted his screen to his window, destroyed his baby sister's birth pictures, and several other similar events. His mom and his dad were readily available to spank his butt, and tell him not to do that again. When his father and I separated, his perspective changed. He quit trying my patience, and started hovering very closely to his sister, and by then, his new baby brother. He became an authority figure in the house, and was concerned about safety and such. His entire perspective changed. This, in effect, meant he basically walked away from that "old life". As he grew older, and advanced through school, he became a bookworm, especially once we figured out he was cross-eyed and needed glasses. The continuous search for information, pushed his academic test scores through the roof. He started reading to his brother and sister, and was teaching them the things he would learn from reading. In this respect, he is still following the same belief system of caring for his younger siblings, but has turned down a new street, as he cares for their intellectual development, more so than physical safety. Of course, his sister is almost ten, and his baby brother is now 8, so physical safety is not as much of a threat as it was in the past. His has also led his brother and sister into the world of athletics and physical fitness. This has been a wonderful tool to keep them away from video games and television as dominant forms of entertainment. I am sure my oldest son had none of this in mind when he started down this road, but it was a nice side effect. What roads have you walked down in this "life"? Have you looked at a "map" lately to see where you might travel tomorrow? I have, and the prospects look great! |
| Some say a cat has nine lives. Christians believe they are born again. Do you ever feel like an event of your past is so far behind you, it was in another lifetime? I was watching Memoirs of a Geisha today, and she had made the comment, "that was in aother life". How many times, especially when we start to count our lives by decades, do we refer to a distant memory as being in another lifetime? What constitutes a new life? I would say this is when the very essence of who you are undergoes significant change in moral beliefs and convictions, and how we respond in defense of such beliefs, or fail to respond in spite of such beliefs. So what constitutes a significant change? When I was around five years old, my parents divorced. This changed my belief that my parents would always be there to take care of me, and that my house would always be my home. I know those were sheltered beliefs to have, but I was five, and those were my beliefs, and they greatly affected how I lived my life and the choices I had made. Up to that point, personal responsibility did not honestly mean anything to me. That was what my parents were around to do! When I was seven, I was hurt very badly by those whom I trusted the most. I was removed from my new home, and placed in foster care. I had not only undergone physical pain, but also starvation, and emotional distress. This changed my belief that anybody was trustworthy. I thought nobody who said, "I love you," could be trusted, because immediately following that phrase, was some kind of torture. Yes, my beliefs changed drastically, and not for the better at all. I continued to encounter similar forms of extreme changes internally and externally as I progressed through adolescence. Then I married and became a mother, and had finally settled into what I had always believed to be a "normal life". Then my husband left me, and took my children with him, as he left with my cousin. Once again, my belief system was shocked into a negative tailspin. I would say that my latest changes, although of a more internal, private, and spiritual nature, have helped me through the confusion which halted the immediate post-adolescent disaster my life had become, and progressed me into a mature adult. I have still been betrayed by souls no longer deemed trustworthy, and I still lack some focus of a "home" to which I will ultimately return; I have been stalked, and shot upon, harrassed, and emotionally tormented. I have been physically injured and sick, and pushed beyond all my limits, but somehow, in this "new life" these things are so little and irrelevant to how I live my life, and the choices I daily make. There is a peace about me in the worst of times, and those fears of the past are so far away. I do not know how may "lives" one might say I have lived, but I am fairly sure I am on the last one now! |
| I was sleeping quite soundly when I felt something warm and wet press against my forehead. I told myself I would not open my eyes, because I needed to work tonight (which meant sleeping today). I could not help myself. I craked open one eye and it was him! I could relax. I knew I was just in dreamland again, with Lenny right beside me. I chuckled when I realized I was dreaming. Lenny responded with a similar chuckle, but I doubt he knew the origin of mine! I was so sore this week. All I wanted was for him to massage every little ache throught my body. I closed my eyes, and I felt his warm pulsating body wrapped securely around my own. I could feel his creative hands search every inch of my skin and hair. So you would think I would become mesmerized by the entire event, but something different happened. I found myself thinking,"This won't do today. It is not real. I am lying here all alone, and I will wake up tired. I need him to leave." What? NO! But then he did. Lenny was gone, and I was into a much deper sleep. Before I awoke completely, I was dreaming again. I was walking and talking to John. "I just don't get it; why did he leave?" I had asked. John put his arm around me, trying to comfort me, and replied, " You wished him away; be careful what you wish for. He had no choice. He doesn't exist anymore." AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I immediately awoke. What had I done? The kids were starting to play loudly, and a migraine was approaching. I looked at the clock to see I only had fifteen minutes left before my alarm would sound. Something happened inside me and I felt guilty, so I went downstairs, kissed the kids, and logged into my e-mail account. I checked my "Sent" messages, and realized I had not e-mailed the "real-life Lenny" in over a month. So I took a minute and dropped him a line, just to let him know I was still alive, and all that jazz. Of course, like I had said before, the "Lenny" of my dreams really is not like the real one, but something just struck me in the idea that I could "wish someone away". Natural Spring |
| A Banana: Some have thicker skin than others. There are appropriate times to stand firm and to be flexible. Age catches up with us all. The ugliest on the outside can be the sweetest and most beneficial on the inside. When you start at the top, the only way to go is down. An Apple: The color of the skin may be different, but once the skin is peeled away, they pretty much all look the same. They are more appealing once they are cleaned and polished. There is a kind to suit every taste and personality. Grapes: Life is more fun when friends are close. The older and more wrinkled you become, the greater the diversity of your usefulness becomes. Ocassionally, you just get squeezed into something completely different, that just drains the life right out of you! There is strength and protection in numbers. Watermelon: The bigger you are, the more you splatter when you fall. Opposite characteristics, working together, result in magnificent achievements. Tomato: There will always be someone who, in his or her ignorance, will tell you that you do not belong in this group. Thin skinned individuals may have acidic personalities; proceed with caution. If you fall behind, you can always ketchup! |
| As I started to get dressed today, preparing for my extensive evening shift of work, I reached for something high in the cupboards, and excrutiating pains ran through my shoulder to my neck, and then followed down my back, on my right side. My daughter was watching me. "Mama," she said, "I wish you never had to be in pain. I wish pain never existed." "Sammy," I said, "What do you do on a sunny day, before you go outside to play?" "I put on sunblock," she said, a little confused at my question. "Why?" I asked her. "So I don't get burned and get skin cancer," she said. She is almost ten, and her last grading period was spent discussing summer safety and the consequences of neglecting such rules of safety. "How do you know when your back is burned?" I asked her. "It hurts," she said, matter-of-factly. "And if it didn't hurt, how would you know it was burned?" I asked her. "I wouldn't," she said as she lowered her head. My point had almost sunken into her stubborn head. Then she looked up at me and said, "But you are already hurt, Mama, so why do you have to feel the pain over and over again?" "What would happen if I put too much strain on my hurt arm?" I asked her. "Oh, I get it," she said as she started to walk away. I was not going to let her off that easily, "What would happen, Sam?" "Your whole arm would fall off and you wouldn't be able to do anything for us anymore!" she screamed at me and ran upstairs in tears. Yes, she now understood that there are necessary evils in the world. Pain is that blinking yellow light which tells us to slow down, and be careful. The next time you feel pain, you should be thankful for such a wonderful warning system, which makes it very difficult for you to ignore the situation. |
| I supervised my 11 year old son making french toast and bacon for breakfast, and then I went to bed. The kids were so well behaved today, I rested well right up until the baby sitter called to verify what time the children would be there. Dreamland came quickly. I gently turned my head towards the wall and "he" kissed my forehead gently. Was I already asleep? Where did "he" come from anyways? "Are you awake already?" he asked, "Go ahead, get some more sleep. You know you are gonna need it for tonight's shift." He was right. I had only just crawled in bed. If I was going to carry a twelve hour shift, which starts in eight hours, I had better close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I could not do so without uncovering my mystery: who was this bearded fellow beside me? His voice was familiar, but I did not recognize what little of his face appeared above the fur. "I can't go to sleep until you tell me something," I said. He kind of chuckled, then started fondling my left hand. "Must we go through this every time you become overly exhausted? It is like fatigue induced amnesia," he said as he snuggled me closer and kissed my forehead once again. I looked at my left hand, and his fingers had been touching two rings on my ring finger: a diamond engagement ring, and an elaborate wedding band, which consequently matched his. Now I knew I was dreaming! How humiliating! It is one thing to have a dream about some suave mystery man, but to have married your dream guy and not even recognized him in your own fantasy was something I was not prepared to accept. So I asked myself,"Who do I know, who is not already married, whose appearance would change significantly if he grew a full beard?" Okay, that was easy: everybody! Aaah! "Are you going to relax and go back to sleep," he asked. "No," I said as a tear brushed my cheek, "I feel like a dumb blond or something. I roll over and don't even know my own husband. And then you say it is not the first time this has happened! What usually happens next?" What kind of dream was this? I am not supposed to be sad in my fantasies! Then he scooped me up in his arms and carried me into the bathroom. He set me on the top of the toilet lid while he start running me a warm bubble bath. The aroma was very sweet and suddenly seemed familiar. He looked at me and smiled with one eyebrow raised. "You know this will make you feel better, and always helps you to relax," he said softly and lovingly. Then he turned to the mirror and the sink, and started to shave his beard. As much as I wanted to see his bare face, I could not watch. I slipped off my nightgown and slid into my bubble bath, letting my entire head submerge below the water's surface. I felt really weird, like I belonged underwater. Did my dream change? Was I now mermaid in some undersea adventure? No. I lost my breath and had to resurface for air! I studied my "husband's" body from the backside. It was very appealing, and yet, familiar all the same. How many times had I crawled into my bed and developed amnesia. Oh wait, this is a dream, so I think it is only the first time! I must have been zoned out, because I missed my husband turning around and kneeling beside the tub. All the sudden, we were in the middle of a very romantic, very sensual, deep, tongue-locked kiss, and I looked up to find myself staring into his eyes. I still could not see his face!I blinked for a second and his back was to me again. He was reaching for the towel. It was time. My fingers and toes were turning into prunes. He held up the towel, which blocked most of his face, and wrapped me up from behind. It was a wonderfully soothing bath, but I still did not know this man's identity. Sleep was overtaking me at an alarming rate, and as soon as he had lifted me into his arms, I had fallen back to sleep. I awoke in his arms, still wrapped in the towel. He asked me, "Do you know me yet?" I laughed, "Lenny, how could I not know you? You are the man of my dreams!" With that we kissed, and then I awoke, for real, alone, in my own bed, to the sound of an annoying alarm clock. I was wearing the same t-shirt and shorts I slipped on this morning, before crawling into bed. I went to my bathroom and started smelling my different fragrant bubble bath formulas, but none matched the sweet aroma from my dream. "Shucks," I said to myself, " I can't have the husband, or just the man, or even the kiss, but now I can't have the bubble bath either?" Natural Spring |
| Well I got the e-mail today: Your Upgraded Membership will Expire soon! This means a reduction in the amount of my writing readily available to you. It also means an end to my blog. You might not miss my blog so much, since I tend to jump around based on my mood, and my entries are less than consistent (much like my brain!), but I do enjoy being able to have my novel on here as I piece it together, while sharing other work as well. If you enjoy raeding my blog,or my novel, or simply enjoy the variety of my writing to which you curerntly have access, please feel free to renew my upgraded membership. Otherwise, I shall try to fit in another "Fantasies" excerpt, or cultural shock humor story before I expire. My expiration comes just before semester finals, and just before I have to fly my kids back to their dad's house, so it seems I may not win this time around. Please enjoy what little time I have left! I will try to be more consistent! Thank you for reading! Natural Spring |
| What would you do if your teacher said you passed a test, but never returned it to you? You figured you were ok because your teacher said you passed. Then a month later, you have to retest and start a remedial tutoring session daily, because you failed. You ask how that was so and request to see the test, and instead, you are verbally given the failing score with no supporting documentation? What would you do? What would prevent this kind of behavior from "the powers that be" in the future? Who cares if you retest tomorrow? All they have to do is tell you you passed, wait a month to give you (verbally) your score and write you up for not participating in remedial tutoring. Where is the justice here? Oh well..... |
| I was so tired, I don't even remember crawling into bed. I just knew I did not want to answer that phone. I looked at the caller ID. It was Lenny? Oh I must be dreaming again! "You gotta wear your dress uniform, hun," he was saying, "You can't go to a military funeral in civis. It is just not right. What about respect and all? I know you are better than that." "Lenny," I pleaded, "I am almost out of the Army, and my jacket doesn't fit me anymore. I can't breathe with it on." He replied, "You only have to keep it on for a couple of minutes when you first arrive. Then you can carry it on your arm. It is totally acceptable. I do that all the time anyways, just because I hate wearing all the layers. You can pull this off!" There I stood. I was suffrocating in my Army dress uniform. I have always hated funerals. Why did I let him talk me into this? I could not breathe. I just knew I was going to faint. Where was he anyways? He promised he would be here. Oh no! It was John, and he was headed right towards me! John had his usual scowl across his face, as he looked me dead in the eye. He spoke in almost a half-whisper, yet firm tone, "If you are going to wear it, then it should fit. Otherwise, be more respectful and take it OFF!" Uggh. John always had to be like that with me. No matter what situation may have arisen. Lenny would convince me I would be okay, and then when Lenny wasn't there to protect me, John would lecture me against whatever Lenny had told me to do. You would think a couple of best friends might actually communicate once in a while! My gaze scanned the numerous toy soldiers standing with perfect posture. I could not find Lenny anywhere, and John was hanging just behind me. I could feel his beady little disapproving eyes attacking me from behind. I could not breathe. I had to take this jacket off. I was going to faint for sure. I reached up for the top button, and the same cold, disapproving tone struck my right ear, "Don't do that. You wore it, so you might as well wear it. You take it off now, two things will happen: one, you will freeze because there is too much air in here, and 2, you will draw too much negative attention, because it is too cold to be hanging around in here, carrying your blazer instead of wearing it." That settled it. I would soon faint, if Lenny did not fly in and rescue me. I could forget about him sweeping me off my feet. He would soon need to scrape me off the floor. And he said he didn't want to have to do that anymore (long story). I found a seat, but it was too crowded, so I could not relax near the edge with more room to breathe. I hated the crowd. I was agoraphobic, aside from my straight jacket blazer of my dress uniform. Where was Lenny anyways? So the ceremony had started, and I finally found Lenny. He had been recruited to speak, and was now at the podium. I traded spots with some woman holding a crying baby, who had been sitting in the front row. I would not be able to make my necessary escape, but at least in the front row, I would have more free flowing air and a good view to Lenny. I would also be farther from "Big Brother" (John). I tried to relax, but then this sickly feeling came over me. Lenny focused his gaze on me long enough for me to realize he was concerned. Then it happened. POP! What was that? Oh no! It was a button off my blazer. Well maybe nobody noticed. Lenny noticed. A slight chuckle escaped as his eyes showed me where my button had landed, about three feet from his left shoe. Then they all popped! Buttons flew everywhere and Lenny ducked, as if he was under attack. He stood back up and finished his speech. Then as he retreated to the back of teh room he passed my way and grabbed me. "Come on," he was laughing, "we better get you out of her before you explode." It was too late. I looked down, and it was not only my jacket of my uniform which had lost its buttons. My dress shirt was also wide opened. We ran out of the service, hoping no one realized our tears were laughter tears. We ran to his car and hopped inside. He started the engine, and we drove away. "Don't worry," he said, "we made an appearance. Everybody probably thought you were just upset. I thought you were going to carry your jacket?" "Lenny, won't you ever consult with john before you give me advice? He made me keep it on! I thought I was going to pass out, for real!" Lenny was just laughing and driving. I never even asked him where we were going. We stopped in front of his motel room. He looked at me and smiled, as he slowly caressed my face, and then brushed the edge of my blouse ever so softly. "I like it better like this anyways," he whispered. Then he kissed me. I think I fainted because I didn't remember anything else. Then my alarm sounded, and I awoke, at home, in my own bed, alone, as usual! Natural Spring |
| I realize I have not written much lately. For that I apologize. I had an unexpected two weeks to spend with my children, so I tried to cram the highlights of our summer vacation into those two weeks, while stretching the budget, and setting a routine for the entire summer. I also had to be careful to not neglect my college coursework. I am back into my work schedule now, but that has been flipped upside down also, so I will do my best to stay the course. Until later, take care! |
| The children experienced their first trip to the clouds, and were completely mesmerized! As we entered the plane, my daughter, who had been vomitting repeatedly all day at the mere thought of leaving the safety and security of the ground, peeked her head inside the airplane with her feet firmly planted in the gateway corridor. "Do we have first timers?" the flight attendant asked in one of those preschool sqeaky cute voices. Upon affirmation that my children were stepping onto an airplane for the first time in their short lives, the flight attendant ushered them into the cockpit to meet the pilots. "Where do you push to fire the missiles?" asked my eight year old son, Mason. He showed them his new Mickey Mouse hat, which showcased a huge glitter "M". One piot asked if it stood for "Marines", and of course, all the kids responded, "No, my mom's in the Army, not the Marines." The pilots would push the buttons and tell the kids to listen as the computer on board sounded, "Check terrain features. Check horizon. Check altitude," and so forth. "That's stupid," said my little girl, "The plane tells them what to do. Even I could fly this thing!" Now the flight attendants were just out of site, hanging onto every word as they eavesdropped on the children's conversation. Then the visit to the cockpit came to an abrupt end following the only question my oldest son asked the pilots. "So you were in the Marines? Did you ever kill anybody?" The former Marine kind of laughed, but I could tell it bothered him, and then the kids were politely excused from the cockpit to take their seats. I don't know how many times I have told him not to ask people that question, but I guess there is just something about being an adolescent in America these days that makes kids so insistent on asking such things. Of course, I apologized to the pilot, and he said not to worry about it, but I could see the grimace which remained reluctantly on his face, even at the end of the flight. My youngest took some awesome pictures from his window seat, but his camera was new, and somehow I lost all his pictures in my attempts to download his camera. A few pictures from the trip were salvaged, because they were taken with his sister's camera, which was much easier to download. At least not all was lost. I forgot to remind the children of the bump at the landing, and they all panicked for a minuted when the plane touched down to the runway, but when they saw we were on the ground again, and in one piece, all was well. I am not sure I will ever be able to get them on a Greyhound Bus again, without much complaint, that is! |
| I have been teased for much of my life because of my speech patterns, or my thought patterns. Sometimes, a friend will ask me to assist with a writing project. Sure, I'll look it over for errors, and offer any suggestions. Then comes the questions which I dread. How do come up with a good rhyme? Do you have a favorite thesaurus? How do you match teh meter when it is appropriate? How do you know when to vary it? My answer: I don't. I have only touched a thesaurus briefly in high school English class, when the assignment required the students to specifically investigate preselected terms for alternate possiblities. Sometimes it was a rhyme, sometimes it was just any synonym, and other times an antonym was necessary. The exercise took a whole five minutes to complete, and I have not opened a thesaurus since. Perhaps I should? My best loved poems were never originally poems, but they flowed with such a poetic sense, it was only appropriate to categorise them as such. Today I received a review which said I tried to hard to rhyme. I had to review the poem, because the only time I ever tried to rhyme was during a recent military exercise, and that was just to make it interesting. The hard part was not to match my own rhyme, but to match the rhyme scheme of the last person, and I had about twenty seconds to develop a response, put it in rhyme, and ensure it matched the given scheme. That, too happened subconsciously for the first two or three hours, before I was made aware of all the rhyming sense. Of course the rhyme was not required, but at some point, after we had been reacting to each other in such fashion, we decided that would be our new standard for the rest of the exercise. I call it improvisation, but others call it nonsense. The point is, some people simply think in rhyming patterns. My theory is word association. When you are learning to spell in grade school, you are often taught to use word association, if simple repetitive techniques are failing you. If you are dyslexic, with sequencing issues, then simply memorizing the sequence of the letters can become rocket science. Rhyming words often have spelling similarities. When the emotions take over, and you are responding to a situation, and you choose to write about it, you aren't trying to rhyme, nor are you trying to monitor meter. All you are thinking about is putting the words to the paper- a spelling task! I think some people just rhyme. I do not think "trying to rhyme" should be considered a critical response for the reader's lack of understanding. If you think a more appropriate word would better explain the feelings you think I am trying to convey, then suggest the word. I am not a mind reader. Just because something has a consistent rhyme pattern, does not mean it was intended. Do not limit your suggestions to the box. Break the rhyme scheme; break the pattern. Don't just tell me to write it out differently, because my brain is stuck with how I wrote it. If you have a specific suggestion, suggest it, or let it go. I am a very open minded person. At the same rate, I cannot tell you how to rhyme something. I have no idea how to make something rhyme consciously. When people ask me to help them rhyme, I hand them a thesaurus. I am not being cocky, but my own thought patterns rhyme, and I do not know what is in your mind. I am not a mind reader. If you are not destined to rhyme, then maybe you should stick to free verse. Just because a poem rhymes, does not mean the reviewer must also. If something is meant to rhyme, it will. As for me, I think I will be reviewing my work fro rhyme patterns. I looked over a few things, and have found comments on old college papers where my professors made comments such as "such a poetic statement" and "good word rhyme association to drive the point home". I guess my poetry is not the only place my rhymes appear, and I am challenging myself to make the rhymes disappear by rewriting many of my most loved poems. I am not sure how well this will work, but if I have significant success I will post both versions here for you to look at each and let me know how you feel. |
| The mother who ran over her daughter was admitted to the hospital last night for psychogenic shock. She was released this afternoon, and has returned home to rest. Her husband has received emergency leave, and is home caring for his wife and their only remaining child. The community in which the family has lived has also been greatly affected by this tragedy, and it may take us all some time to fully recover. For myself, I have nothing further to say on this topic. Natural Spring |
| It should have been a sunny, Wednesday afternoon. Nobody was quite sure how everything came to pass. One minute, there was a happy family of four: Mom, Dad, 3 year old daughter, and baby. Where was Dad? Was he at work? Was he inside the house? Where was that little girl supposed to be? A mother of an infant and a preschooler is a busy woman indeed. Military wives are counseled on maintaining independent accountability for the children and the home, because their husband could be called away at any given moment. He could be called to work an unscheduled shift, an alert accountability formation, or even a deployment. He is often sent to schools out of state, which last anywhere from a couple of weeks to a year or more. It is not to say that the non military spouse cannot be the husband, or that he would not need the same skills as the military wife, but it is still a rare thing to be seen and experienced. Many women in the military who are married, have married other soldiers, or former soldiers, who completely understand the process, and are not likely to grow tiresome from the stress of separation and the unkown details. Here was a mother of two young children, a military wife. It was a good life. They had a gorgeous four bedroom home with a garage and wall to wall carpeting. The grass was green and cared for on a regular basis by professional lawn maintenance personnel. It was the newest military housing available on the post. They were lucky to be the first inhabitants. She loved her children. She loved her husband. She loved her life, despite the numerous sacrifices. How did it happen? She loaded the Expedition, to prepare for an afternoon of errands. The car had been washed recently and shone brightly in the Maryland sunshine. I felt cheated, having slept through most of this beautiful day, but I work night shift now. I had awaken earlier than usual to attend PWOC, a women's Bible study at the chapel next door. I felt I had slept too late, as the day was running from me. What was she feeling as she basked in the sunshine? Whatever feelings she had were soon departed. The new housing area on post had too many speed bumps, and unfinished drives and such. Merely backing out of the driveway often felt like an amusement park ride. She kicked the Expedition into reverse, like she did every day. BUMP! "Dang," she thought, "I hit that stupid curb again!" The air conditioner was running and the windows were up. She could not hear the neighbor screaming in absolute terror for her to stop. She was focused, looking directly behind her for vehicles which might have been passing. She was so focused on the road behind her, she never saw the neighbor running towards the driver's side, waving his hands as he screamed. Where was that little girl? She was not supposed to be in the driveway. Nobody could possibly see her tiny profile through the rearview mirror of the high seated Expedition. There was another thump, immmediately following the first thump, as a once jolly little human body, exploded across the driveway. The horror! How could she not know her little girl was behind her? My heart sank when the news reached my neighborhood. I suddenly felt blessed to have been shafted and thrown into the oldest housing on post, with no driveway, and no garage. I was placed in the housing close to the Chapel, close to God, far from traffic. This is a true story. My neighbor ran over her three year old daughter yesterday. Today an ambulance came for the mother. I have not received an update, as to whether or not she was taken to the hospital, but if it was me, they would have had to institutionalize me immediately. I know she was on suicide watch yesterday. I pray for this mother, who in her anger, has denounced God. Please pray for this family with me. I am sorry if you find this offfensive, but it has weighed heavily on my heart, and I needed to write it. |
| Disclaimer: This is labeled "Part 1" because there is more. However, there is no guarantee the rest of it will ever appear on this blog or any other part of my portfolio on this site. Sleep is so precious to me because I meet my lover there. Each dream session is a different game, but the players are always the same. Lenny: He is dorkishly cute, physically fit (and then some), unknowingly humorous, sensitive, "tough guy" who spends too much time talking, and should spend more time listening. Of course, this is a personality fault, not an intentional disregard for others. I am sure he is suffering from ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder). He is a beer and pizza kind of guy, but only on the weekends, holidays, or other days off. He is motivated by adrenaline: extreme sports, military missions, short deadlines, or any other challenge resulting in adrenaline rush. John: He is the silent bodyguard / sidekick to Lenny. He participates in many of the same activities, but does not appear to receive the same pleasure as Lenny does. His demeanor is cold, and isolated. It is simple: he keeps Lenny out of trouble, or buries the evidence should he fail. He is not totally repulsive, all the time, but he makes no effort to gain anybody's personal attention. His number one goal appears to be enforcing rules, and playing the role of a physical reminder to Lenny's conscience. Other characters vary from one version of the fantasy to the other. I was exhausted when I crawled into bed yesterday morning. The sun was invading my rest and relaxation. Is there no solace for shift workers? I attempted to sleep in pajamas, at least while I would be working night schedule, just in case someone rang the doorbell. It was not long before every shred of clothing once touching my skin, had been removed. When I have been this tired, my skin becomes sensitive and easily irritated. I snuggled inbetween two mink blankets I had brought home with me from Korea. Now all I needed to do was to relax, and clear my mind. As I drifted into dreamland, I felt his strong arms wrap around my naked body. I could hear the soft palpatations of his heat beating in sync with my own. I could smell his afteshave, nothing too strong, but he had recently shaved his face. It was baby smooth when he nuzzled my cheek. If only he had really been there, that would have been Heaven. Of course, it was this last thought of him while semi-conscious which led to my fantastic fantasy. Disclaimer #2: "Lenny" may sound like a real person, and although he may take on the features of someone I actually have known, there is no relationship now, nor has there ever been, between the "real -life Lenny" and myself. I am not sure I would even want one with the "real-life Lenny". This is just a writer's overactive imagination transcending levels of consciousness. The phone rings, but it is so far away. By the time I reach it, the answering machine has kicked in, and the caller ID is no longer visible. The beep sounds and silence follows, except for the nervous breathing of the caller. A simple message is left: "I'll catch you another time. Sorry." It is almost a whisper. He is definitely nervous, but will he call again? I review the caller ID, but do not recognize the number. The label is simple: US Government, but it is not a local number, and living in the Metro DC area, a "foreign" number for the government means only one thing. It must be one of my old Army buddies. He must be calling from a DSN (work) number, but why? Is he trying to get Uncle Sam to pick up the tab? Or is he protecting his identity? I already know if I call the number back, I will be rerouted to a dispatch operator. Without the proper extension, I cannot return this call. About six weeks later, plus or minus a couple of days, I miss another call, but just barely. My key is stuck in the lock as I enter my apartment. The answering machine beats me to the punch. Once again, there is a silent pause, with only the nervous breathing detectable. "I am coming over one day soon. I need to see you." Once again it is a bare whisper. I know this man. I recognize something in his speech, his articulation patterns, or something. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but it excites me in the most unusual fashion. Usually I become annoyed with inarticulate speech. There is no desperation in his voice, so he must need to see me about some minor issue, maybe my perspective of an old event which has resurfaced. According to my calendar, nothing is planned for at least three weeks, except my daily work schedule, of course. My work is unkown in this dream. It is just a vague reference which appears once or twice. Eight days later, I arrive home after an uneventful week and weekend. I seem to have some kind of tunnel vision with the execution of my daily routines. He is right there! Lenny is standing outside my door, leaning against the wall in a nonchalant fashion. I simply walk by him and open the door. Once again, I am fighting with my key in the door. I do sense a presence, but I never turn to look. This is out of character for the "real me". I tend to be a little more paranoid in "real life", especially to have someone behind me. Lenny's arm gently reaches around me, and pulls my key out of the lock. He gently chuckles to himself and hands me the key. I never close the door, and neither does he. Now, John is standing just outside my open door. He looks at me, looks at Lenny, and then with a hard glare into Lenny's eyes, simply shakes his head and walks away. (Where does he go? He just does this cameo appearance and disappears.) Lenny and I exchange a number of looks, as if conveying a message of mutual appreciation without uttering a single word, filled with doubts and questions requiring verbal communication. "You look good," he stammers, really slowly, as if he meant to say something more, but could not find the words. "You surprise me," I say critically, but with a slight smile, "I am still trying to figure out why you are here, but by no means intend for you to be discouraged and leave." Suddenly he starts rambling on about everything he has been doing, his promotion, and how many mutual acquaintances of ours, with which he has maintained contact. Although I am eager to hear everything he is saying, my hormones are racing, and I am overcome with the overwhelming desire to plant my lips across his face, but I do not do it. "You are quiet these days," he says, "Is everything ok?" Of course everything is not okay. I cannot even follow a simple inarticulate conversation because all these new feelings are arising from a previously nonexistent attraction to a man I once referred to as my boss. I am so confused. How did I work for him for so long, and fail to notice what a hunk of masculinity he is. Can he sense how lost I am in him? Am I blushing? I blush so easily; maybe he will attribute it to something else. What is wrong with me? "Why are you here?" What more should I say? Did he not say he needs to see me? Well take a good look buddy, this is me, forever! Why am I suddenly so angry? "Are you mad at me?" He asks, but then laughs. Oh no! I do not mean to sound angry. Can I be honest without being honest? "Yes I am!" Now I do not mean to say that, but it is out, so I better figure out what I should say next. "Why didn't you leave your name, or a number, or at least a date of when you would be in town? I thought somebody was stalking me!" That should be good, but I know he is not stalking me, and the suggestion actually heightened my own arousal. "Is that such a bad thing," he asked shyly, "I can think of worse people to be stalking you." What kind of response is that anyways? This is a messed up dream. I do not like the idea of a stalker. I do not care how charming he is! "I am mad at you. MAD ok? MAD, MAD MAD. Do you get it yet?" what is going on with me. Now who is the articulate communicator of the day? I still do not know why I am so mad. "I know," he chuckles, and then he walks to the door. I turn my back to him, ready to burst into tears, because I think he is leaving. In fact, my eyes are already watery, and my throat feels tight and swollen. I hear the door slam closed. Then I hear the lock. The lock? I cannot look. Is he still here? "I am sorry I am so late, but I had to be sure it would be ok," he whispers as he walks up from behind me and wraps his arms around me. My lips tremble with anxiousness, and then he kisses me ... on my forehead. I cannot fight the tears any longer, but I am not sure why I am crying. My head is spinning. The dream starts skipping here. I realize time is almost done. We are lying on blankets in the middle of my living room floor, and he kisses my forehead one last time. "I am sorry I can't stay. The timing isn't perfect yet, but I will be back." Lenny's phone rings. It is John. "Yes, I know," Lenny says as he hangs up the phone. Then I hear my alarm sound. Lenny is gone. I am not sure he was ever actually here. Then I awake to the beeping of my real alarm clock. That was a fast eight hours! Now I prepare to head home and do it all over again. How will I meet him this time? Sweet dreams, All! Natural Spring |
| What is it about that British accent that makes us smile? I have the unique privelege of working closely with some British folks about once a month. Although I have to admit, I have never been to Great Britain, nor have most of these kind folks ever travelled to the USA. However we have shared many a long night chatting and maintaining a constant link. Tonight was one of those long nights! It was so much fun. I have never had so little time to develop a witty, yet appropriately rhymed response to somebody else's comment. It is not like I can sit and think for a minute either. If I fail to respond within seconds, it could send a red flag, but at the same time, when my mind suddenly goes blank, and I have no rhyme, my "friends" at the receiving end are left with no other choice but to laugh at me. Laughter is dangerous in this business though. Laughter causes a time delay, and sometimes distortion. My brain is so fried, and I will not be able to read, much less write, anymore poetry for awhile. If I have to think in another rhyme, I just might die-- just kidding. It was a lot of fun, and a most unusual challenge. How neat to meet a kindred spirit just across that oversized natural pool; I think we casually refer to it as the Atlantic Ocean. I will definitely sleep well today. Cheerio, Mate, good day! |
| After finishing a marathon of assorted vampire classics, my colleague and I were discussing one highly overlooked piece of necessary information: the health of the victim. In Anne Rice's, INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE, LeStatt mentions that blood must come from a live victim, or it would make vampires ill. Other than that minute detail,nothing more is said. Here were some situations we discussed: Vampires are supposed to be highly allergic to garlic. Some people obsess over garlic and never experience periods of complete 24 hours without garlic in their systems. Can vampires detect this before attacking? If not, will the allergic reaction to garlic continue to exist if the creature has ingested large amounts of garlic on a regular basis? If not, why not? If so, why do we never see this reaction illustrated? Vampires are highly allergic to pure silver. In BLADE III, silver dust infects the ventilation system as a diversionary tactic for a rescue attempt of a member of the "Night Stalkers" team. What would be the result of ingesting the blood of a worker from a silver refining plant, or better yet, one who has retired after spending over 20 years inhaling silver dust? A wooden stake through the heart kills a vampire: why must it pass through the heart? What is the stake splits upon entry, and only a splinter actually piecres the heart? If only a splinter could damage a vampire, what about the miniscule fibers which compose the splinter? How would the blood of someone who concentrates on a high fiber diet adversely affect the health of the vampire? Finally, UV rays kill vampires, except for rare instances of "day walkers". What if somebody has significantly exposed himself or herself to UV rays, and teh skin is still reacting to the rays. For instance, a potential victim has been at the beach all day tanning, or has just left the tanning salon, and will continue to "cook" for the next 24 hours. Will the blood of this victim cause harm to the vampire? Or does the vampire specifically avoid creatures who tan regularly? Fell free to add your input or "set me straight" on vampire theology* lol! |
This is the title of one of my current courses. It is a requirement for my degree. I was worried I was simply going to hate it, because I work in communications, and this is a topic on which we are briefed routinely. I have to take tests, and earn certificates explaining my understanding of IT ethical procedures for my workplace. The class is a little different from the training I have received, though, and I think I will be okay with it. In addition to the book work, and class participation, our major assignments are all case studies which address whichever chapter of the book we are studying during the assignment period. I like the case study, because it gives me a chance to use my imagination and write hypothetically. I was worried it would be more researched based, with in work citations and the like, but if I am simply making up hypothetical situations and providing my suggested resolutions, then I can handle that! Natural Spring |
| Is anybody out there in the job market? do you notice how every three or four years the rules in regards to formatting resumes reverses? When I left high school, you always put 3 references at the bottom, and always included your high school and GPA. When I left Job Corps, we erased the references and put "References available upon request." We made sure everything we could cram should be in the form of two to three word descriptive bullets, and dates should be just the years alligned on the left. Now, you don't put anything about references, you leave out your high school education, and any awards or volunteer activities which indicate age, ethnicitiy, sex, or religiuos preference. Only put information relevant to the targeted position on the resume, and allign dates on the right. Also, three or four words to describe items is no longer appropriate. Your description should not only describe an example of a specific duty, but also how your application directly impacted your employer in a positive light. (So, basically, unless you are seeking a very specific job, you end up with a handful of resumes!) This is so frustrating. The only thing which has never changed is the ongoing debate of skirts vs. slacks. The "experts" are equally divided on this one. I say if you can't indicate your sex anywhere else, then why should you exploit it in the interview? That is all for today! Have a great night. |
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