Stuck on the melody.

Its been in my head since I saw it.

No matter what I do, where I am, this song has been rattling around in my mind. It starts with a tap, tap, tap, eraser to keep the beat. My fingers go next, wiggling and tickling in the air, conducting an orchestra of intangible instruments, catching my wrists and elbows into the madness. This sets off my shoulders, who just cannot be upstaged. They start a simple one-two, one-two, pulling my spine into the swaying motion. Not to be the last one in on the fun, my head starts to nod and bob to the notes whirling madly around my mind, while my lips start to play with the shapes of the words. My vocal chords will have none of this nonsense, and for good reason, and stay silent for the most part but they can't hide all of it. My breath slides out my nose in a soft hum, bringing the music back outside, to float around my head, on over to my ears. Those guys just get the whole mess started again, loving the sounds of the song, no matter how bad the collective of myself recreates it. My legs and feet haven't quite figured out what the great fun is all about up there and I hope they don't any time soon. No one would want to see me try to dance.

I actually just got home from watching the new Wolverine movie. I have to say, though I am a self proclaimed nerd, I was very confused by the movie. Main question I had? When did adamantium suddenly become less awesome than steal? In the origins movie, those claws cut through a good four inch thick steel plate, to escape the compound at Alkalai Lake. It isn't until very late in the movie that Logan cuts even one katana in half, and even then it seemed to be more of a chore. Other parts I liked, quite a lot. I quite enjoyed the fight on the bullet train, and watching Logan try to figure out why he isn't healing as fast. I'll even admit the love hotel joke was kind of funny. Expected, but funny.

Ok, nerd rant is done.

I should mention I love going to the movies. Its not just the movie, its sitting there with friends, the social aspect of experiencing the same thing at the same time. I also love seeing the trailers. I have a whole spectrum of movies I want to see now. On top of Kickass 2, This is the End, and Thor: Dark World, I am now quite excited to see Elysium, Frozen, and Catching Fire.

There is this one part of the experience of the movies I enjoy more than I should really. Just after the theater sponsored First Look and before the trailers start, is this old animatic, designed to signal the movie is starting. Its less than a minute long, of a roller coaster set in space, racing around sodas, candy, popcorn and trash, before heading into the station.

When I was younger, one of my friends told me to sit there and only look at the screen. He told me to cup my hands around my eyes like an old viewfinder toy and look straight ahead. When the picture tilted, I was to tilt with it, just a little, and pretend that what is on the screen is really happening. I will be completely honest when I say that the first time I tried it, it felt like a real roller coaster! My heart started to race and I even jumped at this point when a popcorn kernel pops 'in front of' the car.

I still do that, to this day. Minus the hands around my eyes of course. I'm strange and out there, but even I don't want to be laughed at by strangers. It has become almost a tradition to me, to sit in that plush seat, waiting for the roller coaster animatic. As it starts, I take a deep, deep breath, as the camera ascends the roller coaster's track, before shooting out to the turns and curls on the track. Whoosh, past the giant Coca Cola cups and straws, zipping past the Raisinettes and Snowcaps. Down and then up again, rising before coming to the floating kernels of popcorn exploding all around, bam! Then dropping down and around to the left, twisting and turning before sliding into the station, transitioning into a side shot of the car smoothly. I always end up holding my breath as I watch this, my equilibrium protesting my immersion into the illusion. My heart rate still rises a little every time I watch it.

All that talk about a 30 to 45 second animation? I really am odd. Oh well.

The movies weren't the only part of my day. I paid a bill, so I can keep texting people, which is something I like to do a lot. I washed my car and both of my comforters I use year round, in addition to my plethora of pillows and bed accessories.

Seriously, my bed barely has room for me some days and I love it that way.

I've gone and started a no carb diet. I have learned I hate splenda. The only thing I like it in is coffee and my employees at work have taken to cutting me off after 4 large iced coffees. That's over 100 ounces of coffee. It has yielded some results though. I've been having less stomach problems and I've lost 5 lbs in a week and a half, combined with the light workouts and portion control. My long term goal is to get down to 150, with a short term goal of 20 lbs by Halloween.

Wish me luck lovelies!

Also... September 20th, IMAX theaters will be showing a special one week engagement of the original Wizard of Oz for the 75th anniversary celebration at locations all over the country. I NEED to be at one of those. I remember the tape I wore out as a child was a 30th anniversary edition, with a booklet and fancy cover. I'll be purchasing the 75th Anniversary Blu-ray Dvd combo for sure!

I think its high time I come out to the Internet and the world as Cumbercookie. Yes, I am a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch, specifically as Sherlock Holmes. This being said, I cannot wait for November and will be arranging a viewing party for the first episode of the 4th season premiere.

In my trek through the Oz books, I am currently on The Lost Princess of Oz, which is around three books from the end of the original canonical books by Baum. I'll be sad when I have finished them but will be moving onto other books soon. Fun fact, L. Frank Baum's granddaughter was given the middle name Ozma! I think that's amazing.

I will not get started on other plans right now, as they are even more nerdy than items previously mentioned and I think I've rambled enough this evening. Coming Friday: "So Tasty its Rude!" Brownies.

Sleep Well and Sweet Dreams, Lovelies.

When the dog bites... when the bee stings...

I've been doing a lot of heavy thinking lately. About where I am, where I wanted to be, and where I could go. I have some plans for today, which might have some far reaching effects.

In other news, I have a plan for today's post that will be rambling and stupid, but it will make me happy. If for no other reason, than just because I get to talk about the little things that make me happy.

I was inspired by this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syR_NinJ2B0

The little things that make me happy don't have to make sense to you but I'll share them with you.

I love the feeling of wriggling my fingers deep inside a bin of soft yarn at a craft store, feeling the plush fibers around my hands.

I love playing with my cat's paws, spreading Punk's tiny pink paw pads, and petting the super soft fur between his toes.

I love spraying my perfume on my favorite blanket and snuggling deep inside my nest of pillows.

I love pillows, for that matter. Big, soft, fluffy, firm, and huggable.

I can never get enough of that first sip of cold water after I've been running around work.

That moment when I've gotten home and finally unpin my hair and let lay loose down my back.

Red pandas. They're so cute.

I love the soft whisper of paper on paper as I turn the page on a new book.

I love the creaks and crackles of a new paperback that hasn't had the spine cracked yet.

The first time I use a new pen on clean fresh paper. It just breathes creative hope.

Arranging money so the bills all face the same way, heads facing  the same way, with ends all matched up.

Making patterns with numbers, like my Mom and StepDad's house number.

Popping ice cold pomegranate seeds in my mouth and lighting up my tongue with the sharp, tart, sweet tang of the crimson juice.

Every shade of red.

When my cats curl up beside me to sleep.

The feel of fabric in my hands.

Laughing until I can't breathe, because my best friend told a poop joke.

Driving down the road, with the radio over 20, belting out the lyrics to my favorite songs, all by myself.

Tracing my fingers over the swirling pink and blue of the spun wire keychain my twin made me.

Chasing and getting chased by Ama's puppies.

Getting giggly and stupid with my friends, then having a heartfelt conversation two minutes later.

Giving my mom a hug.

Having someone play with my hair.

Pulling a towel straight out of the dryer and wrapping it around my shoulders, even when I'm dry.

The entire three minutes of breathless excitement on a roller coaster.

Opening a brand new pack of socks.

Seeing the look on my sister's face when I hand her a Triple Shot Mocha Cookie Crumble from Starbucks at 6 pm when she's working.

Opening a pack of Pokémon Cards, just to see what's inside.

Going to the comic shop to pick up my favorite titles.

Baking a batch of cupcakes and icing them by hand, making flat little swirls of icing.

Peeling the stickers off a new laptop or cell phone.

The click of keys when I type.

The Wizard of Oz, in just about any way.

Hearing from an old friend I haven't hear from in too long.

Getting a text out of the blue that just says "Hi!"

The weight of two blankets in the winter.

Owls.

Making my friends smile.


~~~
I could go on for hours, lovelies, but I have some big plans for tomorrow, so I'd best be getting off to sleep.

Sleep Well and Sweet Dreams/

Sometimes, you just have to write and write.

So I am forcing myself to post today. I've gotten into a terrible habit of skipping days.

A professor once told me that a good way to warm up writing is just to put whatever comes to mind on paper and don't edit it. Just let it flow out, onto the page, without plan or judgement. I find it really useful, in order to get all the sticky, icky bluh out of my head from the day and clear my mind for concentration.

I find that the best way for me to do that is to just choose a topic and type on it until I am feeling more comfortable in my writing. I love to do quick writing challenges from friends, based on a picture or have them doodle something at the same time I am writing, if they are an artist.

A couple of days ago, I posted a creation story for a deity set I created. I wanted to continue in that vein for a little bit, just to have something to write.

After the flood and recreation of Man, the gods Rhae and Quista nurtured the land and oceans, bringing life back to the realm with careful steps. When the earth began to flourish again, Quista found herself to be pregnant. She gave birth first to twin boys, Archae and Trarchae. Soon after, Quista again gave birth to two daughters, Ballad and Rheath.

Archae became the god of Husbandry and Farming, who mortals prayed to for healthy stock and crops.  In his protection, crops are safe from blight and pests, nor do they rot on the vine. His season of power is late spring, early summer, with his influence waning around autumn, with the harvest. During the winter, he is said to pass over the earth, helping the forests survive harsh winters. His power does not come back in full force until well after spring as begun. Newly born animals are dedicated to him in a simple ceremony. Worship of him does not require sacrifice of animals but a tithe is given to the priesthood, which in turn is turned over to the poor. He is married to Ballad and together they have one daughter, the goddess Orala.

His brother, Trarchae, had power over the wild beasts and was the god of hunting and foraging. Hunter pray to him to keep their arrows and slings true, with soldiers also praying to him for the same effect. While he is not a god of battle and is not worshiped in that manner, he is considered a god of marksmanship. He is worshiped year round with a steady following, unlike his brother's, which fades some in winter. The sacred holiday of his power is at the height of summer, when animals are growing strong and the forest is full of life. During this period, it is considered blasphemy to shoot and kill any females with young. Trarchae has one child, a demigod named Yelaine, the keeper of ways and patron travelers, with Rheath.

Rheath is the older of the first two daughters, with dominion over home and hearth. Mothers after the children are born pray to Rheath for wisdom and guidance to be good to their children. Rheath protects the hearth from sparks and destructive fire, as well as keeping timbers sound and dry. To attract the protection of Rheath's servants, tiny spirits, one must leave out a dish of tea brewed with mint, her sacred plant. These spirits will help protect your home and family from household disaster.

Ballad is the masked goddess of beauty and inspiration. She wears a mask so no mortal may see her face at any time. This is because beauty cannot be defined by any one culture, but instead is fluid, changing for each person. Her mask is beaten gold, covering her whole face, save her purple eyes. Inventors and artists alike pray to her as a muse and she visits them in dreams, in forms numerous and varied. Out of her generation of gods and goddesses, Ballad has the most power over mortal and wields it carefully.

 Quista gave birth to one more child, her last and youngest, Lalelea. This goddess is the patron deity of children and first time mothers, until they give birth. She is also the goddess of mischief and gaiety. She gets into quite a bit of trouble due to this but is capable of handling it. Her festival is set in early spring, when children are happiest to be out and about, free of winter's prison. She has a simple stringed instrument she plays, a gift from Ballad, which she used to tame an ancient flying serpent. This serpent became her constant companion and the symbol of her worship. She is next in line to become the queen of the gods, after the mortal turned god Dunath steps down to go into the final sleep. She has the potential to be the strongest goddess.

~~~~~

It's 4 am lovelies. I'm gonna hit that bag of fluff and springs I call a mattress.

I don't intend to sound desperate, but send me a comment! I want to know what I could be doing better!

Sleep well and sweet dreams!

Accidents and musings

I accidentally made some delicious fudge today. And have delectable cupcakes planned for the morning. I'll post pictures of them when complete.

So its my Friday post! That means recipe sharing time. And as serendipity so graciously provided, I have a cute little fudge recipe for you.

I used Smucker's Strawberry-Blackberry preserves and Raspberry extract for my fudge, but you can really use any kind of preserves and complimentary extract.

Ingredients:

White chocolate chips, 2 bags
Heavy whipping cream, 1/2 cup
Preserves, 1/4 cup
Extract, 1 tbsp
 8x8 baking pan
Plastic wrap

Cook time: 15 minutes or so; 1 hour to chill
Prep: line the baking pan with plastic wrap

In a seperate bowl, mix your preserves and extract to loosen up the preserves some, so it's easier to blend in.

Take your cream and heat it in a pan over low to medium heat. When bubbles just begin to come up around the edges, start adding the white chocolate chips. Do this a little at a time, about half a cup or so, to avoid the chunky mess of chips and liquid splashing around in your pan.

When the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture is smooth, blend in your preserves/extract mixture. Once the mixture is mixed well, pour it into your lined pan. Place this in the freezer to chill for an hour.

Cut and serve chilled!

P.S.:  Try putting the fudge it microwave for 15 to 20 seconds, then pour over ice cream!

One of my employees suggested taking two fresh cookies and laying a square of this between them.


~~~~

If you try the recipe, lemme know lovelies! Send me pics, give me a shout.

Throw me a comment!

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams!

Come along, come along you'll see...

I really like using song lyrics as titles. It's just fun.

So as I have a bit of an writer's block going on, I thought I might just chatter a bit about one of my story worlds. One of my more persistent "bored and trying to amuse myself" stories I idly play out in my head involves a set of deities I created for my Critical Thinking class in my senior year of high school.

The class was more of a study in mythology and story telling than critical thinking. Luckily, we had a great group of students who got along well with Mrs. Edwards style of teaching. After a year of studying mythologies and pantheons, we were assigned our final projects. We had to create and flesh out our own pantheon of gods.

With mine, I started with the idea that the gods as we see them are more beings of great power who stopped on our plane. I also used certain themes, like sibling marriages, and deities with specialties, commonly seen in polytheistic religions. Some of the names I created from scratch, while others I went with simpler ideas. The first and foremost of the gods was Elder. He and his wife Cassisa had three children, two boys, one girl. Cassisa was pregant with the fourth child when the earth was created.

When Cassisa was heavy with child and close to birth, Elder reached out his hand and created the Earth. Elder could see that she was having a tough labor and created the land for her to rest.  He named this place Casis, after his beloved wife. On the newly formed land, Cassisa gave birth to her third child, Apolico. With the last breath in her body, Cassisa prophesied that this child would be the end of creation, as well as life.

Elder took his son and held him, as he gathered the tears of his daughter, Quista, to create the deep, flowing waters of the world. He gave dominion of these to Quista. To his son, Rhae, he gave power over the land and the soil. To his third, Umre, he gave the spirits and souls of the world, to lead them to reincarnation, or the realm of the dead. Apolico, filled with madness from the pain of his mother dying as she brought him into the world, was not given a realm or area of divinity as his siblings were but instead.

Elder then set out to create beings to live in this world. From the heat deep in the earth, he spun fire and sand into a molten haze, cooling and shaping it into Man and Woman. He went on to create every animal and plant, painting each with colors as vibrant as the sun. The other animals, Elder painted their eyes, so that they would not grow curious. But with Man, Elder left their eyes unpainted, as to see everything around them with the crystal clear glass.

Humans filled the earth with their offspring and grew strong. During this time, Apolico also grew. From birth, he was filled with madness, from the pain of his mother when she brought him into this world. He began to believe the only way to end his madness was to bring the planet to darkness and silence. While not given dominion or divinity over any aspect of humanity, Apolico was a master of whispering into the thoughts of humans, urging them to go to war with each other.

The war lasted for many of the human generations. Apolico continued to sew his seeds of madness among the humans, so much so that they became tainted by it. When all traces of sanity in humans disappeared, Rhae commanded his wife to flood the earth completely. Quista raised the levels of the oceans and rivers so that the waters mingled and drowned the earth. Apolico fled to the mountains to avoid the rising waters. He became stranded on the top of a mountain as the waters chased him higher and higher.

Umre threw a chain about Apolico's neck and dragged him to the center of the earth, winding the chains tight around him. He then cast a spell on the chains, that they should not be broken until the end of the earth is near. Umre took the number of days to the earth and cast them into the sky, where each day held a light of its own. So the stars were formed. When the last star was to fall, then Apolico would be unleashed to complete the work of destruction.

Quista commanded the waters to recede and separate. Rhae ran his hand over the land, feeling the earth healing and mending itself. Trees sprang up at his bidding, filling the lands with mighty forests and plains. Rhae took the seeds of a great tree, with sturdy limbs and bright leaves, and from them grew the new people of the earth. In the chest of each Man and Woman, Elder placed a single red flower. This flower would bloom and grow with every good deed that they did, and whither with every bad deed. To these flowers Umre affixed a soul and immortal spirit, so if the flesh should perish, the spirit might return to another life.

~~~~~

I think that's enough for tonight, honestly. I might use this as a place holder. I have a lot of stories about these characters, as well as a whole mess of others to pop in there. The first generation has nothing compared to the second generation's stories.

Well, lovelies, I'll be off to bed I think. Pop a comment in there, down in the little box, with the clicky clicky spot.

Or tweet at me! Please. @Alscye

Sleep well, and Sweet Dreams

Getting derailed almost every day it seems.

I don't even have a good excuse for this lapse in posting. I could say a bunch of things but they would all just be me trying to justify my inability to keep to a schedule. So I'll just take away my excuses.

So its Wednesday and that is usually my day off for my blog. As I have skipped over a week, I think I'll force myself to post something.

I've had a bit of a problem focusing lately. If the pen is far from my hand and I am too busy to jot something down, I have a million and one ideas. Like the "dream chat room" idea I had driving today. But as soon as I get to a place when I can write something down, it escapes me and I get frustrated.

The empty page mocks me. I try to corral my thoughts into a nice single file line, so each idea can get the right amount of focus and attention. More often than not, the thoughts fly in a million direction of distraction. Take the fact I have two cats snoring beside me as I type this. This is a distraction of the cutest proportions and if I don't take care, I'll just pet Morgana for an hour. That, ladies and lords, is a failure.

There are writing exercises that some use, called freewriting, that help get out the "gunk" from the first part of writing. You sit down, get a pencil and paper, and just write. You can start out with a simple "I don't know what to write but..." as long as you're getting words on the sheet. The theory goes that eventually you'll be able to focus and get back to work. Edit it later, just get it on the page.

I am terrible at that.

When I am free writing by hand, I tend to scratch out over half the page, because I am unhappy with the mess that comes out. I know I am not the only person who has done this when typing on the computer. You have an idea. You start to type up said idea. But get no further than the second sentence before completely deleting all of it. I do this so many times a night, its ridiculous. In fact, the opening of this blog itself was rewritten five times, and this sentence twice. Just can't help myself.

I don't have any new content to put out there today. I'll just leave this as it is and update facebook when I get some new content up.

Goodnight, lovelies. I'll see you tomorrow.

Sleep well, and Sweet Dreams.

Almost back on track!

Past couple of days I've been lax of my posting schedule.

I am all out of my sleep schedule, so I am about ready to pass out right now. Imagine. A body tired at 2 am. UNTHINKABLE!

So quick synopsis of my week in Pittsburgh.

Day one: DRIVE FOREVER
Day two: Arrive and walk 4 miles around Pittsburgh by myself. Get back to the room and SLEEP FOREVER. Also sleep through the 4th of July fireworks until thunder woke me up and I was confused by everything.
Day 3: Get to hang out with my friends, Laken, TJ, and Eddie. I adore Laken and this was the first year I got to meet her husband, TJ. They are both wonderful down to earth people and I cannot wait to see them again.
Day 4: Run around and do all the errands. Also meet up with more people I miraculously know. Then, oh then, I got to meet one of my idols. Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon were two of the guests of honor at the convention I attended with friends. Not only did I get to meet Ms Lackey, I also purchased her newest book and GOT IT SIGNED FOR NO CHARGE. Can't even begin to describe how much that event made my entire trip.
Day 5: Drive forever again. Stop in West Virginia for the night.
Day 6:Drive forever. End up in Jacksonville and stay for the night. Got Bento Cafe though. And Thai Tea. Twice.
Day 7: Finally arrive home and attempt to make candy with my sister. That was a horrid failure. Not to be attempted again.

And that is the quickest snippet of my week away from Florida. Tons of humidity jokes, mountain driving, terrified driving, and a smattering of sweet tea comments.

Lets introduce a character.


The reason I chose this character is mostly due to the fact I explained his story to my roommate, H. She patiently sat and listened to me  blather on about this character and his universe. So in order to organize my thoughts, I thought I might focus on him this week. Ladies and Gennulmun, I present to you, Travis Journ.

Name: Travis Journ
Age: Late 20s to early 30s
Nationality: American

Travis was born in Boston, in the mid 1800's. His father was a local banker and accountant for small businesses in the city and his mother was a mail order bride from Australia. Travis grew to adulthood in Boston, attending college for a degree in History, then taking a position as a junior curator in the Boston Museum of Anthropological History.

In his studies and observations, Travis began to note similarities in the oldest records of peoples in the western territories and Mexico. For years he documented and collected his findings into a case that showed compelling evidence of highly advanced linguistics and technology very out of place for the time. After years of searching for information, Travis decided that no more information could be gleaned from where he was and set out West to find his answers.

He finds work as a jack of all trades in towns where he stops. Occasionally, he is asked to find a person or people who are missing in the desert or wilderness. He becomes known for his uncanny ability to find people. Part of this is due to the contacts he develops across the cities and territories.

With every find, Travis comes closer and closer to finding out just what is linking all these civilizations together. This borders on obsessive at times for him, as he will forgo contact with other people for months at a time, if he is on the trail of an artifact or clue.

Travis keeps a battered red notebook with him at all times, with a winding carving etched into the front. This symbol on the front of the notebook was found carved on the headstone of a ornate burial site hidden deep in the mountains. There Travis found the strongest proof of his theories to date.

In the way of companions, Travis has one person he calls friend without hesitation. Mira is the sole owner of a brothel/Boarding house in a mining town turned train depot. Every time Travis comes through town, Mira reserves a room for him and arranges for his stay. Whenever he stops there, he does simple maintenance around the building, repairing shutters, doors, re shingling the roof, and making sure the irrigation lines are clear to the garden plot. Travis doesn't partake of any of the other services provided though. Through Mira, Travis can extend his web of information well beyond his range and can keep tabs on what is happening in various corners of the territories.

~~~

I have a large soft spot for Travis in my heart. In my mind, there can only be one way to tell his story, as a comic book. For years, I have visualized his story if bursts of images, from simple panel construcion, to full page spreads for particularly expressive images. Unfortunately, I cannot draw for the life of me, neither do I know any artists who would take time out of their busy days to goof off with me on a stupid project.

On a side note, this story in my mind is actually another Anthropomorphic character set, with Travis being a mutt, half Australian Shepherd, half Catahoula Curr, aka the Louisiana  Leopard Dog. Mira is a canary in my original ideas.

On another note, today, in a small way, I celebrated what would have been my father's 60th birthday. Its very hard to believe he's been gone almost a year. I miss you, Dad.

Well, lovelies, I skipped on posting this on the right night, so I am actually cranking out a double post for you tonight. Because I love you this much. Do me a favor though. Find someone near you. I don't care if its your cat or your significant. Give them a hug. It hurts when you can't anymore.

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams.

I'm baaaaaack! Continue your day as originally planned.

Its not a real post though, lovelies. I'm a bit tired still from the traveling, so I'll beg your forgiveness. I'll get back to my regular schedule tomorrow, with new content for the discerning Saturday readers.


Sleep well and Sweet dreams

Normally there'd be no post.

But today I have a PSA to make.

I am heading out of town for a week to go to a convention.

I'll have good signal, so I'm likely to post while away, and bonus, it will likely be all poems or short snippets.

I know its not much of a bonus. Sorry.

I'll be back to regular posts with new material on the 10th.

Laters lovelies!

For the next week, remember I always wish you

Sleep well and Sweet Dreams.

<3<3<3<3

Also, 20 minute cat video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kdgt1ZHkvnM

My hair's getting long.

It's longer now than the last time I cut it off majorly. 

I used to mark the passage of time by how many times I got my hair cut. From the time I was 9, Mom let me choose my hair length. I kept it boyishly short. I'd go to the salon every 6 months or so, get it all wacked off to about three or four inches long, and go about my life. This continued the year after I graduated high school and finally got the money together for college.

Then I made this stupid little promise to myself. I said that until I graduated college, I wouldn't get my hair cut. A year passed, then two, and I had to cut back on my course load. Another year passed and I moved out of my parents house. I stopped attending college after half a year on my own. I have yet to return. I have no degree.

But I did get my hair cut.

I guess it doesn't mean much to anyone who might be reading this, but the first time I got my hair cut in 4 years, a friend did it for me. Holly came by to see me. Holly is my old friend from high school. We met in 10th grade, where she watched my attempts to be useful in drivers ed. She has helped me weather so many of my little breakdowns from that time. For a while, we worked at the same job and got to see each other constantly. She's my twiplet, and I am her twinchilla. There are so many little in jokes and silly things we shared. We hadn't seen each other for a little while, and I finally had a day off from work.

She came over and one of the first things she said to me after we got inside my apartment was "You've got so many split ends, girl. Find me some scissors, you need a trim." It's so fitting now, because Holly just finished getting her license as a hair dresser.  

By this time, I had to start keeping my apartment all by myself, due to a roommate who moved back with her parents. I dropped out of college and worked 50 hours a week to make ends meet. Even then, I had a lot of help from so many wonderful people.

She sat me down in a chair and brushed out my hair to get all the snarls out. I can't remember if I took a quick shower to get all my hair wet before she started or not. All I remember is someone taking time out of their day to do something for me that I couldn't do for myself. I remember crying. It meant a lot to me.

During that time in my life, I had problems paying my rent and feeding myself at the same time. I only made 8.00 an hour and worked massive overtime to make rent. Don't think this is all about me whining about how hard I have it in life. Far from it, I am thanking the universe for every single friend I have who reached out a hand to help. For some reason, I had so many people who wanted to help me.

Whenever I had the anime club over, more than one person would purposely buy too much, or cook too much food and leave it there for me. On several occasions, Danny and Katie, a wonderful couple I sorely miss, filled my pantry while I was at work, without telling me. I came home one night to see my pantry full of simple things I could eat and not worry about, like canned ravioli, fruit and cereals. When I couldn't afford food for my dog, they bought a massive bag and dropped it off. They never would take no for an answer.

Honestly, I'm tearing up right now thinking about it.

I didn't intend for this to become another mush session like yesterday. I refuse to let it get past me without putting a thank you out there that can be read again and again. If ever I get to affect many lives with my writing, I would want them to know who I can never repay.

I've been in a reflective mood lately. I don't know why really. But to match this mood, I thought I'd post  bit of a memoir piece I wrote for my CRW2032 class.

I'll post the part about my father now, for if I wait too long and post it on his birthday, I'll be rather depressed after. Insert whatever emoticon you'd like there. If you choose a funny one, I'll laugh.

A Snapshot of my father

When I think of my father, my mind shows me a snapshot compiled from 20 years of memory. His curly hair, so dark brown as to be black, is just a touch too long to look nice. Shot with silver, but never receding, it is defying age as best it can. The face is worn, showing hardships and disappointments in every line; his eyes make me want to cry from sorrow and scream from rage at the same moment. His mouth is open, probably yelling again; whether from happiness or anger is debatable. He did both quite a lot.

His not-too-tall frame is slumped, the weight from fifty years of refusal to forgive his own sins dragging at his soul. The heart of this man is broken, you can see it in the slope of his shoulders, yet the fragments are still too large for his own good. One day it will break again, for he gives too much, too easily, and then all the king’s horses and all the king’s will not bring the pieces together again. His heart is visible in his hands as well, in every scar, knobby knuckle, callus, and age spot. He fought his battle for his daughters with those hands, wielding a wrench and welding torch for almost two decades.

He stands with his feet shoulder width apart, ready for the world to shove him again. He does his best to weather through, but the strain begins to show as the years go roughly on. His knees are bent, not from the desire to flee, but the need to support his own mistakes. Infidelity caused his marriage to crumble before his eyes and started a downhill spiral still ongoing. While my mother went on to find happiness, he remained moored in his solitary life. He called my sister and myself his rocks, the reason he still tries. Were it not for us, he often said, he would not find the strength to continue.

His hobbies have covered a range as wide as his years are long. From toy trains, trying to teach himself guitar, even on to growing his own spices, his interests are varied and short lived. Two constants remain firm through the years though, cooking and classic movies. From my first memories, I have been shown some of the golden oldies, Gone With The Wind, Wizard of Oz, White Christmas, innumerable John Wayne, James Stewart, and Rat Pack movies. Interwoven with these pictures are the scents of garlic, rosemary, thyme, old books, and the sweet smoke of cherry cigars.

 His job caused him to work nights for most of my childhood. He jealously guarded his time with Amber and me, reading to us whenever there was time. He would buy Great Illustrated Classics for us, so we could get an early taste for writers Charles Dickens, Louisa May Alcott, and Mark Twain. He hasn't read to me since the divorce; he didn't have time and I was too cool, but I can still hear his voice flowing and dipping with the cadence of Walt Whitman’s poem, "Oh Captain, my Captain."

 The man in this portrait is a mystery to me. He is an infuriatingly complex mixture of old man and young child, a whirling storm of anger, happiness, inspiration, and depression. He has always confused me. In all he does, he gives and gives, but hates to take or ask. He sees himself as an artist and encouraged his children to be people who change to world in the way we can. The man who used to touch the sky and pull down the lazy clouds to weave us a dream, is not so tall anymore. He has become the foundation for me to spring from as I rush past the sun to the places he knows I can go.

~~~~

A bit altruistic at the end, considering my statement earlier. Oh well.

I'll be going now lovelies. Sleep times.

Sleep well and Sweet dreams.

In this, I shall wax poetic!

Maybe not poetic. But I do feel a rather touching post coming on.

I've been having a rather hectic time lately, for various reasons that have no place being mentioned on here. I don't handle stress well at all, to be honest. If its an upcoming event or possibility, I tend to gravitate immediately to the worst case and fret. I am a master at fretting and worrying.

If its a sudden thing, I get all flustered and freak out, flying around in circles, trying to do whatever I can to make it right, without the benefit of concentration to focus me. Then, if I haven't fixed it, I start to cry. My face gets all crumpled, snot and tears make their torrential way down my increasingly red face. My eyes turn bright pink, which is only enhanced by my grey eyes. All in all folks, I blubber like a baby.

There is one thing that can help me settle down; my friends. If ever I need a good solid comfort, it's my close friends. By good comfort, I don't mean molly coddling or cosseting. No, they listen to my whining, tell me what I could do change it, and encourage me to do better. Nine times out of ten, I fail to follow good advice given to me. When the "I told you so" is plated up hot and fresh for them to throw at me, thankfully they are better people than me.

I just want to take a second to say I love you to all my friends. All of you have helped me so much in the past, in so many ways. I can never repay or thank you all enough for being willing to put up with my bull puckey and horse manure for so long and so patiently.

Thank you.


Mush mush mush. Sorry everyone who doesn't give a good grape crush about this. Its Monday, its super early in the morning, and I have some errands to run tomorrow. So lets get this poetry on!

This one was inspired by my mother, who worked as a RNA at a nursing home. Now she works as a home healthcare aide.

Nurse's Aide

Under the fluorescent light's insomniac glare,
steadfastly she cares for all in her morning still hall.
Dripping IVs counterpoint humming TVs.
Silently she fills cups of ice, passing from
room to dim room, silent angel of ordinary needs.
She moves quickly, yet not forgets a single soul.

~~~~

This next poem is very long. It was an exercise in creating a poem along similar lines. This one was multiple short poems that followed a certain theme. As my portfolio at the time was Doorways and memories, I chose to do poems on doors. I did 14 in all.

I.

The carpenter's hand scraped
a few last strips of wood from
the plank. His drill bored a hold
and a knob put in. And the door
wept for the forest gone.

II.
A gust of wind blows
past the chill door, bringing
in the warm sweet breath
of new spring.
 
III.
A closed door longs
to be opened and locked
doors beg for the key.
 
IV.
She stared at the door
yet would not pass
the graven threshold.
 
V.
A rattle on the other side
of his door, his breath caught
and he clawed his way from
beneath his own racking fear.
 
VI.
Best oiled hinges cannot deafen
the broken echoes
of the closed door's sobs.
 
VII.
An open door sings the authority
to choose one's own path
and grants your eyes the
chance to see.
 
VIII.
The door swept open
to a pitch black room
un-illuminated by
the outer light behind.
 
IX.
The monster lurked without
switching its scaly tail, watching
for the gilded knob to turn
and the shielding door to give forth
the unknowing prey.
 
X.
The song danced beyond
the propped open door to tickle
the ear of a fair maid.
 
XI.
On the windowsill lay
the closed door's key.

XII.
Proud was the door who sheltered
the angels of Lot and protected
from the fists of Sodom.

XIII.
A river of words pooled
into an ocean of life. The door
dammed the flow, reducing it
to the thinnest trickle of truth.

XIV.
A lily lay clutched in her hands
as the door between life and eternity
lowered with a deep glistening
mahogany sheen.

~~~

Well, that was long. I have my favorite verses from it. Give me a shout telling me what you liked about it. Comment, please! I want to hear from you! Give me your opinions!

And also, everyone, please don't read too much into verse XII. It's not a commentary on what I believe about same sex marriage, religious beliefs or anything of the sort. It is simply a verse.

Politics has no place in my poetry. Always remember that, lovelies.

Sleep well and sweet dreams.