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Archive for the ‘Relationships’ Category

Stay With Me

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , on July 1, 2012| 4 Comments »

I could be convinced. It’s the end of June, the kids are out of school and the smell of grilled meat wafts through the air giving way only to the scent of fresh blooms and newly snipped blades of grass.

So I suppose it’s true, summer has arrived and rain or shine, wet or dry, hot or… lukewarm and at times, down right chilly the season has brought with it a flurry of excursions, adventures and undertakings.

There will be picnics, barbeques, weddings and water, airplanes, tent trailers, road trips and renos. We’ll see tourists and tan lines (let’s be optimistic) and it just wouldn’t be authentic if we didn’t encounter a few salt-stung heart aches, skinned knees, sunburns and slivers.

I’m building up to something. Can you tell? It’s called foreshadowing and if you’re feelin’ it, I’m on the right track.

My knickers are in a bit of a twist. What’s listed above isn’t a compilation of my imagination. These are things that will actually occur in some form or another and they will be all consuming. You guessed it; how’s a girl to blog?

Reduce, reuse, recycle, that’s how. When necessary, I plan to plagiarize myself; take things I’ve already toiled over, and let’s face it, I’ll toil over them some more before posting cuz that’s just how I roll, and publish them.

My hopes are that this will be a win-win. My past endeavors will undergo a bit of spit ‘n’ shine and there will still be something for you to critique, err, enjoy.

All jokes aside, I beg you to stay with me. Did I actually use the word beg?  Why yes, yes I did. No question this blog has become a big deal in my life. I love writing it, but frankly, I could do that for just me, myself and I.

And I’ve come to realize that if you weren’t here, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.

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A Life She Didn’t Mind

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , on June 19, 2012| 6 Comments »

One by one, overhead fluorescents were snuffed; computer screens extinguished, corner office doors shut tight for the night. She sat on, her screen now the only light in the room, its bluish blaze illuminating her paper-white skin and inflaming her tiny cubicle.

She sipped at her green tea, now cold, while going through case upon case, hi-lighting important points and snippets of court transcripts that may have otherwise been overlooked by the distracted lawyers she worked under.

She massaged her sleepy feet one toe at time, while scrolling through site after site, researching proof for each red inked comment she’d written in the sidebars of every document.

When the last smooth, manila folder thwacked the pile that had mounted on the grey-carpeted floor, she stretched her arms up as high as she could, the skin on her hands protesting as the cracks widened with the pull. Handling paper in a dry office all day long took its toll; the raw, tiny slice on her right pointer finger squealing just enough to make her wince.

She got up and wandered slowly; a laze in her stocking’d step, through the grid of carpeted, shiftable dividers across the office to the glamorous window engulfing the entire West-side wall of the firm. It framed the charcoal city skyline etched against the cobalt sky.

Entering the office at nineteen, it had been the first thing to catch her eye. A window to a world she hadn’t really explored, and even now, at twenty-nine, she still came up short.

But, over the years she’d spent in that office she’d acquired her tiny, but decorated just the way she wanted, apartment in Yaletown and a wardrobe that boasted not one, but two little black dresses. Although they’d only been worn, covered with a blazer, to the office so far. A freezer full of Lean Cuisine, a little grey cat that she loved to bits and out one of her windows she could see a corner of the Keg rooftop patio which provided her with hours of entertainment on a Saturday night.

Exhaling, she turned away from the view, knowing it was time.

The sleety kitchen tiles filtered their cool through her nylons, her feet gliding over each one frictionlessly. She took a shiny, white mug from the cupboard and garnished it with a silver stirring spoon and the content of two brown sugar filled envelopes. She plucked a mandarin from the fridge and a packet of shortbread cookies from the drawer beside it. Snatching spray and paper towel from under the sink, she headed back out to the cubicles.

Coming to his, she stopped, heart thudding, imagination conjuring up his kind, green eyes and bobbing Adam’s apple.

Carefully, she set her supplies on his chair and went about wiping his desktop and dusting his screen; the floral smell of potpourri scented cleaner filling the space as she sprayed.

Taking the mug, she set it to the right of the monitor, its spoon clanging as she put it down, plastic crackling as she laid the cookies and mandarin beside it. She scrawled a happy face on a post it with a Sharpie and stuck it to his mug.

Finished for yet another night, she was, as usual in a hurry to leave. The laze gone, she now scrambled to put away the cleaning supplies, sort the manila folders into organized piles on her desk, grab her coat and whip on her flats.

Out in the fresh air, inhaling deeply, she smiled knowing there’d be a few people adorning the Keg deck on this beautiful night, her kitty would be waiting at the door and tomorrow, he’d be wondering, like he had every morning for the last three years since starting at the firm of one hundred and twenty employees, who the crazy nut in the office was.

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And The Nominees Are…

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Lists, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , , , on June 14, 2012| 16 Comments »

It’s a cozy little place, this blogosphere. At first, I was tentative, holding out. Afraid of scrutiny and criticism yes, but exposure…now that was the scary, no…terrifying, Walking Dead zombie, trapped in a sinking car, hanging off a ledge clinging to a loose rock kind of fear I had of this place…this place, that I now think of as home.

Inhibitions on the back burner, I feel excited to cast out my thoughts and words. My heart pounds as I click my stats and wait for views to appear. It skips a beat when that icon turns orange showing I have a new comment, like or follow. Yes, I admit it. I post. I wait. I hope.

But, like everyone else, I was once unsure. It’s a very bizarre conundrum; loving… longing to write but scared shitless someone might read it.

I’ve come a long way. When I was a child I scribbled stories and ripped them up, afraid, even to keep a journal. Not for fear of my thoughts being read, but that someone would know I’d been writing. The confusing feeling haunts me to this day.

A couple of years ago I did the NaNoWriMo challenge. I wrote and I wrote. It was a huge part of my life for thirty days. I could in fact say that it consumed me. But…I didn’t tell anyone. Obviously, I had to explain to my immediate family why I was less than present, but besides them and the one friend I was taking the challenge with, I told no one else. And, I did not, could not even tell those few who knew about my undertaking what I was writing about. I wrote sixty thousand words and each one of them, my spooky little secret.

I have a similar squeeze when I finish someone’s make-up. When they look in the mirror or stand in front of the camera for the first time, my body seizes and I feel despair that my art is about to be unveiled and subsequently, examined.

Now, I’m posting for the world (hardy, har, har, I wish) to see.

Yes, I’ve come a long way.

The fear has subsided. I still flush as I hit publish, much I’m sure, like a performer about to hit the stage for the…what number is this…twenty-fifth time, still slightly wet behind the ears, but bolstered. Bolstered, thanks to viewers, screaming fans, readers, commenters…pick your poison. They’re all reassuring.

One of the first people to throw my name and “writer” together was P.C. Zick and I am truly grateful to her for that. I am also very grateful (in no particular order) to the following bloggers for many different reasons; their friendship, their support, their writing, their endeavors and their honesty, just to name a few:

1. P.C. Zick http://pczick.wordpress.com/

2. Saige Wisdom http://saigewisdom.blogspot.ca/

3. Lesley Richardson http://www.standingnakedatabusstop.com/

4. Year of Austere http://yearofaustere.wordpress.com

5. Nicole Jane Home http://blog.nicolejane.com/

6. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot 4 http://whiskeytangofoxtrot4.wordpress.com/

7. Sylvia Behnish http://www.thecreativenesswithinme.blogspot.ca/

8. Lewis Thomson http://lth0ms0n.wordpress.com/

9. TK Butterfly http://teekay16.wordpress.com/

10. Rachel Carter http://rachelcarter.me/

11. Ashley Jillian http://ashleyjillian.com/

12. http://secretdiaryofadublincallgirl.wordpress.com/

13. Bethany Lovell http://froggology.blogspot.ca/

14. Adam Martin http://livelikeagrownup.wordpress.com/

15. Carole Bell http://ringmybell-cybell.blogspot.ca/

Write it – Walk it – Own it

Surprisingly, I’ve been nominated for the Inspiring Blog Award and the above fifteen bloggers are my nominees for the same. The named fifteen are now asked to pay it forward, so to speak. Write a post citing your nomination, a link to my post, fifteen nominees of your own and seven things about yourself. (although mine aren’t in bullet form, I believe I’ve woven at least seven in there somewhere, and if it’s less, don’t rat me out)

Thank you Patricia for the vote of confidence and for inspiring me to write today.

Thank you Bloggers, for overcoming whatever challenges you face in creating and relaying your craft to others. It’s an inspiration to us all.

Thank you readers, for perusing my murmurs and mutterings and making me feel like they’re worthy of a tiny piece of this sphere.

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But Sometimes it Hurts Instead…

Posted in Blogging, Getting Famous, Inspiration, Music, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , on June 6, 2012| 8 Comments »

I am overly emotional today, so I feel that a post with an Adele reference is in order.

Don’t worry – we can still get along. I’m sure we can agree that the woman’s got pipes, regardless of how we may feel about her personally.

So, yes…Adele. She’s got pipes, but it doesn’t end there. The girl’s got guts. She has the backbone it takes to write down her deepest, most private thoughts and feelings and send them off into the universe for all to enjoy…and judge. Oh, guts I tell you.

I’ve probably listened to way too much of her and don’t lie; you have too. We’ve all done the “Rolling in the Deep” sixty times in one day, thing. I won’t force concordance; I will simply overlook any denial. (If I weren’t such a professional, I might insert a winky face here with a dash of LOL)

I stumbled upon a snippet of her ‘live in concert’ last night as I was heading to the dinner table. Of course I’ve seen it before, but last night, this particular part stopped me in my tracks.

There she was, black dress, sixties hair, lashed to the extreme, (lovely, but extreme) the spotlight drifting down in waves, powdering her with stardust. Either that, or she was about to be hoovered up into the mother ship, although in Adele’s case, I’m pretty sure it was stardust.

However, I digress. This particular part halted me. She was singing Someone Like You. Yes, a torrid, gut-wrenching song at the best of times, but towards the end, she stopped and let the crowd sing. Now, I know she wrote this song out of heartache and heartbreak, so melancholy is an expected response, however, considering she’s sung it a bazillion times, one can only assume the wound has, at the very least, scabbed over.

No…her emotion seemed to stem from the crowd singing her song; more specifically, the crowd knowing her words. Words she probably wrote on soggy, tear-stained scraps at 3am, alone in the bleak of her grotty little flat, while she contemplated quietly slitting her wrists. But there it was; her painful story dripping off the tongues of strangers, emblazoned onto their hearts and now suspended in the rafters of the Royal Albert Hall.

(It all goes down here. Stick around till the end for the good stuff)

And, it made me think. It would be extraordinary to have people know us that way or, at least that version of us. We can give them all or we can give them bits, we can give them realities or we can give them adaptations. Whatever we’re serving, they want it. They wanna sit at our table and watch us eat, stand there as we have coffee in our robes and brush our teeth. They want to walk in our shoes. They crave our pain and desire our joy. It’s ours to give. We can hand it over. It just takes an iron gut.

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Spinning

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Music, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, Young Adult Literature, tagged , , , on May 22, 2012| 9 Comments »

Dewy flush adorned our cheeks as we shuffled and bumped in the tiny powder room, vying for equal mirror time. I didn’t stand a chance of course, being at least a foot shorter than her, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

Dead or Alive shrieked from the boom box sitting on the rug just outside the open door while combs, sprays, powders, shadows and glosses riddled the small bathroom countertop, trembling to the beat.

Frankly, I didn’t need the mirror. I’d long since learned to mirrorlessly cake color and coif hair on buses, in backseats and down early morning deserted school hallways. Although it stemmed from faithlessness in my natural façade, it was a skill I was quite proud of and one that had come in handy many a time.

Eventually relenting, I sat on the toilet lid, hot vapors from the curling iron tickling my ear. I paused, cementing the curl with a spritz of Final Net as the spool of chocolate strands melted with heat. Shaking the iron gently, I loosened it from the hair, leaving behind a perfect sausage roll. Prepping the next coil, I tilted my chin to watch Jess, a master at her own ritual.

She used a fascinating, self-taught technique to apply liner, slicking it on as thick as she could get it, creating inch wide circles around her top and bottom lids. Taking a damp Q-tip, she’d swipe away the excess, leaving perfectly precise strokes behind to cocoon her diminutive eyes.

“You spin me right round, baby, right round…” Jess’ tall, thin frame bobbed to the music; her off-key crooning making me laugh.

“All I know is that to me, you look like you’re lots of fun. Open up your lovin’ arms. Watch out, here I come!” Although I couldn’t resist joining in, I barely finished the last line, giggles overtaking me.

“Quit showing off!” She complained, half serious. “You’re always stealing my songs.”

They’re hardly your songs”, I chided. “Unless you’re holding out on me and jammin’ with Pete Burns behind my back.”

“Do you think he’ll be there?” She asked, squinting at the mirror., fluffing her naturally curly, blonde hair.

“Pete Burns? I highly doubt it.” I teased. “Slightly rich taste for a good old North Side dance.”

“You know who I mean!” Her eyes widened, peeps of white speckling the muddy liner.  Do you think he’ll show?”

“Dunno…don’t care.” I sighed, hoping I sounded undoubtable.

The gymnasium was magically murky apart from the twinkle lights. They nodded and dipped as we walked under the archway and into the dance. The ceiling was flocked with pearly white balloons, their inflated heads and dangling strings reminding me of spermatozoa, compliments of elementary Sex-Ed.

“Jess!” I turned to smirk about the balloons, but she was gone, running after Sharon who looked ready to burst with the latest breaking news on the dance shenanigans.

I started to follow her, but froze. I could see him, his head swinging back and forth in front of the stage. That was it…I was stuck, breathless.

I watched him through the packs of gyrating teens, spinning girl after girl.

Jess kept coming back, begging me to dance to all our favorites. My legs twitched, knowing I should be out there having fun, but my eyes were cemented, unable to break away from his chestnut hair and tanned skin.

“Come on,” Jess whined. “The next song is the last and it’ll be a slow one. At least dance this one with me!”

I looked at her sparkly, ever-happy face and felt terrible. I’d been a total let down; the opposite of a best friend.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I surrendered. “I don’t know why I’m wasting our night anyway.” Irritated with myself, I chiseled my stare, breaking it free.

Managing to conceal my dismay, I smiled and laughed as we bounced to Quiet Riot, my mind fleeting to the sperm-like balloons once again, as Jess hollered out; “Cum on feel the noise…”

As the song ended, Bradley Buchner hurried over to scoop her for the last number of the night.

“I’ll wait for you outside, Jess. It’s too hot in here,” I turned, but her nose was nuzzled in the crook of Bradley’s neck and Mrs. H was already hurrying over to separate them as I slunk away.

I punched the metal bar on the orange wooden door and my heart plunged into the pit of my stomach when I saw him sitting there on the steps. I wanted to slither back into the school, but he’d already heard me coming.

“Hey,” he said. “Where did you come from?”

“The gym. It was, uh, too hot in there. I needed some air.”

“You were in the gym?” he looked surprised.

“Um, yeah.” I said, looking down at my satin dress and patent pumps. Where did he think I’d been?

“Oh, yeah, I guess,” he looked away quickly. “It’s just that I was kind of keeping an eye out for you. I didn’t see you once.”

I had been hiding in the shadows, watching him all night, sabotaging my own chances of dancing with the boy I’d had a crush on for two years.

We sat silent on the cool concrete steps. Bonnie Tyler‘s echoey billows escaping the gym, drifting through the empty halls and out the door I’d left unguarded. Stars faintly twinkling behind the drooping, greyish white haze in the sky; the scene a ghost of the party inside.

I’d hidden; afraid he’d hurt me, but in the end, I’d taken care of that myself.

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Why?

Posted in Blogging, Facebook, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writer's Block, Writing, tagged , , , on May 20, 2012| 7 Comments »

Support

Twenty…and a pregnant pause leading up to it. This may have seemed strategic on my part, but I really didn’t mean for there to be almost a week in between this and my last post. In fact, the delay pained me.

I could blame a cocktail fusion of bountiful duties, stresses and strains but those alone wouldn’t stand in my way. No…there was something else. Poison. Seeping in through breaks and pores and I, too hectic to see it.

Thoughts of redundancy crept in and took hold; feelings that what I had to say was useless, unnecessary, and, worst of all, uninteresting. After all, we can scoop out as much of the ‘useless unnecessary’ we want, but hand out uninteresting and the world stops. It stops, and so do the readers. Poison reigns.

As a result, this past week has been me, talking myself out of writing, telling myself no one will notice, no one will care…convincing myself it won’t matter. So, why slog on? Oh, woa-ez me.

My bouts with potentially potent poison have had me down in the fathomless folds of forlorn. Past visits to this dank, dark space have had me believing only I can get myself up and out and let’s face it, sometimes, the easy button just isn’t around; buried deep in the couch pillows or…under a slab of super thick cement.

This time has been different. It took me a while to clue in – I’m not alone. I have my interests, my thoughts, my words and a spot to call my own. I have expectant readers checking in, searching for fresh utterances. I have followers taking the time to comment, like and message and I have fellow bloggers gracing me with reblogs and mentions; all bestowing me with virtual high fives.

I love to write, but it can be an isolated endeavor. You are the antidote to the toxins that can sometimes course through my veins. I am truly grateful for your stake in my blog. I’m humbled by your interest in what I have to say. I am blessed that you inspire me to do what I hold dear.

You are why. I can’t thank you enough.

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Over and Under

Posted in Blogging, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , on May 9, 2012| 9 Comments »

We walked along the foamy shore, stopping every few steps to skip a smooth, flat rock across the sea glass surface of the water.

The air was crisp and the breeze pushed through my hair as I pulled the light fabric of my jacket closer to my body and squinted, staring out over the soft-rippling sheath. The sun glinted off the mast of a sailboat in the distance, its white sail taut and strong in the wind.

He stopped again, slightly ahead of me, stooping to search for another flat rock. Finding one, he straightened, the flush slowly disappearing from his cheeks as the rush of blood retreated.

“I don’t think there’s much left to say.” he sighed.

My grip tightened and my jacket imprisoned my thudding heart. I kept my head down, eyes on the lick of foam coating the toes of his shoes.

“So, you’re just giving up?” I’d intended to sound indignant, but I’d come off sounding damaged instead.

The rock rolled over and under, back and forth between his long, slender fingers and I watched it for a while, wishing it was the only thing in danger of losing its position.

“I can’t be what you need.” his head sagged, a long breath escaping him as he continued to manipulate the rock.

I scraped my gaze off his shoes and looked up at a griping Gull. My eyes stung; salty sea spray mingling with briny tears.

A small part of me wanted to argue, to convince him to try. But a bigger part of me wanted him to fight. After all, if I had to persuade him, what was the point?

With a flick of his wrist the rock lost its footing, leaping headlong into the deep.

As it disappeared through the tear it made in the water’s surface a strong wind nabbed the sailboat, assaulting its sail, leaving torn flaps of cloth floating in its wake.

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Sucker for a Pucker

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Music, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , on May 7, 2012| 12 Comments »

I soared through my grade two piano exam with flying colors and dropped it the day the certificate arrived in the mail, never plunking another key.

I stem from a long line of Irish singers and entertainers and there are times I can belt one out like an angel, although, the next note from my mouth could send you running for the hills. Clearly, I didn’t join the clan, despite the fortitude of flatteries flowing from my mum.

I grew up listening to my parents’ Beatles, The Police, Clapton, Joplin, Dylan, Richards, Hook and Van Morrison; the tunes blaring from the four foot tall floor speakers as I toiled through chores; the melodies making the tasks somewhat less agonizing.

Overjoyed to induct their longstanding turntable atop my dainty dresser at twelve, my age and stage soon drew me away from their vinyls and bewitched me with pop radio, spurring endless calls to the local station to request Bryan Adams’ Heaven.

Sleepy Saturday mornings saw my Dad and I devouring syrup soaked pancakes, butter-smothered toast and bacon, savory omelets with sizzling sausage all the while gorging on Celine Dion, The Rankins, Air Supply, Rita McNeil and Enya. Okay, it was a transitional time.

I cruised the strip with cavorting companions, consuming Sheena Easton, Pat Benatar, Whitney Houston, Van Halen, The Bangles and later, Queen, Yaz, The Cult, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, HoJo and Erasure.

I saw Purple Rain eight times and wished I could rock a Raspberry Beret…

I ate pizza, painted my nails and tied lace ribbon in my hair while memorizing the lyrics to Crazy For You…

My heart shattered, along with millions of other teens, as I croaked out Total Eclipse of the Heart alongside Bonnie Tyler, tears watering down my Coca-Cola float…

As a young adult I guzzled U2, The Eagles, Billy Joel, Sinead O’Connor, Jewel and the Eurythmics while harboring some kind of twisted half crush on Michael Jackson.

Despite my ambiguous relationship with instrumentals, I’m an absolute sucker for a rock ‘em, sock ‘em voice. I don’t always have to fall in love with the song, the genre doesn’t always have to be up my alley and I don’t even have to like the singer.

Something about the voice can convert me. If it prickles my skin, stirs superfluous surges, ravages my mood or awakens my senses, I’m in, and I’ve never seemed to give a busted string what song everyone else is singing.

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Two Is Better Than One

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, Young Adult Literature, tagged , , , on May 3, 2012| 20 Comments »

“Hey”, he sneered my way. “Hey!” a little louder, a little breathier.

I blushed. I always blushed; perpetually, painfully shy, continuously craving invisibility. I stared straight ahead, eyes on the board, palms and pits producing an instant hot sweat.

“You know…you gotta have the ugliest nose I’ve ever seen.” he hissed.

I leaned forward, hands flat on my desk; perspiration mixing with the Comet residue the janitor had left behind, forming a balmy paste over my flattened grip.

It was Valentine’s Day and the Carnations would be delivered soon. You could feel the buzz in the room. I tried to focus on that. Once my flower came, I’d be vindicated. He’d feel so stupid for taunting me. He’d realize I might be popular and that someone out there might think I was pretty.

The Carnations were a big deal at our school; a yearly tradition. They cost three dollars of hard-earned pocket-money so selecting the recipient was taken very seriously. Boys sent them to girls, girls sent them to boys, girls even sent them to each other. Most were fired off anonymously; the only ones signed stemming from legitimate daters and official best friends. No one else dared to be so outwardly presumptuous.

“I bet you think you’re gonna get a flower, don’t you?” he jeered.

I tried to lift my hand discreetly, bringing it up to camouflage my apparently hideous nose and my now stinging eyes. I would not cry in front of him, but the smell of the Comet coming from my grit-covered hand was burning my nostrils and losing me my battle.

“You think you can hide that big banana?” he laughed. “Good luck with that. Good luck with that and that grease-slicked skin of yours.”

I liked to think it was the fumes, but my eyes were brimming regardless of cause and I knew he would be sure he’d gotten under my skin, fumes or not.

“Are you crying?” he mocked. “God, you’re such a baby.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see his knee bouncing up and down. His leg jostled a mile a minute causing the frayed hem of his jeans to swing back and forth.

Although tears were the last thing I wanted him to see, they did make him back off.  No one wanted to be responsible for making someone cry in class. It meant a trip to the office and a call home, neither a favorable outcome.

I tilted my head and stared through the window. Outside was bleak. It had been a particularly cold February and the wind was whipping through the trees. I swallowed the lump in my throat and longed to be out there. Being outside in blustering gales coatless would be better than having to sit here, enduring him.

I tried to pay attention to the lesson being taught. I tried not to think of my rumbling belly, my chemically transformed skin, my imminent flower or the jerk next door. I had almost accomplished all of it when there was a knock on the door causing an eruption of excitement amongst the other students.

I simply froze. What if it hadn’t worked? Or worse, what if I had somehow messed it up and it wasn’t anonymous after all? The sweat magnified and became a fast-trickling stream flowing straight down my spine.

“You’re getting greasier by the second, loser.” he said in a snide tone.

My eyes were glued on the flower bearers. They were shouting out name after name and at long last, mine was called.

As hard as it was to have all eyes on me, I lifted my cement-stiff body out of the desk and forced my heavy legs to move towards the front of the room.

As I got closer, confusion set in. Two flowers were being held out.

“Do you want me to pass one to someone?” I whispered, my face flaming with prickly heat.

“Nope, both for you. Lucky,” the girl said enviously. “I didn’t get any.” It shouldn’t have, but it made me tingly inside.

The tingling shrouded the walk back to my desk and shielded me from the stares and snickers. I sat down in a trance-like state, eyes glued to the blossoms laid out in front of me. Their sweet aroma replaced the smelly Comet, their pastel shades swapped for the unicolor scheme outside.

A legit Valentine’s Day Carnation. I did a quick mental check; nope, I’d only sent myself one. I was sure.

“Two?” I heard him exclaim. “I don’t believe it,” he almost sounded wounded. “You sent those to yourself,” he guessed. “You had to!”

My face seared and my throat tightened. He’d managed to break through my bubble and yank me back to miserable reality. Only reality didn’t seem all that miserable anymore. Someone had thought of me, someone liked me.

The bell to end the school day rang and he got up quickly. “See ya later, freak show.”

I waited for everyone to leave, their chatter slowly quieting as they filed out one by one.

I wanted to pack my flowers in my bag without the other kids knocking around. I wanted to make sure they went unharmed.

As I swung my legs, now light, around the side of my seat, something caught my eye; a pink ticket that hadn’t been there before. I recognized it instantly and my heart skipped a beat as I quickly looked around. If anyone had seen it, I’d be the laughing-stock of the school, the butt of every joke, as opposed to now, being the butt of only most.

I reached down to grab the Carnation receipt, my fingers fumbling over the waxy paper. But, as I brought it closer to my face, I realized it didn’t belong to me. My name was boldly printed in the recipient’s box sure enough, but the printing wasn’t mine.  It was his…the jerk next door’s.

Okay, we all knew that was coming.  Except for…maybe the boys…                                                           

This short story is published on Ezine: http://ezinearticles.com/?Two-Is-Better-Than-One&id=7041636 

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Unwritten

Posted in Blogging, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , on April 24, 2012| 13 Comments »

There are those who were latchkey kids, kids who didn’t have the ‘right’ clothes, were bullied at school, friendless…kids that endured self-indulgent, monstrous parents.

Some who had it rough. Like, real rough. Dirt poor, beaten, sexually abused, neglected, starved…abandoned.

There are folks who were never shown an ounce of love. Not nurtured, not praised, not cared for, not raised.

There’s the temptation to think; if only we had…which brings us to the people who had a solid upbringing, unconditional love…money galore and chose to piss it all away on material possessions and self-abuse…early ending lives. Spoiled and severely unhappy, lonely, effed up, tragic humans.

Then there are individuals whose success, fame and wealth seem to lead to a balanced and gratified existence. An existence suffused with paying it forward.

The world is full of different kinds of people with different principles, morals and motives. What makes us what we are? What makes us what we become?

At the risk of a cliché, life is what we make of it. It really is. We can let our journey make us, break us, drag down or define us, but the path we walk is our choice and every day is a new dawn because the rest is still Unwritten…

“I am unwritten

Can’t read my mind

I’m undefined

I’m just beginning

Pen’s in my hand

Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words

That you could not find

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten” (Natasha Beddingfield)

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