Crying Wolf

I have a sick little guy this morning and I’m scrambling trying to figure out what I’m going to do while he goes and lays back down. Here’s a quick little story. Happy Friday Y’all.


‘What exactly happened?’ The officer sat with a pen at the ready.
‘It was like being at a motocross race, non-stop engines revving. Windows shook and Peppy couldn’t even go outside. She just sat and shook.’
The officer looked at the little fluffy marshmallow in the corner stained with red.
Sessy continued, ‘I walked outside and warned I was going to call the cops. Next thing I know Peppy was at one of the boys’ throats and the bike was through my front wall. Is the boy ok?’
The officer chuckled, ‘He’s ok, but said it was a wolf attack?’

Word Count: 100
© Jo Creative PTSD

With new ambitions on the horizon, a quick poll will help a lot.

 

Saturday Early-Late Start

Got a late start even though I woke up early. The older kiddos had solo/ensemble this morning and had to be at the school by 7AM. Picture it, I’m up at 4AM cleaning the kitchen and trying to prepare for the day. My son is up an reminding me that we have our coffee date and he even put some thought into the trip, ‘Let’s drop off my sissies first then we can go straight there.’ Well, can’t argue with that. It’s now 6:25AM, I’m not dressed to leave the house but surprise surprise, the girls weren’t even up! Here I am, trying to get dressed, make pancakes, and get the girls up and ready. My husband was tasked with digging the car out with the snow that came in last night but believe it or not we were out of the house and got them there right on time.

An exciting decision on my part I made in the wee morning hours. Now, just some research. I thought about putting writing an anthology of super short micro fictional stories and publishing. I’m not good at the long haul stories (I easily lose my train of thought or can’t even make it to the finish line) but thoroughly enjoying my short stories. I came across a list on Facebook that furthered encouraged my idea. I’ll post stories from this list. I have decided 150 words is my limit. No more, no less. I’m going to figure out a rating system and would like the reader’s honest opinion when choosing a rating. Ratings are for me to decide if this is something I should further pursue publishing and perhaps increasing the word limit by 100.

list

 

Super Excited!

Coming home and ordering pizza was one of the most relaxing things I’ve done for myself today outside of creating my olive monster. Then I learn that I REALLY get to write a guest post on an art blog. Details coming soon but I’m OVER THE MOON to be given the opportunity to do it. THEN I was checking stats and noticed that one of my referrers was Discover. Umm…HUH? After Discover ended the topics I thought that would NEVER appear again.

I had a short response and thought it wouldn’t make a difference. There were so many awesome responses and stories. The question was, ‘What if you could do anything?’ My insignificant answer, short and to the point, ‘Heal what has been broken.’ There is so much turmoil in the world and within me that these were the only acceptable words that could barely scrape explaining what I would do. But, Y’ALL! (insert excited EEK here). I’m the 6th response down!!!

With everything going awful and these two positive moments happening on the same day is a renewal of determination and grasping confidence again. Just wanted to share and toot my own horn for a bit. EEK! And now I’m going to get some much needed rest.

Bummer…Spamming Hopes SUCK!

I allowed myself to get excited for a second when I received an email to be a guest blog author for a certain blog. I should have known that it wasn’t legit! First, I didn’t follow the blog nor did it follow mine. As you, my readers, know that I post photos, some artwork, my Havamal study, short stories,  and journal stuff (like weight loss and this post just to example a bit) and nothing really to do with the subject matter of this blog. I have been wanting to guest post on other blogs, submit short stories, you know to gain some confidence and exposure. This wasn’t it. This was a big ol’ slab of SPAM!

I checked out the blog when I noticed that it doesn’t have any of my interests posted or even in the same genre of things I like. When asked what would be given for my time the reply was, gratitude and free hosting.’ WTF! I already pay for mine and I have tons of posts and readers that follow me and I follow them some of which I feel are great blogging friends. Why would I write for a no-name blog that barely has 5 posts?

My excitement went to feeling like guest writing/blogging will never be a goal that I’ll meet to screw it…moving on. Has anyone else experienced this type of spam?

Future’s Past

I know I know…I’m SUPER behind. I had such bad writer’s block today and then this happened. I tried keeping it short and may revisit for edits but here is my Friday story. Now for my 365 Day project.


Another girls night out and it was Polly’s turn to choose the activity. She was tired of the club scene and getting hit on by random guys. She didn’t care for going to the movie and show events because either the food was bad or the show. Polly didn’t have an artistic bone in her body so she loathed the drink and paint events that her friends would drag her too. Polly realized that most of the activities they do on lady’s night out involved alcohol. She and her friends were all moms and craved an adventure but she felt that they settled for mainstream hum drum ‘mom’ activities. Not tonight.

Polly was the black sheep of the friend group but she’s been that since they were all in high school. She was the quiet nerd copywriting for the school newspaper and her friends were cheerleaders or popular. She was even the last one to have a child. Her fiance got cold feet and left her before they could even stand at the altar. Her friends were supportive but she knew they judged her and her parenting which is why she only really hung out with them on their lady’s night. She wasn’t reclusive but she didn’t seek out socializing. Now that her daughter was a teen it was easier for her to see her friends a few times a month without worrying about a babysitter.

Her night to choose and tonight it wasn’t going to be her go-to usual midnight matinee at the local theater. She planned out a psychic reading for all of her friends and a ‘blackout dining’ experience. She has always wanted to do both of her choices but never spoke up but tonight something was different. She felt braver. The other 5 women showed up ready to go and she knew that as long as there was booze involved somewhere they would be game for whatever she suggested. The girls walked in after a brief tap on the door and a ‘yoohoo’ yodled inside. Polly greeted them and quickly told them, ‘Ladies, I have a unique night planned for us. First, we will be getting a psychic reading and I’ve reserved 2 hours for all of us to be read then we will be having a blackout dining experience.’ The other’s quietly stared at her and then the chatter of acceptance and hopeful what-ifs filled the space.

The girls arrived at Madame Quinn’s parlor promptly on time even though the carpool of women got lost twice. One by one the women went behind the black velvet curtain to have a future told to them while the others peruse Madame Quinn’s shelves of knick-knacks and herbs gossiping about whether or not Quinn was a fake and the fortunes were true. Polly was the last to disappear behind the curtain to an unknown future. ‘Sit down dear.’ Quinn motioned for Polly to sit across from her. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Polly stammered. ‘Just relax and place your hands palm up on the scarf.’ Polly slowly put her hands on the scarf as instructed and Quinn gently cradled her hands around Polly’s. ‘You’re not like your friends. You appreciate the soul of things and live in moments. You shouldn’t worry about your daughter so much. Her future is everything a mom can ask for her daughter.’ Polly relaxed. ‘You have many pasts and this conflicts with your future. Your several futures.’ Quinn said slowly and squinted her eyes at her hands then met Polly’s eyes. ‘What does that mean?’ Polly asked. Quinn continued,’ You have a love from your past that you keep missing in each life. You continue to miss him in the future.’ Polly slid her hands out of Quinn’s and slumped back crossing her arms, ‘I had a man that I loved and he left. The love of my life is my daughter.’ ‘Child, the man that left is not the same from your past. He doesn’t know he’s looking for you. But you need to see. You need to be aware of your body. It will tell you if you listen. If and when you find each other futures change from lifetime to lifetime.’ Quinn said gripping Polly’s wrist, ‘Just listen.’ Polly stood and thanked Madame Quinn, paid for the services and tipped. All the girls loaded up in the van and headed to dinner. Polly could see Quinn standing outside with a hand cupped to her ear.

The women arrived at the restaurant where they were blindfolded and given instructions that they will be aided by the staff that has night vision goggles and guide your hands to plates and glasses. The women stumbled as they were lead to their table and no matter how hard Polly tried her there wasn’t any light for her eyes to make adjustments too. Everyone except Polly ordered a spirited drink whereas she opted for water. The meal was already preplanned so there were no menus just the drink order that needed to be placed. The women talked about Madame Quinn and what their futures held for them and when Polly was asked she replied, ‘I need to listen to my body.’ Giggles then the conversation was interrupted by the waiter, ‘I will be coming around on your left and placing a plate in front of you. Once the plates are placed I will guide your hands to the plate and the silverware is on your right.’ Polly’s hearing was overcompensating for the loss of sight. She could hear the plates being set on the table and her’s was last. She could hear hands being guided by the waiter with the sound of fabric scrapping against the table cloth.

Polly could feel the waiter on her left and her body temperature dropped. Her hair raised on her arms and she could feel a magnetic pull on her chin and look up in the darkness and she swore she saw the outline of a man. Polly whispered, ‘Thank you,’ as he guided her hand to her plate. The touch sent an electric pulse to her heart and instead of skipping a beat she felt a pang of sorrow. She could hear him walk away and wondered if he felt what she did. The women ate and chatted but now Polly was distracted and offered the occasional, ‘yup’ and ‘really’ in the conversation when warranted. The meal ended and the waiter guided the women to the hostess area where Polly could feel the pang in her heart as the waiter bid them goodnight. She was quiet on the way home and snapped out of her quiet mood when the vehicle pulled up in front of her house. They said their goodbyes and squealed about how they haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Polly quietly entered her house, kissed her daughter’s sleeping forehead, and went to bed.

Polly tossed and turned all night with dreams of a faceless man and woke up late. She decided to go to the coffee shop by her house. Waiting in line she could feel the pull and pang. Her mouth went dry and she could hear a familiar shuffle even over the noise of the coffee shop. She turned and looked directly in the eyes of a man behind her. She noticed his breath quickened and he swallowed hard. ‘Do I know you?’ Polly asked. ‘You looked at me the same way last night. I was…’ Polly interrupted, ‘Our waiter.’ He nodded, ‘I’m Zack.’ ‘Im Polly.’ Coffee orders were placed and they sat talking like they had known each other for years. Morning turned into afternoon and they were talking into the evening, ‘I need to get home,’ Polly said sadly. Zack gave her his number and they made plans to make plans. Polly watched Zack walk away and it felt like she was losing something important.

For weeks the pair talked and grew closer together. A couple of years passed when Zack asked Polly to be his wife. Her friends were bridesmaids and her daughter the matron of honor. She could feel something crushing her from the inside and thought it to be wedding nerves. ‘It’s past time to say our vows,’ Polly told her daughter and feared that she was being left again. ‘Polly, I need you to come with me.’ The priest motioned for her to follow. The walked down a long hallway that was behind the main room where she was met by two officers. She already knew the bad news and zoned out the man telling her about the wreck. She sat on the floor surrounded by white fabric but all she could feel was emptiness. After the church was cleared and she changed out of the dress she wandered around the city where she found herself in front of Madame Quinn’s parlor. Quinn was waiting outside for Polly and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Polly began to cry and yell, ‘WHY!? I found him! I listened just like you said! What the fuck Quinn?! What did I do wrong!’ Quinn took Polly’s hand, ‘My dear child, I told you many futures. This future wasn’t the one that was meant to be. Your soul now recognizes his. It will be easier next lifetime. Go home, raise your daughter, grow old, you’ll marry a man that will keep you company and you will be surrounded by your children and grandchildren. Your soul will now remember what to do and who to recognize. A future’s past only foresees a soul’s constant.

Fates Dread

I had such a difficult time with this story. There is so much more I want to add and write but I have to get ready for work and if it’s any longer then it’s no longer considered a short story. I strayed from the normalcy of Norse mythology and wanted to dabble a little in romance and fate.


Even at night in the comfort of darkness, Asta felt uneasy. She had a gift and honed it over the years. A völva is respected, feared, and regarded but Abigail couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. She was feared more than anything as her beauty was still intact but she accepted the solitude as it was her path in life. She paced with nervousness and rubbed her sweaty palms on the back of her linen gown. She thought about tossing her runes and thought perhaps not and knew it wasn’t her time to be taken from the earthly realm.

She could hear the wind pick up outside as if helping her dread come to her door. The candles flickered on the tables in her room and the fire roared a little louder than it should for being in a hearth. Asta sat at her weaving and began to work on her blanket when she lost herself between the threads and hand motions. She could see a man walking away from bodies, sword in hand. With every footstep, she could hear thunder and feel the steps vibrating through her. A feeling of emptiness consumed her but was rescued from it with a banging on her door.

She opened the door to find a young child looking up at her. This was not her usual seeker of truth. She knelt to his level but he said nothing. ‘I’m Asta. Would you like some stew?’ The boy didn’t answer but took her hand. Not to lead her but to show her. The moment he gripped her hand she was taken back to the bloody field. This time the man was walking to her and not just in her direction. When the boy let go of her hand she was standing in the field behind her home and in front of her was the man from her visions.

Asta finally spoke, ‘Gulbrand.’ She said in a knowing timid whisper. He stepped closer to her, ‘Asta.’ They knew each other’s names without knowing one another. He took her hand and the final scene was revealed when he kissed her cheek. The moment his warm rough lips touched her smooth cool cheek she was taken back to the field. In a tent of red fabric, she sat in a chair cradling a full term belly rubbing the soles of her feet on furs that covered the ground. Gulbrand entered and washed his hands and face before kneeling in front of Asta. He cradled the unborn child looking up at Asta and smiled. The field of bodies was a cost of protection. Then Asta was shown the same field where Gulbrand was playing with a young boy. He was the same child at her door, her future son.

Then it was darkness and dread and willed its way back to her. Gulbrand, as if reading her mind, ‘Don’t fear your fate. Our saga began the moment your vision revealed me. Our paths were chosen by the Gods. Our son is destined to be the future of man.’ Asta knew more than Gulbrand. Their son is may be the future of man but also ends the futures of others. That was the dread she felt.

Twittering Tales #119: Seer’s Sup

I haven’t participated in one of these challenges by was inspired by the Kristian to give it a go. This was a refreshing exercise and enjoyed it. If I can remember to do these I think they would be great to elaborate on for my longer stories on Fridays.


She sat quietly beside her cauldrons as they cooked the evening’s meal. No one visits a seer like herself unless it’s crucial. In the flames that danced under her supper, she saw pain, laughter, and heartbreak. She looked up at the new desperate stranger. ‘Sit. Sup then answers.’

280 Characters

Soup Pot

I was super inspired by the book that my husband and I have been searching for the past 2 weeks. My grandmother’s ‘reference’ cookbook. I have a great idea but will post about that later. Here is my short story Soup Pot (word count 229).

“2 cups water, check,” Amy called out ingredients as she poured them into her grandmother’s pot. What better way to feel her grandmother around her by cooking her soup recipe in her soup pot? She swore her grandmother’s soup had healing powers.

After hours of gently simmering it was time to serve. She ladled spoonfuls into a soup bowl and sat with a box of crackers. Instead of her first bite taking her back to the days they spent in the kitchen it was just soup. It tasted fine and was very satisfying but not what she had expected. Amy read the recipe again and every ingredient was in that pot. She stared at the soup, stared at the empty kitchen, and stared at the recipe.

All Amy could do was gently blow on her soup and cry. Unknowingly a tear fell into her bowl and with her next bite a warm began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way to her limbs. The kitchen took the nostalgic warm hue and she heard it. Amy heard the voice of her grandmother.
‘A recipe, cricket, are just words on a paper of food thrown in a pot. It’s the love you stir them with that makes the dish so good. Cook with love. That’s the one ingredient you can’t put into words or buy of a shelf.’

Productive 1st Week

I can’t begin to say how proud of myself that I am with the first week of the year. Unfortunately, I may not be able to keep to the schedule today due to outside obligations. This morning, I got up early and read the book that the kindred is covering for the book club meeting. Heroes of Asgard is a short book and easy read because I’ve heard these stories and variations from different sources. The Kindred is also supporting each other in their healthy choice of lifestyle. I’ve already been working with Weight Watchers and decided to participate to help lose the pesky 20lbs that just can’t be dropped. For this week I’ve participated in and accomplished the necessary goals with the kindred and learning journey not to mention my own personal (not daily) study of the Havamal. Oh, I even did my time on the treadmill.

The 365-Day project has been awesome and shitty all at the same time. I can take an awesome picture one minute and WTH was that photo the next. The Skillshare class helped a great deal and I have a couple more that I want to watch. The best part is that they are all short and cut right to the chase so I can learn, try, and grow through a swift transition. Trying to remember all the tips and tricks is what I need to try harder at. Maybe making my own notes or flashcards to carry will help like little-reminding nods. I think my favorite photo is from day 4. The puddle experiment was scary to try but I’m glad I did. I’m glad I stepped out of the car. I have a horrible feeling that today’s photo won’t be all that great because of the events I have happening today.

The short story that I wrote made me feel good. It was great to write something other than the journal entries, weighing-in, or Havamal study. I already have an idea for the next one and hope that I can keep it short.

My comic…Oh my! All I can say is that the app I found took longer for me to draw with than doing it by hand. My goal was a simple stick figure comic to bring a little chuckle but it was lacking. I can either watch the tutorials or go balls deep and do it by hand. If I’m going to do that I need to stop by the store and either get a small sketchbook or a grid composition. I did find my Wacom tablet and pen in the garage so I’ll try my next one with that.

How did your first week of working towards goals pan out for you?  I’m going to work damn hard on making sure I get a photo for my 365-Day project. Happy Sunday everyone.

 

Becoming Small

Today is the first step towards writing more and keeping it within a reasonable word limit. I have lost my interest in writing with everything that has been going on in life so once a week I get to sit down and go outside my comfort zone, find new characters, explore new worlds, or find some poetic justice for any insecurities I may have. I left my comfort zone for the first story. Maybe I could branch into a type of romantic erotic writing or maybe I’m setting myself up to fail at another goal. For now, I’m happy with this.


It happened gradually over time. Not overnight, not even over a month. I never noticed laying next to him at night wide awake wondering if we are still in love. Am I still in love? It seemed like decades since he has touched me in the loving way a man touches a woman. Lack of human intimate touch can make one feel small. How small one feels when looking at love from a distance.

Through snowy days, we talked like a couple rather than siblings. The feeling of smallness began to wane until one night we broke from our mundane routine. At first feelings of butterflies nervously fluttering around gave way to a passion that neither of us had felt in a long time. Still, underneath a loving embrace, I became small. It didn’t happen overnight, not even over a month. It happened that night. Feeling loved, alive, feminine, desired, and beautiful. How wonderful it is to be small under the emotions of love.


Word Count: 164 Word Count Goal: 50
Story: Jo © thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com
Picture Credit: Burlington Ontario Artist, Sarah Leckie

New Years *Realistic* Planning

WOW! 2019 already around the corner! I was looking through some of my posts from last year and I set the bar really high for myself throughout the ENTIRE year. I started A LOT of projects and FAILED at almost all of them. I analyzed what I did wrong. It was basically me reaching for the stars while working a 40-hour job and a full-time second job as wife and mother. I’m going to try and keep it simple. I want to be as successful as possible and ran across this article that suggests ‘why’ people are not successful with their resolutions.

First I needed to do some ‘house cleaning’ for my blog. My poor Fenton project didn’t really go anywhere but I didn’t delete the project altogether. I also removed ‘I Survived the A to Z 2018’ image from my sidebar. That was a brutal task but I proud of myself for completing it. I might participate again this year but that could be a no-no from the no-no resolution list. After the ‘house cleaning’ I read through the list again and need to make sure I do these things:

  1. Make goals specific and to include a time frame.
  2. Do not be overly ambitious (more than I can handle-umm…I’m notorious for that as Y’all well know)
  3. Believe that I can complete my goal
  4. Have some with instant gratification and/or results
  5. Have a record of progress (blog)
  6. Make the list

My goal list started out as basically every run of the mill resolution. I want to be happier, lose weight, reduce stress and be more creative. Sounds like a basic list that I would BOMB within a month. I already quit smoking and I’m currently working on losing weight. I decided to break things down a bit more:

  • Work on being happy
    -Unplug (no phone after 5pm)
    -Do something that makes ME happy
  • Meet my goal weight this year
    -I have 22lbs to lose
    -Eating healthy falls in this category (this isn’t a goal)
    -Being more active also falls into this category (this isn’t a goal)
  • Write More
    -Produce one story 50 words or more a week
    -Have deadline
    -Could be about anything
  • Continue learning Asatru and Heathenism
    -Continue reading and participating in my kindred’s book club meetings
    -Study the Havamal
    -Be mindful of Asatru dates of importance
    -Participate more with Kindred events.
  • Draw more
    -Create a simple comic character
    -Produce one comic weekly
    -Keep it simple
  • 365 Day Project
    -Still, need to decide on a subject (HELP! I don’t know which one: create my own color pallets OR cell photography with the use of extra lenses. Opinions and thoughts are greatly appreciated!)
  • Express me more…be more social-ish
    -Express my feelings and speak more

This seems like a lot but when I break it down, it really isn’t. Instant gratification comes from the daily project which also serves as another objective-portfolio 365-day project that I need. Writing more is something that I have slacked on A LOT! I have a deadline and a minimum word count. Drawing more will fall under last years goal of creating my own little comic. The difference is that I have a deadline and some criteria such as KEEP IT SIMPLE! Nothing to elaborate and I’ve already started simple sketching planning my character. Finding my happiness is through ALL these goals. Continuing my Asatru Heathen path brings me peace and helps me work on mindfulness. Unplugging is something that is greatly needed and will help me unwind at night. All of this ALSO needs a schedule. Without one I’m surely going to fail.

What are your resolutions this year? How are you tackling them to achieve some level of success?

The Nothings

I had a dream that left me inspired but sad. Not sad but heartbroken. Not heartbroken but empty. This could be due to the current feelings I went to bed with or a situation or the fact that I can feel other people’s emotions. The only problem with this is I can’t let it go.


There’s a darkness that escapes only to feel the light for a second.
This escape is a leak of nothings.
It’s feeling a loss that was never found or buried.
It’s feeling cold in a warm car.
It’s a memory that never happened.
It’s being lonely with someone sleeping next to you.
It’s feeling empty after a meal.
It’s pretending to be happy when all you want to do is cry.
Let the darkness escape to feel the light.
Feel all the nothing feelings.
And when you’ve felt all that you can feel of the nothing,
Seek out the why and give the nothings something to hold and feel.

Friday’s Corner

It’s Friday! Made it through another week. I’ve had hardly any work to do but since everything is blocked on the internet I’m left sitting playing solitaire on the computer. I had people express their sympathy for how I’m being treated and that it hasn’t gone unnoticed but that’s not going to change the fact that I’m looking for another job. I had two emails from employers, ‘we are going ahead with our process’ or ‘we feel another candidate would be better suited.’ I’m just hoping that my current employer has given a bad reference. Why would they? I’m bringing my doodle book and some other stuff to keep me occupied.

I wrote a little short story. It’s nothing much but it was enough to get me excited about writing again. Happy Friday!

Corner Watcher

For years she played with Gemma. They were inseparable just as a girl and friend should be. Then her Gemma grew apart having less in common. Gemma sits on a chair in the corner of her friend’s room, watching as she made plans and growing up.
She sat in that corner for years watching her friend grow up into a young woman.
She watched triumphs and trophies, first loves and heartbreaks. She watched fights with her parents and life learned lessons. Through the years Gemma noticed an unknown shadow slowly get closer to her friend’s window. At first, Gemma didn’t think anything of it but grew concerned when she could see that the shadow had human characteristics. She wanted to scream at her once forever friend about the danger lurking outside. One night her friend was woken by the sound of broken glass. Gemma could see the figure was now in the room and her friend was making an escape. Gemma glared the man down as he hurriedly left out the window he broke through. The father came in the room with a 911 operator on the floor, ‘Yes, I think we’ll be able to identify the intruder,’ as he picked up Gemma from her corner chair. As usual, Gemma saw everything sitting in the corner. The triumphs, heartbreaks, plans being made and thanks to the little nanny came, she also saw the intruder.

UGH ADULTING IS A LOT!

Morning Readers…
I started yesterday on a short story and POOF! Gone! I don’t know if our IT guy at work has now blocked simple Microsoft Office programs or if my computer crashed. With my Adobe work still fulling intact, I’m betting my money on him being a prude and blocking most everything. What I have been doing is starting my writing in Word and pasting in my draft. Now, I’ll be using Google Docs. Why this is going to be short, I’m doing more adult tasks like setting up my portfolio to better my chances at getting a different job. Why didn’t I have one before? I was using iPage with all the backups bells and whistles when it CRASHED 2 years ago. I didn’t worry as I paid extra for their recovery services and that was a waste of money. This means I need to start over. The other problem I’m facing is the fact that I signed a confidentiality contract due to the clients the company work with. This means I need to get creative or take a 3 year hit. Creative it is.

I will try to get more writing in between building my portfolio back up and running plus I’m also working on my Google Ads certification. Fingers crossed I can get this done by tonight. I know this is a lot of mundane information for my readers but this is where I’m at and I’m trying to stay positive. This is also where my head cues my anxiety to join the party and sabotage my goals. Happy Friday everyone.

Deprecation and Humor

I don’t know what I would call this? A poem? It doesn’t qualify as a limerick. It’s just a little conversational example of my thoughts through some days. But I also wanted to include what I tell myself and some of the humor in it. The past month was brutal but I was realized I made it worse for myself. I withdrew from a lot and it wasn’t really for soul searching it was for other reasons. My husband wasn’t much help but I stopped blaming him for most of the issue. I had to pull myself out of the slump. I was afraid that if I fell further into it there would be no coming out. I’m getting there and forcing myself to find time for things I like to do. I included one of my Inktober doodles for this poem. I  thought it was fitting.


I’m not normal, what is wrong with me?
-It’s ok, what is normal anyway?
I’m not society’s vision of beautiful?
-It’s ok, why do you want to be like everyone else?
I don’t make enough money.
-Are you comfortable, house, food, and a little extra for coffee?
I’m not adequate for another job.
-If you don’t try then you’ll never go anywhere?
Why do I question my own existence?
-Are you talking to me?

Happy Birthday Daddy

Today is my father’s birthday. As I get older I now understand how important it was to him for us to just be there. We didn’t have to bring gifts of cake but our presence was what he wanted. It’s what I now want with the kids getting older and having their own lives and things to do. I’m learning to let a lot go and understand that they have to grow even if it means away from me. Tonight I thought we would all go out to dinner for my dad’s birthday and then over the weekend, I’ll work on finding a Scottish or Swedish dessert recipe to take place of his birthday cake, or even better a Scottish cake. If any of my readers have a recipe of Scottish or Swedish origins to share it would be greatly appreciated.

I thought I would try my hand at poetry again but this time kind of honoring my father and my quest to understand what he unknowingly passed down to me.


I Lost Something

I lost something I’ve never known.
Obsolete and unsure,
without the guidance from a living cornerstone.
Often wondering if I belong or even where,
Identifying with no one and solitaire.

I lost something I’ve never known.
Is it there and can it be shown?
Do I ask to learn?
Is this my concern?

I lost something I’ve never known
but promise an oath to learn of seeds sown.
How do I prepare?
I’ll start with some cookware.

Prompt: August The Doll Maker

Back to my goals of writing and plan on catching up on my classes here soon. This means I have to push myself instead of curling up in my recliner brooding over bullshit that I can’t handle. Yes, this isn’t my best work but it’s something. I took August’s prompt words and created a short story.


August the Doll Maker
lawyer justifies beliefs

‘The headline read: Lawyer Justifies Beliefs.’ It was difficult not to follow the doll maker’s story. Growing up we were told not to go in the north woods where a society of witch crafting people dwelled. It was rumored that the witches that lived in the woods would steal children and keep them stored in their cellars like we would keep pickled vegetable and jam for the winter months. I turned the page to read about the wide-eyed doll that was the key evidence in the crime.

The doll creator, August, being charged with murder was a feeble man that everyone in our town felt sorry for and purchased his creations as often as possible. They weren’t your run of the mill homemade crocheted dolls or something that you see everyone on a Pinterest DIY mom board try to recreate. No. For a man living in the woods created beautiful, delicate, yet resilient dolls that stood the test of time. I actually have one of his sitting on my mantle that was my mother’s. I cringed looking at the doll and back down at the paper.

The doll maker’s picture in the paper made him look more domineering than weak and I found an absence of sorrow for him. ‘The bodies of 3 missing kids and cow were found during the search of the property.’ I felt betrayed more than anything as I’m sure the entire town was feeling, reading the same paper. We trusted this man believing he was trying to launch a business so he and his family wouldn’t go hungry, but that wasn’t the case. He didn’t have a family to feed he had crimes to cover. ‘The surviving victim stated that he was supposed to be part of the next line of products. Lamps were something that his kidnapper would work on almost every night by the light of his own old coal oil lamp. August wanted to bring back the antique light sources.’

The paper continued ‘August struggled with creating a voice box that mooed for his farm animal line of dolls and was some of his most recent unsuccessful creations.’ I remember those mooing dolls. They were hideous cow shaped monstrosities that he was very pushy about selling. The sound after pulling the cord on the animal’s back wasn’t a moo but more of a cow being slaughtered. I nervously laughed that day, struggling with politely refusing the purchase. I crossed the street that day and turned to see a child clinging to his mother as the doll maker realized that he was losing another sale. The image of the survivor that was pictured in the paper was the same child that clung to his mother that day. The child looked as if he aged overnight full of wisdom and advice.  I guess a traumatic experience would do that to any person.

I finished my cereal while reading the article. ‘The doll maker believed that sacrifices had to be made to live in today’s society stated his lawyer. While the lawyer curved this reporter’s questions of black magic and the death of children he did state that his client was mentally unstable to stand trial and his medical team will ensure that his client will get all the medical treatment necessary and are diligent in his care. He is asking for the death penalty to be removed as part sentencing and a life without parole be considered instead. The lawyer also stated that his beliefs are justified as many people pray for survival in this world. He shouldn’t be persecuted for his religion and solely on his crimes that don’t warrant death as he was delusional about how to worship. The doll that was gathered for evidence was created from his previous victims discovered through forensic testing and the police are asking that anyone with a doll created by the defendant to bring it to the police station.’ I clapped my hands together afraid to touch the poor soul sitting on my shelf and instead ran and dialed the local PD to remove the doll.

What is wrong with me?

I find that I’m asking myself more and more this month. I had HUGE plans for everything that I wanted to do and complete. The goals that I’ve set for myself are falling by the wayside. I sat down to write yesterday for Fenton and it was GARBAGE! Nothing made sense and it seemed like it was dragging on and on and not going anywhere. Is Fenton even worth pursuing? I would like to think so but I wasn’t feeling it. Was it because I’m not feeling good? Distracted?

I’m behind on my painting and doodles and it all just feels like I’m drowning. Then to throw in the mix learning about Norse mythology, gardening, weaving PLUS dieting; I think I bit off more than I can chew. Or did I? Do I just stop writing altogether and let my blog go dormant? (I REALLY don’t want to do that.)

I need to figure out what I REALLY want to do…priorities. Is there a way I can earn a wage, stay home, and do what I love? If I wasn’t at work all day I might be able to get everything done that I want along with exploring new things. Write or not to write?

6 Word Story: 8/22

Why in the world did I choose this word for today’s prompt? I encourage you to try a 6-word story. I was laughing more than anything trying to choose something. I needed a laugh. I’ve been treating my stomach nicely to some broths and wheat toast. I’m SO afraid of what the scale will say tomorrow.


Prompt Word: Moo

Earth's secrets are held by animals.

 

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