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Daily Archives: February 11, 2019
Every year around this time I get a little depressed and start feeling sorry for myself. I say it’s the impending day of fabricated love. All I know is what is true, and I will list it for you. Michael Jackson. No matter how old I get, he makes my heart throb Easter flowers. They bring me hope, and are so bright and just delicate enough The sound of a true gut laugh The smell of barbeque Old ladies who take care to pin their hair and wear jewelry People who wave Cupcakes with sprinkles Magnolias. They are so creamy and extravagant Friends that you can pick right back up with, even if it’s been ten years or more Books with a resolved ending Books about the south Books that are part fantasy Books that aren’t pretentious Cheap books Books People that will talk about books with me My dog. I love his spots and his big feet and his soft, soft ears. Pickles “As you wish” Big old trees Big old houses People sitting on porches playing cards My daily promenade around the block Going antiquing Looking at rocks (I’m not even going to try and describe this. I just like rocks) Being barefoot Tattoos Watching Gone With the Wind Mayfield Caramel Toffee Crunch Ice Cream Avocados Going to the Co-op. Honestly. It’s different now that I don’t work there. I can enjoy visitin…
{#907 You are the main attraction at an old timey carnival side show} I was born a siren eighty miles off the coast of the Emerald Isle. The waters were cold, but my beauty was a flame that kept me warm. I swam wherever I wanted, only mindful of the big wooden ships steaming out for America every day. I batted my tail up sometimes, quick as a hiccup, making the sailors wonder if they saw anything at all. Maybe it was just the glimmer of the sun on the water. Maybe they missed their girl already. I dreamed of having sparkling jewelry made of diamonds and sapphires, not these devoid of color pearls. I wanted legs to dance on. I wanted a life on land. There was one way to obtain it. I could trade my fin forever by luring a man to his death. Girls did it all the time, we were known to be mesmerizing. And we would possess the same beauty on land as we did in the sea, just without our giant, beautiful tail to propel us along. We would be known as vixens. It would be easy enough: wait for a foggy night with a still sea, begin my enchantment by singing my siren song, beckon them closer, closer, until his eyes go gooey with lust, and then catapult out of the water like I was going in for just a kiss but really going for his heart. Or his legs, be that as…
{#378 They say revenge is a dish best served cold. You’ve waited ten years for this moment} The following is a work of fiction. I’ve always said fiction has a good dose of fact, mixed with some fantasy. I’ll let you determine what’s what. Enjoy! I come from a long line of rage. My lawyers tried to get me off on a insanity plea, but I told them like I told everybody else in that courtroom I wasn’t crazy and I damn sure wasn’t sorry. I don’t think that helped my case. But I’ve been taught my whole life there’s nothing wrong with the truth. I’ve also been told on numerous occasions to keep my mouth shut. I’d had all I could take. The literal love of my life expected sympathy for his foolish decisions to take a lover that has bankrupted him. That’s after what I got. I didn’t feel any sympathy, I felt a maniacal fury towards him and the last ten years of my life. I’d warned him over and over again to just shut up. My head pounded, my teeth chattered, my hands clenched. When he reached for me, I scuttled backward like a crawdad. Crawdads aren’t scared, you know. It’s just self preservation. They will fight. They will pinch you seventeen ways to…
Have you ever thought about what it would be like if, when you heard a song for the first time, you could see into the future? If you knew, in the blink of an eye what you would be doing and where you’d be the rest of your life when you heard it again? Wouldn’t that be the weirdest thing ever? “Semi Charmed Life” comes to mind. It always takes me straight back to the first week of June, 1997. We were at the beach, in a convertible, riding down the strip on the way to dinner. The air was warm with promises of what was to come, not only in the immediate future but for the rest of our just-being-shaped lives. Yesterday, I went to the movies to watch Dirty Dancing on the big screen. Prior to the showing, the projector ran a series of facts about the film. Jennifer Grey was 27 when she was cast to play the 17 year old Baby! She had the part immediately after the audition. Patrick Swayze didn’t have dancing listed on his resume, and was nearly looked over. Val Kilmer was offered the part of Johnny Castle, but didn’t want to be branded as a “hunk”. I do not understand this reasoning, I am merely stating the facts. The lights dimmed. “That was the summer of 1963, when everybody called me Baby…
This is an old story, one I have held off on publishing. I had originally called it “But”, however when I came to this writing prompt, it was a perfect fit. He never laid a hand on me. It’s been ten years, but the memory of him still breaks me out in a sweat. When he meets people and finds out they know me, I’m brushed off with a, “Oh, we went out a few times.” I lived with him for two years. We traveled the continent together. We talked nearly every day for over six years. I loved him, because he made me. Because I didn’t know any better. I thought the constant struggle for air was a form of love. This story is nearly impossible to write. I’ve had him out of my head for quite awhile, until a month or so ago, when in walked the director for the Women’s Center in Jefferson County. I try to make conversation while plugging in information on the QuickBooks invoice because it makes people feel more comfortable and it makes time go faster. There ain’t nothin’ quick about QuickBooks. She was so confident in her mannerisms, just the way she carried herself and the way she spoke. She was approachable but businesslike and I found myself confiding in her. “So what does your organization do? Provide shelter to women coming from domestic…
