Daily Writing: Picture

10/22/10 – Friday Topic: Picture – Lighthouse – red barn in front
2:14pm
I bought the lighthouse on a whim. I was tired of being at the beck and call of every damn person in the world. My cell phone, my home, my television, and even my car were built to allow for people to contact me. There was no way I was ever going to finish my dissection of Dante’s Divine Comedy. Yes, I know there have been plenty of people that have looked for hidden meaning in the written word of the past, but something in that story just tugged at me. There was a deeper meaning and maybe even the most truthful account of hell that were I not to look into it, it would continue to be consumed by highschool students.
As a denominational outcast, I have had dozens of people approaching me and telling me I’m going to hell. Being disowned by your family and the religion that you were raised in hurts. But I’ve always been an advocate for truth. If I was unable to be true to myself there was something inherently wrong with me. Walking the walk in this instance was just as important as talking the talk.
The dying old woman that I bought the lighthouse from was a widower whose family had a history of gross misfortune. Her great grandfather had been lost at sea, her grandfather leapt from the Widow’s Walk that I spent most sunsets perched upon. Even her father had been lost in a plane crash. She refused to talk about her husband.
When I bought it, I made sure that the coast was no longer a navigational hotspot. She assured me that no one had sailed in my quiet little nest of oblivion. The electricity had been updated, but the closest store was a forty five minute drive.
Imagine my chagrin when I saw a ship approaching my beach. It was followed by alarm as I noticed that water was spilling out of the sides of the massive brig that was going to beach itself if it wasn’t careful.
I watched for the twenty minutes it took for the behemoth to crash into the beach. I felt sick to my stomach as someone flew over the front of the ship and landed with a sickening thud that I could even hear three stories up. I tore into the house and grabbed my first aid kit and rushed to the beach.
2:30pm

Daily Writing: Knit

10/20/10 – Wednesday Topic: Knit
10/27/10 1:05pm
“The dream is always the same,” I found myself starting up a conversation with my therapist that I wasn’t ever ready to revisit. However, the dreams had been coming more frequently as of late and I just needed to get them out. I opened my mouth to speak but found that my brain had decided to prevent me from sharing my horror.
“Go on,” he egged from his overstuffed armchair.
“I’m trying,” I choked. I opened my mouth to speak again and couldn’t contain the fit of coughs that burst through.
I wanted to tell him everything. But, I guess that in signing your soul over to the devil, the fine print includes a confidentiality clause. I don’t think I could have spoken about it. But I tried. For about a half hour I kept trying to start, my process switched between coughing and stammering. I finally gave up after I coughed and a bit of blood spattered into my palm. I get it, I thought. I could almost see Cormac in my head, grinning his Cheshire cat grin.
I wanted to tell him about the dream. It was always so vivid. A woman in a housedress with a rusty pair of knitting needles. My entrails as yarn. The excruciating pain that always followed. Waking up and vomiting. Even my mind had trouble painting the picture without jarring imagery.
We continued talking about the horrors in my life (that I was apparently approved to talk about by good ol’ Satan) until my time was up.  I cut the balding man a check, scribbled my next appointment in my date book, and headed down the stairs of the fourth floor walkup.
“So, how did it go?” The serene Irish accent next to me shouldn’t have startled me, but I was still shaking from the verbal block.
“Go to hell Cormac,” I whispered.
“Where else am I going to go Maria?”
1:16pm

Daily Writing: Picture Topic

Friday 10/15/10 Picture Topic 
10:00am Friday
 
A pug can’t be a ballet dancer. It’s not that they don’t have the heart for it (although a veterinarian would probably tell me that the DON’T have the heart for it), I’m sure there is a little pug brain somewhere just imagining themselves twirling in a tutu and finding peace. (Do pugs daydream in color?)
 
Pugs are notorious for having health problems. Mostly related to breathing. A pug wheezes nonstop. In order to be a ballerina, you have to have a good lung capacity and the ability to maintain a surface of calm. I’m guessing. I don’t know. I haven’t been in ballet for over fifteen years now and it was never professional nor did I have any false impressions that I was ever a ballet dancer.
 
Anyways, why did the ballet dancer thing pop into my head? Well, the pug is “standing” and using a fence as a rest. He looks taller and even a little graceful, but I’m not sure that is good for its hind legs. Dogs are built to be quadrupeds.
 
10:10am 

Daily Writing: Vast

9:46am  

Have you ever just sat and thought about how completely insignificant you are in the scheme of things? I know that seems like a very dark topic, but it’s realistic. I mean… How many billions of people are on Earth right now? How many other planets are there in this solar system? No, we haven’t confirmed life on other planets, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
 
Taking it a step further, how many solar systems are there? How many galaxies. I’m sure an astronomer is looking at this post and thinking “good god she knows nothing about space”. You would be correct. I don’t. Everything that I assume of the vast expanse of black in the sky is altered by my love of science fiction. Put me in front of a table of DVDs and tell me I can only pick five of them… If one of them is Firefly, it’s in my hands. I like the idea of rebuilding societies and am especially a fan of the ‘verse that Whedon had created. So much, that being the tabletop nerd I am… I miss the Serenity RPG I was playing.
 
I don’t know anything about engineering or what it takes for a spaceship/rocket to hurl itself in the air. I don’t need to know that to love it.
 
I pretty much melted in the theater when I saw the advertisement for Skyline. Best. Tagline. Ever. “Don’t look up.”
 
No, I haven’t seen every space movie in the world. In fact, I would think that I have seen a miniscule amount compared to the die hard fans. I guess I like shows like Farscape and Star Trek, because I like the idea of different beings having the ability to communicate and work together for the good of all around.
 
Wow… That was just a bunch of jibberish. Sorry.
9:56am

Daily Writing: Castle

9:34am

I used to always hate building sandcastles.
 
As a child, for one week every summer, we would go to Cape Cod and rent a house. My father, being ever the frugal man that he is, would rent one within a suburb far from the ocean. Every day, we would pack up our lunches and beach neccessities and head to the water. We’d cut out our own little piece of prime real estate with the secure force of a blanket and toss all of our stuff around it. Then, we’d tear ass to the water. Hopping in, diving through waves, wiping the salt water from our lotioned faces was one of my calmest memories as a child. Once we were too pruny, or if my parents decided that they needed a break, we would trudge back up the beach and dry ourselves before reapplying lotion and finding something else to do. I always wanted to read. My brother wanted to fly kites, build castles, catch hermit crabs… And when my parents realized that their daughter was being antisocial, I would be tasked to join in the follies of my brother and the dozens of children he was performing for. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a wallflower. In fact, I’m pretty damn outgoing. But the beach was my relaxing time.
 
So I would resign myself to building a sandcastle. I’d slave over it for what felt like hours (but was probably one at the most) before my brother would come over and kick my creation to the ground.
 
Sandcastles always ended one way for me – in tears
9:44am

Daily Writing: Butterfly

BUTTERFLY

8:19am

Often, a butterfly is used as a symbol of transformation. The caterpillar grows to adulthood and is able to spread its wings and take flight, leaving behind the husk of what they were. It’s depressing that they are most likely found being tattooed on the lower back of girls on spring break in Ft. Lauderdale.

Though they seem so free spirited and their colors make them appear approachable, I think butterflies are the famous people in the animal kingdom. They are so bright and vivid, you feel a desire to step towards them and reach out to touch them.

Sadly, they are incredibly timid creatures. During a trip to the butterfly farm in Massachusetts, there is a poster of a blue monarch whose wings were torn up. The butterfly is so terrified of being touched that the immediate reaction is to get away, regardless of the amount of damage they cause to their own diminutive frames. Looking at that picture of warning was heart breaking.

I can remember chasing after butterflies as a child and used to look back fondly on that. I thought that they were dancing with me. Turns out, they were running like I was a tsunami.

8:29am

Daily Writing: Blister

BLISTER

8:01am

Whenever I hear the word blister, my mind automatically goes to the Violent Femmes. Yep. Blister in the Sun. Then I think of the covers that other artists have done of their songs and the covers they’ve done for others. VF did a cover for Gnarls Barkley who, in turn, actually did one of my favorite VF covers of all time- “Gone Daddy Gone”.

Then I think about Chuck (the TV show) because the song plays during the episode. I really enjoyed that show, I should probably watch the second/third/fourth? seasons. Their theme is the riff from “Short Skirt Long Jacket” by Cake.

… Why do I want cake at 8:10 in the morning? Because I read the word “BLISTER”. Awesome. And incredibly gross.

8:11am

Daily Writing: Children’s Cereal

Have you ever opened up thirteen boxes of different cereal and mixed them together, just to see what happened? Let me tell you this… Don’t. It is a HUGE mistake.

I had all of the childhood favorites – Captain Crunch, Cinnamon Toast Crush, Count Chocula, Booberry, you name it. I added a little bit of each to my bowl and poured in some milk. Little did I know that it would result in a battle of epic proportions… In my tummy.

As I curled into a ball on my bed, I wondered what had happened. Did the Captain and Tony the Tiger fight it out to see who was truly Grrrrreat? Were the Count and Frankenberry battling out to see who would be the most famous monster?

I think I may have hallucinated at some point because I was pretty sure the Honey Comb psycho was jumping up and down on my bed screaming “puke puke puke” so I stabbed it with my spoon. After the sugar high had waned, I realized that I was sitting in the hospital while my brother was getting a crescent shaped cut stitched up.

So I impart this life lesson. Don’t mix cereals. Savor each one separately… or you will come to regret ever loving them.

Daily Writing: Pet Robot

“I’m sorry, but we have to put Fanky to sleep,” my mom said to me one day.

“But, but, whhhhyyyyyyy?” My eyes glistened with tears. On my third birthday, my parents surprised me with him. He chirped at me. I told him my deepest, darkest secrets. At eight, the idea of losing a pet that was so dear to me was dreadful.

“I’m sorry sweetie,” my mom replied. “But he’s just so old. His joints are worn down, and he moves like he’s in pain.”

“So you just want to kill him?” I stood up quickly and grabbed a pillow to bury my face in. Screaming at my house was forbidden, so I masked it the best I could.

“You know the rules Allegra.” She pointed down the hall and I sullenly dragged my feet to my room. “Say your goodbyes,” she called after me.

I slammed my door shut and Fanky sat up due to the loud noise.

“It’s okay boy,” I blubbered. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”

I sat next to him and ran my fingers over his rusted frame. He bleeped quietly and leaned his head against mine, cooling my tear stained cheeks. I hiccuped and reached under his armpit and pushed the OFF button. The motor whirred and he jerked for a few moments as the light dimmed from his eyes.

It was always difficult losing a pet. I remember thinking how sad it was that I could no longer just update his operating system.

Goodnight Fanky. You were a good robot.

Daily Writing: Rainy Day

You know, rainy days get such a bad rep. I never understood it. I find myself more inspired when rain is falling.. On a sunny day, the sloth in me comes forth.

I guess that it stems from childhood. As a kid, I used to go out and play when the sun was out. But when it rained, it activated the part of me that needed to find something to do. Be it read, write, draw, you name it.

I find myself productive during a storm. I get the urge to clean. The urge to update my website. I managed two posts today. Possibly have a third underway. The desire to propel my writing forward makes me extremely happy.

I guess what I’m saying is that sunny days can go suck it. I am listening to the rain drip down the window and the rustling of wet leaves becoming overwhlemed with water and spilling to the ground.

I want to jump in the puddles. Then I remember that I’m 27 and I would have to clean up after myself.

Life was easier as a child.