Monday, December 19, 2011

blah blah whatever

I'm bored.

Or, perhaps it would be better to say that I am sick and tired of being stuck laying around in bed with nothing to do but puke my guts out. I am pleased to announce, however, that I am done with the vomiting (I hope). That was the absolute worst flu (or whatever the hell was wrong with me) I have ever had (that I recall). Two days of being unable to keep anything down, and another day of struggling to do so is not fun.

But now that it's over? Or, I assume it is over since I have now managed to keep down some peanut butter toast and small bowl of oatmeal? I don't have the energy to walk from here to the kitchen (a whole 6 feet away approximately). The dining room table is even a stain, and that is right on the other side of my bedroom door.

So, I'm stuck here.

Normally, I would have homework to do. But, alas (and thank God) the quarter is over, I'm on a two week break. This was the worst quarter I have had to date. And sadly, it was mainly just once class that made it horrible. Well, there was a second one which I struggled with (E-Commerce); and there were two I absolutely enjoyed (Sociology and Windows Server 2008). But that fourth one. Leave it to one person to kill a person's love for Astronomy. But, I pulled off a 94% for a final grade (so long as the instructor doesn't see my evaluation of him before the grades are finalized), and it's over now. So, I can enjoy my break.

Or, I would enjoy it, if I had the energy.

Maybe I will just go take a shower (which will probably turn into a bath since I probably can't stay standing for more than 3 minutes) then head off to bed... which is to say, go to sleep since I have been in bed for the better part of 3 days. Thankfully I get to go to work tomorrow. Hopefully, I should say. I could use someone to talk to other than myself. Although, now that I think about it, I do a lot of talking to myself at work also.

Next quarter's Psychology class could end up being rather enlightening for me.

Monday, December 5, 2011

drained and discarded

I'm sitting here, uncertain of quite how I feel. I had a great weekend this past weekend. I got to see family I haven't seen in years, had the opportunity to hang out and enjoy the company of my wonderful sisters, and even my brother (whom I haven't seen in years). Granted, it was for a funeral we all got together, but, well, my Grandma was a wonderful, beautiful, giving woman - and it seems she gave us one last thing - a chance to get reacquainted with loved ones.

Yet, I'm still sitting here, uncertain how to feel. I'm overcome by a combination of love and depression, relief and release, closure and even a bit of anger and a lot of guilt. So much of so many different things all rattling around within my mind and heart. I'm almost to the point of being numb as there is too much for me to handle.

A third party would have been nice to bounce things off of. But, I guess everyone has their own problems. Mine are no more important, and are probably quite simply more confusing as I don't even know what my problem is.

But, alas, I shall quit my rambling for now as I can't focus my thoughts on any one thing, on any one person or event or anything else. Perhaps I shall try again should I regain any type of clarity to my own mind.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Shouldn't be allowed to speak

I've come to the conclusion, I shouldn't be allowed to speak to people the last couple weeks of November. I shouldn't be allowed to associate with anyone in any way. It seems I have this innate ability to piss people off and/or kick them out of my life during these few weeks before Thanksgiving. I'm moody, unpredictable, and even manage to drive myself insane. Of course, it could be argued that I am always this way, however, November is notably worse. I guess that can be expected when your best friend takes his own life on Thanksgiving morning. Eleven years and it still hurts knowing my brother is gone. Well, now, two brothers gone.

That said - and why it's been said, I really am not sure - allow me to continue with my obnoxiously insane senseless rambling. Although, I am finding I am suddenly not sure what to ramble about. My mind is going in half a dozen different directions, none of them any nice straight path. None of them even a nice curvy path. They just branch out. I am so lost. Lost within the darkness and depths of my own mind. Lost within the emotions and lack thereof. Wishing I could dream. Dreaming I could wish. Hoping without hope that a sign will appear telling me if I'm doing the right thing, feeling the right thing.

Until then, I continue throwing away friendships that never existed. I continue hurting those I shouldn't, and crying over found dreams, and tripping over my own heart.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Maybe it's cuz

Maybe it's cuz we never got to say goodbye
Maybe it's cuz I needed to run away and hide
Maybe it's cuz I'm just that into you
Maybe it's cuz I know, I know this love it true

And yeah, that's as far as I can go, with these words. Cuz everytime I try to write more I just start thinkin' about, all the times I was in your arms, the laughter, the tears, and joy, and fears...

You may not remember, or maybe you wanna forget, which is all right, I understand, I been there too and Iknow what it's like to remember, the laughter, the tears, and joy and fears

So maybe, it's cuz we never got to say goodbye
Or maybe, it's cuz I needed to run away and hide
Maybe it's cuz I'm just that into you
Or maybe, it's cuz I know, I know this love is true

Well whatever it is, it ain't going away, I think about you both night and day and I wonder why, why did it all have to go wrong, cuz I remember, the laughter, the tears, and joy and fears

Oh I remember, I remember it like it was yesterday, it was so clear, so real, but why did I run away, Cuz I remember, I remember it all, there was the laughter, the tears, and joy and fears

So maybe, it's cuz we never got to say goodbye
Or maybe, it's cuz I needed to run away and hide
Maybe it's cuz I'm just that into you
Or maybe, it's cuz I know, I know this love is true

Monday, November 7, 2011

I was Blessed

they say, there's someone for everyone
and if you miss your chance, you miss your happiness
they say, everyone has that one someone
and if they get away, then you lose this game

I guess I lost this game, so many years ago...
I guess I missed my chance at happiness
I guess I lost it all, lost my someone
But there was a time, a time when I was blessed

They say, for everyone there is someone
A soul mate, that perfect match
They say, for everyone there is one love
One light, one dream come true

I guess I lost that dream, so many years ago...
I guess I missed my chance at happiness
I guess I lost it all, lost my soul mate
But there was a time, a time when I was blessed

There was a time when you held me close
there was a time you loved me true
there were days when we laughed and loved in each other's arms
There was a time I was loved by you

Ohhh, there was a time

There was a time when we shared our dreams
There was a time, you were my happiness
There were days when we watched the stars in each other's eyes
There was a time when I was truly blessed

Ohhh, there was a time
I was blessed

They say, everyone has that one special one
The one they dream of every night
They say, everyone has that one someone
And I gotta say that they are right

But I guess I lost that someone
So many, many years ago
I lost that one chance at happiness...
But there was a time
Yeah, there was a time
When I was blessed

I guess I lost that dream, so many years ago...
I guess I missed my chance at happiness
I guess I lost it all, lost my soul mate
But there was a time, a time when I... was... blessed

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Missing you

Hey Brandon,

I know I'm early. I don't usually write to you until Thanksgiving, or April - your birthday. But, circumstances has me thinking about you more than usual, even though I think of you daily. It started with some stupid idiot discussing suicide. It's funny (well, more angering, but I'm sure you understand) how people talk about the subject like it's just another topic... just another statistic. If they only knew. To be honest, it began even before this - it began a few weeks ago when I had to select a topic for Sociology to write about, and I chose suicide. The main reason for selecting it was to make people understand. And, maybe help myself understand. But since making the decision to write about this sensitive topic, I'm finding myself more on edge than usual. It doesn't help that the person who has brought up the topic wouldn't understand the pain of it if she had to deal with it first hand.. She'd turn it into some stupid political bull shit.

And, to top it all off, guess where I am? I'm laying in bed, my back fucked up. Boy does that bring back memories. Only, this time, you're not here reading me Dr. Seuss. That is one thing I miss greatly. You always managed to keep my mind off the pain - no matter what pain it was at the time. If I could have but one thing tonight, it would be for you to be sitting on the edge of my bed reading A Wocket in my Pocket or Dr. Seuss' ABC's.

But, I must go now. Please take care of your brother, and Nicky and her daddy, and watch over the rest of us. I love you, Brandon... Mercury... leader of the Solar Stars resistance. Some day, we will win.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Dear me at 17/18 (Part 3)

One more has recently come to mind...

Dear me at 17... even though he might drive ya crazy, the one you think of as a big brother really does know what he's talking about. You really should consider listening to him every now and then.

Love ya Timmy :)

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Dear me at 17/18... (part 2)

Once again I've found myself listening to "Letter to Me" by Brad Paisley. And once again it has me thinking back to when I was 17 and 18. As I said in a previous post, there is so much I would want to tell this person if I could write a letter to who I used to be. Not that I would have listened... but, I would still like to be able to send a letter back in time. And what else would I tell her? First, go read my previous post if you haven't already (Dear me at 17). And here is the continuation of that letter...

Friendship - while it is something you claim to hold dear, as you grow older you'll realize how easily you let it go. Don't. There are some whom, while the friendship is cut short, it is a friendship you will treasure forever.

And, while still on the subject of friendship, there is one who will stand by you, but whom you easily dismiss. Don't. He is the one person who, more than anyone else, will help you through one of the roughest moments of your life. And, he is one who truly loves you. Allow him to tell you this. Allow yourself to listen. Allow love to touch you.

Listen to your instincts. There are those you love deeply which you begin to doubt, but fight to hold onto. Don't. It isn't that they aren't worth your love, but more that their love was never for you. Let them go, and allow yourself to see others whose love is true.

And, for now, this is the end of my letter to myself. No worries - I am sure I will come up with a part three.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The garden, the shelf and the darkside

To answer the questions some friends have asked... and those who haven't yet asked...

This is the Darkside of the Rose. This is the usual me... the rambling me. The one who makes no sense, nor tries to. This is the me who gets angry (wants to kill someone slowly). This is the one who posts song lyrics and poems and other little ramblings.

The garden, also knows as Passion's Garden, is where my short stories hide which are not for innocent eyes/ears/minds.

The shelf, more correctly called the Bottom Shelf, is where I decided to hide my novel - Whispers in the Hall. Whispers is only about half finished, if even that, and hasn't been touched in over 6 months. That said, the site holds everything through chapter 8 if you're interested.

If anyone wishes to read any of my work, and would like addresses to either the garden or the shelf, please let me know. I love showing off my insanity. And please, share it with others. Comment on it. Tell me you hate it. Tell me you love it. Tell me to go to hell.

Friday, September 30, 2011

avoiding next week

Have you ever hated someone? I don't mean just being really annoyed with someone. We've all been there. Probably to the point of really wanting to smack that person upside the head (or punch them in the face... kick them in the balls...). But have you ever really hated someone. Have you ever had one person whom, upon hearing said-person's name, your blood boils, your thoughts grow dark, your body tenses uncontrollably?

There are few people I can honestly say I hate. Yes, there are several I think are stupid, pathetic, wastes of time. But I don't hate them. I could probably count my hates on one hand those I hate. Or one finger.

I just heard that this hate is going to be in my vicinity next week. I was surprised at how quickly I saw red. The person I trusted most whom betrayed me. The one person I was dumb enough to think actually gave a shit. I hate him. I do not, under any circumstance, want to see him or speak to him again. He fucked me over. He betrayed me. And now he's coming here? He played on my sympathy, only to be a fucking idiot, and expects me to hold onto that sympathy from the past? I'm done. He isn't worth my time, energy, or love. He isn't worth shit. That's what he wants. He plays off that - probably in the hopes that someone will love him. I'm not playing this game anymore. diaf

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The past is what you make it...

She found herself thinking more and more of that one January day in 1993 - especially within the last year or two. This day was an important moment - one which defined the rest of her life. It was the fork in the road - that one moment which, above all others, determined the direction her life would travel.

It was a normal day - no better or worse than others had been that year. She was a senior in high school, but attending her second year of college full time. She only stepped into the high school to turn in her books and harrass her guidance counselor. Depression had all but consumed her. While things she had suffered in the past had calmed down, they hadn't calmed down on her siblings. Knowing what they dealt with, and the feelings of helplessness, became more and more unbearable. She'd spent the last few months sleeping with two different guys, making out with another, and pining after yet another - anything to make her feel, to give her some much needed attention, even if it was the wrong attention.

Walking home from school, she stopped at the 11th Street crosswalk. She watched the vehicles drive by. For nearly an hour she tried to gather the courage to jump in front of a fast moving truck. She could end it all. But, she couldn't do it. She kept thinking "what if I don't die?" She could see herself, immobile, unable to fight back, unable to speak or write of what she endured at their hands as she was forced to live with them for the rest of her life.

Finally, realizing she couldn't do it, and she couldn't go home, she turned towards the dorms. It had been her salvation for so long. And upon walking into that one building she learned the truth of so many people - truths she refused to take at face value. Truths she'd forgotten, truths she had turned into what she wanted them to be.

The one who would always stand beside her, told her he couldn't stand by her. The one who would always love and want her, cut her off. The one she could always turn to for a little physical, no-strings attention, found someone else to play with. And the one she enjoyed hanging with when she needed an escape from drama... the one she used... the one she forgot... he was the one who walked with her until four o'clock in the morning in the middle of winter. He was the one who brought her food and drink and sat with her until the sun came up.

Why is it she couldn't see the truth for so many years? Why is it she remained hanging onto false memories? Why is it she couldn't thank those who truly were her friends? The past is what you make it, and she made so many mistakes. And leaving home that day was not the mistake.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

All These

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, walkin' in the snow storm
Kissin by the pillars of the university
You and me, dancin' to the beat
Passion cryin as you held onto me

All these songs on the radio
Talkin' bout missing you, loving you so
All these dreams when I close my eyes
All these tears remembering love dies

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, and all these dreams
You and me, and all the hopes that ever could be
You and me, and all these tears
YOu and me, and all the fears just came over me

You and me, fighting in the night
Words flying, striking at each other's heart
You and me, and it was over then
With pain and anger it was for us to part

All these songs on the radio
Talkin' bout missing you, loving you so
All these dreams when I close my eyes
All these tears remembering love dies

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

You and me, and all these dreams
You and me, and all the hopes that ever could be
You and me, and all these tears
YOu and me, and all the fears just came over me

Ohhh all these... all these...
All these hopes gripping me tight
Ohhh oh all these... yea eahh all these
All these memories tonight

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Random Ramblings

I can hear the wind outside, whistling through the trees and through the small cracks in the wall. I can hear the patter of little feet, and big, sneaking around, trying to go unnoticed in the night. I can hear the water trickling, in the sink, and my ears. It's such a quietly noisy night. Darkness surrounding in the bright lights.

I can hear your thoughts. Whispers of a butterfly within my mind. I felt its tears floating down, fixing with my own. Your tears. The tears of a butterfly. So soft, so very sweet. Like nectar upon my lips. Let me taste them again. Let me taste you again.

I remember those nights, like a vivid movie, scenes replaying time and again in my mind. I find myself speaking the parts with the memory as one would while watching a movie they had seen a dozen times before. Such a beautiful movie. A tragic love story, a comedy, a horror movie, an adventure. All so beautifully stitched together, a work of art which can never be duplicated or painted again - only looked at, admired, remembered, and written about for years to come.

And missed. Ah so missed. Dreams are born from this memory, this film, these whispers, the tears of this butterfly. Dreams are born as easily as the dream once died. Perhaps it never died. Perhaps it simply could not be heard over the whistle of the wind.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

screw you

Have you ever had one of those periods in your life where you feel the need to clean all the clutter out of your life? Well, I'm in one of these periods. But I'm not talking about stacks of paper in the corner, or boxes of pointless items in the attic. I'm talked about all those people you used to consider a friend.

To me, a friend is someone who is there through the good and the bad. They hold you hand when you need it, and let you fall when that's what is needed. But no matter what, they have your back and stick up for you when someone does you wrong.

A friend is not someone who is just making sure you aren't fucking her husband (or, ex-husband). He isn't someone just making sure you don't find someone better. But most importantly, he is not someone who lets someone else treat you like shit.

If any of my friends called another friend a name, unprovoked, I would step in. There is no reason for that. It's stupid and childish. And to stick up for someone so childish? That either means you don't understand the concept of friendship, or you don't give a shit.

So, that said, I am done. I will be deleting all my "friends" from facebook who only added me to check up on their men. And I will be deleted all my "friends" from facebook who doesn't have the balls to stand up for what is right... most likely because he/she believes getting fucked is more important. I do not believe in fucking over my friends. And I have no issues deleting those who are willing to fuck over another person.

Please, rot in hell. And good night.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Too Young

Two days ago, I found out that a young woman was in an ATv accident - a serious one. She had to have surgery to alleviate some of the pressure from her head. She was, and still is, holding onto life by a thread. This young woman is only 21. While I have never had a chance to get to know her, her cousins and second cousins have been close friends - people I care deeply about. Her mother is the sister to the man who gave me a home and a job 10 years ago when things were tough for me and my family.

Besides her being part of a family I owe so much to, there is the fact that she is so young. It reminds me so much of my brothers. One was only 20, the other 24, when they left this world. The difference? They chose to end their lives. This young lady didn't. Because of a tragic accident, her life is in danger. But no matter if by choice or accident, 21 is much too young to be fighting for ones life.

I feel so helpless. I know how it feels to lose a sibling - a loved one. I know how it feels when that person is so young. And I pray this woman's family won't have to feel that pain - that loss - for many many years. While I am not overly religious, I do believe there is someone watching over us all - and right now all I can do is pray that He help Briana and her family. Don't take her yet. in 50...70... years... then you can have her. But for now? Please give her back to her family... give all of her back... fully functioning in mind, body and spirit. Please don't take another who is too young to leave this world... who has too much yet to offer this world.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Burnt Out

It's been awhile since I've written anything other than for work, school, or an unintelligent Facebook status. Life went from busy and brain-numbing, to where-the-hell-am-I-and-what-the-hell-was-I-going-to-do. To be honest, I can't even remember my name some days. I'm burnt out. Everything I love feels like a chore. I've contemplated dropping out of school, skipping a week of work, and just hiding in my bed for a few days. I've considered drowning in a vat of whiskey... until I realized that would be a waste of whiskey.

So, what is it that has me losing my marbles and motivation? What isn't? It started several months ago, with work being a big mix up. I love my job and where I am now, but for a while there, it was a mess. And I found out that the one person I looked up to at work betrayed me. So that started the demotivation in that area. For school? It is so time consuming, and the past few months - especially the past few weeks - time is one thing I am quickly running out of.

Why the past few weeks especially? It all started 4 weeks ago today. I get a call at work from the hospital trying to reach my husband. They have a kidney for him. If anyone has had a transplant, or knows someone who has, you know its not one of those "Ok, we'll set you up for a week from tomorrow..." No. It's "get your ass here now." And of course, the hospital he had to go to is a couple hours away from us.

Anyway, the transplant happened, and I was a single mother for a couple weeks. Having been used to having someone else there to catch some of the "can I have..." and "can I do..." questions, by the end of week two, my sanity was essentially shot. I was still working full time, trying to take care of six children, luckily school was on its two week break at the same time, and of course the kids had little activities I had to make sure they made it to.

Now, he's been home for almost two week, and things are slowly going back to normal, but there is still the running around and the work and the school and the questions. There is still softball practice and games and tournaments. There is still trying to figure out how I'm going to afford a clarinet and saxaphone before school starts in 5 weeks since this whole transplant has eaten away pretty much all we had saved up. There is still three kids' birthdays in 2-3 weeks I have to get gifts for. I'm really not sure how much more stress I can take.

So, now that I've whined and bitched and moaned and complained and did not succeed in gaining any of my sanity, I am off to bed. I hope.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Worst spouse

I'm angry... pissed... annoyed... want to cause screams and suffering. Why are people so fucking concerned with other people's lives? And why do they feel the need to talk shit about others?

I am apparently the worst spouse in this town. This isn't because of cheating, or abuse, or any of the things which would normally put someone into the category of bad spouse. I don't talk bad about him (or, no more so than any other wife). I don't spend all his money, or make him do things he doesn't want to do.

Nope... what I did is so much worse than all of these. I didn't go along to the hospital when he had his kidney transplant. My God, I'm evil.

And, before you all agree with that, allow me to explain the scenario and the options available to me...

Thursday at 1pm, we get a call. They have a kidney which may be compatible for my husband. I rush home, help him pack, try to keep the kids and him as calm as reasonably possible. We know that he has to go 2 hours away for the testing and the surgery. We know the testing will take a few hours (at this time we only expected 4 hours after taking the test... but it ended up being over 10 hours from the time he took the test - 12 hours after leaving here - before it was even determined a surgery would be needed).

So, my options included:

1) Leave my crying, scared, completely lost/hurt/frightened/scared children at home and go with my husband;

2) Take my young energetic, stressed out children with me to the hospital to sit all night (note: it was 3am before the decision for surgery was even made... 8am when the surgery started...)

3) Stay home, let his mother stay with him, and pray that things went ok with the surgery.

I chose option 3. And this is what has made me a horrible wife, and horrible person, and apparently the talk of the town.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

My Best Friend (I'll Still be Here)

My Best Friend (I'll Still be Here)

We used to lay in bed for hours
staring at the ceiling
talking about life and dreams
and all we were feeling

And when you would hold my hand
You always touched my soul
When you softly kissed my cheek
you made me feel whole

And no matter the years that have past
no matter the miles separating
no matter who you're holding now
I'll still be here waiting

Cuz every night, I stare at your picture
And every night, all my love I send
You may have never been my lover
But you were my best friend

You told me all your secrets
You let me see your tears
You held me close when I hurt
And you eased all my fears

And no matter the years that have past
no matter the miles separating
no matter who you're holding now
I'll still be here waiting

Cuz every night, I stare at your picture
And every night, all my love I send
You may have never been my lover
But you were my best friend
Oh you never were my lover
Cuz you were my best friend

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Anna Marie

For some odd reason, I was thrown back in time tonight - back in time to an era when love was a concept I always wanted to understand, but never truly could. I tried so hard to figure out what it all meant. Tried so desperately to find my place in all of it. Yet somehow I always managed to latch onto those who could never be mine. Those who were single? Avoided them. Unless of course they were the type I knew would never fall in love. And if I did get close to one who I could possibly ever a have future with? I ran like hell.

Anyway, here's a poem I wrote many years ago, which had a special meaning for me. I actually submitted this poem for Ms. Huesgen's English 103 class. This poem depicts everything I used to be...everything I want to be again...everything that has ever thrown my world upside and keeps it in such a way.

Anna Marie

To my lover’s girlfriend:

You have heard of me
In movies and romance books.
I’m the kind of girl
Wives and girlfriends
Only worry about
But never
Honestly believe in.

All I want is
Money and sex.
And he was just
One of many.
After all,
What else is there
For a woman like me?


That is only fiction.
Or so I thought.

But now, Anna-Marie,
You can have him back.
You make him happy,
Whereas I can only
Make him sad.
And my heart cannot handle
His pained expression
When he thinks of how
He is hurting you.

So please Anna-Marie,
Take him away from me
And love him—
For both of us.

From your boyfriend’s lover.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

the opposite gender sucks...

...and not in a good way.

Men are, for the most part, assholes. And women are, for the most part, idiots. Really..."I had it made just for you..."? That's the worst "fuck me please I"m desperate!" line I've ever heard. And trust me , I've heard several. But chics are so desperate for love, and men are so desperate to get laid, that hey - it's all good right?

Unfortunately for the assholes of the world, I happen to know there are a few guys out there who want more than a quick tumble under the sheets. I know a few guys who would show a beautiful woman how terrific she is. And I just pray girls/women everywhere come to their senses to see that love isn't about control. It's about respect.

Friday, February 11, 2011


Our lives are made up of firsts. Firsts which should be remembered and cherished. Or, at least remembered. I will admit some one may not want to cherish.

Can you remember....

1. Your first kiss?
2. Your first crush?
3. The first person you had sex with?
4. Those whose first you were?

Do you recall...

5. The first time you got detention?
6. The first time you took the blame for a friend?
7. The first time a friend took the blame for you?

What about...

8. The first song dedicated to you?
9. The first song you dedicated?
10. The first opposite gender who made you cry?
11. The first person you knew would always be there for you?

Do you remember...

12. Your first alcoholic drink?
13. The first time you did something illegal?
14. The first time you got "married"?

Can you recall...

15. The first time you got arrested?
16. The first time you wrote a story or poem?
17. The first time someone wrote a story or poem for you?

How about...

18. Your first love?
19. Your first REAL love?
20. The first time you ran away from that love?

I can't say I recall all the above. But I do remember many of them (or, those I am guilty of at least). I'd say, at least 13 or 14 of the above. And I will gladly reveal to anyone who wants to know. Please, feel free to share your firsts...

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Blood Lust

She enters the room, her skin so pale,
Her body weakened by hunger;
Her blood-lust has become a necessity,
Screaming for just a drop,
A small taste to resurrect her passion
He makes a small cut upon his wrist,
Offering it to her with a predatory grin.
She hesitantly tastes a little blood from him
Then begins feeding eagerly.
Wrapping round her,
He lets his breath caress over her skin,
His fangs scratching against her pale flesh.
She feels his blood surging thru her,
Her skin becoming flushed
From satisfaction and passion.
She bites into her own wrist, and offers it to him
He smiles, taking hold of her wrist,
And kissing the drops from her skin,
The taste burning his lips.
In a surge of lust he takes a tighter hold,
Driving his fangs into her flesh,
Feeling the burst of life explode into his being
She smiles, trembling at the heat
Coursing thru her veins as he feeds from her flesh.
She licks her lips
Savoring the last drops that were resting there.
As the heat builds so does the fever of his feeding,
And his hunger for the prey increases,
Feeling the intoxicating thump
Of the rhythm of her heart
He draws more of her sweet taste into himself,
Feeling it nourishing every fiber,
Feeling the power of her heart feeding him,
Driving his need more and more
With each beating of her heart
She can feel his strength growing
And she pulls him closer to her,
Needing once again to taste him,
Her desire escalating,
Her heart beating in rhythm with his
Upon feeling the 2 hearts beating as one,
Images flash in his mind of her thoughts;
Her view of the world is blended with his,
As the frenzy of the act builds
Seeing his thoughts in her mind as well,
She digs her teeth in deeper,
Enraptured by the taste of him,
By the desire building inside her
He, too, begins biting with more hunger,
Feeding on that desire,
Feeding on her hunger and feeling it fuel the fire
She pulls away, the intensity of their hunger
Growing too strong to continue
Yet so powerful that it calls to her,
His blood screaming for her to taste him again
He licks the droplets of her blood from his lips,
The images still flashing clear in his mind,
Every sinew aching for the fuel of her blood
Together they back away,
Their blood still screaming for each other
As they disappear into the shadows of the night,
Their hearts still beating steady and hard as one.

copyright 2004, Brandi Eissinger & Gordon McIntosh

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Precious Stones

Memories. I hold onto them like precious stones. Whether these memories bring tears or smiles and anger, they are what make me who I am here and now and forever. So many little things will bring up a memory. Coffee at Perkins, Astronomy class, English class, the college orientation dance. These are all good memories, vague, but bring a smile. Yet, they are bitter sweet at the same time. Halloween (which has its own set of memories), Pebble Lake, sunrises. Again, bitter sweet. Bryan Adams, crosses, swimming with friends. Driving for hours, talking till dawn, dreaming alone and hours.

Why is it so many memories must be so bitter sweet? Why do they bring smiles and tears? Why do I hold so tight to these simple little visions? Wonder Woman, Solar Stars, helicopters, grasshoppers? Little frogs, the cleaning fairy, sledding, dancing? Ballerinas, and tears and fears, and growing up.

So many people I've loved and lost. So many lives gone too early. So many loves fading into the sunset, never to rise again. This is life. This is what we cling to so hopelessly. This is what makes memories we hold close to us, like precious stones.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


What the hell? She's forgettable? She learned this fact several months ago, but it still nags at her constantly. How can someone not remember her? How can he not recall the passion and love and dreams and desires? How can he not remember at least a few things she remembers? It would make her memories and losses mean so much more if he would only remember. But he doesn't. He won't. She meant nothing to him.

Isn't this so often the case? One remembers the love and dreams and hopes. But the other? It was just another conquest. It hurts her to realize she was just another girl in his bed. Even now, after so many years have past, she doesn't like thinking she was just a notch on his bed - even if that's all he was for her.

Truth, love, sex, dreams, desires, passion, hate, memories. Is any of it real? Is any of it worth recalling? Is any of it more than just a concept racing through the mind?


She used to absorb herself in the physical. Obviously, if a guy wanted her, he loved her, and she was worth something. And besides, she wasn't hurting anyone. Except that one time. That one little baby. She miscarried him, and consoled herself by reminding herself that bringing a baby into the world under normal circumstances was wrong and evil. But to do so under these conditions? There would have been no excuse for that mistake. And what conditions? She was unmarried, sleeping with the one, dating another, and fooling around with a few more. And the father? He didn't love her. He didn't even care about her. They had an agreement - no strings attached. If he knew there was suddenly a string? She dared not imagine that. But, it was no matter. She didn't even know about the baby until it was too late. While it hurt, she took comfort in knowing this baby would never suffer.

This loss only fueled her desire for the physical. It shouldn't have. It should have done the opposite. But too many had taught her that hte physical was what life was about. Sex and pain and bruises. That was life. And, if and when she had the choice, sex was the better option. And so she chose it. Whenever and wherever she could. Wrong? Perhaps. But live the life she did and see if you can still choose the "correct" path. Only then can you or I judge her.

THe problem though was she learned to use the physical as an escape. Whenever she wanted attention, she looked towards the physical. Whenever a relationship became too close...too emotional...she turned towards the physical. Whenever she thought she was losing someone...again, physical. It became so much a part of her and her relationships, she lost track of anything emotional. Her feelings disappeared, vanished. She liked this. Emotions hurt. Sex didn't. And physical pain? Yes, it hurt, but it could quickly be alleviated by a touch or two.

And now? Now, she is lost. She still feels the pain of the child lost. She now feels the pain of loves lost. But what loves? She doesn't even know anymore. She thought she knew. But these loves are confused and lost and found and here but not. She wants to feel that love again, but did that love ever truly exist or was it simply a way to feel wanted and loved and needed? She doesn't know. She wants desperately for that one person to remind her and show her and love her. She wants desperately for that miracle.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Want to Write

I want to write. No, I need to write. And yet every time I sit down to type something up, the words hide in various corners of my brain, sneaking into the shadows, refusing to show themselves.

Right on the tip of my tongue or fingers or brain lurks the words to the best poem or song or story one has ever heard or read. It's there. I can feel it, taste it. I can almost touch it, feel it caress me. And then is disappears again, playing this game with me, driving me to the edge of sanity.

Or would it be the edge of insanity? I'm uncertain. Is there a difference? I believe the edge of insanity would border or share the edge of sanity, therefore making it the same. So, I could simply say it is driving me to the edge.

But the edge of what? So many edges I have walked along. The edge of heaven and hell, good and evil. Edges are so much fun. Such thin little lines. One step in either direction dictates everything and yet nothing at all. One step can bring you closer to everything you desire, or further away from it, or perhaps closer to what you desire yet further from it at the same time. Odd. Yes, definitely odd.

But, most things which involve desire can be categorized as odd. Or perhaps it's only things which involve love. No, love would be considered an insanity, not an oddity. But desire? Passion? I choose not to use odd for those. Those are special. Those are life. Those are what edges are made of.

Every time you walk along an edge it is because there is something you desire on one side or the other, or perhaps on both sides of the edge. This is what makes the edges so exciting. I think this is why the words hide from me. They enjoy watching me teeter on this edge. It excites them.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

New Look

It was time for a face-lift. I wish I could do that to myself as easily. Look through a few websites, say "I like that body," and voila! I'm lookin' sexy in my new skin. But alas, I once again deviate from my original point. Did I even have an original point? Ah, so confusing life can be.

As I was saying (or not saying as the case may be) I have given this blog a new look. On the one hand, I like it. On the other hand, I'm not really sure it's me. Please, give me opinions and feedback and comments and whatever else you feel like giving me. I'm quite open to something new and different here (so long, of course, it is still me and fits with the general title of this blog).

Monday, January 10, 2011

Trinket Hoarder

That's right. I'm a trinket hoarder. I don't have boxes of junk hidden in every nook and cranny of my house (well, actually I do, but it's not from hoarding - it's from being a poor housekeeper). What I do hoard, however, are little special trinkets from the past.

Yes, my jewelry box (which itself is a treasure I'd like to burn) is a hiding place for trinkets. All these silly little trinkets - memories of times long gone but never forgotten.

I still have my NFL pin from 9th grade when I was on the speech and debate team. Ah, those were some some days. I sucked at debate, but the trips were tons of fun. And Alexandria boys were really hot.

I still have a homecoming pin from sometime back in the late 80's. Go Spuds! It was something I stole from my big sis after she left home. Lord knows I was too much of a geek to care about homecoming.

I still have two very special friendship bracelets. Sam and I made them, sitting in the middle of a pasture on a large flat rock in Wisconsin. We couldn't have been more than 14 if even that. She's the one who taught me how to make them. I loved those days.

I still have one pair and two lonely pairless earrings - all from the same set. They were given to me when I was in 4th grade by my "husband" and his brother (I got married several times to this guy when I was 8 and 9 years old). His brother died shortly after I got the earrings.

I still have one earring from my college days - I lost it in my best friend's bed one day when we were discussing the meaning of life, or staring at the ceiling to see what shapes we could make out, or having some incredibly odd conversation (such as what would be the first thing we did if we could be the opposite gender for a day).

I still have a necklace of beaded seashells one of my best friends gave me sometime in Junior High. We were friends for years - could tell each other everything. His family and mine were very close, and have experienced a lot of hardships together.

I have many other little trinkets hiding within this box - all memories, whether old or new. Actually, mostly old. My newer stuff is strewn about on top of my dressing table. That comes from being a bad housekeeper. But the trinkets? That's because I'm a trinket hoarder - and proud of it.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

The Art of Friendship

So, apparently it is an accepted practice to encourage and support a friend's stupidity. Never tell them their thinking is a little skewed. So what if they drank a bottle of gasoline or slept with their best friend's boyfriend or tried jumping off a bridge just to see if they could fly. As a friend, one should encourage their desires to do this. What business is it of yours if they talk of suicide or depression or are otherwise pessimistic and driving everyone away just to make themselves feel better. You should promote and strengthen these feelings of worthlessness.

Additionally, you should never disagree with your friends. Obviously you cannot have an opinion or brain of your own. You have friends. Therefore, if your friends believe any of the above, you should also. Which of course, by believing this as well, keeps you from committing the heinous act above.

It is no wonder I have no friends. I was unaware of the rules of friendship before now. And now that I have been taught? Yes, I think I shall reconsider my stance. I shall from this point forward act like a moron twit just to make my friends feel better about themselves.


A conversation broke out today regarding faith. The whats and wheres and why-fores are really unimportant for the sake of this post, other than the fact that this conversation is what brought about this rambling. This said, allow me to continue.

Faith is essentially trust. If you look it up in the dictionary, most of the definitions have "trust" in them. Most people who know me know that trust isn't something I give wholly or easily. It takes years to build, and only moments to destroy. And once it's been destroyed, it is basically impossible to regain, although there have been a few. But, I digress.

Blind faith is the art of trusting in someone or something without question or proof. To have blind faith in someone is, quite simply, stupid. You have to allow for the opportunity to question this trust, even if not right at this moment. Otherwise, you are just setting yourself up for pain, sorrow and disappointment.

But on the same hand, you have to have some faith. For example, I have faith in my husband that he won't cheat on me. I wouldn't have married him otherwise. If there hadn't been that trust, I basically would have been just marrying him because I was bored. Or because I just didn't want to be alone. And this would have been, quite simply, stupid.

I have faith in my friends that they care about me and will be here for me when they can and/or want to be. This doesn't give me the right to distrust when they aren't there for me. I've already allowed for that possibility rather than blindly believing in them. To do so would be, quite simply, stupid. They're human.

I have faith there is a higher power of some sort. This isn't a blind trust. I accept that this higher power may not exist, and am willing to question and research and study. To do otherwise would be, quite simply, stupid.

So basically what I am saying, faith is not blind. Or shouldn't be. It is not something to just toss under the rug though either. It is something to be realistically and carefully considered, and appreciated.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

some voices now silenced

You gave me some of these voices. I often claim there are 157 of the little guys chattering away up here, but the true number is yet unknown. I tried to count the once. That didn't go over so well. But, this is of no matter. The fact of the matter is I have several voices, and some of these were born and nourished because of you.

They, of all the voices, are some of whom have guided me the most. They have protected me and kept me from danger. They have held me back when I wanted dream stupidly. They have warned me before I got too close just what it was I was getting close to. Granted, I haven't always heeded the warnings, but for the most part, I have. And when I haven't, I have quickly learned I should have.

And this is how it was just recently. The voices chimed in and rang their warning bells louder than they ever had before. Yet at the same time other voices, generally quiet and often forgotten, allowed themselves to be heard. Forgiveness. An odd concept. Forgiveness is for the weak and stupid. Or so most of my voices believe. And the quiet ones don't usually argue. They stay in their corner alone and silent.

Due to the odd nature of these quiet ones piping up, I had to listen. I ignored the warnings and screams of danger, and listened and forgave and allowed myself to feel and hurt and believe. And now, I hope not-as-nice voices permanently silence those which are generally quiet. And now, I admit, you win. The voices warned me, this was retribution. This was revenge. I didn't believe, until now. You wanted me to hurt? You succeeded. You wanted to kill off any good memory, any good part of me? This, too, you have succeeded at. And now, with a few less voices chattering, it grows colder and quieter.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

If you don't spell it out for me...

...the voices will do it for you.

And trust me, you don't want the voices to spell things out for you. Mainly because, they'll be much more brutally honest, which will cause me to spin out of control, which in turn will wreak havoc on your little world. I tend to think the worst of people, only because that is usually reality.

It seems so many people don't realize this, or continuously forget. For instance, you're constantly making certain comments insinuating you're looking for something from me. If I confront you on this, no no, that isn't what you want at all. However, the truth is, you do. If I don't confront you, or if I allow you to lie your way out of it, my voices will already determine that yes indeed this is what you're looking for. I will then get very angry or hurt and make your life a living hell. So basically, you're screwed either way. The only way you could have survived unscathed would have been to try this silly little thing called honesty before my voices had a chance to dissect your hidden agenda.

Or maybe you're giving short responses, if any response. You're basically ignoring me. My voices hate being ignored. So naturally they go into overdrive quite quickly, and come up with the conclusion that you don't want to have anything to do with me. I could confront you about this, but the truth is, I wouldn't believe anything you had to say to the contrary as my voices have already made up their collective minds.

I could go on and on with examples, but the fact remains, be honest. Everyone pussy-foots around the truth because they don't want to hurt someone's feelings; or because they're scared they might lose whatever relationship is currently existing. But the fact is, feelings are getting hurt and the relationship is already damaged if you're feeling the need to not be specific and honest.

So, if you don't spell it out for me, my voices will do it for you.