Have I decided to start blogging again?

Honestly, I really don't know. Business is beyond slow. Business you say? Yes I started a business. I decided sometime in March of 2014, that along with the school, where I  was doing super duper well, that I needed a new challenge. I wasn't writing as much, and I decided I needed to stay creative. Trust me I should have just started writing again. ALL writers know, of course, that writing is hard sometimes, so saying something as flippant as start writing again, is kind of an insult.

I came up with a "boutique" at home jewelry making company called, Three Animals Handmade Accessories. I have to tell you, I made a killing over the winter months. Now that the weather is transitioning and people aren't so much in the home browsing the Internet, I'm not making much money. I figure it will pick up later in the year. I'm worried but, I'm crazy so the things I worry about for my business might not be the same worries a sane small business owner might have. Let's not get into what those are just yet. I don't want to find out that I'm actually normal in this aspect.

What brings me back to my dusty blog? Well I'm not sure that I'm back. I just felt like writing something that wasn't going to be restricted to 140 characters, littered with pictures, and not really meant to draw likes. I just wanted to be candid I think, without the whole Facebook Fakery spin everything has to have today.

Maybe I miss the intimacy of the five people who faithfully read this blog. Maybe I just wanted to put out some information. Maybe I wanted calm inward reflection. Yes that might be it. Maybe be I came back to this unknown dead blog, because I wanted a little privacy.  I don't know when I'll return again to this blog, but frankly it's just good to see it and remember that I used to be a person with ideals and goals that had nothing to do with making money, getting likes and appeasing the masses without rocking the boat.

That was my goal when I started this blog.

The Twenty Years Ago Rant

I hate to date myself but I feel old. To make matters worse, today is my cousin's birthday. I happen to be 1 year and 9 months older than him. Is his -ish more together, than mine? Most likely.

Post by Atiya Townes.

Post by Atiya Townes.

Addressing your audience (So people who don't give a damn, can go on with their lives)

That awkward moment when I'm scrolling through my newsfeed and I spot this random post, where the author of the post, is talking directly to me. The problem with this is the fact that, the post is written in second person, yet the author knows absolutely nothing about me. I always wonder, what is she talking about? Why is she directing this useless babble at me? If she's talking to someone or someones in particular, not some random "YOU," why doesn't she address him, her, or them? Why doesn't she give a name to her audience, so I can ignore her unoriginal words of wisdom? The Straight Dope called their audience "The Teeming Millions." My Ex-Bestie, called the fans of 3AHA, Animals; where as I still call the fans, Lovelies. My point is that, there is a population of people, this person is addressing, and I'd like her to address them formally at the beginning of her "YOU, YOUR, YOU'RE" posts. That way, I don't waste precious moments of my life realizing, that the current batch of shite, isn't really directed at me personally.

It sounds mean, I know, and I may suffer for ranting in such a public forum. However, I'm doing this in such a public manner in hopes that she will realize the difference between actually talking to  her friends, and talking to a following of people whom she knows, or network with for a particular reason. It's like reading a horoscope, the only difference is that, I want to hear/read my horoscope. This stuff just randomly comes up in my Facebook Newsfeed.

Every time I see this kind of post, I feel like the guy in my lovely Le Derp illustration (thank goodness for google). It takes me about 30 minutes to recover, and in that time I could have been productive. Instead I just get irritated and I have to turn into doe horrible internet troll. No one wakes up and says, "I'm going to troll the internets today." Since I'm irritated though, I almost feel compelled to go there. The level of irritated I can reach upon the sight of such utter nonsense, can't be tabulated. I really wish she'd stop doing this.

Anyway I figured I put my frustrations into words. I have been having nightmares lately, and my current state of irritations might be a direct result of them, but what eve's.

The Worst Scam Artist Ever

I keep terrible hours. Now that it's pushing 6 AM and I'd like to be getting some shut eye. Unfortunately, one last check of my email has me awake and fairly alert. My junk file inbox is usually filled with crap I never need, newsletters from sites I no longer visit, or random people trying to sell me their nieces and daughters, mail order bride style. This one came from a "university undergraduate."

Miss Catherine Koffi sent me not one, but two emails; both poorly written and incoherent. Normally, I delete these, because they are obviously phishing emails. This one was done so terribly, that I had to share it with you. I became incensed. Who are these people? Do they (the infamous they) think we (the royal we) are so stupid, that they can just write anything, and we'll just do it? I've officially lost all faith in humanity.

Really, all faith...

Notice the body of the email is in the subject line. Garbage, just plain garbage.

I, of course wrote a critique of the email, from it's poor structure, terrible plot, awful use of grammar, to it's non-linear concept. I don't expect you to read the above, but if you did I'm sorry.  It needed to be shown to the world. I may even Facebook it later.

Would you like me to edit this letter for grammar? It really sucks. I think a part of my brain seized, trying to understand what you’re attempting to say. Look, if you haven’t mastered the language, please don’t use it. Try using the language that is native to you. It makes for a more professional look. It gives coherence to your thought process and a level of intelligence. Also while I’m correcting your presentation; you placed your entire message in the subject line. This leads me to think that you are truly unfamiliar with not only email, but computers, as well. 

You’re obviously running a phishing scam. Fishing is the act of acquiring fish by various means of aquatic capture. Phishing on the other hand is the act of sending mass emails to unsuspecting people looking for financial assistance in a matter, with the eventual goal of a promised pay off that’s many times larger than the initial investment. In my personal opinion this is a very lazy version of a confidence scheme. A true con-person would be ashamed to consider you of the same ilk.

Your story, if it can be called that, needs work. Harkening back to the issue of clarity, I don’t know what you want from me. You say, your father passed of your father. What does that even mean? You claim that your deceased father told you he left money in two metallic boxes. Great for you. You also state that you’re 19 years old and an university undergraduate. The proper term is, “I’m an undergraduate at university.” State the name of the company, bank, storage facility, or whatever the name of the place, where the boxes are located. Being that you ARE 19 years of age, you should be able to access these boxes if you have a lawyer present, or if you furnish documentation proving your father is in fact deceased. If you have access to seven million US dollars, you do not need my assistance. You need a financial advisor. I would suggest a company that does that for you, but I’m not familiar with your area.

As a recap, I suggest mastering the language in which you choose to operate, learn how to properly send an email, and get a better story together. I hope that the information I’ve supplied helps you to become a better scam artist. God knows I grow tired of reading this crap. I feel like you’re not even trying anymore. 

Have a great day, and I wish you the best. 

Yours truly,

A Grammar Nazi

I think I was brutally honest. I feel that this presentation was horrid, and I'm insulted that it came to me looking like this. You can call me a snob for feeling this way, but I think, probably naively so, that I'm better than that; as is the rest of the planet.

If one wants to fool others into giving up their hard earned money, at least have the decency to fool them nicely. This shit is just embarrassing.

Not A Freaking Clue What to Call This Post

It's pushing 5 AM and I'm writing now because I feel like I need to get something down. While I'm sitting on my bed, hands hovering over my home row, I just wait. What am I waiting for? Inspiration? That master strike of lightening that will flood me with tons of discussion topics, items of interest, though provoking ideas that need further exploration? Is that what's going to spring from my shriveled fount that is my brain? God I hope so. 

I'm doing what I've been told to do since I started calling myself a writer. Sit at my computer and write. It could be anything. It could be a deluge of expletives, expressing how frustrating it is to not have anything to say. Fuckshitcuntbaghoskankfuckfuckfuckbloodydickdrippingsowfuckityfuckfuckasswhore! Not as freeing as I thought it would be.

Since it is pushing 5 AM I can't just scream at the top of my lungs. I don't want to give my neighbors another reason to dislike me. I don't particularly care about their opinion, I frankly can't stand them. There is some kind of etiquette somewhere that says, you can't freak out your neighbors. I'm not sure what the exact protocol says, but I'm sure I'm not allowed to wake them just because I'm upset.

See the thing about this inability to express myself, is that I think I might have to just scream it out. Shout it out from the hill-side just what a hack I think I am. It's like there is something boiling under the surface of my skin and any moment my face will explode. Am I having an anxiety attack? Is it bunching up in my shoulders and sending shivers down my arms? Are my fingers getting jittery? Are they shaking? Trembling in fear? Is my heart racing? Do I feel short of breath like I ran a marathon? The world isn't going to end, but why do I feel like it will?

My world maybe, is crashing down on me? I think. There's nothing really happening and that might be the reason. Maybe because I had this expectation of myself about where I'm supposed to be right now. But really, where was I supposed to be. Not here. Expectation verse the reality is that I never really made a concrete plan. Much like what happened after I made 2nd Class Petty Officer. I didn't see, or think to see, that far ahead. I didn't prepare. I hate that I didn't do that.

I wish I had that spark I used to have. The spark that kept me focused and writing, that kept me truly engaged in myself and not the world around me. I wonder if it is because I'm not hungry. I truly don't know. I suppose the best thing for me to do is go and find out what changed. 

Find me Find me Find me Find me Find me. I'm lost and I don't know how to get back. The only thing I can do is keep writing. Keep writing keep writing keep writing, keep writing until there is something on the screen that has dept of meaning and purpose. Write until the word pops up, write until the keys in the lock turn. Write Write Write. WRITE GOD DAMMIT! FOR FUCK'S SAKE WRITE SOMETHING.

I just want to throw my computer through the window. I need some kind of catharsis. Something violent and sudden.

The Strangest Thing. How I Accidentally Became A Small Business Owner.

For months I've been avoiding my true talent, which is writing, in pursuit of more instant gratification. Retail. Yes, I said that, retail. I'm not talking retail therapy, though that has happened on occasion, I'm talking about small business. The elaborateness of my procrastination is shocking sometimes. I found myself building an Etsy shop and started selling handmade jewelry; all in an effort to not write.

I can't say that I'm good at it, I've only had four sales. I'm probably what you would call run of the mill at it. I'm selling my stuff at run of the mill prices, hoping some other kind of mill person would "please buy my stuff." It's pathetic. I should be ashamed of myself.

I threw myself into it whole-heartedly. Before that, jewelry making, there was the paint phase. It was at least satisfying. I had a great muse, space, "the final frontier." It was an endless source of inspiration. I stocked up on paints while I was exploring the artistic side of me. At least then I wasn't fooling myself. The motto back then was, "If I can't write, I can paint." I have some fairly decent works stacked up in a corner to show for it.

I became tho cliche of myself, "I'm on of those creative types..." I still feel that way. More and more I seem to want to just write. Unfortunately the demands of now being a student, artist, a natural witch, pet mom, and a small business owner, just give me more excuses to not sit at my computer and do just that. 

Even writing in this blog, seemed like the Everest of all tasks. What would I write? Would it make sense? Does anyone still read blogs? Where would I start? Can I proclaim to be a writer, if I haven't written anything in ages, almost a year? The crisis within is real, and I feel like I've been struggling to reconcile it in a coherent manner to the public. -- All seven of you.

I can say that I'm still a writer, only I've changed my platform. I've turned to Facebook of all place. Ugh, Facebook, the book of Face. The time suck that it is, the mental degradation of the planet, the reason I have less faith in humanity. I placed all my thoughts in long drawn out posts there, of all places. Of course now, if I want to resurrect this blog, I must sift through all the junk on there, to place my thoughts here. It's more of a Kilimanjaro, than an Everest, but still a mountain of a task.

Maybe I wanted more immediate gratification for my thoughts. Who really knows? I don't. I just wish I could write something of substance when it really counts. 

Friday Fictioneers - The Old Tramp.

I have no excuse of neglecting my blog (again), but with a little encouragement from of all people my American Lit Teacher, I've decided to return to it for the time being.

This is of course due the the Flash Fiction book that finally got published. Yes, yours truly got in on that action. And trust me I'm happy I did. Being the overachieving twat that I am, I had to show it to my teacher. Which brings me to the question she just had to ask: Are you still doing this every week? 

No, said I. Which forced her to ask me, why not. I didn't have an answer to that. 

So without further ado I bring you, The Old Tramp (98-99 words)

Copyright Adam Ickes

Tuesdays and Thursdays she passed the old tramp. He parked his cart, with all his belongings, near the table by the mural. He would feed the birds using the money he made, panhandling. 

Thursday she was rushing, but noticed he wasn’t there. Tuesday, he was back, empty handed, minus the cart. The birds hungrily milling about his unprotected feet. 

She left home earlier that following Thursday, carrying a pair of shoes her husband wouldn’t miss. She placed them on the table. The tramp needed them more than she did. Her husband died last year. She hoped they fit.


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The Scariness of Failure

I've been harboring some negative thinking regarding just how smart I think I am. I feel like I'm not as intelligent as I try to appear. So with that in mind I try not to challenge myself too often in an effort to not fail.

I've talked about my issues with failure before. I hate to fail, when my body limits me, I count it as a failure, my dog does something wrong, I count it as a failure. My world is shot to pieces because I didn't do something the right way. I end up not trying at all some times. In the end I never challenge my potential, and that in itself is another failure.

School is the ultimate mental test for me. I have to learn something and learn it fast. I have understand it  to a point where I can apply it and retain it. I have to do all this on someone else's schedule. Accelerated courses will do that to you. There's not much time for you or anyone for that matter to cram. The class is so short, it's really one big cram session. Every minute counts, and every word is valuable. This is pressure. This frighten me.

What if I read the wrong section? What if I do the wrong assignment? I didn't get that email. I missed the bus on the way to class. I can't fail. Failing is unacceptable. Failing is why I tried to kill myself in 2011. I'd like to say that I've grown a little from that experience, but I can't really say if I have.

I held my breath as I checked my grade for my Psychology class today. I got the email sometime last night. The grades have been posted. Logging on to the the Student Portal felt like I was walking toward my execution. The seconds it takes for the page to load, seemed like hours. I almost wanted to hold my breath while clicking the link to my class grades.

I surprisingly got an A. Wait. What? An A, after that poor showing on the mid-term? How is that possible? I must have beasted the final. I already knew what the score was on the Group Project.  I was sort of expecting the worst. I was prepared to sulk for the rest of the month and eat ice cream and cry on my sewing machine.  I guess I don't have to do that.

Smart is the New Sexy

Actually Sexy is the New Sexy. With that said, I'm finally in school; have been for two months. I could go into every minute detail about it or I can just say that I'm happy to be finally working toward another goal. I'll go with the latter choice. But I will wax a little about what I have done class wise.

The first class was called Information Literacy. Recommended for every student upon entering. I'm glad I took it first and not something else because I learned how to navigate the schools online library, their actual library, write a research paper and give a non-DOD related presentation. Pretty freaking fancy if you ask me.

The class I'm midway through right now is Introduction to Psychology I may or may not have said on Facebook several times that I was intimidated by the class prior to sitting through the first lesson. I have since changed my mind. It's a little time consuming but otherwise not as scary as I thought it would be.

What I am most worried about is the fact that while I'm taking a class twice a week in the evenings I still haven't found a job. There is this crazy guilty feeling in the back of my mind that urges me to keep searching. Whenever I do search, every other day, I just become depressed. There is this feeling of utter hopelessness when I check my emails and find that all of the employers I've contacted have failed to reply. I try not to let that discourage me. Most important, is that this feeling does not bleed into my studies. 

I'm motivated to succeed at something. Almost two years of constant failure, on the job front, motivates me to do well. I do find myself getting fixated though on wanting to succeed just to succeed and not to retain information and that will lead me to become overconfident. I guess my motto should be, strive for the best, but always stay humble. I don't know, something like that or some other Jedi Yoda-style proverb, what ever. Before any people with much higher levels of education go all grammar nazi on my fragmented sentence, I meant to write it that way.

Overall I guess I'm about 50% content with how life is progressing. I want a job, and I look. I want to go to college and I'm in college. Now, if I can just get rid of my dog's fleas, and figure out what in the world is going on with my love life, I think I'd be a pig in mud? A perv at a peep show? A geek at Comic-Con? Kid in a candy shop? An NRA member at a gun show? Do any of these work right now? Anyone? Anyone?

I found myself...

I read a book. No, I ATE a book today. Instead of sitting at the computer forcing myself to write something that wasn't going to come easy, I decided to tackle my pile of books. Kresely Cole's book Shadow's Claim had been burning a whole in the ottoman I tossed it on since it arrived.

I cracked it open and pretty much didn't put it down. What can I say, it was a good story. I wonder if I'll ever get tired of the series? I hope not. But I'm not blogging right now to do a review. 

Though I probably should since I've read like a bunch of books.

What happened after I put the book down was something short of amazing. I sat at my computer and began writing! I was pretty happy until I looked at my ceiling and smiled. Next thing I know a half hour had passed and I'd typed nothing. 

Drugs are bad m'kay...

Who knew the ceiling could be so fascinating? I blame the meds. Which begs me to question: Do people space out like I just did or are my prescriptions messing with my focus? Most likely a little bit of both in my case.

Anyway I'm going to attempt to return to The new God and see how I make out. Let's hope that I keep my eye forward and not let them get fascinated my the cracked paint above me.

Word Association: Lush, Phantasm, Pander, Keeper, Mouth

Like I promised, I'd post later about my word associations exercise to see if I could break my writer's block.  I don't think it worked, but then, I haven't looked at my novel since about noon today.

Some of these seem kind of poem-y. Poetry isn't something I would willingly delve into. Yet, if I frame some of this just right... You never know. Anyway, let me begin with the last one I worked on. 

Lush

The grass and leaves exploded with life and freshness. The air was crisp clean and smelled sweet. The wind carried bird song aling on gentle breezes that even God himself stopped to here. It was a glorious day and the lush dreamt the day away. Hung over from a night of merry making and carousing. She partied long into the dawn and missed all the beauty and wonderment beheld by the breaking of day. How the lush wasted.

I feel sort of like I wasted my day a bit here.  Next was Phantasm. This is the one that seems a little poetic. I am not knocking poetry, I just don't normally go there. What I'm finding as I write that some times my mind will take something and drag me to a place I rarely travel. I should enjoy the journey.

Phantasm

It seemed to be fading in and out of the shadows. The moon was full casting it’s silvery light over everythign it touched. But this gossomar creature flitted in and out of the light quick as lightning. Fading esscences danced behind it as it passed. A wiff of mint, a touch of lavender a hint of you. Is it really you? I have to ask. You’ve been goone for months now. No phone calls or letters. The only thing that remains is an old t-shirt, the scent long worn away. But you’re echo blesses me anew. A ghost that calls my name. Why me? Why now? 

Mouth came before that. If you haven't realized by now I'm going backwards, in order of which they were completed. Mouth seemed to lean toward horror and frankly having once been the character and not suffered this fate, I consider myself very lucky.

Mouth

Teeth! All he saw were teeth. Sharp pointy things. Row upon row of them. The more he looked the more he saw. The large gaping maw froze him in fear. He was petrified at the monstrosity. What kind of creature was this that rose from the deep to take him. Posideon had out done himself. The sailor sank into the water accepting his fate. He didn’t resist. He didn’t fight. As the huge mouth descended on him blocking out the sun he tried not to scream. Yet the pain and the force tearing him apart cause his to yell. No sound came. Water filled his shredded lungs and his own blood came rushing up. 

The monster bit down again before rushing away. It’s dinner captured for the night. 

The next Word Association is actually a memory. This is back when I was much younger and still  wanted to save the world one animal at a time. For a brief moment I thought I might be an aspiring sports star. 

Keeper

I wanted to be goalie so much it hurt. Ever ever since that one day in gym class when I caught the ball that Timmy kicked. It came so fast that I didn’t see where it was going. All of a sudden it was in my arms. I’d caught it, and not with my face this time. I was going to be a star one day. I’d make millions and be on the front of a Wheaties box.

A year later in soccer camp I was placed in the keeper position again. Ball after ball went past me. Reality sunk in. Not only was I a terrible Keeper, I couldn’t play soccer.

The first and my favorite so far has to be Pander. I didn't know what the word meant. Funny, I thought up the word and wrote it on a note card. I thought initially it meant to sell something. I wasn't far from the definition but the whole meaning gave the word a sort of sordid taint. I love this word now.

Pander

The madam stood outside the brothel. It was early evening and only a few clients were expected tonight. The butcher across the street threw his waste on the street and eyed her coveteously. She remembered him. He was one of her first clients so many years ago. Back when she had to work the streets. The money he paid regularly helped her set up shop.

He watched her smoking her cigarrette. The madam winked at him salaciously. He gulped. He was a married man now. A pillar of the community. If he was seen going into her house of loose morals he’d be an outcast. The thrill of getting caught tempting him even more.

The butcher returned to his shop. Oh well thought the madam. Maybe another day. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and went inside.

I guess I'm done playing around with words for today. If anything I've realize that I can still write which is what I mean to do for the rest of my life so that's good. If only I can get my juices flowing on my novel. Work work work.

Writer's Block Free Writing Exercise

Today is day three of my writer's block.

I'm not surprised that this has happened since I've been working most of the month to finish my novel. But today as I sit at my computer wondering wiht inspiration will hit I decided to do something about it.

I took to the web, for once in search of some thing that will get my juices flowing. Normally this is when I clear my work area and start sewing. I found a few tips to help me out, and I'd like to share one or two with you,  if you don't mind.

Free Writing, or something close to it. Just tell you to write what ever comes to mind. Well that sucks, because everything else comes to mind. But I tired it out anyway and got nothing but a To Do List of things I cold be doing instead of staring at t a computer all day. I recommend this when I'm not under so much pressure to do something.

Then there was word association. The site I took this from is called MakeUse.com. It sent me to One Word where a word was chosen at random and I' come up with something, anything in about 60 seconds. They word I happened upon was frenzy. The first thing that popped in my head was shoppers after Thanks Giving day. Oh yes The Black Friday Shoppers. They scare me, they scare me to death.

This one being a little bit more freeing to me I decided to take five words and see where they go.

Here are my five words:
Lush
Phantasm
Keeper
Mouth
Pander

I would love to hear what others think about this. I'm wondering if others who read this blog would be interested in contributing. But as far as the exercise goes I'm going to post them later one and see how it went.

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.

Yes and instead of writing, sewing, cooking, or sleeping...

I went to the movies. Not just any movie, I went out with a

Even the poster is deceiving.

bunch of women I hardly knew and saw a Tyler Perry Movie.

Now if you'll remember, I talked about Tyler Perry some time early last year  in The Blessing and pretty much after watching this movie I firmly believe that he's wasting my time. It wasn't even that good a movie. I'm sure the rest of the ladies in the group enjoyed it though. I was not impressed from beginning to end.

Temptaion: Confessions of a Marriage Counselor is supposed to be this steamy movie about a seemingly happy woman being swept off her feet by this man who represents the Devil Incarnate. It's there trust me. From what the advertisements and the movie trailers said this was going to be sultry and sexy. A far cry from what Mr. Perry normally does.  Consider my hopes dashed when I realized that this sensual, erotic experience turns out to have a PG-13 rating. I mean check out the trailer:

Even the page on Imdb looked all grownfolk-y and stuff. (yes that is a picture of Kim Kardishian, no she did not do a good job) The movie followed the same stagnant formula all Tyler Perry's movies followed. Do the right thing, if you leave God behind you'll only end up hurting yourself, everything that is all consuming is bad, and you might even die from it because God will only go where you let HIM. By the end of the movie I felt like I'd done something wrong. 

The guy who does all the bad things in the movie was played by some guy who was clearly cast for his dashing good looks. The acting was terrible on his part and there seemed to be something really bad about the way he projected his voice. It got annoying really quick and when h finally stopped doing it somewhere near the end and actually started "acting," it was too late to save the rest of this train wreck. On another note, that same guy was an extra in the pilot episode of Fringe. Go figure!

Overall I don't blame most of the actors and actresses for this movie. I blame the script. Granted some really good people did really bad, the script couldn't be more awful. And let me tell you why.

People we've seen this shite already on Lifetime. There are a million billion movies just like this starring has beens from the 70's, 80's, and 90's that have in some way shape or form all chronicle the rise and fall of one woman being lead away from the good life by her coochie. I said coochie, yes and it's more powerful than any drug if tempted by the wrong guy. Ladies you've been warned. Every Lifetime Movie Special has the female lead end up killed, pregnant, raped, or HIV positive, because the guy she "fell in love" with, was utter poison to her life. I guess the moral of the story here is to stay in your house for the rest of your life. Yeah, with duck tape over your mouth and around your ankles ladies, because all that bad stuff that happens to us is all our fault.

Trust me when I say you could save your $11 and the trip to the theater by just catching one of those on the telly.

Then there's Brandi making this movie just that much more predictable by admitting that she was the former love interest of the villain and that she been running and hiding from him for damn near ten years. Doesn't that just tie up everything so neatly. Do I sound bitter? Maybe a little. I hate things that end so neat and clean the way this story did. I feel insulted to think I spent money to view this and even more insulted that this movie was made for my "demographic." Like that drivel concerns me, gimme a fuckin' break. At least he's not misquoting the Bible in this one.

Truthfully I saw the movie the day after it cam out on the 30th.  There really is no nice way to talk about a movie I didn't like. My disappointment with it hasn't dulled much either. So with that being said, I really don't think I'll being watching anymore Tyler Perry movies until they come out on Netflix.

And you shouldn't either, unless you like that stuff. Of course I'm judging you right now if you do. Totally judging you.

Totally Judging.

Totally.