fiction: line karma scene

It's that time of week where I post my Indie Ink writing challenge because I'm a skilled procrastinator, who can create an excuse out of anything.  This week I challenged and was challenged by Tim King.  My prompt was, "If I had just taken the express line, none of this would have happened."  (Tim's response to my prompt is here.)

I wasn't sure what direction this would go in, but Cady's voice, a character I've written a few challenge responses around, came to the forefront first. 

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I approached the check-out line with sixteen items in my basket.  I momentarily considered the Express Line, but the old lady in front of me pulled out a check book and looked puzzled by the paper or plastic question.  I decided it was smarter to get into the regular line.  I should’ve known better.  I should’ve done the exact opposite of my natural instinct since I was pretty sure that I had the worst line karma in the world.  In a past life, I had abused people who were waiting in long lines and this was a punishment that came back to bite me in the ass every time I entered a grocery store or bank. 

I knew almost immediately that I had made a mistake, but my own stubborn optimism – maybe I’m wrong and this is the fastest lane – kept me from correcting the situation.  Cue to ten minutes later in a line that was barely moving, a bratty kid, and a parent that had bought fifty Lean Cuisine meals.

“Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,” the small child in unisex overalls sang out.  It appeared that Mommy and daddy never taught him the meaning of indoor voice.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the kid knew the whole song.  Instead, he repeated the same few words over and over.  We were on round thirteen when my cellphone rang. 

“Tell me I have to drop whatever I’m doing at this very moment and come save the day,” I answered.

My brother chuckled and said, “I wanted to make sure you remembered the vegetables.”

“Seriously?”

“I know you, Cady.  I’ll end up fifty dollars poorer and only cookies and ice cream to show for it.”

“You should be so lucky,” I muttered.  I watched as the young mother in front of me pulled out a stack of coupons like she had escaped from an episode of Extreme Couponing.  I groaned and said, “I hope you weren’t planning to cook that broccoli anytime soon because I’m pretty sure I’m going to die here.”

“You keep saying you need time to think.   The universe has provided.”

“Not like this.  There's a weird smell and really bad lighting.”

“Suck it up.”

“Why do I have to do the grocery shopping?  It’s sexist!”

I could practically hear Sean rolling his eyes.  “I believe I gave you a choice.”

“Grocery shopping or bathroom duty is not much of a choice.  I took the lesser of two evils.  That doesn’t mean I have to suffer in silence.”

“Like you even know how.”  

“I hate you, and you’ll be sad when I die of boredom.”

“Don’t forget to use the tote bags.  There's no reason to take your bratty mood out on the planet.”

I glanced at my basket and realized I had left my brother’s collection of canvas bags on the radiator at home.  “Yeah, whatever. Bye.”  I hung up without giving him a chance to respond and watched as the cashier manually entered each coupon.  I glanced over to the express lane and the old lady was long gone.  Of course.

I glanced back and forth between my current position and the line at the Express lane, debating whether I should live on the edge with my sixteen items or just stay where I was.  Before I could make a move, a young guy slipped into line behind me.   I was fated to spend the rest of my life in the longest grocery store line ever created.  All the ways I used to picture my life ending, none was ever nearly as tragic as going out quite like this – ensconced in boring domesticity. 

“That lady has a lot of coupons,” the guy said just as the kid started in with yet another round of “Mary had a Little Lamb” sans most of the words. 

I glanced at the guy.  He was about my age and he had the look of someone who tried too hard to be different.  His hair was messed up in a way that showed he used a lot of product to make it messy and he was dressed in a strange concoction of pleather. 

When he caught my gaze, he smiled and held out his hand.  “I’m Tyler.”

“Hi,” I offered and spun back around. 

“Do you come here often?”

I rolled my eyes, but remained silent.  I didn’t make a habit of talking to most people, let alone strange guys in the grocery store, even if they were semi-attractive.

“I’m new to the area and this was the only shop that had decent food at decent prices.”

And that’s when I knew that he was one of those, the type of person who just kept talking and pretended not to notice the recognized social hints for “leave me the hell alone.”  It didn’t matter if I took part in the conversation or not.  Tyler-Tries-Too-Hard was going to keep talking.  Somehow, I would find a way to blame my brother for this.

“I still haven’t found a decent coffee place.”

I turned around and said, “Café Buzz is pretty good.  Two blocks down.   Cheap, but it gets busy pretty quickly.”

“Good to know.  Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we could go together?”

Save the planet, fight bad guys…these were things I could do in my sleep.  My brother had made sure I knew every possible way to defend myself, but I still hadn’t mastered the ability to talk with guys that weren’t related to me.  I was lame and I embraced it.  Kind of.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said.

“Your boyfriend would get jealous?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“A pretty girl like you single?  It’s my lucky night.”

Curse you, coupon lady and bad line karma!  Apparently, even in everyday situations, I was a magnet for trouble.  Sometimes it just came in the form of really bad attempts at socializing.

I glanced down at my basket and weighed my options.  The problem with moving to the express line was that Tyler might follow me.  If I didn’t return home with my brother’s required greens and protein, I might as well find a new place to live.  I decided to do what any tough, smart teenage girl would do when faced with a situation like this.

“Oh, would you look at that?  I totally forgot Sean’s complex carbs.  He lifts like these really big weights because he’s like really big…and he’ll be so mad if I forget them.  Excuse me.  Gotta go,” I said, moving past him back toward the store.  I didn’t give him a chance to respond, just darted into the closest aisle where I could hide out. 

If I had just taken the express line, none of this would have happened.  And now I was going to have to explain to Sean why it took me an extra half hour at the store. 

Not the best night of my life, that was for sure.

open the door to another world...

I think I'm a jinx.  This weekend I was impressed that I had been managing to avoid any down-and-out sicknesses outside of allergies and a migraine or two...so Monday around 11am, I started to feel so sick.  Still not 100% but back at work today.  Ugh.  i'm a jinx to myself, my friends.  I apparently make myself sick by even thinking about it. 

Happy things?  Today is Wishcasting Wednesday. 

Today Jamie asks us:

What door do you wish to open?

courtesy of we heart it

I wish to open the door to my creativity.  I wish to continue with the Artist's Way journey with the group, but also make time for myself to write, doodle, and explore ideas.  I want to stop worrying so much about finished products that I censor myself too soon. I wish to allow myself to flourish, learn, and make mistakes as I continue to grow. I wish to be the creative person I'm meant to become.

Artist's Way Check-In: Week 3 - Chapter 2, Part 1

I've done my morning pages every day and every day in the morning!  Today was a close call where I almost thought about putting it off, but I just sucked it up and got up and did some writing.  I also had my first creative breakthrough today in a long while.  It wasn't while I was writing my morning pages, but on my way to work, a song I've listened to a million times before, got me thinking about this idea.  And a few minutes later I had a potential title and a main character and the first few sentences to a prologue. 

Artist's date - I did keep my artist's date this past Saturday.  I so wanted to not do it, coming up with several excuses for why I didn't have to do it, but I did.  I went to the dollar store and perused the arts & crafts section and picked up a few things without breaking the budget.  Then I went to the library and picked up a book on drawing for beginners and doodled in my new pad while drinking a Slushie (it was just so hot and it was yummy!).  This week, if not's excruciatingly hot, I'm going to the Fine Arts Festival at Cooper River Park.  It's free and could be interesting.

I've read chapter two and reviewed "Basic Priniciples" on page 3 a few times - I even typed them up and taped a copy in my notebook - but I haven't done any of the tasks yet.  I took some notes and highlighted my book and realized a few things, which I did write down.  Mostly, I realized why I've never made it through/past chapter two when I previously tried to do the Artist's Way. 

"Blocked creatives are easily manipulated by guilt." - Chapter 2, pg 43

This chapter deals a lot with crazymakers and poisonous playmates...and looking back, my life was overrun with both.  I've slowly managed to cull a lot of that out and I've been working in therapy in lessening the voice of my mother, the biggest crazymaker in my life, in my head.  I read over the list of the ways the crazymaker can keep us from becoming unblocked and I've fallen victim to all of those in the past and sometimes I still do.  It's so hard to not just realize logically but actually get to the place where I can put myself first without the guilt.  I'm trying though.  I don't think I was ready to face the journey the last time, but this time, I feel like I can do it.

For the remainder of the week I need to work on some of the tasks and Saturday, here's to another artist's date.  Maybe once I get the hang of Saturday morning dates by myself, I can add an extra date in the week, but right now I'm still out of my comfort zone with just the one and I don't want to set myself up for failure.

I'm really enjoying this journey with the Artist's Way group and taking our time with each chapter and not stressing about it. 

I've got the swimming pool blues...

After two weeks off, I took part in the Indie Ink Writing Challenge again.  For once, I didn't write fiction.   I read the prompt and, considering the heatwave that has overtaken New Jersey, I had an idea in my head.  This week the fabulous Runaway Sentence prompted me - swimming pool blues - and I provided a challenge to Melissa R.

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"Don't wish it away
Don't look at it like it's forever
Between you and me I could honestly say
That things can only get better..." - Elton John

It’s a sad day when you see a toddler playing in a small plastic pool and momentarily consider stealing it.  Sure, I’d look ridiculous running off with a plastic turtle pool in my arms.  And I probably wouldn’t get very far as I’m klutzy and would probably trip over my flip flops and fall head first into the pool and crack it in half.  Plus, I’m really not mean enough to steal from a toddler; a sixth grader maybe. 

Instead of stealing from small children and trying to manuever myself into a small plastic pool, I contemplate the days of old, when my dad would set up the sprinkler for me to run through, like that was the same thing as floating along a lazy river.  He would say, “Use your imagination” as though I could pretend away the heat and lack of water to properly swim.   After he died, my mom dug up the back yard and put in a pool.  Part give-the-kids-lots-of-things-to-make-up-for-no-dad theme that summed up a lot of my life and part  my-mom-really-wanted-one.   I won’t lie and say it wasn’t great.  I loved it.  So many more options and I couldn’t really invite friends over to swim in my sprinkler, now could I?

Grown up, with no pool of my own, I sometimes revisit the use of the sprinkler and my imagination.  I hear my father's voice in my head to "pretend."  It hasn't worked with a cold shower, but maybe a sprinkler would do the trick?  Maybe it's the act of running and hopping over a rainbow of water shooting out onto the grass.  How silly would I look if I set up a sprinkler on my front lawn and ran through it?  I think that I might need to borrow a kid for that to make it seem less like I escaped from the nuthouse and more fun in the heat.  Besides, it’s just not the same without the Wonder Woman bathing suit with the faded colors. 

And so begins the onset of the swimming pool blues.

It’s been so hot.  That’s the problem.  I don’t normally miss having a pool in my back yard.  I have access to an indoor salt water kind at my gym – though you can’t just lounge, but must exercise, bah – so I’m not completely without, and in those moments when the nostalgia for a pool runs thick in the air and in my mind, I can usually muster up images of cleaning filters and shocking the pool and didn’t I just removed those leaves?  Damn you trees, why do you torment me like this?  Yeah, I don’t miss maintaining a pool.   That thought can usually get me through most days, pushing away the stabs of pain from absence of a pool, and replacing it with the “why can’t I be a rich socialite” ones.  Dreams slowly move away from being able to randomly choose to jump into a pool in the scorching weather to wouldn’t it be nice to have the kind of throw-away money where I not only could afford an inground pool like I partially grew up with, but to employ people who handle the icky bugs and cleaning and bailing out after rain storms…and then I think about trips to islands with the bluest water and palm trees swaying in the wind and why get a stupid pool when I could move to an island?  Oh right, I live in fear of being eaten by a creature of the sea (I’ve seen enough Shark Week in my life, thankyouverymuch) and I’d probably lament that I didn’t have a pool even with beaches and waters that went on for miles.  That’s just how I roll.

But yeah, the heat is playing with me and I think I need some cold chlorinated water to swim through.  Maybe not even swim – it’s just so hot – but to float on my back and stare at the clouds pondering important questions like “What is the meaning of life?  Why is it so hot?  And is that really a lion-shaped cloud?”  On these days, I long for my days of yore when I jumped into a pool without worries about body image or UV rays or anything beyond goggles that actually kept the water out of my eyes.  I long for a lot of things from my childhood sometimes, especially when my mortgage is due and I think of all the things they just don’t prepare you for as a kid, but right now, in the middle of record high temperatures and rooms that just can’t seem to cool down, I really miss my swimming pool.  

Artist's Way - check in (end of week 2)

I'm so behind on posting my check-ins, but the Artist's Way group finished with Chapter One and we're underway with chapter two.  I must get better with getting on my computer more in my non-working hours.  I think part of the reason, despite hating getting up extra early, that the morning pages are working for me is that I just need a notebook.  And I've been doing most of my writing and tasks in a notebook as well - I used to love getting on the computer after work no matter what, but lately, I'm just drained after using it all day at work.  I need to still set aside some time to check-in in a timely fashion.

So, I finished with Chapter One on Sunday and began Chapter two.  It was a hard start for me in some areas - I kept procrastinating and putting things off.  Even though I started with the group on July 3rd, aside from morning pages, the first week, I really didn't do much except read the intro and first chapter.

1) Have you been doing your pages?

I've done my morning pages every day.  Though, as I've mentioned before, some days they're called "Not Quite Morning Pages" if I'm running late in the morning before work.  rather than blowing them off completely or referring to myself as an abject failure, I've decided that if I miss them in the morning, while not ideal, it's still better to do the pages when I have a moment of time (usually my lunch break).  It has definitely been, as Julia Cameron mentions in the book, mostly a negative dumping ground for me at times.  Or thinking about all that I have to do.  Or recalling dreams.  No profound writing has come out of it yet, but I'm doing it. 

2) Have you been on an artist date? Share! Pics are cool, so we can see the world through your eyes.

I did not have any artist dates during the last two weeks.  I've been trying to figure it out and put aside the time for myself, but I'd get sidetracked with plans and life and excuses to avoid it.  It is on my calendar for this Saturday morning and I think I'm just going to do something simple like pick up a coloring book and doodle/color.  Since money is currently tight, I'm trying to think of simple things that are free.  At some point I might go over to Philly and visit the museum...and once it cools down a bit, I'll take a walk or two...but for now, I'm trying to work out some ideas for time alone where I can have fun and play.  I admit it still feels weird.  How sad is it that this will probably be one of the hardest parts for me?

3) Have you written a task? Yay for you! More than one?

I worked on the pick a job you'd like to have list, however, I didn't do any of the things based around if I had another job.  I wrote out about my three biggest critics on the creative journey and it was interesting and sad and I found myself crying when I wrote it.  I began to do the one about cheerleaders, but I stopped myself.  Just further proof that I tend to focus on the negative rather than the positive. 

I've also been doing the daily affirmations, which aside from the Artist's Date, is probably the hardest part for me.  I have been writing down the evil Censor voice with it.  But every time I write, "I, Marianne, am a talented person," I still wince and think, "Not really.  You suck."  Stupid censor. 

I will continue working daily affirmations into my morning pages, keep my Artist's Dates, and stop procrastinating on reading/completing tasks.

And all I can do is try...

Happy Wishcasting Wednesday!  If you're not familiar with wishcasting, it's "...a safe haven for wishes, a fertile field in which to plant wish seeds and have them witnessed and tended lovingly. It’s a place where magic begins."  It's something I look forward to every week. It usually fits right in with what is going on in my universe and my fellow wishcasters are wonderful.

This week Jamie asks:

What do you wish to try?

courtesy of we heart it

"I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness
And all the real people are really not real at all
The more I learn, the more I learn
The more I cry, the more I cry
As I say goodbye to the way of life
I thought I had designed for me" - Nelly Furtado's Try

I wish to try stopping the negative voices that rule my brain. It's so bad that I don't even catch myself when I'm doing it.  I've gotten better with at least noticing these moments - I can logically say, "Bah, that's not right" - but I'm not very good at the follow through and forcing myself to accept that logic as correct.  I want to try to see myself correctly - the good and the bad, not just the bad - and come up with solutions that don't involve me berating myself for an hour on why, why, why or self-sabotaging the steps I've already taken to improve. 

I wish to try and not give up, not be swayed when I hit an obstacle, as it will surely come.  My inner gremlin is a force to be reckoned with - I just need to realize that I am too.

Artist's way check in - week 2 (chapter 1)

Time to check-in on my current Artist's Way journey for the group.  Last week I said I had been really good about getting up early enough to do my morning pages before work.  I have managed to continue that for the most part, but there were a few days where the morning pages became "not quite morning pages."  I still did the three pages of writing in quiet, but one day it was during my lunch break and another it was once I got to work, but before the day started (I am habitually early for work as I live in fear of being late).

The morning pages still feel like work to me at this point.  It's something I'm doing because I should not because I want to.  As I've been reading the beginning of The Artist's Way I feel a little less annoyed with myself about this - it seems that there are a lot of us who initially do it without a great love for it.  Currently the writing tends to be a lot of my random, negative thoughts, things I don't want to do, things I have to do, and if I can remember, my dreams from the night before. 

I haven't done an artist's date yet.  I haven't set one into my schedule either.  I think I'll aim to do one on Saturday morning, but I have no idea what to do.  I'm not a one-with-nature sort of girl, especially when it's so hot out, and I'm pathetically broke at the moment.  A part of me just wants to set aside an hour to color and draw, but I'm not sure if that counts?

To others on this journey:  what are some of your favorite artist dates?

I signed my Artist's Way contract.  I've printed out a picture of Kreacher from Harry Potter, who I envision to look like my censor, and I reviewed the rules.  However, I haven't done any of the exercises yet. 

Is there an Artist's Way group for really bad procrastinators?

I wish I may, I wish I might...

Yesterday I was down-and-out thanks to a migraine, which brought about two of my least favorite things in the world - head pain and nausea.  I had planned to go into work a little late after taking meds, but the pain did not subside and I ended up with my face under my pillows and sleep the only thing that made it bearable.  I can't imagine how people who get migraines all the time deal.  It's awful.

In brighter news, I'm feeling better today and it's Wishcasting Wednesday.  Ever since I started this journey with my fellow wishcasters, I always enjoy Wednesdays, even when it coincides with therapy.  Especially when it coincides as I seem better capable of discovering better truths about myself.

Today Jamie asks:

What do you wish to ask for?

courtesy of we heart it

My answer this week is simple and yet probably one of the hardest things for me to do.  I wish to be better at asking for help.  For some reason, I always feel like I have to take on everything by myself, but then I get indignant and frustrated when I feel like I'm drowning.  I irrationally expect people to just know that I need help rather than ask for it.

I'm trying to get better at it.  I'm learning that it's not some blight on my character to need assistance, but some times it's hard to remember that.

an amazing blog entry by a hopefully never famous girl

After taking a break for a week, I once again am participating in the Indie Ink Writing Challenges. I decided to continue with the character I introduced in my last piece.  I wrote three different drafts with three different characters before coming back to Elaina.  This week I challenged the awesome xtinabosco (the response is here) and my challenge - it amazes me still - came from Beth Hegde.

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Blog Entry One

Amazement.

I've decided this will be the theme for my first entry of this blog as it seemed to be the theme of my day.  Like I'm amazed that my teacher thinks his students have something of importance to say.   Like my best friend is amazed that I know how to walk.  Like I'm amazed by how growing up changes so many things in the slightest ways and I never know whether to hold on tight to the way it was or let go and see what happens.

Mostly, I'm amazed that I'm not waiting until three hours before this project is due to start my journal.  

Procrastination, thy name is Elaina.

Anyway, my English teacher has decided that the best way to get today's youth to embrace writing is by sharing with us the allure of social media.   Unfortunately, Twitter and Facebook won't cut it.  Same with email.  He wants us to take the art of journaling and bring it into the twenty-first century and maybe someday our journal will touch millions of people. Blah, blah, blah.  Call me crazy, but even if I become some important historical figure, I can't see why anyone would care that my German teacher smells like mothballs and grandmas or see the genius in my ode to pop music that I dashed out when I should've been studying Chemistry.  Honestly, I don't think I would want anyone to have access to those sorts of thoughts if I were famous.

Not that I plan on being some important historical figure.  That seems like a lot of work for an underachiever like myself.

Despite the best efforts of our class in opposition to a project like this, Mr. Griffin's mind could not be swayed, so here I sit.  Amazed by the whole notion of blogging as important.  I wonder if one day there will be a whole generation of people who have documented so many mundane moments that they see no beauty in anything extraordinary.   Mostly, I wonder how I can do the minimum work and still get an "A."

After class, I rushed off to my locker to meet Mike.  He needed help with a Spanish test and I needed some books on famous diarists and the library seemed like the perfect solution.  Continuing with the theme - I'm amazed that I didn't know better than to be wary of anything that seems perfect.   

Things had fallen back into a fairly innocuous routine between us over the past week.  I had decided to stop freaking out about the feelings I didn't understand and concentrate on what I did know.  Mike was my best friend, my partner in crime, and whatever other weird junk my mind was creating or acknowledging or whatever, didn't really matter if it cost me my friendship.  So I decided to do what I do best, outside of procrastination, and avoid the entire thing.

I knew it didn't solve anything, but it had allowed my some room to breathe in my own head.  Well, most of the time.

Like not when I was walking across the library parking lot and Mike's hand casually brushed against my side, causing my head to short circuit and me to fall on my butt.

For his part, Mike didn't laugh.  Too much.

"You okay?"

I groaned in response.

"Elaina?"

"Nothing bruised but my ego."

He extended his hand and said, "It amazes me still that you have managed to survive this long without being relegated to life in a plastic bubble."

I huffed and grunted and not-so-politely swatted his hand away.  I propped myself up on my AP Calculus book, finally seeing how it could positively affect my life in the future, and stood up on wobbly legs.  I wasn't hurt, just had the wind knocked out of me, but I went into total spaz mode and couldn't seem to function properly.  I could feel the eyes of patrons of the library watching me through the windows, their expressions changing quickly from worry for the poor girl in the parking lot to amusement at my expense.  With my luck, some random passerby caught it on his Iphone and uploaded it to YouTube.  I'll be the new Rebecca Black, except I won't even have a crappy song as my claim to fame.

"I need a new best friend," I muttered.  I brushed off the bits of gravel sticking to my palms and knees off against my skirt - my mother would kill me if she saw such unladylike displays - and stepped out of the parking lot, dropping onto the first bench I could reach.

"Seriously, how are you even still alive after all these years?  Shouldn't Darwin's Theory of Evolution kicked in at some point?  Are you made of Teflon?  It's an amazing feat, Elaina.  We should have you join the circus and let a clown throw knives at you."

I glared at him.  There were many profound things I could offer up, but instead, I chose simple.  "You suck."

He laughed as he sat down next to me and stared at me.  I had long ago learned and catalogued away most of Mike's facial expressions, but this was a new one he had been throwing my way recently.  It was part endearing and part what the hell because he was my best friend and should not be looking at me like that.  Not that I wasn't convinced it wasn't all in my head - some sort of psychotic manifestation that only I saw.  I mean the best-friends-to-more is something out of a romantic comedy.  Not real life.

Yeah, try telling that to my heart that started hammering in my chest because he was still staring at me like I was the only thing that mattered. 

I twirled a lock of my hair around my finger, focusing intently on the brown wisps, and said, "Three falls in one week.  I'm trying to break my own personal best since I learned to walk."

"I'm not really sure you've got it down pat yet."  He tilted his head to one side, trying to mentally gauge my reaction as he asked, "Are you sure that you're okay?"

"Define okay," I replied with a shrug.  I let go of the strand of hair and started with a new piece, twirling it around my pinky as I stared off in the distance.  The sun was in its final encore for the day, the sky lit up with hues of orange and red, and it was perfectly framed by the blue sky and verdant green trees of the park.   I wasn't a big nature person, but this was one of those bits of time where everything else but the beauty fell away.

Mike's arm draped across my shoulder and he pulled me against his chest.  He breathed into my hair and said, "I worry about you."

I closed my eyes and tried to stay locked in this moment for as long as possible. 

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah," I said weakly.  I forced myself to meet his gaze, creating some distance between us, and asked, "I'm fine.  Really."

I wish I could say that I blurted out what I was really feeling, that I went Sandra Bullock on the situation and pulled him into a kiss, not worrying about the aftermath.  But that wasn't who I was, so I stood up, clutching my messenger bag tightly and walked into the library. 

Yeah, I know.  I, too, am amazed by what a big coward I am.  If you can't randomly tell your best friend that you might be in love with him, who could you tell?

Already reeling from emotions that I couldn't articulate, even to myself, I tried to slip in the door of my house and make a beeline for my room, but to no avail.  My father cornered me in the kitchen and I had to endure another talk about my future.  He was like a guidance counselor, except he had no guidance to provide except that if I didn't get into a good college and become a doctor or lawyer, my life would have no meaning, I would die impoverished and alone, and basically the world would end. 

No pressure.

So I decided to make Mr. Griffin happy and shock the world by starting a project on the day it was assigned.  I figured if I couldn't make sense of everything swirling around in my head, maybe writing it down would help.  So far, I have to say, I'm not impressed.  Mostly horrified at myself for not using fake names because I am not ready to have any Disney Movie talks with my best friend who stumbles upon my journal.  No thank you.

At least that part of the day can be rectified fairly easily.

Amazing.

time to stop hiding from my writing...

So I've managed to do morning pages for the past three days!  I'm taking part in the Artist's Way journey and I have to admit I was worried about the morning pages.  Mostly because I'm not a morning person.  I like to do everything at night so I can sleep until the last possible second to leave for work.  Waking up a half hour earlier has been hard, but I'm hoping the pay off will be worthwhile in the end.  I just worry that I'll feel like this is some sort of punishment and stop doing it.  I know it's not logically, but sometimes logic is the furthest thing from my brain.

I do look forward to the moment when I feel unburdened in my morning pages and the words simply flow.  Right now it's a lot of "i dreamed about this" and "i'm feeling like this..."  I know there is no right or wrong way to do morning pages, but again with the whole logic thing.

I have not started the chapter work yet outside of the morning pages.  And I wonder if I'll be any good at making and keeping artist's dates for myself.

**

In other news it is Wishcasting Wednesday.  I wanted to get to this earlier than normal before work gets busy. 

Today Jamie asks:

What do you wish to make progress on?

courtesy of we heart it

I feel like I'm in the middle of so many things while in the middle of one long journey.  I learn, I fall back a little, I move forward, and sometimes I'm so tired, I make camp and stop for a bit.  It's time to stop resting though and conquer. 

I thought long and hard about this question and decided to go with my gut instinct and the first answer that popped into my head.  I wish to progress with my writing.  I've been putting in more time and taking part in writing challenges to take me out of my comfort zone and undertaking the Artist's Way to help increase my creativity.  But I need to also believe in the words that come out of my head and allow them room to breathe and grow.  I wish to be able to sit at the computer and not worry so much about just the right word or the blinking cursor and let my fingers do the talking...and go wherever it takes me.  I wish to finish pieces I start, understanding it might not be a masterpiece, might never be more than something I wrote, but that is enough.

I've gotta break free, I've gotta break free...

I'm actually glad I listened to my gut and the universe and took the week off from the Indie Ink Challenge.  Work has been very busy, mostly comprised of me reviewing resumes and setting up interviews.  I'm sorely tempted to do a blog post on this topic, but we'll see if I have time for such a thing. 

In the meantime, it's Wednesday, the hump day before a long weekend (woo-hoo), I had a good therapy session and it's wishcasting wednesday.

Today Jamie asks:

What do you wish to take a break from?

courtesy of we heart it

I wish to break free of the negativity in my life, especially the kind that I create.  It's funny and perfectly in tune with the universe that this question comes up after a therapy session where I talked bout my aversion to mirrors and how I can never see myself properly.  I see a monster in the mirror and that's not who I am.  Logically, I know this.  Sometimes, I even emotionally register it and tell my inner gremlin to shove off.  But a lot of the times, in all honesty, I still find myself clinging to these imagined versions of me in my head rather than what's in front of my eyes or I know to be true.  I wish to break away from this thinking and stop being so afraid of who I really am meant to be.

Writing: I hope this isn't as good as it gets

I participated again in the Indie Ink Writing Challenges. For some reason, this week's writing was a difficult task.  I was having one of those writing moments where every word was like pulling teeth and I would go back over it four or five times, but still found myself unsatisfied with the end result.  I loved the prompt and had all these ideas, but I couldn't focus properly this week.  I tried, though, and pushed through, no matter what, and that's definitely something.  This week I challenged the awesome MyPlaidPants (the response is here) and my challenge - it just doesn't get any better - came from Barb Black.

---

Conversations with my mother should be outlawed. The woman had an uncanny knack for taking an already-frustrating situation and making me feel ten times worse about it. Her pep talks ended with me wanting to slit my wrists because she didn’t get it and I became even more convinced that I was a freak of nature. Maybe someday I would appreciate her efforts to bond and be there for me, but today wasn’t that day. I was too busy trying to make sense of our most recent conversation.

“Laney, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade,” my mother said, leaning in close to me as though she was imparting some great wisdom instead of throwing random clichés at me until one stuck.

“Right. Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure how that helped me with my current situation, but it was best to smile and nod where my mother was concerned.

“You worry too much. You’re sixteen! High school is the best time of your life! You need to enjoy it!”

I stared at my mother blankly because really, what could I say to something like that? If it was true, my future was obviously doomed – filled with contracting the plague and driving a Volvo – because I couldn’t wait for high school to be done.

“Seriously, sweetheart, it just doesn’t get any better,” she replied. She brushed her hands through my hair and added, “You’re such a pretty girl. Why do you always hide behind this mop of hair? Why don’t you wear make-up?”

“Mom,” I groaned. “You really need to work on your pep talks.”

She shook her head and said, “Just think about it.”

I nodded and plastered a small smile onto my face until she left my room. Once the door shut behind her, I grabbed my pillow and screamed into it. My day had already been crappy enough, what with humiliating myself in the cafeteria and realizing that I might have creepy-weird-lovey-dovey-feelings for my best friend, but I was even more depressed at the idea of having reached the pinnacle of my existence. Was my mother right or insane? Did she really think life didn’t get any better than Calculus tests, stupid jocks, and cheesy dances where said stupid jocks got drunk and felt up anyone with a pulse?

The familiar sounds of Lady Gaga filled my ears. I dropped the pillow and reached for my cellphone without thinking about it. “Life sucks and then you die. How can I help you?”

“This bodes well,” Mike said.

I sat up on my bed and glanced around the room as though someone was there to help me through this, but I was alone.  I knew I was being ridiculous.  I had a million conversations over the years with Mike and even when we fought, I was never at a loss for words.  But I was scared.  I had known Mike since pre-school and if I wasn’t careful he would figure out why I was avoiding him. I would have to move to Russia and I didn’t look good in fur hats. I took a deep breath and silently repeated that I was not in love with my best friend. I tried to make my voice sound cheery, “What’s up?”

“What is going on with you? First, you face plant in the middle of the cafeteria and run off like a lunatic—”

“—I wasn’t looking where I was going and an idiot football player tackled me and my skirt went up and everyone was staring,” I said in one quick breath. It was another reason to hate school uniforms. It was never pleasant for girls when they fell down or a strong breeze hit.

“So you thought you’d make it better by running off?”

“Shut up. I’m already humiliated enough.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you would avoid me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you, dooface.”

“I know you heard me calling to you after school, but you ran off before I could catch up.”

“I didn’t hear you,” I said. I was totally lying, but there was no need to go into that at the moment. There was no reason for both of us to feel weird.

Mike sighed, the kind where I knew that he knew I was lying, but he wasn’t going to push. He was always good like that. My mother used to say his mellow personality was a good match for my histrionic one. He said, ““I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine, but I can’t talk right now. I’m pondering my existence.”

“Again?”

“My mother wanted to talk,“ I replied. When Mike laughed, I said, “It’s not funny. She told me that this was as good as it gets. High school is the ultimate and everything else is crap.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“It sounds like your mother is projecting her nostalgia for her lost youth onto you.”

“That’s the problem with nostalgia. It makes you forget the bad and then you ruin your daughter’s evening,” I said, letting out the breath that had been stuffed into my chest since my “talk” with my mother.

“Always bites you in the ass.”

I laughed and my stomach churned slightly and, ugh, when the hell did this happen to me? I wasn’t this girl and I definitely wasn’t this girl when it came to Mike. He was my best friend, not some momentary high school fling. I shook my head, silently berating myself and trying to get a grip, and said, “Thanks Mike.”

“You’re still a spazz.”

“Takes one to know one.”

I didn’t have to be in the same room to know he was rolling his eyes at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just stuck on repeat play in my head - it doesn’t get any better than high school. Ew,” I replied with a shudder. “High school should never be the highlight of anyone’s life. That’s like looking back on your life and be excited about waiting in line at the grocery store.”

“It’s not all bad.”

“I’d like to think that there’s much more to the world than ugly plaid uniforms and homework.”

“Taxes and mortgages?”

“More like traveling the world.”

“Don’t forget the kids and nine-to-five job.”

“I prefer marrying a rock star and saving the planet,” I replied. I tried to swallow down the fear and unease I was feeling, but I was never good at hiding things from Mike. I continued, “Do you ever freak out when you realize we’re right on the cusp of a whole new time in our lives? It felt like it took forever to get to high school and some days it feels like it will never end, but lately, I dunno, it’s all moving way too fast. Everything's changing and I can’t keep up.”

“You’re losing it.”

“Slightly. I blame my guidance counselor and his it’s-time-to-make-the-most-important-decision-of-your-life spiel I got yesterday about choosing colleges to apply to.”

“How about we get you through junior year without injury before freaking out about college applications?”

“I guess.”

“And not everything has to change, Elaina,” he said.

Mike was lucky I couldn’t reach into the phone and hug him because I might not ever let go. Even if I wasn’t in love with him – stupid feelings I didn’t understand – I loved him. He always knew how to talk me down and make me feel better. I hoped I did the same for him.

I said, “Thanks for checking on me.”

“It’s what I do.”

“And thanks for reeling me back in. I was coming unhinged.”

He snorted. “That’s one word for it. Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

“Not even death by humiliation or panic attacks interrupt our cheesy movie night,” I replied.

“Try not to take out any football players between now and then.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, klutz.”

“Seriously. So funny,” I replied.

“Night Elaina.”

“Night Mike,” I replied. I dropped my phone on the nightstand and collapsed on my bed. I shut my eyes and smiled. I couldn’t explain it logically. I was no closer to understanding what was going on with me and everything in my life was changing as adulthood quickly approached, but I felt optimistic about the future. No matter what happened, whether this was as good as life got or not, I had a friend who could make me laugh and that had to be worth something.

Another wishcast...

Happy Wishcasting Wednesday, my friends!  It's always one of the highlights of my week - I always enjoy the pondering and wishing and sharing it all with a bunch of creative cohorts.

This week Jamie asks:

What do you wish for this summer?

courtesy of we heart it

I wish to continue my journey toward bettering my life.  I wish to laugh and smile and cry without censor.  I wish to dance around my room and enjoy the longer days and write and live and learn.  I wish to stop focusing so much on the future that I don't enjoy theses lovely days for what they are.

wherein a stranger appears...

Another week of the Indie Ink Writing Challenges.  This week's prompt really inspired me.  I pulled out the character I used a few weeks ago for this challenge because it seemed to fit.  And it got my mind spinning with all sorts of ideas, which I always appreciate.  This week I challenged Disease (his response is here) and my challenge - A stranger approaches you on the street and says, "I had to do it; I had no choice.  Help me!" - came from the wonderful Kerri.

---

If there was one thing I was keenly aware of, it was how quickly things could go horribly wrong. A quiet evening could quickly give way to fighting and blood-curdling screams. Never pretty.

My brother said that it was just me, that I had an uncanny knack for attracting trouble. Part of it comes with the territory of my life and abilities, but I’m also convinced that I’ve been punished for some cosmic injustice I caused in a past life. It was the only way to explain the invisible beam that acted as radar for demented weirdos everywhere.

Like tonight. I headed out the back door of work with a spring in my step and a song stuck in my head. I was in an unusually good mood, which should’ve been the first hint of things to come, and my mind wasn’t really focused on the area, but replaying the earlier conversation I had with Lucian. Despite my best efforts, he was really starting to grow on me. If I had been paying attention, I would’ve smelled the trouble in the crisp autumn air. Instead, I was caught off guard when a twenty-something woman appeared around the corner and rushed toward me.

 

 

Her hands balled up into the collar of my coat and she said, “I had to do it; I had no choice.”

 

 

“Are you okay? ” I replied. Not my finest moment, but I never claimed to be Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

“I had to do it. Please help me,” she replied. I looked her over. Something had definitely gone down. Her face was puffy, her cheeks streaked with mascara, and her hair looked like it had done battle with an electric socket. There were scratches on her hands, which were currently tightened into fists that she knocked into her sides.

 

 

I glanced around the area to see if whoever had done this to her was bringing up the rear and ushered her into the back room of the bar. I said, “Are you hurt? I mean, besides the obvious. Should I call the police?” I tried not to wince as I said it. I wasn’t a big fan of the boys in the blue – part of the whole spending your life on the run thing – but I wasn’t sure there was much of an option. I wasn't exactly equipped to handle run-of-the-mill domestic squabbles or robberies-gone-wrong.

“I need help. He’s hurt. I had to do it. He told me I would, but I didn’t…please, we need to find him.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder gently like I was petting a feral animal. I was never very good at offering assurances, usually leaving that sort of thing to my brother. When she didn’t move away, I forced a small smile and said, “I’ll help you, but I need to know what’s going on.”

“I’m going to sound crazy.”

She looked crazy and likely was crazy, but I didn’t want to tell her that. I tried to make my voice as warm and fuzzy as I could muster given the circumstances and said, “It’s okay.”

“It’s Dylan, my boyfriend. He tried to warn me that something could happen, but I thought he was kidding,” she paused as her eyes flittered around the stock room before focusing on me. Her face relaxed for a second, as though everything was suddenly okay, but then her eyes scrunched up like was about to cry again.   She said, “You need to come with me.”

She started to pull me back out the door, but I stepped out of her grasp. “Wait a second. I need to know what we’re walking into.”

“There isn’t any time. He could be hurt. He said you could help.”

“Me? How does Dylan know me?” I asked.

She bit down on her lip, and didn’t say anything for what felt like forever. “It was before. He told me that there were people like him at Traveler’s Bar, that they could help me.”

"Like him?  I'm not sure I understand," I replied.  Warning bells started to go off in my head and I suddenly felt stupid and exposed.  "And I'm not sure you want any drunk customers assisting you, so maybe we should call the cops."

"You said you would help me," she replied. 

This was why I avoided the Good Samaritan crap.  I felt slightly guilty for wasting what could be precious minutes if Dylan really was hurt, but self preservation had been instilled in me since I could walk and something about this didn't make sense.

"We really need to take this inside.  It's warm and we can clean you up while you tell me what happened," I said.  I moved toward the door that connected to the kitchen and further away from the girl.  

"But we're wasting time!"

I didn't want to completely write this girl off if she was telling the truth, but something wasn't right.  Energy was pulsing through me like my body was about to go into fight-or-flight mode and my mind was in overdrive. If she was in such dire need of help, why hadn’t she gone inside the bar instead of skulking in alleyways on the offchance someone would appear? 

The more I thought about it, the more the nervous energy gave way to a prickle of fear as I realized I might have walked right into an Agency trap.  My brother would be so pissed off if something happened because I had gotten sloppy. 

“I think we should go inside. My boss, Ray, can contact the police," I said.  After all, there was a chance I was being paranoid, and I didn't want that on my conscience.

“No, that won’t work.”

She reached for me again and this time there was a gleam in her eye that was definitely not worry or panic. I had just enough time to I side-step her grasp and spin on my heels.  She didn't seem to expect it and almost careened into the kitchen door.  She muttered under her breath and when she turned around to face me, the marred face was gone, replaced with a glittering porcelain complexion with no blemishes and black empty eyes.

Shit.  So much for paranoia.

I tried to maneuver around her to the kitchen door, but she was blocking my way. If I could get into the main area of the bar, I would be okay. The laws forbid the Agency from entering safe havens, which explained why she hadn’t tried to go inside. She couldn’t.

“Cady, you’re a hard girl to track down.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why do you guys always have to use clichés? It makes my head hurt.”

“I’ll make your insides hurt if you don’t come with me.”

“Seriously? Does that work on anyone?”

Her fists unclenched to reveal long, yellow fingernails. “Too bad they want you alive.”

There was no way I was giving her a chance to cut me open and I knew my best bet was to act quickly.  I slipped my hand into the back pocket of my messenger bag and threw my knife. It struck her in the shoulder, which provided me with an opportunity to knock her to the ground with a kick. As she fell to the ground with a grunt, I pulled my knife out and turned it around in my palm. I could feel the blade cutting my hand, but I didn’t care as I tightened my hands and hit her in the face with the handle. 

I shook my head and said, “This is why I always win. You guys talk too much.”

I opened the door and hurried through the kitchen, garnering looks from my co-workers, and made my way to the bar. The place was already packed and a mix of music and conversation reverberated against the walls. I walked up to Ray, the owner and my boss, who was talking about the Yankees with a patron, and said, “We’ve got an intruder.”

His head snapped away from the patron and he closed the distance between us. He picked up my hand carefully and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live, but you know what this means, right?”

Ray shook his head. “You’re a real pain in my ass, Cady. Things were so much quieter before you came along.”

“And not nearly as fun. Can you handle things back there while I call my brother? If they know where I work, there’s a chance they know where we’re living now.”

“Use the phone in my office. Close the door and don’t let anyone in except for me,” Ray said as we weaved back through the bar. He pushed me into a small dingy room that served as his office and added, “Do you have a weapon?”

“Never leave home without it.”

“Good.”

“I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Remind me of that when you tell me how someone got the drop on you,” he called back to me as he made his way to the kitchen. There was a good chance, she was gone, but if she was still there, Ray would handle it. He had his own special abilities and no one, not even the Agency, messed with guys like Ray. I was just glad he was on my side.

I glanced around the area before I shut the door to Ray’s office. I slouched down into a chair and picked up the phone from the wobbly table from the bar that served as Ray’s desk. I took a few restorative breathes and attempted to make sense of the events that had just unfolded. I had come so close to walking right into a trap and I couldn’t help but wonder how long they had known where I was. The Agency was getting bolder while I had become complacent. Life had being going well for the past year – no major incidents or Agency sightings – and both my brother and I had relaxed into a routine. It was a mistake and things had to change.

---

If you're interested, I also wrote an Indie Ink Challenge response that featured Cady here.

It's a delightful day...

Happy Wishcasting Wednesday!  If you're new to the concept, Wishcasting is "...a safe haven for wishes, a fertile field in which to plant wish seeds and have them witnessed and tended lovingly. It’s a place where magic begins."

Today Jamie asks:

What delights do you wish for?

courtesy of we heart it

Usually an answer to wishcast pops right into my head, but today it's been much harder to think about.  This is probably a sign that I don't allow myself enough joy and happiness, which seems likely and something I want to change.  So I guess for me, a portion of today's wish is to allow myself delight, to notice when something makes me happy and enjoy the moment and do it again and again and again.
 
I wish to delight in my friends, and my kitties.  I wish to laugh and dance and try not to worry so much every second of every day about how I'm perceived or living up to some sort of "potential."  I wish to relish the quiet moments rather than filling them up with white noise.
 
And mostly, I wish to delight in myself and how far I've come on my journey.

trees get lonely too

I'm really enjoying taking part in the Indie Ink Writing Challenges. I'll admit that this week was definitely a challenge - in the best sort of way - and forced me outside my comfort zone.  It's part of why I enjoy Indie Ink's weekly challenges.  This week I challenged Alison of Pretty Girls Don't Eat (her awesome response is here) and my challenge - write from the point of view of the last tree standing in a forest - came from the wonderful Kat of Sassy Irish Lass.

---

It’s true what they say – be careful what you wish for. There was a time when every tree in our forest was clustered together. Branches would jam into one another, roots would collide in the soil and every tree would fight for dominance by growing as tall as possible to suck up all the sunlight it could.  We were mighty and ruled the ground and the sky.

Collective living is hard.  In the eyes of the forest, a tree isn't as strong or wise as those around it if it can't dig deep into the ground and soar high into the sky.  And the day-to-day grind over hundreds of years can drive even the most patient Red Wood Tree to yearn for legs and freedom.  It wasn’t that I didn’t care for my fellow trees, but sometimes even a tree wants to escape the sameness of its routine. 

Peace and quiet.  I didn't mean it like this.


Now I have peace and quiet in bundles.  Well, the quiet, anyway.  Hard to feel any peace knowing what I do about the way nature is being treated. 

I’m the only one left now. The others have been destroyed in forest fires, lost to nature, or the worst, cut down by greedy humans. There was a time when a select few of us would be sacrificed, but humans appreciated the loss it caused and never took more than they needed. We coexisted and thrived together.

Things have changed. Humans are different now. Every creature that passes by me knows this.  There are whispers in the wind and anger in the rain and snow that pelt the ground in frustration.   Nothing is safe or sacred and there is never enough to please them.


There are some that still care. I once saw a girl chain herself to one of my brethren and refuse to let the saws pass. Well, she tried. In the end, she was written off as crazy and carried off, while the tree was cut down and used for mother-nature-only-knows-what.


The sun hits me from every angle. The wind whips around me, rustling the branches and freeing the last of the leaves. Winter is fast approaching. I’ll sleep and try to hold onto hope as another ring grows around my trunk. I’ll mourn for my fallen friends and remember those times when people tried to climb to the tops of the tallest of us and their satisfied sighs of success as they took in the views and felt the world the way we do.


I’m not a wise enough tree to know what will be harder – to still be here, alone, come spring or to feel my own roots pulled from the ground as I join the others in a paper mill – but I’ll be here as long as I’m allowed. I’ll provide protection and homes for creatures and plants. I’ll entrench my roots even further into the ground and spread my branches out and up.

And I’ll wait.

---

It's time to truly begin...

Today was a hard but productive therapy session.  I made an interesting realization during the session.  It was one of those moments when I'm trying to explain something to my therapist and the wording I use surprised even me.  It makes me feel like all of this digging into feelings and such has been worthwhile and I'm feeling hopeful.

It's also Wishcasting Wednesday, which is always so on-point with the universe and a wonderful way to share dreams and wishes with a group of great people.

Today Jamie asks:

What do you wish to begin?

courtesy of we heart it

I am so afraid of leaving people behind and transforming my life for the better out of fear that I stand there paralyzed.  It's how I've lived most of my life thus far.  I doubt every choice I make.  I convince myself I don't deserve happiness or to put myself first - it's selfish and I'm bad, bad, bad.  I get it stuck in my head that I have no willpower, I'm lazy, and every other horrible thing I can think of to only further keep myself from trying things.  And then I hate myself for not moving forward.  it's an ugly, vicious circle.

About a week ago, my sister said something to me about how, yes, my mother was horrible and a bad parent in many ways, but she's gone now.  Do I let her keep infecting my life in negative ways or do I do something about it?  And she's right.  I'm still giving my mother all the power.  I'm still putting myself last, behind someone who is no longer living for god's sake, and it leaves me sad and missing out on my own journey.

Today I wish to begin my own journey without being hampered by my mother's voice in my ear and without allowing my own gremlin to control every choice I make.  I've made great strides.  I'm smart and capable and I do have willpower.  There is a lot of good things about me and I need to focus on those and enjoy small victories as I work toward the life I want.  I wish to begin moving along the road of transformation - weight, work, and creativity.   I wish to begin to notice my achievements, however small they seem because I sure do notice the equally small failures. 

Mostly, I wish to begin.  To simply do and stop waiting for some unidentifiable thing.