To write, or not to write....

Okay, so I want to take writing classes and workshops, but I can't afford all that money......then I considered enrolling in a college online to get my writing degree, but I am left wondering how practical that is. Does anybody read this? If so, I could use some advice.

defeated

Tired, through and through. Worn, washed-out, sick of being played and thrown to the floor. You love me for what I GIVE only because I never ask for anything in return. I'm so tired.

Love....effervescent, time-stopping, body-numbing love. Have you felt it? Does it even exist? Since time began, man has yearned for companionship, and woman has been the slave of her husband, or, as the bible says, "her wanting will be for her husband, and he will have dominion over her." Is that supposed to be a curse, or a blessing? 

Am I supposed to feel comforted by that thought? What about free choice? What if I can't remain in subjection to my so-called husband, and that's if I marry at all? Why should I? 

But what about love? When two people love each other, aren't they really in subjection to each other?  To love, honor, and cherish, with a commitment to remain loyal forever, until death do you part.

Does that even exist anymore? 

Did it ever?

Random free write

Pandemonium reigns supreme
 inside this sacred holy being of velvet
and soft rabbit fur,
I looked away-another blur
flew past my eyes and I saw not
the shadow creature up on top
of rotting hills and mountainsides,
and tears that flowed when God did cry. 

I am the captain.......

I had the most amazing dream last night....outside of my usual weird and horror-filled ones.  In this particular dream, I had magic skills. Something almost went horribly wrong- something that wouldn't be able to be changed once it had happened-but I was able to use magic to make everything right again. And then I took this trip- I was flying through the air, going backwards in time, seeing myself doing everything only backwards- my kids, school, my childhood, until I was an infant. It was exhilarating!!

I realized today that if I want to be a writer I have to write...here, in my home journals, on facebook, in letters.....I have to write. It is time to begin reading all those books I have bought. I began the year with a resolution to make resolutions....only to try my hardest at whatever I endeavored to do. I still have some work to do...we all do....but I am finishing my third class in college with an A, and have begun practice writing, and am participating in several write-a-thons. I am moving into a two bedroom apartment down the hall....got a miniature schnauzer, and feel good about where my life is going, for the first time in years.

I want to share some stolen inspiration, but it has become my mantra....."I am the captain of my soul."

Invictus William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be  For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance  I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance  My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,  How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

P.S. See the movie...it's astounding!!

On death and life......

My neighbor died a week ago last Friday. I know because I discovered her body. Or I should say....I called the cops to investigate the smell in our apartment hallway, and I worried something had happened to her. She lived directly across from me, and I knew she had health issues, and I hadn't seen her for a few days.

As soon as the cop entered our building, he said, "Oh yeah. I know that smell." And I knew. So he found her door unlocked, went in, and came right back out, then called whomever he needed to call.

All day was back and forth, with the apartment open most of the time, smell wafting.......and me feeling sad that she spent so long alone before anyone cared to call it in.

She wasn't a friendly person, and enjoyed picking on me because my granddaughter made "too much noise," but still...I put flowers in front of her door.

What we do in life is what people will remember in death. I plan to make my life count. As much as I can, anyway. My granddaughter needs me, my kids still need straightening out, and I have plans to do great things. I want to work with autistic children. I want to go to Italy. I want to learn to water ski. I want to publish a book. Maybe I want to teach in an underprivileged country. I want to rescue homeless animals

Point is, life matters so much more than how and when we die. No matter  how many times Marilyn (my neighbor) complained, I always greeted her warmly. I do nice things for people. I am a good listener for anyone who needs one. I donate to charities. I help people and animals alike. And I love God. I don't always understand Him, or His methods, but I love Him.

I hope all that counts or something when I die.  

Daily living

I should be writing...have been musing over a poem for the past two weeks for poetry class using alliteration, assonance, and consonance, all in the same poem. I could write garbage, of course, but I prefer perfection, or near enough to it.

Instead I am watching a bad Amityville sequel, and waiting for Peabody's to deliver me up a nice taco salad and BLT sub. I also took a nap for an hour. Such a difficult life I lead.

Underneath all this hubbub is real noise and discontent. I am currently seeking custody of my granddaughter because my daughter would rather party. I am trying to lose weight. 'Nuf said about that. I am seriously trying to take like 6 or 7 classes, all leading somewhere. And I have been tired, so tired lately......naps daily. I am worn out. Exhausted. Pooped.

I have been introduced to new writers, however, and am trying to learn from them.

hm.....food is here. Maybe I'll splash some writing up later.

Of Apples and Birds

excerpt from a short story i wrote in a fiction class....

" Bradley is standing silently, gazing out over the still, glassy pond. He doesn't turn around when I call out to him. I make my way down the grassy hill to stand beside him, and he takes my hand in his. It is cool, lifeless. Suddenly everything tilts and I am pitched forward into the cold, murky water. Bradley looks down at me and starts to cry. I open my mouth to ask him why he is crying when his face bursts open and blooms into a huge red rose, blood red paint dripping off the petals and onto my face. I wipe the thick, gooey liquid from my eyes and  when I glance down at my hands they are covered in blood.....Bradley's blood. I scream and look up into his face and he is smiling down at me, lipless mouth pulled back into a monstrous grin. Apple, he says, Apple, I forgive you.....

I wake to the jab of a wasp sting and someone screaming, and I try to ask my mom to tell them to be quiet but I can't because it is me who is screaming. Tears run from my eyes, seeking shelter in the bandages wrapped around my face. I believe I am going to drown when darkness creeps in and envelopes my mind and everything goes still and black. I do not dream."

part of a new short story....

Dad was already pulling his big, black boots on when I stepped into the kitchen. "Come on, Sara," he said to me excitedly. "The snow is three inches thick and still coming down, and the moonlight is lighting the field. Let's take the sled down Old Martha!" Martha was what we called the giant sledding hill in the back field, on account of it being large and round, like my great-aunt Martha; she would die of embarrassment if she weren't already gone.

 

I didn't need much convincing. A few minutes later we walked side by side through the softly falling snow, me pulling the sled behind. Except for the hushed swish of our boots on new snow, there wasn't a sound. Moonlight spread across the open field like a beam, illuminating the night and revealing a pristine mound of whiteness. 

 

 Dad glanced down at me and smiled. "Race you to the top!" he cried and he sprinted away. "No fair!" I giggled and ran to catch up. I passed him half way up the hill, then turned and waited for him to join me at the top. He had stopped running, and I could see his limp, though he hid it well.

 

  Out of breath and coughing, he greeted me with his endless smile, then stood for a minute, quiet, staring down the hill. "Dad," I began, but he cut me short. "Well, whattaya waiting for, Sugar Plum? This hill ain't gonna wait forever!" He jumped onto the sled and beckoned me to sit. Wiping away the tears that threatened to spill, I climbed onto the seat in front of him, then leaned back and nestled into his once strong arms. "I love you, daddy," I said. "I love you, too, Sugar Plum," he replied, then we pushed off for our descent, giggling all the way.

Musings on life, love, and everything in between

I watch her sleeping, my angel, my life's delight. She cuddles in close keeping us both warm, and I am comforted. I need her perhaps more than she needs me- she does, after all, have her mother. But I am lost when she is gone, like a duckling in a lonely pond and no one to swim to.

It's bizarre, how I dreaded the day I might find out my daughter was pregnant, and I tried, in vain, to prevent that from happening. Now, I wouldn't go back to change it for one second. Not even if God himself promised to take me back to before I met my ex-boyfriend. I would endure every torture he inflicted happily if I knew she was waiting at the end of it all.

I had a long break in my writing just now.....got a phone call from a good friend who really helped me see through some of the darkness that has been clouding my vision. Maybe all I needed was a cathartic release....or some wise advice from an objective observer. Either way, it refueled my fire and my flame burns hot and high.

Being off the antidepressants is difficult. I have been taking drugs since the year 2000 to help me get through days...no...minutes. People do not realize how long and agonizing a few hours can be when you are used to feeling numb through them all. But I dredge on, determined to do this. I am weepy, sensitive, depressed. But I feel renewed since my phone conversation.

I know all the things I need to do...I have been doing this a long time. Exercise, food, sunlight, meditation, relaxation.....blah, blah, blah. Vitamins, etc. I know. I know. I have been to therapy enough to be my own therapist. I have taken two years of psychology classes.

It's a pit, this thing called depression. Add to it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder brought on by childhood sexual abuse and emotional abuse and neglect.......who could stand before this demon? Who could walk through that fire unburnt....clean and unscathed? I struggle.....No...I fight, and I fight hard, daily. I understand suicidal tendencies. I see that bleak, desolate mountain before me on a regular basis. I know why cutters cut. I get it all too well.

But I am still here. I have stared into the eyes of the angel of light, and I have survived. He didn't kill me. He didn't stop me from living even after he took almost everything I had. Maybe God is refining me. Maybe I do have a higher purpose. Maybe I am important......not as important as his disciples.....but important nonetheless.

I am still here for a reason. Maybe now it's time to figure that reason out.