tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66173909226936765232024-03-05T11:59:59.849-06:00Short Stories From Dreams Half RememberedI bore my friends with my stories, who has time to listen anymore? So I do this for me, the stories that come to me when I dream. I hope someone else enjoys my stories. If you feel like leaving me a pat on the head, I'd appreciate it.
Enjoy life, it happens too fast and remember, be like water-flow.
My novel, "Seawater Eyes" is at http://kidbamboo.blogspot.comFatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-68380029720393115822016-01-04T10:02:00.001-06:002016-01-04T10:02:15.489-06:00Dream Me<div>I have always had vivid dreams ever since I can remember. But they say that as we age, our dreams start to deteriorate and we get less and less of them. Mine don't and I like to think it's because I'm constantly striving to learn and grow in every way I can-waistlines excluded. </div><div><br></div><div>But I'm also severely afflicted with insomnia. For a while, melatonin supplements worked well, but not anymore. So the last few days have been a nightmare of thrashing and groaning, berating myself for not being able to shut up my ongoing mental conversations.</div><div><br></div><div>But last night, after having too many sleepless nights, I was able to get a deep enough sleep that I was able to dream.</div><div><br></div><div>In my dream, I lived in a wonderful high rise apartment-except, I had actually just conned myself into using someone else's vacant apartment while they were out of the country.</div><div><br></div><div>Then as I stepped out for a meeting, I saw my image in the mirrored reflections of the lobby walls. I was svelte and sleek, my suit was handmade and of an expensive cut. I turned myself to see my new sauve self in wonderful self congratulations.</div><div><br></div><div>Then I realized, I had empty pockets. My ID, credit cards, cash and keys were all missing. I had somehow left everything in the apartment.</div><div><br></div><div>I asked the lobby security to let me back in and they said, that I was the second person who had locked themselves out that morning! But I just had to wait a few minutes and they would help in back in.</div><div><br></div><div>Sadly, that's when my dream shifted and I was suddenly in another city at my corporate meeting. I was talking to an old co-worker and I was explaining my situation.</div><div><br></div><div>"But how did you get on the plane without ID?" She asked me.</div><div><br></div><div>I said I didn't know. Then suddenly, I had a coat and I reached inside and pulled out a photo card of a gym club membership, various pieces of mail with my name and address and various random photographs-some of which wasn't even of me.</div><div><br></div><div>As my friend reached for the photos, I saw a glimpse of a photo of someone(my waking mind doesn't recognize) whose photo I didn't want my friend to see, so I grabbed them away from her quickly saying:</div><div><br></div><div>"Some things are very hard to unsee."</div><div><br></div><div>I was still in my svelte physique, charming, confident and completely uncaring. The epitome of success and wealth. At one point, I was riding in some kind of vehicle and I sat at the highest point, surveying all I could see from that premium seat, high above the maddening crowd.</div><div><br></div><div>When I woke, I wasn't troubled by the dream itself. I was troubled by what it meant. My success came with a price, my identity.</div><div><br></div><div>The dream harkened back to instances in my life when I was still a corporate drone, pampered and feted. </div><div><br></div><div>But nine months into my self exile into the freelance marketplace, I still have doubts. Did I do the right thing? Did I quit out of cowardice and avoidance of strong confrontations? </div><div><br></div><div>The dream for me, was a resounding answer of no. I have left jobs for no other reasons than that I was bored, or I no longer liked it. I found ways to pay my bills until another corporate job came along(all perfectly legal!). </div><div><br></div><div>But now I realize that the corporate job, sitting at a desk, caged in a cubicle is not for me. If I force myself into that environment, I do so at the peril of my self-identity.</div><div><br></div><div>Yes, my dreams are vivid, they are the perfect way for my subconscious to "speak" to me and I'm grateful for that consolation.</div><div><br></div><div>I may not have that expensive suit nor that high rise apartment, but in the depth of my soul, it's not what I want. I just want to be me.</div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-73032296174372318242015-07-31T16:39:00.000-05:002015-07-31T16:39:35.653-05:00Dream Translations<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a bad case of insomnia and sometimes I can go for
24hours before I even feel sleepy. Then when I do go to sleep, it’s only for 4
hours. But it’s as if my mind makes up for the hours by cramming as many dreams
as it can into my sleeping state. This morning was a perfect example.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I checked my phone at it was 5:31am before I finally drifted
away to sleep. I wear earplugs so I give myself the best opportunity for
undisturbed sleep, yet at 9:31am, I was awake. I got up did my morning
ablutions then my head rewound the crazy dreams I had. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had three different dreams;
each one was like a 30 second commercial. But it led me to wonder just how
accurate those dream translation websites are. After all, dreams are just our
subconscious sifting through our conscious minds and trying to sort them out. I
like to think that our subconscious are to our conscience as Dali is to Lichtenstein,
it’s still art.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here are my dreams and my theories, version the internet’s
translations.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I was Elsa from Frozen, standing on an old
fashioned train as it whipped through a winter landscape while singing ‘Let It
Go’.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Internet:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Train:
to be on a train wearing a dress (I WAS Elsa!) indicates my legacy and what I
want to be remembered for.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Winter:
signifies ill health & sickness</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Singing:
signifies happiness, harmony and joy</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->My theory:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Train:
I like train rides</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Winter:
it was hot last night and I wish I were cooler</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Singing:
it’s the song, not the action; the song is a North Korean conspiracy to numb
the world into complacency.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I was checking into a hotel where the
registration desk said for an extra $2, I can get upgraded into a better room
and it was already approved by my company. I turn my head and there is a buffet
breakfast in the hotel restaurant</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Internet:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Hotel:
signifies a new state of mind, undergoing a transition </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Buffet:
signifies trying to work through guilt</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Restaurant:
difficulty in too many decisions</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->My theory:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Hotel:
I sleep like a log when I’m in a hotel, so based on my insomnia, I wish I were
in a hotel</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Buffet:
It was over twelve hours since I ate, so I know I was hungry</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Restaurant:
I like to have someone bring my food to me since I’m asleep and can’t get up
and get it myself</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I’m in the middle of some kind of mob action and
I make my way to a car, just someone’s car that was left in the middle of the
road, it was the lead car and the road was open in front of it. As I get in and
drive I get pelted with rocks the size of grapefruit and they crack my windshield.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Internet:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Driving
a car: signifies my ambition and my ability to drive to the next stop </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Mob:
signifies chaos and disorganization</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>iii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Cracked
windshield: signifies set backs on my pursuit of goals</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->My theory:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>i.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->I
was thinking of the Calais clashes in France since it had affected me not to
long ago when I was taking the Eurostar from Paris to London.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; mso-text-indent-alt: -9.0pt; text-indent: -1.5in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span>ii.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->The
internet may have a point too.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Basically, it’s all a crap shoot. You can
believe whatever the internet says or just make up your mind yourself. After
all, no matter what anyone else says, how many degrees or licenses they have,
no one knows you better than you know yourself. No one.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Now excuse me while I go take a nap.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 99.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-85556335128969824302015-07-19T19:38:00.000-05:002015-07-19T19:42:53.937-05:00Sunday Evening ReveriesOpera seeps from the alley, birds sing their wanton song. The heat of the morning turns into a sweet breeze of the afternoon. The sun has gone down past the roof tops and hides from my sight. But I can still see the soft billowing clouds and the pale blue sky of an early summer evening.<br />
<br />
It's the most relaxed I have felt in a long time. When I set off to cross of items from my bucket list, I forgot to take into consideration that I needed to schedule some down time for myself. For those who may have missed it, please refer to my 42day adventure in Europe starting with the first day in London: Please be kind, I wrote every night after a long day of crazy and I wrote on my phone, so a little patience with typos and grammar, enjoy.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://travelingfeetadventures.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/day-1-london.html">http://travelingfeetadventures.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/day-1-london.html</a><br />
<br />
I had the mistaken belief that I would take my downtime in the many train rides that had me traveling through Europe. Instead, either I spent the time gaping at the country side or asleep. I have absolutely no discipline. I can't force myself to a schedule, certainly not one when it comes to my creativity. My creativity is like an affliction to me. It's as if i suffer from a consistent fever that has now cure or remedy. It comes upon me without notice and the moment grips me in a particular fever and I am resigned.<br />
<br />
But I am also stubborn, I would abide to just any whim, it must be something unusual or irresistable, or I'll easily get bored and drop it.<br />
<br />
Being unemployed brings one unexpected comfort, the days slide by like a dream. I forget to keep time, I merely enjoy the moments. I've regained the loveliness of a Sunday afternoon.<br />
<br />
When I worked, I hated Sunday afternoons because it meant that tomorrow was the dreaded Monday, first day of work. Now I can enjoy a lovely Sunday evening, relaxing, writing and for the moment, not a care in the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
I feel very Scarlett O'Hare-ish when it comes to my financial situation, "I'll think about it tomorrow."<br />
<br />
Deluded or freed?<br />
<br />
Well, I'll just have to see won't I? For now, I'm like water, I just flow.Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-26337788251164500972015-03-31T11:30:00.000-05:002015-03-31T11:30:38.040-05:00The Next Chapter<div class="MsoNormal">
If you haven’t read my last post, please do so the rest of
this post makes sense to you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the process of jumping off the cliff, I decided, why not
go for it? What is the one thing that I said if I had the time, I would do? I
could hop in my car; randomly pick a direction and go. I thought I’d go to the
west coast, up to Vancouver and even up to Alaska! Camping in cheap sights and
grocery stores are plentiful, everyone speaks English and all I’d have to pay
for is gas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, why go for half measures? Isn’t it almost everyone’s
dream to backpack through Europe? I have the time, but how about money? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miracle number one: I had so many airline points that I
qualified for a free RT ticket to London. I had family in London, friends in
Scotland and-be still my Whovian heart- I could visit Cardiff and the Doctor
Who museum!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I booked my flight, six weeks in Europe. I bought a
Eurail pass for a month which was also giving me 5 extra days. I’ve read that
having a pass is as easy as jumping on a train and grabbing a seat. Now I’m
uncertain about what exactly are the ‘travel days’ is it the chronological
ticking of the clock or is it the time you spend on the train? So far this is
my most costly expense at U$D1000+.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1PrPJCk6PqopqDRWCZ6mwd2MOjgVtvy-eRhEyLt7ciDXNvkL_5i0eYZgeQFG6HstM1-Z0J3mQUC1685vZxdwGdof9u95eGRMu59zQl9lvDACZ4QBXpo7X173AtU-F5nNep0jW124y8VO/s1600/eurail-traveltimes-2013-lightbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1PrPJCk6PqopqDRWCZ6mwd2MOjgVtvy-eRhEyLt7ciDXNvkL_5i0eYZgeQFG6HstM1-Z0J3mQUC1685vZxdwGdof9u95eGRMu59zQl9lvDACZ4QBXpo7X173AtU-F5nNep0jW124y8VO/s1600/eurail-traveltimes-2013-lightbox.jpg" height="400" width="327" /></a>Then I realized I’d need specific supplies for a back
packing trip that would last 6weeks. I’ve never been on such a trip, especially
a trip where my itinerary was being left to my whim. So I started looking at
the travel sites, looking for things I would need; a backpack, light clothing, disposable
everything and as light as I can get it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A good backpack with support and sturdiness runs at least
$100. A jacket with secret pockets is another $100, I need room for my
electronics. I went to my favorite shopping site, Amazon.com </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I often lose my mind on that site, I was supposed to be
looking for travel accessories, and I went into a random search and
investigation on pre-pasted disposable tooth thingies. They aren’t really tooth
brushes but rather ‘alternative oral health care’, important stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miracle number two: I had saved enough rewards points that I
can pay for all my purchases on Amazon!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miracle number three: My tax refunds all arrived at once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I had a scintilla of doubt that I needed this break and
the worries over finances, it was being addressed. I may be overly dramatic
when I say it’s a miracle, but it sounds better that I was ‘saving’ things up
for years without ever taking advantage of them.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel as if I’ve been holding my breath for years and now,
it’s time to exhale.</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-68870946747316048862015-03-21T01:50:00.000-05:002015-03-21T01:50:50.422-05:00Crossroads<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm having another midnight moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time last week, I was also awake. But it was for a
dark, deep reason. Several things that were out of my control have happened in
the last year and the minute they happened, my body reacted with pain. Whether
it was the queasy stomach or the headaches, but something made me feel very uneasy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But with most uneasiness, especially something that can’t be
pinpointed; I have a tendency to rationalize it away. I dismiss them as worries
that I was bringing upon myself. Then something else happened just before
Christmas that I knew made me feel very uncertain, but denial is a strong pull
and again, I dismissed it, buried it deep in my subconscious.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They say that as ‘modern society’ we have forgotten that
distinct flight or fight instinct set to keep us alive. But since we don’t have
to hunt for our food, or fight our enemies to the death, our instincts instead
become stress.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Intellectually I knew what was the cause of my distress, I
just ignored it until the internal conflicts led to a diminished immune system,
distressing bouts of insomnia and the disturbing dreams that left me lost and
wandering. I felt soul sick. I doubted myself, I found myself restless and
worse; I found myself bored. In the past, boredom has been my worst enemy. It
leads to a subtle disengagement and in youth, into very dangerous territory. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once, I found a great distraction that re-lit the fire of
ambition and self-determination. But in the end, it was just that, a
distraction, nothing more than a sop for my psychic lethargy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Finally, things came to a head last week and I was forced
into a deep soul searching dive. I looked for portends and signs. I talked with
friends and introduced myself to friends of friends, searching for answers,
directions and perspective.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And all that I needed came. My questions were answered. I finally
admitted to myself that I was going in the wrong direction. I was on the road
to my person hell, a place I have visited before and I did not want to visit
again. Because you can only go to hell so many times before you decide to
surrender to the flames and die.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I can give an inspiring speech, dispensing my faith and
optimism to someone else, why could I not take the same advice for myself? Did
I not have faith in myself? Was I a hypocrite or was I going to practice what I
preach?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My head and heart still discussed and over analyzed as they
often do. But this time they were in agreement. So this past Monday, I did not
quit. No, I gave in to the greatest ambition in life, to pursue happiness and
peace. And in tendering my resignation to the corporation that gave me a pay
check for twelve and a half years, I took that leap of faith.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I knew that until I took that leap over the cliff, I will
never know how strong my wings truly are.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRboCE_bf_lslDT1MgGSvCvuvysUTYiAoDnkTduriAj9Gdyx5HcPzfp1T5TMDSzXyxPINrs0oa4zyAMpiWM9bGx8D7lahTUDtQafaXf-Hjpb31SkmE_uU7_1Aq5KSLSLTmNjYMSAa_Q5g/s1600/Palmdale+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRboCE_bf_lslDT1MgGSvCvuvysUTYiAoDnkTduriAj9Gdyx5HcPzfp1T5TMDSzXyxPINrs0oa4zyAMpiWM9bGx8D7lahTUDtQafaXf-Hjpb31SkmE_uU7_1Aq5KSLSLTmNjYMSAa_Q5g/s1600/Palmdale+road.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love a nice road trip; I get into all kinds of great
adventures. This time, it’s the adventure of my life. In these dark midnight
moments, I am frightened of what I have done and the fear will increase when
the day I finally walk out of those doors permanently. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been operating under fear for years but I won’t bend to
it anymore. I will take that leap of faith. I will find my personal truths. I
won’t be driven by fear nor tempted by complacency. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been several times blessed, kissed by the universe, to
understand that I stand at a crossroad of my life. In acknowledging that, I find clarity. And in
a life full of wandering and musings, clarity is a precious gift.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One more week of employment, one more paycheck and then I’m
left to my own devices. To find a new path, because I believe with my whole
heart and soul, it has never been about the money, it has always been about my
soul.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-15331185756395175462014-02-14T23:51:00.002-06:002014-02-14T23:51:40.749-06:00The Real Meaning of Valentine's DayTwo very interesting stories jumped out at me today. The first one was about one of the story of St. Valentine.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/13/valentines-day-bloody-history_n_4768652.html?utm_hp_ref=religion&ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009" target="_blank">The Bloody History of St. Valentine</a><br />
<br />
I’d never heard of that version of St. Valentine, so it was very interesting since today is St. Valentine’s Day.<br />
<br />
Then tonight I read about Ellen Page, a young lady of great talent. She garnered much acclaim in the movie "Juno", when she was only 20 years old.<br />
<br />
If you live in a world where you don't know one single lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender person, then allow me to introduce you to Ellen Page, who's unexpected announcement showed courage and eloquence.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/outward/2014/02/14/ellen_page_coming_out_speech_juno_star_makes_her_sexuality_public.html" target="_blank">Ellen Page's Eloquent Valentine's Day Speech</a><br />
<br />
Take the time to watch her full speech. Listen to her voice quake and as she continues, her hand shakes harder as her other hand begin to clench, perhaps to control her emotions.<br />
<br />
Valentine's Day is to commemorate St. Valentine, the priest who married people and was killed for it.<br />
<br />
Ellen's bravery today exemplifies the same bravery in the name of love.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Happy Valentine's Day 2014</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-76844179700157889402013-09-03T21:04:00.000-05:002013-09-03T21:22:56.797-05:00Wake Me When September Ends<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My birthday is Sept 30<sup>th</sup> but every year I want
nothing more than to hide myself in a cave and tell the world to go away
because I hate my birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not
about the years piling on to my life, it’s not about a fear of balloons nor
distaste for cake. It’s the day and the celebration of my birthday that I
detest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is irrational, it’s something I have always felt my
entire life. So over the years, it extended to the beginning of school as well
as the onset of autumn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In time, it became almost paralyzing. When the Labor Day
weekend descended, I fell into a sulk, eventually turning into seasonal
depression. I always assumed it was because I HATED school. So I couldn’t wait
to graduate and never have to go back to school ever again. Oddly, I was a
straight A student, advanced classes and on the Dean’s list for the last two
years of college (I was too busy socializing on the first two years). Yet I
hated school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then when I did
graduate, I thought that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach would stop
affecting me at September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t.
Instead, I started to hate fall. I hated the nip in the air, I ignored the
colors of the trees and I just wanted to skip fall and head straight into
winter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the years, it became almost pathological how much I
hated fall. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it was a random conversation I had with someone that
suddenly caused an epiphany. I was telling someone at the office that I really
didn’t want my birthday celebrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One
year my boss at the time, sent me flowers. I hid it in my cabinet. You should
have seen my boss’s face when she came by my cubicle asking if I had gotten the
flowers and was aghast when she saw I had shoved it in my cabinet instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make sure something like that wouldn’t
happen again, I was telling the department admin that I would really like my
birthday to pass unrecognized.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, it wasn’t school, it wasn’t fall; it was my
birthday celebration that I hated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iSdZyBYlDx2K5ZeebSvzjL_AFl0eiR7C_QZF02HPhkxZfc_dx6YaWPgcQxseXDMaGSHdbjtbYCCU3w8z7ZAyKCES0J0qQ1-uFqGtibKM1YyF-u26ijC0KhWsmzI21mgs_M91HvZAnsW_/s1600/fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iSdZyBYlDx2K5ZeebSvzjL_AFl0eiR7C_QZF02HPhkxZfc_dx6YaWPgcQxseXDMaGSHdbjtbYCCU3w8z7ZAyKCES0J0qQ1-uFqGtibKM1YyF-u26ijC0KhWsmzI21mgs_M91HvZAnsW_/s400/fall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, when I was 11yrs old, we celebrated my birthday,
which fell on a Sunday that year, by going to a forest preserve to enjoy the
fall colors. That year we had my mother’s cousin staying with us as well as my
grandmother, so we had a full house. And cousin Joy had her boyfriend visiting
as well, so off the clan went to celebrate my birthday with a picnic in the
park and enjoying the fall season.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a fall festival so my parents let my younger
brother and I run off after Joy and her boyfriend. Because the combination of
my brother and me was made somewhere just north of hell, we decided we would
have fun. We hid from my older cousin and her boyfriend, ducking behind trees,
bushes and yes cars.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we weren’t that good; because it was obvious they saw
us. So we did something more daring, my brother and I decided that we would
trail them from across the road. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a two lane country road that had bumper to bumper traffic
because of the fall festival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it was
easy to just zip back and forth. I led the way and my brother was supposed to
follow me exactly. It went well until it went horribly wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were close to the area where my parents, my grandma and
my baby brother were waiting for us. So I shot through the traffic but I
actually had to pound on a car’s hood because traffic was starting to pick up,
I got honked but I made it across. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to find that my brother hadn’t crossed after me and
my immediate reaction was; now where did he go? I was a bit pissed at him
because he was smaller and slower and now I had to tell my parents I lost my
brother. These are exact recollections.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly I heard the scream of brakes, a sickening thud and
I saw what looked like a tumble weed fly across the road. It was my 7 year old
brother in his blue jeans and jean jacket.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He had been hit by a car. He was a scrawny, small kid and he
was lying unmoving on the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard screams, I didn’t; that’s not how I react. I just
stood in absolute stillness hoping that if I blink, maybe it will change and it
won’t be my brother on the ground. Suddenly I see my father flying across the
road and other people running to my brother’s body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was back in the day before cell phones so I don’t know who
got the ambulance there, but from what I remember they got there fairly fast. I
remember a blonde lady with short cropped hair who was a nurse and tended to my
brother as best as she could. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brother’s eyes were closed and they couldn’t wake him.
When the ambulance got there, he suddenly went into cardiac arrest and they had
to resuscitate him right then and there. What I remember well was the anguish
and the tears streaming down my father’s eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my baby brother with his eyes wide and wondering
as grandma held him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest is a blur, but that memory has stayed with me for
decades. It has traumatized me against my birthday. And if I never celebrate my
birthday ever again, I would be absolutely fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know it’s irrational, but I blame myself for his accident.
Maybe if I hadn’t talked him into playing spy, we wouldn’t have been running
between cars. It was my idea, but I got out of it unscathed, he nearly lost his
life. But the actuality is that if it wasn’t my birthday, we wouldn’t have been
there that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My brother rarely talks about it, it was a long time ago and
he’s moved on, or not. I don’t know we don’t talk about it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this post is my first step in dealing with it, it’s time
to enjoy the season and time to forgive myself.</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-39685513189739671132013-01-27T12:04:00.000-06:002013-01-27T12:05:17.608-06:00Invisible<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had another very vivid dream last night, as with all
dreams, they start in medias res. I am with a co-worker who I normally don’t
see other than to a few casual exchanges in the hallways. But we are together in this dream as a team.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are in a hotel and another co-worker has been killed in a
very suspicious manner, blood and destruction are hinted at by the employees
who have seen the room. For some reason, my co-worker and I have been entrusted to investigate the
killing. (Ok, I know, I just finished reading a detective novel).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1Bfi1xw8sHNTbDEOCh_4r-q8aHkYjRtK0g751KkrKIgz6g9Z8y4x5euDgB8Bp0sxS4RouNvG6PUHpi8CmP0g9cx4Zv2bsDC4HQV9-v-BTgXRGKm-AnXID2VdEn_8KRwukb4uzoHFSWVK/s1600/pink+clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1Bfi1xw8sHNTbDEOCh_4r-q8aHkYjRtK0g751KkrKIgz6g9Z8y4x5euDgB8Bp0sxS4RouNvG6PUHpi8CmP0g9cx4Zv2bsDC4HQV9-v-BTgXRGKm-AnXID2VdEn_8KRwukb4uzoHFSWVK/s320/pink+clouds.jpg" width="320" /></a>Someone hands me a wooden box with a sliding cover,
instructing me to lay the box in the hallway to set off a catalyst that will
allow me to see how the killing took place. As I finish laying the box and
opening it, a fog begins to seep out from the opening. I run to the end of the
hallway and suddenly, I am holding hands with my coworker as we are plunged off
a balcony and drifted off into reddish pink clouds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We land in the midst of a crowd, she turns to talk to
someone, I turn to talk to someone, we need to know where we are, what has
happened, etc. But no one talks to us, and then I watch as my co-worker tries
to get someone’s attention and I notice that they don’t even see us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I come to the realization that they don’t see us
because we are already dead. We are invisible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My co-worker gets a look of blunted affect; she has accepted
her death with surrender and drifts away from me. After a turn of panic and
despair-will I spend eternity wandering the world dead and forgotten? I turn to
my original mission; I need to find out who killed my other co-worker. I am
determined.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find my way back to the hotel corridor and see the
corridor filled with smoke still pouring out of the box. I run in, close the
box and the smoke dissipates quickly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I watch as I stand in the detritus they have removed
from the room, I wait for someone to open the door so I can go inside the
room and see the crime scene. Oddly, even as a ghost, I have my iPhone which I use
to take pictures of the objects they have placed in the hallway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One man is talking, he’s throwing out
theories on why the killing occurred. I can hear my iPhone’s camera clicking
and I’m taking notes on my iPhone when I feel a tentative touch on my arm. I
look over and it’s one of the managers at work, she’s looking straight at me.
The man who’s talking turns to me, his theories were for my benefit. Suddenly I
realize, they can see me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can see me! I’m not dead! OMG! I’m not dead!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
End of dream.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it isn't difficult to interpret that dream, it’s
just a resonance of several themes that have been rattling in my head lately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are invisible people, we see them but we don’t. We
ignore them; they are the disenfranchised, the homeless, sometimes they are the
people you pass who turn away instead of making eye contact. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lately, I've been feeling invisible. I can’t count how many
times I’m suddenly confronted with some car jumping in front of me as if my car wasn't already there. Or the lady who bangs her grocery cart into the back of
my shins but doesn't apologize and instead glares at me for being in her way.
Or the jackass who has pulled his chair out and when I pass, I say excuse me
because I’m polite. Instead of him moving his chair in so I can pass, he nods
at me as if he had deemed to acknowledge MY apology for disturbing his
ruminations. He never did move his chair up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I acknowledge the fit of pique this provokes in me. But
apart from walking around screaming “I’M WALKING HERE! I’M DRIVING HERE! HERE I
AM!” There really isn't much I can do if people find me invisible. But I don’t
have to feel invisible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my dream, I brush aside the panic because I had a mission;
I needed to investigate the murder. Was it my insistence on doing my job, not
surrendering to the despair and simple acceptance as my co-worker had that
resulted in my becoming visible again? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps it is in that single line that I found redemption,
at least in my dream. It's a start.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can see me! I’m
not dead! OMG! I’m not dead!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-26538984650618044222012-11-05T11:28:00.000-06:002012-11-05T11:28:18.207-06:00I cannot vote...I cannot vote for a mentality that considers me less than important because I am a woman. I cannot vote for a mentality that says I was raped because I somehow provoked it because I’m a woman. I cannot vote for a mentality that says if I were “legitimately raped” – (as opposed to legally raped?) and a pregnancy ensued, I wouldn’t be allowed to abort. <br />
<br />
<br />
I cannot vote for a mentality that dictates who I should love. I deserve to love whoever my heart choses to love even if my heart beats to another rhythm. <br />
I will not support a mentality that says my autistic brother is included in the 47% who don’t pay taxes and therefore shouldn’t be encouraged. Money is not the standard by which life should be lead, money comes and goes, but dignity and respect is priceless. <br />
<br />
God doesn’t participate in politics. Politics is a human affect. Look to Iran where the Ayatollahs have been raised to governing status. No faith is perfected, we are all human. That is why there is secular and faith. The United States was formed on a basis of separation of Church and State. <br />
<br />
Politicians are what they are because they are politicians. I know they all lie, they make promises they will break, they will tell me what I want to hear. But when a candidate supports views that are a completely anathema to my life, I cannot vote for them. And it is with my conscience I am compelled to post this because I have to stand up for something I believe in. <br />
<br />
I know God loves me for he gave me a family who has brought me challenges as well as joy, but above all, they give me love and through their love, I feel the love of God shine. For I believe in love, for the family and friends who love me unconditionally and whose love I try to return unconditionally. I cannot vote for a mentality of exclusion and derision. I am not subhuman and I will not be treated as one. <br />
<br />
God bless us all. <br />
<br />
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-8640217793120300802012-10-14T01:12:00.000-05:002012-10-14T01:12:55.336-05:00Midnight Thoughts<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaE1kajn-6TETT9sgcwkpMYQ_byXjhazZOzgAPqqvhjjzBOUnJhN8MNhCeYTqzL26rg3ZiVtUEKrTlsB09cQ7G_XRwiwLscgd6ly16yTUIipt5yZKG9DB2Rfiv0UA517D9m-5XJbAm6nO/s1600/moonless.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaE1kajn-6TETT9sgcwkpMYQ_byXjhazZOzgAPqqvhjjzBOUnJhN8MNhCeYTqzL26rg3ZiVtUEKrTlsB09cQ7G_XRwiwLscgd6ly16yTUIipt5yZKG9DB2Rfiv0UA517D9m-5XJbAm6nO/s400/moonless.jpg" width="300" /></a>There is something about sitting in the dark, remorseless
from lack of sleep that makes every silly pain sharpened. As if our daily
machinations dull our sensitivities to the inevitable gravitas that weighs upon
each of us. Each day is a weight of experience that we carry, each moment of
life another ounce of wisdom, thus the eventual slowness of our movements, the
bending of our backs as if we drag ourselves to decrepitude.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is to these morbid thoughts that I find myself on this
dark and dreary night. Left alone to my thoughts, I lean to towards angst. I
feel a keenness of emptiness, bereft of purpose other than to find a good night’s
rest, I lack greater ambition for the moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, I find myself, nay; I find my soul, uttering a soft
keening and a susurration of surrender to admit that some things are forever
lost to me. My youth, my vigor, my mind will eventually melt to time. Yet, as
my conscience seems to have resigned its hopes for some mad last affair, my
heart still seems to natter on believing that love is never lost, simply
misplaced and will one day be found again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do wish my heart would shut up and let me sleep. Because
that constant war between my heart’s hopes and my mind’s reality, leaves me
torn, like pages from a journal full of lies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Melodrama is the greatest injury this night when my only
wish is to sleep. </div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-88087306525425374572012-09-27T21:43:00.000-05:002012-09-27T21:43:10.468-05:00Fall Unrequited<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Autumn or Fall, for some people is the most glorious of all
the four seasons. I too adore the manifest colors of the season but for me it
seems so indelibly marked with melancholy. For years I always thought I didn’t
like Fall because it meant school was starting again. I was an honors student
and on the Dean’s list for many years, yet I detested school. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-TegaoYF43DNHmNbjNDFwJG261u8PHNkbSrGnLFlmSW0yUCUiRBTVFXzE4o7KwmYJITQhXi0Iq0D4QjQvjqtxNwl2z_x2VYXZU0tG7aiuDuvfBIXpUp0F5UgcAxHj3Fvd5Rp1LOUU87B/s1600/IMG_3881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-TegaoYF43DNHmNbjNDFwJG261u8PHNkbSrGnLFlmSW0yUCUiRBTVFXzE4o7KwmYJITQhXi0Iq0D4QjQvjqtxNwl2z_x2VYXZU0tG7aiuDuvfBIXpUp0F5UgcAxHj3Fvd5Rp1LOUU87B/s400/IMG_3881.JPG" width="400" /></a>I think what I really hated was the discipline of having to
wake at a specific time during Mondays through Fridays, when I would much
rather lie in bed daydreaming. Then as
the year marched on, the days would get darker, longer and colder. I really
don’t think that there’s anything wrong with hibernating. The bears have got it
right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as the years went by and I left school, gradually, there
was no need to detest Fall for the forced discipline, instead I’m motivated by
the primal instinct of self-preservation. I go to work to feed, clothe and
house myself. There is no season(nor reason for that matter) for work. It is 52
weeks of the year and if you’re lucky, sometimes they tell you to stay home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So why the melancholy at Fall? Why the incipient sadness? Is
it because the eagerness of Spring has passed and turned sullen? Is it because
the promise of Summer’s sultry nights went unfulfilled? Is it because as the
year fades to its end, does Fall simply become the realization that all the
sunshine of Spring and Summer were wasted on hopes and aspirations unrequited?</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-54204425186657760442012-03-11T11:57:00.002-05:002012-03-11T11:57:49.241-05:00The Case of the Missing Companion<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After my last post my last entry, tired and distraught, I fell
back to sleep, just exhausted. Again, sleep came like a heavy curtain call.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whereas my last dream in the Savoy was bright and airy, taking
place mostly in the common area, this dream is dark, taking place mostly in my
room and in the hallway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am trying to check out but something is wrong. It seems that I’m
being investigated. Detectives are in my room rummaging through my things,
fingerprinting everything. The dream starts <i>in
medias res</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are investigating the disappearance of my companion. Except
my deep dark secret is that there is no companion, I have been splurging on
room service, eating enough for two people that the staff has assumed there are
two people staying in the room. Only now when I’m trying to check out, they are
suspicious because I keep telling them there is no other person but they think
that I’ve killed him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just woke up thinking; I could eat enough food to placate two
people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m so grateful even my subconscious mind has a sense of humor.<o:p></o:p></div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-25453859468543463892012-03-11T08:49:00.001-05:002012-03-11T08:49:26.999-05:00Flowers, Poison and Good-Bye<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a day of sunshine and the smell of fresh cut flowers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew about the sunshine, because the weatherman had forecasted
it. But I wasn’t expecting the strong smell of fresh cut flowers when I walked
into the room. I asked brightly whose shampoo it was and the only replies I had
were confused looks. Oddly, it was only when I mentioned it that the scent
became apparent to everyone else. When I was asked, I joked, recalling a moment
when I had entered my car only to smell strong and expensive perfume pervaded the space inside. I don’t wear perfume, my asthma doesn’t like it. I joked
then; my car is cheating on me with a beautiful woman. I told the story and
added, “Perhaps it’s the ghost of the woman who comes into my bed to cuddle.”
Half-joking because my tone was casual, but when it does happen, I often react
violently, jolting out of my sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When everyone left and went home, I took my time to settle myself
into sleep. Sleep, unlike most nights, came swiftly and came over me like a
thick blanket in a cold night; welcome and I surrendered. But it wasn’t an easy
night. Something disturbed my sleep, I dreamt I was awake but couldn’t move,
while an insistent voice kept telling me to “…move…wake up…you’re poisoned ... if
you don’t move you’ll die…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But try as I could, movement was hard. But eventually I found
myself opening my eyes with my breath fast and labored my heart pounding in
panic in my ears. After a moment, I was finally able to move. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a physiological condition. Have you ever seen a child sleep?
They thrash, their arms wave, they kick, the roam around in bed, as if they are
reenacting their activities in their dreams. As we get older, our brain sends
out signals to our adult bodies to stop the thrashing. Supposedly when we’re in
deep REM sleep, our bodies our stilled as our minds go through the various
gyrations of our adult dreams. Then as we return from dreamland, the brain
sends out another signal to allow the body to move. Night terrors is the body
not quite catching up with the mind to move as quick, thus the sleep paralysis.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it’s because the dreams become more complicated, inventive
and reactive. Our adult minds culling through our experiences of the day, dealing
with the threats of our worries and the stress of the things we can’t control.
I know if I were to act out my dreams, I’d be found on a roof preparing to fly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the first dream, whispering of poison and death, resulting in
sleep paralysis wasn’t something new. When I woke, I was flat on my back, a
position I often find myself in when I do wake from my worst night terrors. Again,
it’s a common occurrence for those who’ve suffered from night terrors. It took
a while, but I finally shifted to my normal side sleeping and again, sleep took
me like a knock on my head, quickly rendering me unconscious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second night terror was a sound of crashing, something
falling, or being dropped, something heavy. The sound reverberated through my
brain and I rushed to consciousness -- fast, the paralysis a lighter feeling. I
bolted up in bed when I heard the sound of a moan, as if someone had fallen and
hurt themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stayed awake for another 3hours, fretting what the dreams meant,
and the auditory hallucinations that lasted as I was fully awake and checking
in with the denizens of the net. Even the stream sleeps.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was 2am, but it’s Spring forward time so my electronic devices
which are automatically updated for Daylight savings times, registered 3am.
Then I mused, was I somehow stuck in some weird time shift? For I definitely
felt lost in that lost hour.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, as the clock inched to 6am, I returned to bed, a
prayer in my heart, that went unanswered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t a dream of dark terror, it was far more insidious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was in London for business and she was unexpectedly there too,
in the same hotel, the Savoy. The first time I see her, I was in the lobby
getting ready to leave for morning meetings when as I stepped out into the side
walk, she was stepping out of her limousine. We greeted each other in
surprised, but delighted shock. She smiled her radiant smile and made small
talk to catch up during the week since we both were staying at the same place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But during the week, I only saw glimpses of her as she raced from
one place to another. Then there was the time we were standing next to each
other, she was decked in impeccable pink and pearls. And she turned her head so
as not to meet my eyes. Surely, this wasn’t happening, I thought. So I called
her name, she turned her head and smiled a quick but insincere glance and raced
off again. My heart shrugged. <o:p></o:p>I often glimpsed her through glass doors, as if I were peaking inside from outside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dream felt like a week where I was slowly running out of
clothing, my pants ripped at one point, I begged and borrowed another pair,
only to find I had holes in the knees of those borrowed khakis. She was dressed fashionably
and well-tailored in expensive woven textiles. I was dressed in tatters. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At several points, I would see her at tables, in vibrant
conversations with others and I simply walked on, unwilling to interrupt her
enjoyment. At one point, she was at a table alone, she looked up, nodded in
acknowledgement and looked away, dismissing me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a scene where I was
sitting in a small bistro table, talking to some other people. I caught her out
of the corner of my eye being led to the table behind me, she was with someone
else. I was in the middle of a conversation as well. But suddenly I heard her voice;
she was leaning across her table, telling me to please keep the volume of my
conversation down to a low roar. I looked through her face for any hint of
humor and found none.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last thing from my dream was my exiting the hotel, through the
glass revolving door, I see her crammed into a crowded Bentley. It was a sunny bright day, I caught a glimpse of blue sky as I focused on her. She had the
window seat, the window open, as the car pulled away, she turned her head and
saw me, shrugged and smiled as she was driven away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The message unavoidable, there was no room for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I awoke with a broken heart and tears. Sometimes a dream is just a dream, but it still hurts the same.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-3755121033385216242012-02-29T10:53:00.000-06:002012-02-29T10:53:04.768-06:00A Dream Vividly RememberedI set up this blog to talk about dreams half-remembered. I have great dreams that sometimes take me away to fantastical places with memorable faces. When I awake, I feel as I’ve been somewhere else on vacation.<br />
<br />
<br />
Several dreams pop into my head as I wrote the abovementioned paragraph, all richly rendered in brilliant colors and sensations. I’ve awakened to songs in my head, promises to myself to return and consternation that my life isn’t like that now. I joke that I’m glimpsing an alternate universe. Some dreams really make me question reality.<br />
<br />
Last night I had a very powerful dream, it wasn’t colored in rich vibrant hues; it was actually hued in greys and browns as if viewed at twilight. I woke up in the middle of the night with my mind reeling trying to memorize as much as I could.<br />
<br />
I’m in a low ceiling room, but it’s not a basement because there are full windows. But now that I think about it, very much like a Japanese house, low ceilings and a staircase in the middle of the floor plan. It’s not extremely dark, which usually isn’t a good sign and there are several people in the room. I would call the lighting murky.<br />
<br />
I am passing by the staircase when I see two women coming down, a younger woman, 40s blonde, short hair, holding the hand of an older woman guiding her down the stairs. The older woman is brought directly to me.<br />
<br />
The older woman is in an old fashioned floral patterned dress, she seems very glad to meet me. She is 5’8”-5’9”, on the thin side, faint reddish hair. Now, here’s the odd part. In the dream I instinctively know that her father died when she was 3yrs old and her mother, Alma, raised her alone.<br />
<br />
She hugs me fiercely and we fall to sitting on a step on the staircase. We rock as we hug because she thinks I’m her granddaughter and she is very sorry to have had to leave me too soon. I assure her that things happen for a reason and it’s all right. She is relieved and I lead her back up the stairs, we reach the first landing where I stop and she continues upward.<br />
<br />
The staircase is very obvious, as I wake up I’m stunned by the level of detail in my dream. Oddly, I never got her name; she was just “Grandma”. I didn’t call my grandmothers grandma, I called them Lola as befitting my Filipino heritage. <br />
<br />
I only post this because maybe somewhere, someone is missing their grandma and it’s why she ‘came down’ and she detoured into my dream. This is the first dream where I remember the smells, intimate and close as if the person was truly in my arms. <br />
<br />
Whoever she is, I think she’s now in peace and hopefully her granddaughter knows it.<br />
<br />Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-17333409132333176472012-02-01T21:26:00.001-06:002012-02-01T21:26:48.063-06:0010 Basic Rules of Office Etiquette<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) Put your phone on vibrate: It’s annoying to everyone
around you when it goes off. You might think your ringtone is cute, but I
really don’t want to hear something that sounds like music from a porno.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) Don’t talk with your mouth open: We all eat at our desk
at one point or another, give yourself a break and don’t pick up the phone or
talk to anyone until you’ve finished eating. I don’t like getting food in my
face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) If you see me eating at my desk, please don’t interrupt.
Please don’t make me talk with food in my mouth. I don’t want you getting food
in your face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4) Just because the walls are elbow-high, it doesn’t mean
you lean on it and talk to me. We are not neighbors that stand around and chat,
I do have a job.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5) If you have time to stand around and chat with me and I
keep my head turned to my PC screen and continue to type, my ‘uh huh’ means I
didn’t hear you nor do I care. Move along.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6) When you walk up behind someone’s chair, make noise,
because if you startle me, I will push away from my desk and ram my chair into
your shins and that is totally your fault.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7) We all have PCs, we all have our own emails, unless your
fingers are broken, even if you are my boss, type your own emails. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8) Don’t ever ask someone to Google something for you, see
#7.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9) Don’t pick your nose at your desk, if I see that, I will
never ever visit your area nor touch your desk, you might find a very large jar of
antibacterial gel on your desk one day or smeared all over your desk and chair.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10) Don’t make up nicknames for other people that annoy
them. Don’t continue using it even when no one else laughs except you. Then you
look like a jackass. </div>
<br />Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-87620814649962097512012-01-30T06:19:00.000-06:002012-01-30T06:19:28.611-06:00The Rose vs. The Sunflower<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
With St. Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I’ve
noticed an increase of angst. Valentine’s Day is a brilliant marketing idea
that took a little legend and turned it into a celebration of guilt. It should
really be called “I Listened To The Hype And Got Shamed Into Buying You a Bunch
of Roses Day”. Suddenly, people run around making all kinds of elaborate
displays of affection for their beloved. It always struck me as silly because
if you have someone in your life you love, shouldn’t every day be an
opportunity to shower them with affection? Why would you need a day marked on a
calendar?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there is the usual symbol for love and Valentine’s Day,
the red rose. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My love is like a red red rose” – Robert Burns</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhlmGpwvYlYrekw2sWwjtpLp8m7PJblXIXRQEEZ1N773Kh95nhkV33dV072PjVFwq44GHZnLKlp5-jaurs93KwXYdgF_iqTMfV3gA1lsLZo_a3owub9ScLAkYsdaQPluG6VQ9atd1d5yf/s1600/IMG_0659+Framed.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhlmGpwvYlYrekw2sWwjtpLp8m7PJblXIXRQEEZ1N773Kh95nhkV33dV072PjVFwq44GHZnLKlp5-jaurs93KwXYdgF_iqTMfV3gA1lsLZo_a3owub9ScLAkYsdaQPluG6VQ9atd1d5yf/s200/IMG_0659+Framed.PNG" width="141" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I think about it and find that if you really look at a
rose, it’s true charm and attraction is its incipient symbol for expectation.
Have you ever seen a rose when it is just a green polyp on the end of a bush?
It has a lovely shape, then slowly the green leaf starts to unfurl and the
flower petals are unveiled. It is a study of contrasts; the green against the
red. The petal has a similarity to pursed lips. Perhaps that’s why it is such a
symbol for romantic love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoD8UfXX8Po90LqzBQBUJMvzjPswejsfYu1asQdT1JkZjuYVtP6KKt9UPjlKFKWknUs196xiRI_j1KSlBZkDGyIZFVkpYIwgQc0gRStdykUkG-H5j72U2zyYoBXQJyVnlHz2DAPrpRff6s/s1600/IMG_0661_framed.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoD8UfXX8Po90LqzBQBUJMvzjPswejsfYu1asQdT1JkZjuYVtP6KKt9UPjlKFKWknUs196xiRI_j1KSlBZkDGyIZFVkpYIwgQc0gRStdykUkG-H5j72U2zyYoBXQJyVnlHz2DAPrpRff6s/s200/IMG_0661_framed.PNG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then as it blossoms, the petals unfurl but there is a point
when it becomes past its bloom. The petals fall like tears and the ground looks
like it’s covered with broken hearts. There is nothing as sad as a dead rose,
its head bent, broken and bald. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I like to think as love more in keeping with a sunflower. A
sunflower grows tall and proud, I’ve seen them as tall as 7 feet, their proud
faces straining at the sky as if they could, they would fly up and disappear
into the sun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which leads me to this poem by Thomas Moore:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Which I gaze on so fondly today,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Like fairy wings fading away<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Let thy loveliness fade as it will;<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Would entwine itself fervently still.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>To which time will but make thee more dear.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>But as truly loves on to the close:<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The same look which she turned when he rose.</i></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 18.0pt; margin-bottom: 1.2pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUdylYUmWH0XnNk3JbS-_ZyNRHLwT6j4_DjzCCjS0zvTnn3JLM0Qmk_Dilutg72kzA6A7sA0A83wDM6so4V76vSc0z9My0_pG-qc86qoC39ZP20oUuPL6r0ZcX7BS-IEVPPFnIPJvHbdM/s1600/IMG_0680_framed.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUdylYUmWH0XnNk3JbS-_ZyNRHLwT6j4_DjzCCjS0zvTnn3JLM0Qmk_Dilutg72kzA6A7sA0A83wDM6so4V76vSc0z9My0_pG-qc86qoC39ZP20oUuPL6r0ZcX7BS-IEVPPFnIPJvHbdM/s320/IMG_0680_framed.PNG" width="320" /></a>“As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets…” That’s a
great line, because whosoever captures my heart, will capture it completely. It
strains to fly, as love should fly. When it dies, its petals whither, the head
drops forlornly, but it still stands. Yes, I’ve simplified it, but love shouldn’t
be complicated. Love should be easy and simple. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-57153743619136906532012-01-29T16:54:00.000-06:002012-01-29T16:54:17.583-06:00Change<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a very lazy weekend for me, so I surfed the
channels and found myself caught up in the movie “The Day The Earth Stood Still”
with Keanu Reeves and Jennifer Connelly. The basic plot is that an alien,
(Reeves) lands on Earth, to make the final determination of whether he will
destroy the human species. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If the Earth dies, you
die. If you die, the Earth survives. There are only a handful of planets in the
cosmos that are capable of supporting complex life...<span class="apple-converted-space">” - Klaatu<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seeing that the immediate reaction to his arrival brings a very
strong military response, the world panics and looting begins, he decides it’s
time to pull the plug. The hostilities toward the unknown is mirrored in the
response of Jacob Benson(Jaden Smith), Jennifer Connelly’s son. The boy wants
to just kill the aliens. But the decision is changed when Klaatu sees the other
side of humans. Our ability to empathize and the possibility of changing our
self-destructive behavior, convinces Klaatu to stop the destruction to the
species. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“There's another side to
you. I feel it now.</span>” - Klaatu<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I watched the movie “The Help”. This isn’t my
review of these two movies; it’s simply my observations of what each movie says
about us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The Help” takes place during the turbulent 60s in
Mississippi when, segregation was institutionalized and ingrained. Threaded
through the personal stories of the characters are historical references to the
civil rights movement. At one point a character says to the lead to hurry up
and write her story before the whole civil rights movement blows over. They
refer to Martin Luther King’s call to march on Washington and the killing of
Medgar Evers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The movie was brilliant as was the story it told. It was not
preachy; it had its funny and profound moments. It was a peek into a world that
has hopefully disappeared forever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I watched the end credits of “The Day the Earth Stood
Still”, a simplified hope that man can change its self-destructive ways, I
looked at it with a personal meaning. I wondered if I could change my own self-destructive
behavior. Will it need a life-threatening situation before I do the right things or will I just devolve into a meaningless slug? Or could I even
change?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then as I watched the end credits of “The Help” it dawned on
me that the 60s really wasn’t that long ago, given the grand scheme of things. So
if an entire nation can change, I can change myself to be the person I want to be, the person I know I can be and be proud of myself.</div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-88638615216549155582011-10-16T17:38:00.000-05:002011-10-16T17:38:04.938-05:00I Just Wait<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I hate the sound of a ticking clock.” He said before he
pitched back another shot of Jack straight down his throat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked around his apartment, the carelessness of his unwashed body lingered in that sick sour smell that
unfortunately always called me. It called me because I cared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just let him talk; there was nothing left for me to say. I
thought it best to just let him ramble.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She had this clock, said her grandmother left it for her.
She loved the damned thing. I could set my watch to her winding the stupid
thing every night at 9 o’clock before we went to bed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vdiSQEXpzlq8RXpG73qUe_YyFzVgeb7HVkRpKrGmpHLXxmNjGRHNU0QlOSccUpCMEyg_VuEPaVDyaUoGnOobb6qyyk5SM5lyQpdPAVxPIc3lWszS4bgGRfProN9Noav2ncjxW3eVVeuH/s1600/09290001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vdiSQEXpzlq8RXpG73qUe_YyFzVgeb7HVkRpKrGmpHLXxmNjGRHNU0QlOSccUpCMEyg_VuEPaVDyaUoGnOobb6qyyk5SM5lyQpdPAVxPIc3lWszS4bgGRfProN9Noav2ncjxW3eVVeuH/s320/09290001.JPG" width="240" /></a>He stood and wandered over to the bar, put his hand on the
neck of the bottle, then hesitated before he poured another shot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But the damn thing ticked. The second hand ticked. It never
bothered me before, until that last afternoon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He poured his drink, took it back to the couch and sat
resignedly with a weariness that seemed to weigh down his very soul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked off into the front window, seeing something that
was no longer there. The afternoon sun streamed through the window.
But something in his eyes remembered and would never forget.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She said she’d be back, she wouldn’t take too long. I sat
here waiting for her, the damn clock ticking louder and louder.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He groaned and closed his eyes, leaned back into the couch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I was reading a magazine, it didn’t take me long, then
there was nothing left for me to do but wait. The sun was bright and sunny, I
remember kids laughing in the street. But I sat and waited, listening to the
damn ticking.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He didn’t move, his words got slower but still distinct, his
eyes fluttered open.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know why I sat there, like I was frozen, the damn
ticking seemed to take over my head and just hypnotized me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I watched him, wishing there was something I could do for
his pain, but he was too far gone for me to reach him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m so angry. First I was angry at him for taking her from
me.” His fists clenched, he grimaced and he squeezed his eyes shut against what
I knew were his unbidden tears. “Then I got really angry at her for leaving me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His breathing slowed, his face seemed to crumble.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know it’s wrong, it was an accident just an accident. But
I waited so long for her. I waited all my life for her to come into my life.
And in the end, I was still waiting.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling, beseeching
heaven with weary, sad eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How much longer do I have to wait?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could see there was nothing I could do. He made up his
mind a long time ago. He took half of his bottle of sleeping pills with his
first shot. His breathing was slowing down his heart rate dropping fast too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I waited, as I always do. I waited for his final sigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People don’t realize, that’s what Death really only does, I
just wait.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-30315031115209715822011-09-11T06:00:00.000-05:002011-09-11T06:00:01.172-05:009/11 Ten Years Later<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to be a store manager at a Blockbuster store. We sold
DirecTV satellite dish systems which meant I could turn on the TV and have it
running while I prepared for the day to begin. Even though the store didn’t
open until 10am, I always made sure I was in the store early to prepare the
previous night’s bank deposits, check in the videos that came in from the night
before and put the videos back up on the shelves.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a small store so we didn’t have a lot of sales, so to
keep my store profitable; I cut costs, which meant that during the day, I would
be the only employee in the store. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It started out like any other day; I was there at 7am,
turned on the TV monitor and futz around the store. I always turned to the
Today show and that day wasn’t any different. I was checking in videos when I
heard Matt Lauer break into the show talking about reports of a plane hitting
the World Trade Building. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My immediate first thought was “What kind of dumbass hits a
building? What, he couldn’t turn? What a moron!” When Matt Lauer was talking
about it, the footage of the 2<sup>nd</sup> plane hitting the 2<sup>nd</sup>
tower hadn’t come up yet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just happened to glance up when the Today Show switched to
a live feed and we watched the 2<sup>nd</sup> plane and I remember completely
blanking out, uncertain of just what I saw. I don’t think I could even process
what I just saw. Then I heard Matt’s voice and my head heard the historical and
famous voice of the reporter talking about the Hindenburg crash. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t know what to do, I was alone. So I reached for my
phone and called a friend who I knew was also at his store preparing to open.
He was not watching TV and I yelled at him to hurry up and turn it on, aping
the commentary I was hearing on the TV. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was still early, we weren’t open, I was alone and I didn’t
know what to do. It took me a few minutes before I could gather myself, then
the news started coming in fast and furious, the towers falling, then the plane
hitting the Pentagon, the final plane going down in Pennsylvania and the
confusion that ensued. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finally realized I needed to call my mom. She had been
watching the news as well and she had already spoken to my dad because his
office was only blocks away from the Sears Tower in downtown Chicago. I wanted
him to get out of the loop. Dad was on his way back home at around 9am.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I opened the store at the normal time 10am. I had spoken
with my district manager and she said to go ahead and open but we both agreed
there was no way we were going to be busy. Then she told me that one of the
other store managers was very worried because his brother lived within blocks
of the WTC and he was unable to get a hold of his brother. I spent that whole
day, tethered to the TV that wasn’t selling DirecTV, it was airing the news and
the few customers I had came to watch it with me and we talked of our grief,
our shock and our anger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of the strip mall where my store was positioned
was a blood bank. By 11am that morning the line to give blood stretched from
that store and weaved around the strip mall because so many people wanted to give
blood to help out. I will always remember that for me it was the sight of that
line getting longer and longer, bringing different people together to help in
this extraordinary tragedy that made me so proud to be an American.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The American psyche was hurt, but as is normal in moments of
great history, a people gather strength from the shared experiences of grief
and tragedy, even more than moments of pride and joy, a major failing of our
species. We were united in our grief and anger; we showed the world a united
front.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never knew anyone lost that day, I never knew anyone who
knew anyone lost that day. But what that moment means to me is best summed up
by the immortal words of John Donne: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">"... all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one
chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and
every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some
pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice;
but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our
scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one
another.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it
rises? But who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends
not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? But who can remove it
from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is
an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of
the main.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is
the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy
friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am
involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee."</span></i></span><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were diminished by those deaths, and we need to
remember that their deaths need to mean something greater than memorials and
platitudes. We need to be the nation that those people died for; we need to
insure the families they left behind are left with a country strong and secure,
proudly facing a future with hope, determination and perseverance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ten years later, what 9/11 will always mean to me is the reminder of how
precious life should be. I watch the specials and heard those phone recordings
and the one thing that resonates is the messages of love some of them were able
to send out on their last few moments. Because in the end, it is the love that
we remember, the love we cling too and it is love that will keep hope alive in
all of us.</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-48452936462858331722011-09-05T14:53:00.000-05:002011-09-05T14:53:21.640-05:00Beautiful Chicago<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWeFAfGHo1yqPha_nJ3RL_Sx1dehtK3jNIrFxulow58wS4L07RyGyWT-q2BA0CyerNebfhHvrEv-2_2AdacgYSDCN1s5NfQjAK-XfL3mzR7MlYM6YNwhstZFjTmbcS6rIOyic2UywfME_/s1600/DSCF4011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWeFAfGHo1yqPha_nJ3RL_Sx1dehtK3jNIrFxulow58wS4L07RyGyWT-q2BA0CyerNebfhHvrEv-2_2AdacgYSDCN1s5NfQjAK-XfL3mzR7MlYM6YNwhstZFjTmbcS6rIOyic2UywfME_/s400/DSCF4011.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not born nor bred Chicago, but I’ve spent more time here
than any other place I’ve ever lived so I consider myself a Chicagoan. Chicago
is a beautiful city. So much like a beautiful woman who gets under your skin
and deep in your blood, you love her one minute, then you hate her. You're not sure of a lot of things, but you
know you just can’t live without her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cKelPXacU1UJRf7uRE8zHwjo2mXacqKiA7JuYlhcu8xiWdaFU7wWDeMbljLdOmtSo8Vr7PPdIJECLWsMrFofy51S3McupGWdQlr5Y4Mq6YhkcvXX8U0SLQAoBL_yrt17NOVkJf9IXDjt/s1600/08160001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cKelPXacU1UJRf7uRE8zHwjo2mXacqKiA7JuYlhcu8xiWdaFU7wWDeMbljLdOmtSo8Vr7PPdIJECLWsMrFofy51S3McupGWdQlr5Y4Mq6YhkcvXX8U0SLQAoBL_yrt17NOVkJf9IXDjt/s320/08160001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Spring, she is hope incipient, all the wistfulness that
you hoard in winter’s dread seem to come true with the first shy buds of
magnolia trees start popping out. The lazy drip of melting snow from in the
gangway between the houses and the apartments, remind you, summer is coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGwxvP_V28mh6HDc_BbruUhUbqWBf-BpkPs1J1k9oNPQ-tABrxxeFu1pgr6Wxa_wKFjtPpb6A9CS3jLRCUwxcaVFpHXRYkG_LNf14HJ5kCl7ruNbISgfD3c-o2py_0gapYiYOSDDhPS1p/s1600/navypier110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGwxvP_V28mh6HDc_BbruUhUbqWBf-BpkPs1J1k9oNPQ-tABrxxeFu1pgr6Wxa_wKFjtPpb6A9CS3jLRCUwxcaVFpHXRYkG_LNf14HJ5kCl7ruNbISgfD3c-o2py_0gapYiYOSDDhPS1p/s320/navypier110.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then one day, Summer is here, brandishing bravura like a
shiny, slick, flirt’s smile you can’t deny. She is emboldened and sweet,
seductive and irresistible. Summer in Chicago has to be experienced to be
believed. The street fairs, the city festivals, the jazz/food/lalapalooza heady
times in the lake front, all remind you that this city teems with 3 million
people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNMPr5_HIJNH0nPMPB_1RdBnAuJOMZZxVEFP9aV_DgH955Z2K_8JDI4FKjpidLOAbAfO_2Gw1qluqLk1s9t8b1p5MZ13O5Jm3gH9jzeaLWv7Jrhv1EVqZDQrpYKwjnfrVdhStRHOgOwN-/s1600/N.+pier+riverside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNMPr5_HIJNH0nPMPB_1RdBnAuJOMZZxVEFP9aV_DgH955Z2K_8JDI4FKjpidLOAbAfO_2Gw1qluqLk1s9t8b1p5MZ13O5Jm3gH9jzeaLWv7Jrhv1EVqZDQrpYKwjnfrVdhStRHOgOwN-/s320/N.+pier+riverside.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then suddenly, always too soon, Summer flees. Like the girl who,
after the shock of being kissed for the first time in her life, abruptly turns
around and runs away, leaving behind a confused suitor who wanted her to linger
and yearned for just one more perfect kiss. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8tYKfK2gUsqUId8Dyi_x6YSjOFDo4juZsggEFQ-sReFMxsG501mIP9q5m97nP3exSbsv5M4_fz3dQyXaRuT39eWuwKW7wf4kmniIcxRxUKZ8XkWX2lmpOe6nas8MiesI7wZXztDWNzjz/s1600/DSCF4013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8tYKfK2gUsqUId8Dyi_x6YSjOFDo4juZsggEFQ-sReFMxsG501mIP9q5m97nP3exSbsv5M4_fz3dQyXaRuT39eWuwKW7wf4kmniIcxRxUKZ8XkWX2lmpOe6nas8MiesI7wZXztDWNzjz/s320/DSCF4013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fall arrives without warning, her smile bright and gorgeous
over a deepening blue sky and proud, vast clouds. But she brings with her a peckish
breeze to remind you that she will easily turn a weary cold eye upon anything
she finds displeasing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBuMGYtKyXTaj2uRzqjpEC-CieZKdLPpLiW5DBmOYb0MHqDHYqxu0Yo-b7F3glxofzrvcjdCWJC_2HltwV0ihs8mp1xaX-yYtoO8R3CtbPA7jTppiyNJHchpa8BZVCqa4W2ryztbIu7Ng/s1600/165456_121332297934396_100001728796444_132277_2694928_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBuMGYtKyXTaj2uRzqjpEC-CieZKdLPpLiW5DBmOYb0MHqDHYqxu0Yo-b7F3glxofzrvcjdCWJC_2HltwV0ihs8mp1xaX-yYtoO8R3CtbPA7jTppiyNJHchpa8BZVCqa4W2ryztbIu7Ng/s320/165456_121332297934396_100001728796444_132277_2694928_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then one day Fall starts to darken and brood, expectant and
forbidding and one morning you know, Winter has arrived.<span> </span>You wake up as she throws on a mantle of snow;
she is quiet, demure and has that dangerous beauty that hides black ice, wind
chills and snow drifts. But she’s beautiful to look at and you love her first
snow, then you hate as she turns into blackened mounds accumulating detritus on
the streets.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Labor Day is supposed to be a commemoration of the everyday
working man, yet in Chicago it is always the turning point when Fall stares
down Summer and Summer begins to fade. We pack away our shorts and our t-shirts
and wait for next year.</div>
Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-18929145468112004172011-04-02T11:59:00.001-05:002011-04-02T20:21:49.568-05:00He Ain’t Heavy, He's My Brother.<div class="MsoNormal">It’s interesting that April is Autism Awareness month; April 8th is my little brother’s birthday. My little brother will be 36 years old this year. He’s about 5’9” overweight but he’s still “Midget” to me. That was my nickname for him when he was little.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnA3tKn3HtWVDKGV2Xsna5WClebMw27EMTHgK0JoMjr_5mJlJ-woUiCyFwrf-0Bd5FAfHStZGaZjrls-6nF2GODhIT9IRgTfnOIrY2P8MdGRRIl9-AuuvIREXwyjDppF2701iC4DF37f2Z/s1600/lassie3mo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnA3tKn3HtWVDKGV2Xsna5WClebMw27EMTHgK0JoMjr_5mJlJ-woUiCyFwrf-0Bd5FAfHStZGaZjrls-6nF2GODhIT9IRgTfnOIrY2P8MdGRRIl9-AuuvIREXwyjDppF2701iC4DF37f2Z/s200/lassie3mo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 month old giggly baby</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I remember when he was brought home all those years ago; I was utterly fascinated by this bald, big headed baby boy. He had one of those baby giggles that would have made him a youtube superstar. My other brother and I would spend our days making him laugh because it was utterly infectious.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then one day he got sick, an ear infection that the ER doctor didn’t catch. By the time the hospital finally admitted him, he was bleeding from his ear. Back then the hospital (luckily it’s no longer in business), refused to let my mother stay with my brother. So they admitted him and took him from us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You have to understand, in the Philippines, family members are not only allowed to stay with the patient, it is an expectation. There is no better medicine than care and support from loved ones. My mom was heartbroken, dad was out of town on business and no one wanted to deal with a hysterical woman with a thick accent.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day my mom, my other brother and I took the bus to visit my brother and the sight of my brother in his hospital bed is still seared in my mind. Our family is close, my brother’s crib was in my parents room, so if he fussed, mom and dad were there for him. So even at 18mons, he knew and keenly felt the separation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hospital had physically strapped him down in his hospital bed and had strapped his IV on his head! Just typing that out makes me want to really hurt someone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We weren’t allowed to take him out since he still had to be on his IV. His little voice was hoarse, he had spent the entire night screaming.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few days later when dad was back home, we went to get him from the hospital because he was being released. We arrived at the hospital and found that he was feeling well enough that he was in the kid’s playroom. So we went to get him. My brother refused to acknowledge our existence, he didn’t answer by name and completely ignored us, twisting away from our touch. I think I heard my parent’s heart break at that moment.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t until he was 6years old that my parents FINALLY found a doctor that was able to tell them what was “wrong” with my brother. He had begun to talk before that hospital stay, after, he was silenced.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There wasn’t a lot of information on autism; it had barely made it into the psychiatric medical journals. But my parents did their research, made a lot of phone calls and read everything they could get their hands on. This was long before the internet and support groups. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh860U5A-Sd2tZrirhBLP0tA0zJLDOu5wkuby80Bpn9iGrKbMf89UeB1uzmbwFH65Q7YjAy6fV7C1akZaIZyzdw18jfAw_R7m2CVPuGAZYGB8x2kFrOEf67Ti8OZkLY8xN8wPwwGert3azJ/s1600/ord061983a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh860U5A-Sd2tZrirhBLP0tA0zJLDOu5wkuby80Bpn9iGrKbMf89UeB1uzmbwFH65Q7YjAy6fV7C1akZaIZyzdw18jfAw_R7m2CVPuGAZYGB8x2kFrOEf67Ti8OZkLY8xN8wPwwGert3azJ/s200/ord061983a.jpg" width="96" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">My parents got him involved in the Special Olympics, through that organization; my brother has enough medals and ribbons to make a very full cabinet. But when he was about to graduate from the special needs classes in grammar school, the only program left for him was to be enrolled in a west side high school. This was a high school in the west side of Chicago, street toughs and uncaring teachers. My brother would get killed going to that school. But it was the only one in our home district. So my parents took the drastic step to look for another option.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They thought they found it. It was in Boston, a private live-in institution. The live-in arrangement was the big drawback, but my parents felt they had to do it. In time, he may end up living in a special community home so he might as well get used to it. But as a compromise, my mother moved out to Boston and my dad supported two households. Mom had to learn to drive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It went on for almost an entire school year. Until we found out that that specific school’s ‘successes’ were achieved by beating the special needs children into submission.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mom and my brother came back to Chicago. What they did find was a very good program in Grand Rapids, MI. My brother was enrolled into their school system and mom lived in a cute little 2br apartment. She had her little car and my brother thrived. He continued his special olympics activities and he even learned to show jump horse back riding. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every Friday afternoon, my dad and I would switch off; one of us would drive to Grand Rapids and pick up my mom and brother so they can spend the weekend with us in Chicago. Then on Sunday, dad would take them back and he’d commute from Grand Rapids starting his drive back to Chicago at 5am to make it to his office by 8am.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I knew every twist and turn of that drive. Even knew just exactly where I can put the pedal to the medal because there was never any traffic patrol. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But when he was 25years old, he graduated out of the program. He came back to Chicago and now flourishes at the Austin Special Workshop.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://wsmrca.org/">http://wsmrca.org/</a> My brother’s infectious giggles have matured into an infectious smile. It’s featured on their homepage.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/AustinSpecialArt?ref=ts">http://www.facebook.com/AustinSpecialArt?ref=ts</a> He’s an artist, my brother studied at the Art Institute of Chicago taking art classes, paints, charcoals, even sculpting. His pieces, when it went up for charity sales, always sold out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I love my brother, I don’t know if and when I tell him he understands, most of his answers are animated head nods and ‘oh yeah’ or furious shakes ‘NO NO”. But he’s got his moments. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD_SjFM_1FAcdTEzqCWLN0cLw-kX0kKZoDeeejDwo66EOZXlG_6Zlz9hyphenhyphenGaxqmeT-jZRp-r49WJcZQK7isXbjOFB1DKwbRabC9IumCyXTNEYtUW4Cb_o7aAD1AzjPhkWWqOvrAPSfAb2C/s1600/montreal04081991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD_SjFM_1FAcdTEzqCWLN0cLw-kX0kKZoDeeejDwo66EOZXlG_6Zlz9hyphenhyphenGaxqmeT-jZRp-r49WJcZQK7isXbjOFB1DKwbRabC9IumCyXTNEYtUW4Cb_o7aAD1AzjPhkWWqOvrAPSfAb2C/s200/montreal04081991.jpg" width="102" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20 years old</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">He was always a handsome young man. Looking at this picture, it wasn’t uncommon to have girls giving him inquiring looks and knowing smiles. My brother’s open face and sweet smile always made their days.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtxe-T_5SynVxZxkpBUnKfcX9SO9svgucFPcBPSInpitT9dwZP9FBoHLtfBnoA-HolDxvkQzR9a3lJdgOlgNrVmg3TAfWaA-7CirAbnIDkO1MNkY8lZPQoSnCvJjFj86TkbF5y-yamErH/s1600/earlshepherd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtxe-T_5SynVxZxkpBUnKfcX9SO9svgucFPcBPSInpitT9dwZP9FBoHLtfBnoA-HolDxvkQzR9a3lJdgOlgNrVmg3TAfWaA-7CirAbnIDkO1MNkY8lZPQoSnCvJjFj86TkbF5y-yamErH/s320/earlshepherd.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">30 years old</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I love this picture because of that sneaky look on his face, like he’s completely in the joke. My parents take him with them everywhere, they will never think of putting him in a home and separating from him ever again. But they have made arrangements for when the time comes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When he was small, his favorite song was “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother” Sometimes when he was upset and no one could get to him, he’d put the song on his little stereo (he had the 45rpm) and sing. Sometimes when he was super upset, I’d have to hold him and sing the song for him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m no saint, neither is he; I know sometimes I irritate him and he irritates me. We’re siblings, that’s what siblings do, for when all is said and done, he’s my brother. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For all that we’ve gone through as a family, for the dirty looks we got over the years, the well-meaning but nonetheless inappropriate comments and patronizing, we’ve endured.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is that dramatic line, “I would die for you.” There are very few people I would say “I would kill for.” My brother is one of those very few people. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because as heavy as he might get, I’ll carry him, because he’s my brother.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-86142664111863280262011-02-16T21:32:00.000-06:002011-02-16T21:32:11.289-06:00Zombie Nation<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Last week I had one of those dreams that had me waking with a burst of energy and shouting in my head. I dreamt that we lived in a Zombie Nation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every month, it was just a natural part of life that zombies moved around our world, so if you were alive, you simply took precautions. So it must have been that time of month – DON’T SAY IT! – and the zombies were coming.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I was with a group of people and we were preparing for the assault by making sure all the doors and windows were secure. We were in an old, large, commercial building. So as people were checking the windows, I went to check the bathrooms. I saw that they were public restrooms with old wooden doors for stalls. The windows were secured and locked down and I was about to leave when I did a double take. Two of the three stalls were those old, old fashioned type of toilets that just looked like a box with a toilet seat. Anyone could crawl up through it to get inside.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Holy Crap!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I ran out of the room and into the main room, which now I realized, wasn’t an old building at all but a church. I ran screaming down the aisle that the zombies were coming! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead of springing into action, all the people sat quietly in the pews, listening to words of encouragement from the priests. He had given everyone a large crystal; each crystal would ‘cover’ two people. One person held the crystal close to their heart and another person would hold them so the crystal would press between each of their hearts, protecting them from the zombies. But no one moved, they were all like scared sheep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I try to get in with someone because I had come in late and, as usual, had no one to hold. I didn’t know what else to do and just followed along with the crowd. I could see the zombies come shambling inside and hysteria starting to mount, when suddenly, the priest who was supposed to be our spiritual leader and guide suddenly threw his hands in the air in despair.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh forget it! This isn’t going to work! This isn’t crystal! It isn’t magic!” He screamed before he took a bite out of his crystal, the crystal were only giant cookies masquerading as rock. It was all a lie.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In my dream, I quaked in disbelief, now that the hell are we supposed to do? I watch as the zombies get closer, I jump up and run. After all, they are zombies, I can outrun them. But there are a lot of people still sitting around just waiting to be bitten. I didn’t understand why they didn’t run.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am about to run out into the vestry when I had a thought run through my head like a bullet. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’re just sitting here scared and surrendering. What can you do that when you do it, you can’t be scared? You smile, you laugh…. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I start screaming to everyone “YOU LAUGH! YOU CAN’T BE SCARED WHEN YOU LAUGH AND SING!!!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I run back up the aisle and start laughing, I sit down and start singing, oddly enough the old Coca Cola song, “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony.” It starts out quietly, hesitant, but the song and the laugh catch on. The singing spreads around the room and builds to a roar of laughter and joy and the zombies stop. They get a confused look on their face and their blank stares turn into a look of recognition. The zombies come back to life and join in the chorus. Through the laughter and the song they are reminded of their humanity and join the living. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People who have been dead are alive again, joyous and singing and suddenly there is a full orchestra and choir and I’m introducing the fabulous “Ms. Fitzgerald.” I have a brain fart in the middle of my dream and can’t remember her name so I call her “The fabulous Gwen Fitzgerald!” I am overjoyed because now there is nothing to fear, the zombies have been cured and I wake up with a smile and a name on my lips:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ELLA!” It’s Ella Fitzgerald singing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I woke up feeling - not knowing - the meaning of the dream converge on me like a wave. Am I living in a zombie nation, where people are already dead and don’t know it? Because they kowtow to the ‘powers that be’ simply because they are the ‘authority’, the moral majority or whatever it is they call themselves these days?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, the people who know how you’re supposed to live, how to talk, when to talk, who to talk to? Who, if you don’t abide by their unwritten, unspoken rules are somehow deviant and weird, crazy, psycho, etc.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what if I laugh a little too loud? So what if I have an ear worm every five minutes? So what if I burst out into song now and then? So what if I’m not your average everyday bore? So what if I’m ‘different’? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m alive and I won’t pretend otherwise.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-11737425516953378752011-01-19T10:31:00.001-06:002011-01-19T19:54:34.229-06:00Suicide Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvLaDc53wI7UUa1sIywF1_KmOlZXITJw5o390ZYjV32jDtaCiG7kZ7vGRKyvhMUDc0v1E2GK1PN7RbY6f45F4xmlxXzuE0g4gG6HpCP8t_KKYtKWNyqxvoY8SBg4qlaLINlo_L3ClLFKj/s1600/girls1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvLaDc53wI7UUa1sIywF1_KmOlZXITJw5o390ZYjV32jDtaCiG7kZ7vGRKyvhMUDc0v1E2GK1PN7RbY6f45F4xmlxXzuE0g4gG6HpCP8t_KKYtKWNyqxvoY8SBg4qlaLINlo_L3ClLFKj/s320/girls1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I went to bed last night tired but ebullient. 2011 is starting out well for me and I have only the most positive outlook. Considering what an incredible challenge 2010 was for me, that’s an incredible statement for me to make. So when I woke up from one of the most incredibly vivid dream I’ve had in years, it shook me.<br />
<br />
<br />
A few days ago, I had an idea for a new story; actually it was a TV show about fraternal twins. Now, I don’t know where that came from because I am not a twin and I have the same passing curiosity for twins as the next person, but nothing more. <br />
<br />
Last night my dream began in medias res, as dreams often do. I was a fraternal twin but I was the male twin! Something had happened to my sister twin and I was devastated. I’m only assuming she had died because the sorrow was unceasing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>So in the dream, I decide to take my own life. I have a number of sleeping pills and I take them. But somehow I know that from the time I take the pills, I have time to sit, compose my final thoughts to say good bye. As I try to gather my thoughts, I reach for a folder on my desk, there is paperwork and something that looks like a newsletter, I can’t remember. But whatever they are, they set off a melody of memories in my dream self’s consciousness. And my life replays in my head. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBJUiNKVtnP7UDUx7FNGl9wCxL7-5EAr-MkAJvREHHlS93mmphf_9CEsE8o-BE6k3t7HDQsDpTvu8_-HXSnLnv_nBxOIRZkmKP8GL65lY1qYUlgzTSjurFkxzgdDi6F5CfqNH3WN7Cjq4/s1600/girls2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBJUiNKVtnP7UDUx7FNGl9wCxL7-5EAr-MkAJvREHHlS93mmphf_9CEsE8o-BE6k3t7HDQsDpTvu8_-HXSnLnv_nBxOIRZkmKP8GL65lY1qYUlgzTSjurFkxzgdDi6F5CfqNH3WN7Cjq4/s320/girls2.jpg" width="320" /></a>Suddenly I am faced with the unexpected realization that my life was filled with small quiet moments of joy and bliss. There were memories of people who slipped through the cracks of my life but left a semblance of grace and warmth. Moments of grace that I did not recognize at the time I was living through them. But only in hindsight did I see all the things I had missed and realized that life could always be more than just the pain and sorrow that I felt and if I had just hung on a little longer, the hindsight would have come.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>But for my dream self, it was too late. I had taken the pills and my eyesight was starting to darken. I knew I didn’t have as much time as I thought I had, I realized in a panic, I did not want to die. I wanted to live because I saw that the joy was there, I just had to look. But as I panicked, I knew it was too late, my dream self was dying and my eyesight faded away and I died.<br />
<br />
I died in my sleep and I woke up gasping. Relief flooded through me like an immersion into warmth, I was alive and it was all a dream. But what was the morale of the dream?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRzTPMJ0rupZTVPGGTDHKMzF6Ha-eg1Jf5Qz-Y003ofTPaQ9Ly7eR_4jch_rNNYlczjJWJCHqJhwUm4QzHm1v_O9ZN4FsUbQP8thSfXv4fCydEzIMxznscfW-HclnqS8ojo7G2lEbd8my/s1600/girls4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRzTPMJ0rupZTVPGGTDHKMzF6Ha-eg1Jf5Qz-Y003ofTPaQ9Ly7eR_4jch_rNNYlczjJWJCHqJhwUm4QzHm1v_O9ZN4FsUbQP8thSfXv4fCydEzIMxznscfW-HclnqS8ojo7G2lEbd8my/s320/girls4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Life is a mosaic of emotions, riotous moments of unexpected joy, inexplicable anger, unbelievable love and a multitude of intangibles that made life worth living. When we only stare at the dark colors of grief and sorrow, we miss out on the bright colors of joy and love. We must step back and allow the picture to evolve into the landscape of our lives. With each color providing the depth to our existence, each color having its place and adding meaning to our lives. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>But what was the meaning for me? I’m not suicidal; I’m too stubborn to ever admit that kind of defeat?! Then it dawned on me, I was close to giving up on something I loved, but for all the frustrating moments I’ve had, there were moments of giggles and laughter that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. I was about to hang up my sword and relinquish my general duties. The dream told me, not just yet.Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-53593721143978410532011-01-05T15:47:00.001-06:002011-01-19T18:00:37.701-06:00Winter is the graceless season.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthrecYO7b3LdAcimjipa31O-zjh9izSjcOaFC3MSRxr2VrmaBkSIjTXe50qfh2XB-HYYT9yt5Ig90Nw3uxAC4l6RYrwMyh87Q7JYnjQ0m0OHZHw1nX-RJot3rbBnsB3EQUHD3J0bR40ES/s1600/ice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthrecYO7b3LdAcimjipa31O-zjh9izSjcOaFC3MSRxr2VrmaBkSIjTXe50qfh2XB-HYYT9yt5Ig90Nw3uxAC4l6RYrwMyh87Q7JYnjQ0m0OHZHw1nX-RJot3rbBnsB3EQUHD3J0bR40ES/s320/ice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Those of us who labor under wintry skies know that to truly be warm, one must dress in layers. There must be an undershirt, thermal pants, a shirt, a sweater and for me, a hoodie then my coat. Actually I don’t have an actual winter coat; I just have a thick jacket that I bought in Vegas for $20. It’s thick, made of some strange fake velour and I’m happy with it. I don’t like to spend money on outerwear; it’s the optimist in me. Winter will only be three months, why buy clothes that I can only wear for brief time? So I have a baseball-type jacket which I can wear for several months, fall, winter or spring. I add a thick hoodie in the winter for added insulation.<br />
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I bring this up because by the time I get out for the day, I feel like a bumbling, stuffed sausage. Sometimes, if it’s really cold, I wear double socks; don’t laugh until you’ve walked in my shoes. That’s where the gracelessness begins. <br />
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How do you swing your arms in careless abandon as you walk down the street feeling the sunshine on your face? Your arms are in a permanent position of being stretched out, bending them is a feat of strength and the only thing exposed to the sun, if you have sun that morning, are your eyeballs. <br />
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I have a knitted sweater hat (handmade by mom) that is itchy and scratchy and makes me look like I have a really big afro hair do with no forehead or eyebrows. The hood comes over that and the scarf that has stretched out to 4ft long (It’s my homage to Doctor Who-although it isn’t multicolored) wraps around my neck twice. Effectively cutting the range of motion for my neck, with the hood narrowing my peripheral vision, when I turn to glance around me, my shoulders have to rotate completely. It’s a bitch when I drive. When I drive, whatever freedom of movement I could pretend I had is effectively taken from me.<br />
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So inevitably, when I get out of my car, I do my version of ‘spilling out’ I open the door, release the seatbelt and roll sideways in a 360°. When I am on both my feet, I am facing the back of my car, as if that’s exactly how I wanted to be. Two days in a row, I have caught my seemingly growing scarf in the seat belt and any movement to straighten out jerks me back towards my car as if I’ve just been clotheslined. <br />
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Then as I grab my things and stumble in the parking lot, spinning around to make sure no one saw me, I have to watch the ice patches or I will do a double back flip and an inadvertent roundhouse flying kick that results in my landing spectacularly on my back. Which I have done before as someone (a stranger) who was heading towards me, simply walked over me as I flailed like a turtle stuck on its shell. At that time, I had on a backpack full of books which cushioned any actual physical damage. Then it took some tries to get back up before anyone else saw and try to regain my dignity.<br />
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Winter is a graceless season where one learns that embarrassment is one snow boot away.Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6617390922693676523.post-90660427806816107282010-12-24T19:13:00.000-06:002011-12-24T09:38:39.946-06:00Happy Hollydays<div class="MsoNormal">
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house</div>
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Not a laptop was on, they even unplugged the mouse.</div>
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Their wish lists was posted in the blogosphere</div>
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Knowing that Santa would read it with care.</div>
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The rugrats were nestled all snug in their beds</div>
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While visions of iPods danced in their heads.</div>
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With mom in her flannel and dad in his shorts</div>
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While the house filled with snoring reports.</div>
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When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter</div>
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Dad sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.</div>
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Someone was tangled over the Christmas display</div>
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A fat man in red with eight reindeer and a sleigh!</div>
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The fat man moved fast for someone his size</div>
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Untangled himself and disappeared with surprise</div>
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Santa had arrived, landing on the roof</div>
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Bringing incontrovertible proof.</div>
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He was chubby and plump, with a big round belly</div>
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That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.</div>
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So dad took the cookies & milk and hid them away</div>
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Obesity is pandemic and wasn’t okay.</div>
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He had all sorts of presents and left them with glee</div>
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iPhones, iPads, and Blu-Ray DVDs</div>
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And laying his finger aside of his nose</div>
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And giving a nod, out the window he rose.</div>
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He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle</div>
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And away they all flew like a heat seeking missile</div>
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But I heard his exclaim, ‘ ere he drove out of sight,</div>
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“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!”</div>
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<br /></div>Fatal Romantichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05034007006621906070noreply@blogger.com1