Friday Fiction - Wouldn't It Be Funny

While I happen to be writing this whole month I figured I'd return to my roots with a little FridayFictioneer. What a lovely picture, it tickles me. Plus, She and He  (links to their other stories above) finally got names (yay...)

Copyright John Nixon

Wouldn't It Be Funny

Heydan hated clowns. Ever since she was little and her parents thought it was a good idea to let her watch It on television. But this clown was part of the play so she remained calm.

Harry next to her whispred, “Wouldn’t it be funny...”

Suddenly, Harry was lifted and thrown into the old piano that sat dusty in the corner. The audience thought he was part of the act and applauded. The actors on stage, clueless.

Only Heydan knew, she pictured it, so it happened. His colorful foot wear adding to the effect.

“Why yes, yes it would be funny.” 

The Blog Hop has already begun, so you should all take a look inside and see what the other awesome writers do with this photo prompt. Don't forget to drop by Rochelle's blog for the rules. 

#Writingallmonthonpurpose

It has been a while and this will be short. Sorry folks.  A lot has happened in the six weeks since the Marathon Bombing  and the freakishly freaky moment of lost hysteria, which may or may not be the last post I've done on this blog. None of it (my lots happening) is majorly life altering, some of it is just plain outright dull. But nevertheless I've sort of stayed busy.

I finished a few sewing projects. I've been in Craftermath mode for the longest, only because I keep thinking I need clothes. Realistically I'm never going anywhere to wear this stuff but that is just another one of those issues I've yet to deal with. Sewing is just a happy distraction. One I'll blissfully delve into at some other time. Every now and again I'll feel the itch to go cut some fabric. I even caught myself ordering some the other day. I couldn't help myself. But I'm going to exercise some discipline.

My next two projects are actually set to go. What's stopping me, JUNE. Yes, the whole month of June is stopping me. Yes, I know that my father's birthday and Father's day is in June. I also know that June is the month in which summer kicks off. None of that matters. What matters is that I applied to school and I am seriously hoping to get in. I should know by the end of June. If I get in I'll be starting in August. I wont even get into the amount of hops I didn't have to jump through while dealing with Admissions. So blissfully easy I wish I'd thought of it sooner.

I took the month of June to work on my book. The book that should have been in the revisions step of my process back in March. The book isn't even finished yet. What would make me happy is to at least finish the story before I let it collect dust. So on May31st, after a brief three way Facebook conversation between myself, my old friend Rita and my old shipmate Steven, I decided to take the month. I won't do anything but write. If I'm lucky I can get to the end and then actually revise.

Today is day six. I have stuff I could be doing. But I'm afraid in my usual fashion of afraidiness that once I leave the house I'll come home tired and not write anything that day.  So I haven't left my house yet this month. I did take out the trash and walk the dog a few time though. It's not a healthy way to live but fuck it the book has to get finished. I've got a billion ideas for the revisions and I can't do any of them until I get to the end.

So here's to the month of June. May every moment in front of the lap top be worth my "pale" summer tan.

A quick reminder that I'm not well

The VA contacted me recently by snail mail and told me that my claim for disability was under review. Well that's just peachy. Then I got a letter stating that I'd have a bunch of appointments to verify if I am in fact in need eligible. Understandable. What I had not prepared for is the trip to that particular office.

I am pretty much afraid to leave my house somedays. Brings out my completely illogical fears of being unable to make it back to my home. Despite my constant search for a job I really dread going to them because I don't like getting lost. I swear by Google Maps. If I find a place to be inaccessible I'm not going there. So you can imagine my freakishly out of proportion reaction to getting lost on the way to my first appointment.

First off there were at least four ways of getting to this location by bus. I left with plenty of time to make it there and I even choose the best route (the one with the least amount of connections). I left at nine for an eleven AM meeting. The traffic was fairly light and I'm expecting this to be an easy trip.

What I did not plan for is the grossly inaccurate distance I had to walk. Normally I like walking, just not on the side of the road. I also like nature too, not up close and personal like the snake I encountered on said side of the road. The same goes for the mud I slipped in or that soccer mom that almost rolled over me.

Like any person with anxiety issues I panicked. While the road continued the buildings became more sparse and then completely disappeared. I found myself on an empty road with woods around me, highway flowers, a big ass snake and those huge red ant you only read about in National Geographic Magazines. Looking at my watch I saw that I was late and I feared that if I missed this appointment I'd be automatically disqualified. I'm not going to say I don't need the money. I had to make this meeting and walking down a road that seemed to go on forever without any signs of civilization scared the shit out of me.

I became this sniveling hysterical creature I haven't seen in ages, inconsolable, begging for help that wasn't there and desperately wanting to go home. I really had no choice but to keep walking. So I walked and cried, imagining my body being eaten by carrion birds. I pictured my dog slowly baking to death in my empty apartment. No one would come looking for me because I'd managed to alienate everyone local because of my reclusive tendencies. I'd sort of die on this empty road.

When I finally found the building out in the middle of nowhere I was too tired to even be happy that I arrived. I wanted to go home. I didn't feel safe even if I manage to get back to civilization. I didn't want all these people staring at me. I was covered in mud, there was a snake, I was late, I failed to help myself and now everyone knew it.

Someone took pity on me and I was able to meet with the person assigned to assess me. She was coincidently the person there to my mental health. How oddly convenient. She asked me how have I handled my anxiety, then answer for me because I was still upset. It went something like, I have changed my behavior so much to avoid situations where my anxiety will be triggered.

Well there is a way to look at that. I wonder if that's what she wrote down? After my morning the day pretty much went smoothly. I made my next appointment and even donated plasma today. I am pretty tired and my legs hurt. I am glad to be home though. Things make so much sense here. The noise outside is sort of comforting. Even the chickens are welcome to me right now.

How dare you ruin my City: The 116th Boston Marathon and it's Bombing

My Facebook friends and to a much lesser degree my Google + friends know that I am a native Bostonian. They know that I have a special place in my rude Bostonian heart for the Marathon and all the parties leading up to it. Some of my Navy friends will say that I've even gone home in April on leave just to watch it at the mile 20 mark with a group of very special people.

It was no major surprise that I would mention the Marathon once or twice last week leading up to all the excitement that was expected to go down this weekend. I was secretly hoping that someone would spill all the highly embarrassing stories so I could live vicariously through them and reflect on how much fun I was missing out on by being here in Sand Diego and not there where I belong. I'm a Hasher and Boston is my Home Kennel. There will never be a Kennel quite like it. Ever.

So I'm really sad that someone bombed Marathon, twice. Right at the finish line. Read a few articles from the Globe here. I'm more than sad, I'm angry, I'm enraged and I'm pretty powerless. Absolutely powerless. The rational person inside me says to ask if all the Hasher are accounted for, and I got one person telling me yes. I'm happy about that. I really am. But I'm still mad. It's not enough that they are all accounted for and hopefully unharmed. It will probably never be enough.

What bothers me is that I fell like I should have been there. Boston is where I truly ever belonged, I never had to pretend to be anyone else. I had a group of friends that accepted me completely flaws, crazies, anger management issues, ever changing body shape, employment status and everything else wrong or right with me. I had all that and I had a beautiful city as a backdrop. I understand and so do they why I left and they accepted that. Not too many of my friends back home understand why I never returned after getting out of the Service. So on top of all the rage I feel toward this unnamed Bomber I feel guilt for not being there.

Don't get me wrong I don't wish to have been maimed or injured like the people at the finish line. I wish I was where I normally would be. Passing out beer at mile twenty. I'm a Hasher whether I and active or not and that's what Boston Hashers do.  It's been the tradition since forever, not as old as the Marathon itself which is 116 this year but still pretty traditional.  I remember the last time I stood at mile twenty there was an announcement on the radio about us. I got tongue kissed in the face by old men with marathon ick mouth. We got to harass the Kenyans at they ran by. I heard Joey McIntyre (NKOTB) ran this year. I would have loved to see that shit.

What made all this debauchery said and unsaid so much fun was that Boston is a relatively safe city. I say relative because you have to consider the context. Now that's all ruined. Next year people will run the Marathon just to spite the terrorists. The free spirit of the race is gone. People will leave their kids at home next year. The Hashers might not even be allowed at mile twenty next year. You gotta admit we are strange. You can forget Patriots Day in New England. This is going to turn into a day where before we do anything else we'll have moments of silence and stories of triumph over adversity. The Boston Marathon was never supposed to be like this.

Yeah I feel pretty fucking violated. There is no nice way fro me to say that. I feel ashamed too. I am  busy  hiding out here away from all my friends and I hate to admit it family (gross-- family). I feel like I should have been there. I should have been there helping in some way making a list and coordinating people, just generally being of some use. But no, there isn't any action I can take. I can't even donate money. I'm broke.  The only thing I can do is complain about my own impotence in angry posts on Facebook:

I think I said this when my brother was shot several years ago. It's not often I demand that level of barbarism. Also the Marathon only started in 1897 not 1843 as stated in my post. I added the Wiki Link above. 

And I do want to know why? The so far the news sources haven't a clue as to who is responsible. Me personally I think it is a Domestic Terrorist. There is some speculation that it might be a random Saudi National, but I'm not leaning that way. Another part of ME speculates that it might not even be political. 

Of course it could be political and then the real fear begins. It could be related to the wars. Americans are still the Infidels. Maybe the jihadist are just reminding us that we are not safe.The Threat levels we've all grown accustomed to since 9/11 will have a whole new meaning. Every middle eastern person will look like a suspect now. Let the racial profiling begin again.

  

Or it could be about taxes which ties in with Patriots Day like the article said. Massachusetts regularly gets an extra day to file taxes if Patriots day falls on the 15th. The American Revolution began in MA about taxes, but nobody had to die today to make that point all over again. If it's taxes, then, hey, I get it, no one likes taxes.  

If the reasoning behind today's bombings was something different, I guess I need some clarification. What I'm not looking for is another Batman massacre. I'm hoping and wishing that the person who did this is of sound mind and has some kind of conviction or belief that what they did was right. I hope that this person had a series of goals that they they met today. Because otherwise today was pointless, and the thought of that makes me even more angry.

Everything's for Sale- Friday Fictioneers

Once in a while I'm reminded that I'm a fan of Steampunk. I'm a fan of a lot of things but that's not the point. When I saw this week's photo Prompt offered up by Sandra Cook, my comment on Facebook was something like: I'm in  love.

It's pretty in a  rusty greasy gear head type of way and I'm not ashamed to say it. In fact, it makes me want to dig out my halloween costume and go find  a dirigible. Which brings me to my submission. 

Copyright Sandra Cook

Everything's for Sale

The young pilot eyed the contraption eagerly. The old tramp watched as the youth approached the steps of the local saloon. The tramp recognized the want in her coveteous eyes. Everyone who saw it had the same look.

“I see you looking at the bike little lady.” The tramp siddled between her and the bike.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about old man.” The pilot knew his kind. Meddling. Out to make some money.

“Sure  you do. But this baby ain’t for sale.” He patted the seat.

She drew her pistol, aiming it at the old tramp. “Mister, everything’s for sale. Now get out of my way.” 

The Blog Hop is going pretty good this week, so you should all take a look inside and see what the other awesome writers take from this work of art. Don't forget to drop by Rochelle's blog for the rules and tips on how to induce labor. Hopefully you'll participate too.