The loud thud of the motion marked the passage of time.
The minute hand moved one step closer.
I didn’t want this to end.
Another minute gone.
My breathing slowed.
The seconds ticked.
My heart raced.
Everything now
and yet…
Nothing.
Goodbye.
http://ift.tt/1AbfUcgA voice in the darkness calling out toward me.
A voice the beckons me home.
Or is it away from home.
It beckons none the less.
There is light in the darkness, a warmth in the cold.
I linger too long, holding onto the void.
The voice fades into the darkness, muted by the noise of nothing.
And alone I stay.
Stuck.
Afraid to move.
Without choice, without hope, without fear.
I am full of emptiness.
Apathy is thy name.
http://psibrone.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/of-opinions/Secret Santa, Secret Santa, bring me my gift.
Make it so heavy that it’s hard to lift,
Wrap it in paper, stick it with a bow,
Under the tree is where it should go.
On Christmas day, I’ll grab it up quick,
And tear open the package with just a flick,
Revealing the gift that’s hidden inside,
“Just what I wanted!” knowing I lied.
And just remember this part, don’t forget,
We all agreed on a boundary, preset,
You can’t spend more than the ten-dollar limit,
Ok, fine, spend twenty, just never admit.
http://ift.tt/1x0EY5ESomewhere in this stack of life,
I made a list and checked it twice.
It was a list of things to get done,
A so called ‘New Year Resolution’.
I sat and added thing after thing,
The list was long and full of hope,
A lot more awesome, a little less dope.
I held my list up high and cried,
“I’ll do it this year, that’s no lie!”
Then placed it down and started to dance,
This year my life was not left to chance.
When I stopped, the list was not found,
It must have blown away while I danced around.
A sad look found its way to my face,
I slouched my shoulder, slowed my pace.
Then a grand thought occurred to me,
“Who needs resolutions? After all, they’re silly.”
http://ift.tt/1AzSHSjI’m a man of resolutions, the few I make each year,
Promises I proclaim,
Intentions very clear.
I’ll start to enjoy my life, I’ll get more sleep,
I’ll even lose some weight,
These promises I’ll keep.
These New Year’s professions, hopes said to the wind,
Then comes January second,
And the resolutions end.
http://ift.tt/1ARqh4hChristmas time is hear again,
And holiday cheer fills the air.
Christmas Eve Sarajevo by TSO
Plays on my Pandora station.
Stockings hung on the bookshelf
With names turned out but one,
Ornaments cracked and shattered,
While the tree lies on the floor,
Thanks to the cats.
http://ift.tt/1wOEG1FI don’t know who I am anymore,
the mirror lies to me when I look
I don’t know who I am anymore
My innocence the world took,
Huddled in a ball on the floor,
Knees pulled tightly to me,
Huddled in a ball on the floor,
Screaming out “Just let me be.”
I don’t know who I am anymore,
The masks are stripped away,
I don’t know who I am anymore,
There is nothing left to say.
I have been writing since I was in elementary school. I mean, the creative kind, not the other. I have obviously been writing since before kindergarten… well, maybe not so obvious.. and look.. a bunny trail right off the bat. (I can already hear my wife saying “Focus”) Ok, so.. as I was saying.. writing, elementary, creative.. ok.. back on track.
In that time frame I have had hundreds of stories that I have wanted to write. Ideas so grand that they would have been spectacular to read. If… I could only get them out of my head. There are times when I come across a story and I look at my wife and say, “That was my story from 20 years ago.” or I see someone with a name that I created when I was a teenager and I tell her, “I made that name.”
Everytime I do, she has the same response. She looks at me lovingly, sorrow filling her eyes, sympathy spreading from her heart out towards me as she embraces me in a loving hug and pats my head and strokes my hair and tells me, “You should have written the story then.”
Ok, none of that is true, except for that last part. She totally just drives that nail straight into my heart and, personally, I think she enjoys it a bit too much. I married a sadistic woman… but everyone that knows her will think I am lying because she is the nicest person any of them have ever met (or close enough that it’s just a matter of semantics).
I’m not really sure what it is that stops me. Sometimes I get bored with the story because I completed it in my head, sometimes I don’t think I’m good enough, sometimes I let every distraction get in my way, and sometimes procrastination is way too comfortable.
Then there is this blog. A source of enjoyment because I can complete something. Creating in itself a sense of accomplishment that I am truly writing and finishing something, even though it is more akin to eating cake then a proper meal. It’s the sugar rush without the content. It is an interesting conundrum.
Excuse me while I go bang my head on the desk…
Ok… now that I am done self deprecating, I do have several stories I am working out. One in particular has hit an interesting snag with the plot and I have slowly been working it out. Another has an enemy issue. Then there is the one that is a trilogy that just seems daunting every time I even think about it.
I really should just start writing them. Just get it out of my head, blow through the excuses, and do it.
At least that way I wouldn’t have to hear my wife say “You should have written the story then.”
Again.
http://ift.tt/1GsZgb2I am a horrible person.
There, I admitted it. Not a surprise to those that know me, I am sure. But to those that don’t, this may come as a shock. Now, I know many might be asking what nefarious thing have I gone and done this time, but I will get to that shortly. I just feel with the Christmas time being so near, I need to clear the air about my wrong doing. Or rather, about my… not wrong doing… as it truly would be stated.
See, I don’t lie. Not the big fat ugly ones, not the little innocent white ones. So much so that I have told my wife pretty plainly, “Don’t ask me a question you don’t want an answer too.” As she is sure to eventually ask the dreaded question all husbands seem to lie about…”Does this make me look fat?” to which I would have to respond in a manner that would deprive me of… well, marital bliss… shall we say.
So why would I be apologizing for not lying? Well…. see, that’s not what I am apologizing for. I am apologizing because in the fact that I take great pride in not lying, I do tend to manipulate the way the truth is told. I have learned a lot of ‘trade’ or ‘craft’ secrets when it comes to disseminating information in a manner that leaves the hearer the ability to fill the holes in as they would.
Now a prime example of this would be how I find information out. It’s a great tactic, and if there are any parents reading this, you are free to use this on your children if you want. If there are children reading this, well.. stop reading this particular entry and go check out my Count Your Blessings blogs… after all it’s Christmas, you should be thankful, right?
Ok, now that the kids are away… here is a prime example of one of the ways I manipulate the truth without lying. I would sit at the dinner table with my kids, and during a quiet moment, look over at them and simply ask, “Why would your teacher contact me about your behavior in school today?” They would stop, look at each other with the look that spoke volumes about how they hated their sibling for tattling on them, and then they would start to spill the proverbial beans about what they did wrong that day.
I know… fantastic! Right?
I never told them the teacher called, I simply made asked them a question. It is a glorious tactic, one that has led me into more information than I might want to know about the on-goings of my children, but glorious none the less. Feel free to try it.
I also tend to steer around telling a flat out truth, almost finding it a game of “Keep Away” when it comes to some truth I know that I don’t want to reveal. My children have learned that I do this and knowing that I won’t lie to them, have taken it as a challenge to ask better questions.. or just stopped caring to find out.. hrm, maybe that’s why we don’t talk as much as we use too..
Anyway… when faced with avoiding having to tell a truth, questions are great and become a tactic by using them as a diversion or a counter method toward the questions being asked (see disclaimer at the bottom). I would give some examples from my own life, however nothing is coming to my mind at the moment (or I am holding back and deciding not to share any of my trade secrets… it’s one or the other).
Now, yes, there are those that would argue that this is, in fact, lying. I’m not here to argue that point, but more clear the air before Santa comes, because this year, I really want to get my Red Ryder BB Gun with compass in stock.
(DISCLAIMER… I have a policy that I can not use this tactic when it comes to my wife. One, she would hurt me, two, it’s just not right to keep secrets from your spouse, that can be dangerous (see first point))
http://ift.tt/1wIPIHH“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I stared at those words, the tiny blinking cursor at the end flashing, begging me to hit delete or send. My heart raced in my chest and I knew that sending this would change everything. Up until this point, we had flirted. The comments about how good she looked in this outfit or how she had a nice smile or even how that color really complimented her eyes. This though, this would be crossing that imaginary line between fantasy and reality. This would make it real.
My finger hovered over the send button. Everything that I was putting on the line rushed into my head. My marriage for one. Sure, things hadn’t been good between my wife and I for a while now. Our bed had become a place of sleep rather than an escape from the reality and her arms had long ago stopped being a place where I could find refuge. Over the last few months I was more acquainted with her back then any other portion of her body. Even sitting her, in bed, I can look over and see her, her back bare to me but just out of reach, just like the rest of her.
Our marriage had become perfunctory. A good morning as I was walking out the door, her offering me her cheek to kiss. Lips no longer met. In the evening, dinner was accompanied by whatever show was the latest fashion on the TV. Conversations were almost non existent, just cursory in passing or a to-do list that she needed me to take care of. I can’t even remember the last time we had a laugh together.
My eyes bored into her back, the feelings of anger and neglect swelling inside of me. How come she couldn’t connect with me anymore? How come her life was made to be more important than my needs or desires? Wasn’t this marriage? Wasn’t this suppose to be a compromise? How come I was the only one feeling like I was the one giving in?
I breathed out, dropping the phone on the bed, conviction setting in. Conviction over knowing that I still loved her and what I was doing, I knew was wrong, but I needed to feel needed, I needed to feel desired, I needed to feel important.
I needed to not need.
The phone screen went dark, plunging the room into mostly darkness, the soft glow from the TV casting an eerie glow around the room. The volume was low enough that I could just make it out over her breathing. She looked so peaceful and beautiful as the light cast her in silhouette. I reached my hand out to touch her shoulder, trying to pull her closer to me, convincing myself that one last attempt to reconnect with her would make my desire to hit that send button go away.
My hand brushed against her shoulder as I pulled on her. She stirred and mumbled a disapproving grunt toward me. “Come her, I want to snuggle with you.” I said as I moved closer to her under the covers. She turned her head toward me and said, “Don’t wake me. I need to sleep.” then turned her head back.
I sighed, longing for her quickly dissipating as I ran into an all too familiar wall. I sat back into my pillows, searched for the phone, thumbed it on and looked at that message again.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
/send
http://ift.tt/12O7pYpGiven the ability to do what I want,
With no thought to extravagance or to cost,
I’d find myself wanting to just end the day,
Cause in my head I would just get lost.
No, seriously.. I wouldn’t even know where to begin…
http://ift.tt/1z2VS3bNerd, geek, dork and dweeb,
Names used to call me,
But not like most,
I tend to boast,
At least it’s me they see.
http://ift.tt/1zFXAH0Sometimes, I feel that doctor’s got a cue from Monty Hall when it comes to prescriptions, and there are days where I walk into the office and feel like I just walked onto the set of “Let’s Take A Pill”. I’m not really sure if this is insurance driven, the pharmacology companies pushing more medication or if the doctors really think that this form of treatment is the answer to solve all that ails me.
Then, as a good patient, we start taking our pills, swallowing down whatever it is that they told us is going to fix the problem, only to have to end up taking others in order to counteract the side effects of the ones we are taking, which then cause us other issues and.. well, you get the idea.
For instance… I am currently taking a diabetes medication, a cholesterol medication and a blood pressure medication. My blood sugar is about where it was 20 years ago, elevated but if those numbers changed a wee bit (less than a percent) I would be outside the scope (and by the way, that has actually happened in the past). My cholesterol is a bit high.. ok, in days gone by I liked my hamburgers, pizza and other fun (read…unhealthy) food. So that one, sure. Got it.
Then there is the blood pressure medicine. My blood pressure is fine, like spot on fine. 120/80 kind of spot on. Hasn’t changed in so long I can tell the nurse taking my pressure exactly what it’s going to be (plus or minus 3 points). So, why am I taking this? Because one of the other pills I am taking has a chance to raise another number that is slightly elevated (but normal) and he is concerned that it could cause me problems.
I’m like… what?
Then there is the scenario about my shoulder. It hurts. Like bad enough I actually went to the doctor to tell him it hurt and it wasn’t even falling off (Yep, one of ‘those’ guys). I get an MRI done, I get my evaluation. The doc says, “It’s an impingement caused by a bone spur.” Great I think, hoping this doesn’t mean surgery, but before I could say anything, he finishes with, “We won’t be doing surgery because we can’t see the bone spur. So, instead, I’m going to give you a cortisone shot and schedule you for physical therapy.”
So, there I am, sitting on the paper covered table with him looking at me in all seriousness, telling me that an MRI couldn’t see the bone spur, but this invisible bone spur was what was causing my issue and his answer is to inject me with something and send me away.
I’m not a huge fan of needles, and I have heard enough about this cortisone that I am really not for it. However, my wife is in the room with me and she is all like.. “Yeah, lets do that. That sounds like a plan.”, and in my head I am shooting daggers at her, which by some odd coincidence happened to be about the size of the needle that this doctor ended up sticking me in the shoulder with.
Guess what?
The cortisone shot hasn’t done anything for me. Big win Mr. Doctor, sir. Plus, you know… more daggers.
Now, I like my primary doctor. He is funny, a nice guy, listens to me and tries to calm my over active hypochondriacal ways. Plus, he is a reservist, so bonus points there. All I’m saying is.. instead of taking a chill pill, can we just chill with the pill?
Seriously, he couldn’t see the bone spur…
http://ift.tt/1vYvWWwThe toy box sits in the corner of the room these days, neglected, unused, and generally forgotten about. It has been years since the children have even acknowledged the joy that has come at the expense of the toys that are now compacted into those six walls, but I still can’t bring myself to get rid of it.
Memories of jubilant Saturday mornings fill my head, of the children creating stories out of the dolls and Tonka trucks. Little green army men out to save the world being trampled on by a teddy bear that had transformed into “Bearacus the Destroyer”. Puzzle pieces strewn across the floor as they tried to compete to see which one could finish the fastest. Lastly, the numerous unspoken curses I held in as I stepped on countless Lego blocks while cleaning up after them.
It’s easy to forget the joys of your children, to forget those moments when life seemed so chaotic that you couldn’t wait for them to grow up so you could have real conversations with them. Those days of afternoon naps, tea parties, coloring book marathons and snuggling up on the couch after a day of running around cleaning up after them.
Too easy to forget as you rush forward with life.
Until…
Until that life is grown up and no longer needs you to wipe their nose, help them with their homework, kiss the boo-boo’s to make them better, read them bedtime stories or tuck them in.
G.I. Joe and Barbie are all grown up now, starting families of their own. The play room sits silent, transformed into an office and the house is quieter. The days I wished for have finally arrived.
And all I’m left with are memories.
And the toy box in the corner.
http://ift.tt/11VJPZGThe tree is up,
the ornaments are set,
The lights are hung,
but not complete yet.
There is something missing
in our Christmas Tree
What is that something?
Why it’s just lil’ ol’ me.
The story behind the photo
So, as is our tradition, my wife put up our Christmas tree yesterday. I would have helped, but, well, that’s just not my thing. I tend to set the tree up and then walk away while the rest of the decorations take place. This year, I didn’t even do that (I wasn’t really feeling good, and she was being nice to me).
Not soon after the tree was up and the house was being decorated, our youngest cat decided that she would not be outdone and climbed up into the tree and made it her own and the following photo was snapped. Seriously, this cat is weird. I think it’s what makes her fit in with the rest of the family.
http://ift.tt/12gjoyuTHE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING
Tis the night before Thanksgiving and all through our house
No turkey is baking; I feel like a louse,
For I am all nestled, so snug in my bed;
I’m not gettin’ up and I’m not bakin’ bread.
No pies in my oven, no cranberry sauce
Cuz I give the orders, and I am the boss.
When out in the kitchen, there arose such a clatter
I almost got up to see what was the matter.
As I drew in my head and was tossing around
To the bed came my husband, he grimaced, he frowned.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He scared me to death and I thought, “Here he goes!”
He spoke not a word as he threw back my quilt
And the look that he gave was intended to wilt.
So up to the ceiling my pillows he threw
I knew I had had it, his face had turned blue.
“You prancer, you dodger, you’re lazy, you vixen
Out yonder in kitchen, Thanksgiving you’re fixin.”
But he heard me explain, with my face in a pout:
“I’m just plain too tired and we’re eating out!”
From my buddy over at Mikey’s Funnies, well worth the look to see what else he does.
http://ift.tt/1rvTht5The feeling of stuck has somehow absorbed me recently. I look at the screen, type a few words, read what I typed then delete it. This has gone on for at least 4 days now. It’s different than when I am just not happy with what I write. This is something where I just can’t seem to put together my thoughts. The mumble jumble of my brain crying out in fifteen different directions.
Sure, the topics help to at least point me in a direction (granted, as of late, the daily post topics have not really been my forte), but as I start to write, something happens. Maybe its the distracted life I live. Always having to go do this or that. Not having the time to really just shut the world out and concentrate on something for a length of time.
Side note... Funny thing is, this last Sunday, in church, I ended up filling up several pages of notes for a story I am working on while the pastor was teaching. I actually do remember what he was talking about, but for some reason, I had some pretty awesome clarity and used it to jot some notes down on a story I have been stuck on for about 2 months…End side note
It’s in these times that I really just feel like a failure. Unable to write, unable to finish something, unable to do something simple like focus. I start to feel defeated. I start to feel lost. Enter, Mr. Internal Critic. He is just waiting for moments like this. Moments where he can add just the right amount of punch to the situation and knock me into full fledged downward spiral.
He just sits there, waiting. Watching. Like some kind of weird personal stalker. When I type something he says “That’s not good enough. You should delete it.”
Update to today…
Well, the last two days have been somewhat productive. I actually sat and was able to put some of my thoughts down, including the flash story from yesterday (which is based off of the idea that I have for a book I am working on). I’m kind of looking forward to this weekend. Who knows, maybe I will be able to shut off the voice long enough to just write it down (ok, type, whatever) and accept what it is. Still working on just getting it out of my head without judging it. Bad habit, hard to break. Will see.
http://ift.tt/1vWeFci
http://ift.tt/1wAC6fU
http://ift.tt/1xziSHF