I have decided something I should have though of earlier. I am dedicating this blog to writing stories and poetry. Hopefully I can get back into the latter. I will either use one of my old blogs for thoughts and theories and life issues or just make another one for that purpose alone.
Right now I am thinking of writing a nuclear war...ish novel. The main characters are a girl and boy. Or really a woman and man. A few miles from each other, they both live in east Texas where the ruins are as bad as ever and the radiation has created horrid beasts that must be killed and sparingly eaten due to the radiation in their being. I know, I know, it's basically copying fall out, right? Well I intend to do my best to go away from that and truly make the story my own. The only things that I plan on being similar is the fact that there was;
A nuclear war
Few people survived, there are SOME small colonies but they are few and far between
There were some smart enough to invest in underground bunkers, the two lead characters were lucky enough to have these at their disposal.
Plot idea;
maybe it's all about to happen, everyones panicd' but no ones in the streets as they try to shove into others house, thinking it will save them, then Ariana(not sure bout that name) locks eyes with a desperate looking man and waves him in, they stay in her bunker for two months, waiting for the radiation to die down. As it does they slowly begin to explore, seeing that most everyone is dead, having not had the money to build the shelters.
Or perhaps they've been a couple all along, they managed to build their personal underground bunker without any taking notice, but before her boyfriend can get to his children, some odd states away, the war happens, sooner than expected, and they then have to prep themselves to make that treck, and hope that, coming back, there will still be their things secured. Maybe this can mean they meet a side character, surprisingly trustworthy, maybe just a teenager(the womans niece???) to stay at the bunker and hold it down till they return, and if they don't, well she has a place to live.
I hope I can get someone to give me critique on the very idea. I intend to start finding other blogs I'll enjoy reading myself, this computer acts decent every now in then and allows me to do so.
Love to all!
Impy
RIP
Baby Doe <3 =' (
Friday, April 16, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Possibly An Entry
It's 10:56 PM and for the love of all that is friggin' holy I cannot go to sleep.
Been up reading Unwind by Neal Shusterman. Just got to a terrific chapter from the point of view of antagonist, Roland.
My brother randomly came in here and gave me $20. That was really awesome and unexpected. I greatly appreciated this and hope he knows that.
I really wish Ben would call me before it's to late. I need to talk to him, he said he'd call me, he fucking promised, damnit.
So I am thinking of trying to write two things at once. The first one will be titled "Story of Dance' for now. The other, well that'll just be the New Story.
I am thinking of basing it on a semi real life thing. It would have two main characters, a female, Amika, and her boyfriend, Dariush. Amika desperately wants to write a novel and Dariush intends to help despite his crazy yet sometimes incredibly helpful hints. It would be comedy, something that I might be able to make into a memoir, I'd of course have to change the names to something closer to our own, but whatever.
Lucky for me Ben is encouraging of my writing, unlucky for me is that I am very self conscience at night and prone to panic attacks and insomnia. This is why I write mostly at night. Then I wake up around 8 AM or so and move slowly 'bout the house 'til I am able to function properly and start writing and thinking of ways to become a productive member of society without having a nervous breakdown.
Anyway, going to try and focus on something else, I think I may pick up Stephen King's Everything's Eventual and continue rereading 1408. Great short story, bad movie towards the end. Sucked.
Adios, won't surprise me a bit if I return to write more. I know I'll be playing lot's of Ltris.
Love,
Impy
Been up reading Unwind by Neal Shusterman. Just got to a terrific chapter from the point of view of antagonist, Roland.
My brother randomly came in here and gave me $20. That was really awesome and unexpected. I greatly appreciated this and hope he knows that.
I really wish Ben would call me before it's to late. I need to talk to him, he said he'd call me, he fucking promised, damnit.
So I am thinking of trying to write two things at once. The first one will be titled "Story of Dance' for now. The other, well that'll just be the New Story.
I am thinking of basing it on a semi real life thing. It would have two main characters, a female, Amika, and her boyfriend, Dariush. Amika desperately wants to write a novel and Dariush intends to help despite his crazy yet sometimes incredibly helpful hints. It would be comedy, something that I might be able to make into a memoir, I'd of course have to change the names to something closer to our own, but whatever.
Lucky for me Ben is encouraging of my writing, unlucky for me is that I am very self conscience at night and prone to panic attacks and insomnia. This is why I write mostly at night. Then I wake up around 8 AM or so and move slowly 'bout the house 'til I am able to function properly and start writing and thinking of ways to become a productive member of society without having a nervous breakdown.
Anyway, going to try and focus on something else, I think I may pick up Stephen King's Everything's Eventual and continue rereading 1408. Great short story, bad movie towards the end. Sucked.
Adios, won't surprise me a bit if I return to write more. I know I'll be playing lot's of Ltris.
Love,
Impy
Catchy Title!
If you d0n't know what my deal is, please, let me explain.
I am a young girl very much wanting to become a writer. Though I do say I have my own opinions about things that can be seen in my earlier blogs, also other information about myself.
But let us not dwell on the past!
Right now I feel I could learn to make a living of writing. I intend on taking comp 1 & 2 at my local college and learn from the different, diverse books I read and from any help or tips I can get. I appreciate helpful criticism.
My computer is a piece of shit ASUS linux so it's hard for me to do much than type. This laptop mouse is shit and enables me to do very little other than play tetris and try to keep the computer from randomly making me stop typing, then bang on the damned mouse left click to be able to continue typing. So I shall end this quickly. I thank any who read what I write and once again appreciate any remark or thought you care to share, even if it's just that we have similar taste and might find something interesting where you write your blog whatevers.
Ta-ta
Impy C
I am a young girl very much wanting to become a writer. Though I do say I have my own opinions about things that can be seen in my earlier blogs, also other information about myself.
But let us not dwell on the past!
Right now I feel I could learn to make a living of writing. I intend on taking comp 1 & 2 at my local college and learn from the different, diverse books I read and from any help or tips I can get. I appreciate helpful criticism.
My computer is a piece of shit ASUS linux so it's hard for me to do much than type. This laptop mouse is shit and enables me to do very little other than play tetris and try to keep the computer from randomly making me stop typing, then bang on the damned mouse left click to be able to continue typing. So I shall end this quickly. I thank any who read what I write and once again appreciate any remark or thought you care to share, even if it's just that we have similar taste and might find something interesting where you write your blog whatevers.
Ta-ta
Impy C
Part Two
Epilogue/Chapter Two?
Authors Note;
Now I intend on delving into why Layla is a hermit, how she got there. I feel if I need to adjust the first chapter I can do so with the help of past experiences I will make for her. This will probably be a vague outline of her past and not complete. So, let us begin!
Layla's Past
Four year old Layla sat on the front porch steps of her suburban style home. At her home soda was a necessity and her mother was about to go out to pick some up. She'd be leaving soon. Twiddling her thumbs, her stomach began churning that familiar, nervous churn whenever her mother was going to leave. She could faintly recall her mother leaving, saying she was going to get groceries and being gone for three days to a week. At one point taking a 'grocery trip' that lasted a week.
The door opened suddenly and Layla's bright blue eyes looked lovingly, yet scared, towards her mother. "Hey, sweety! I'll be back in just a little bit, gonna pick up some soda, mmk?" She leaned down and planted a kiss on Layla's forehead and skipped to her '95 Corolla Toyota.
That was the last time Layla ever saw her mother.
After that the years seemed to fade in and out. Her father was still around, though constantly working and barely keeping one bill up to date at a time. At the age of thirteen she delved into the world of pills, drink and pot. Along the way she met a few men who took advantage of her young mind and body.
At the age of nineteen she left a verbally abusive boyfriend and her old life. Money saved since she could start working at fourteen in a ma and pop head shop. A little over $7,000 in the souls of her boots. Along her one year hiking journey she found a small auction and bought a depleted shack and a few acres worth nothing except cheap wood. Over the next five years she worked as the small town's doctor's assistant. Spending many a late night in the local library finding cheap ways and resourceful ways to fix up her cabin and it her own.
copyright V. A. Knowles
Authors Note;
Now I intend on delving into why Layla is a hermit, how she got there. I feel if I need to adjust the first chapter I can do so with the help of past experiences I will make for her. This will probably be a vague outline of her past and not complete. So, let us begin!
Layla's Past
Four year old Layla sat on the front porch steps of her suburban style home. At her home soda was a necessity and her mother was about to go out to pick some up. She'd be leaving soon. Twiddling her thumbs, her stomach began churning that familiar, nervous churn whenever her mother was going to leave. She could faintly recall her mother leaving, saying she was going to get groceries and being gone for three days to a week. At one point taking a 'grocery trip' that lasted a week.
The door opened suddenly and Layla's bright blue eyes looked lovingly, yet scared, towards her mother. "Hey, sweety! I'll be back in just a little bit, gonna pick up some soda, mmk?" She leaned down and planted a kiss on Layla's forehead and skipped to her '95 Corolla Toyota.
That was the last time Layla ever saw her mother.
After that the years seemed to fade in and out. Her father was still around, though constantly working and barely keeping one bill up to date at a time. At the age of thirteen she delved into the world of pills, drink and pot. Along the way she met a few men who took advantage of her young mind and body.
At the age of nineteen she left a verbally abusive boyfriend and her old life. Money saved since she could start working at fourteen in a ma and pop head shop. A little over $7,000 in the souls of her boots. Along her one year hiking journey she found a small auction and bought a depleted shack and a few acres worth nothing except cheap wood. Over the next five years she worked as the small town's doctor's assistant. Spending many a late night in the local library finding cheap ways and resourceful ways to fix up her cabin and it her own.
copyright V. A. Knowles
Working on a Story
Practice Makes Perfect
I will start by making one chapter, and will not move on until I find it to be "perfect" in my own eye's.
Premise of this story; A girl living alone with her dog and built up emotional trials.
Chapter One
Layla sat in the rocker. Back and forth, back and forth. She puffed silently on a Marlboro Light 100. Beside her sat her German Shepherd mix, Dance. The creature had been her companion on many a sleepless nights.
How many days had she spent in her lone shack? Has it been a year, two? Or maybe only a few months? Not possible, time was a bastard and she liked to go along without thinking about it, if she did, she would become like a dog seeing a mangy cat it'd been trying to get to for years, and now it's rope that tied it down was wearing away. The dog in her snarled at the thought of the elusive time. Mangy fuckin' time, Layla thought. Mangy, mother fucking time!
She stood up and flicked her index and fore finger, signaling Dance to come inside with her.
Then something strange happened. In all the time she had Dance, it must be the German Shepherd in her, she merely wanted to please her master and would do whatever she was told to do, but now the dog sat solid. Staring with intent bright, brown eyes into the forest. Her cream coat began to rise, it looked as though the dog had grown a mo hawk.
"Somethin' out there, baby girl?" Layla asked as she gave Dance a firm pat on the head. Dance jerked and looked to her master, having been brought out of her trance of whatever she sensed. For a moment the dog stared at her, almost questioningly, it seemed, as if to ask "What more do you want from me? Let me watch over you. I sense something coming.". Layla shrugged, gave the dog another firm pat and went inside.
Once in, she examined her surroundings. She stayed in an abandoned cabin, two bedrooms, one full bath, a small kitchen and just as small living room. A beat up sofa, recliner, coffee table and a very small chester droor by the recliner, were her refuge.
After taking post on the recliner, she opened the first droor in the small cabinet and began rummaging. There were many a different pipe in the droor, along with four sandwich bags filled with a different strain of marijuana. She decided on a bag labeled "#3". Layla believed it contained the strain called Popcorn Kush. Now to select the pipe that would serve her. Though they were all dirty she decided on what she called "Ole' Faithful". A wooden Sherlock Holmes styled pipe, the mouth piece and bowl were ivory, or at least very good imitation ivory. The bowl was the head of a renaissance styled goblin.
She walked straight from living room to the connected kitchen with Ole Faithful. Before she crossed this 'threshold' she looked outside, Dance still was on guard. "Strange creature, but thank all that watches over us for her." Layla thought as she went to the kitchen cabinet above the sink and pulled out a bottle of 97% alcohol and a large container of Morton Salt. She took all three items to the sink and pulled a ziplock sandwich bag from the box that was next to the sink. Being careful, she held Faithful over the sink, opened the canister of salt and began pouring it into the bowl of the pipe and down the stem. She then set this inside of the baggy, and poured in about 1/4 a cup of alcohol. She held the stem and bowl closed with her hands after making sure the baggy was zipped locked tight, and began shaking the pipe back and forth, counting to thirty, then swishing it in the now dark brown substance for another thirty seconds.
She took the pipe and out and began running it under warm water for a few minutes, making sure to get every bit of salt and alcohol out. She threw away the baggy and began to dry off Faithful, changing from using a towel to blowing in the stem and helping the water to get out. When she was 'sure as shit' she was done, into the recliner she sank.
Layla had loaded the pipe with the Kush and puffed silently once more, using matches and enjoying the high that began to creep into her. When she bought this, the thought of renaming it The Creeper entered her mind, but she didn't like to fuck with what others had grown, and named themselves for all the work they had put into it. So she let the sleeping dog lie.
Once the first bowl was finished, or nearly so, the Kush was still amazingly wet and took quite some time to actually burn out completely, she stepped out to check on Dance.
This time the dog was standing, in a perfect imitation of a real Shepherd, ears perked, body tense and tail down but not in between her legs. There was a light rope tied around the dog, giving her a good amount of freedom, enough to wonder all around the small cabin and then some, she stood as far as it would let her, the mo hawk higher than ever. Is that a low growl Layla heard being made from her normally quiet creature?
"What the fuck is goin' on, Dance? Never seen you so tense 'cept that time that homeless fucker tried to break in! Calm down, girl!" Layla took no mind to speaking aloud. She realized it was one way of not getting cabin fever here. She grabbed her pack of smokes, a book of matches and sat back down in her rocking chair, steadily puffing on the pipe and wanting to pick up the old Stephen King paperback of Night Shift but not able to. IF something were to come out of the woods, she sure as shit wanted to be ready, and she was. Under her make shift table by her rocking chair was a Smith and Wesson .50 caliber. It'd knock the shit out of whoever needed it.
Layla briefly remembers buying that gun along with a .45. The gun shop owner laughed at her, saying she'd end up with a broken nose trying to handle a .50. Stone faced she asked for the God damned gun and the ammo and left. She had spent weeks practicing with the .45 until she felt almost no kick back, and then, scared as shit regardless, moved onto the .50. She DID NOT want to end up with a broken nose, miles from the nearest hospital, or a broken wrist. However, she got that .50 purring in her hands at the end of the first month once she had switched over. Once a week she took it to the gun range when she made her horribly needed trips to the local town, and made sure she still had it under control. No accidents as of yet.
Soon the Sun was dimming, Dance let out a small bark, very small for her normal fury, and then began to walk back to Layla, only once looking over her shoulder and emitting a low growl.
"Good girl, I knew I got you for a reason baby girl! C'mon, let's eat somethin'."
~~~~~
This is all I have so far, but I intend to edit it and elongate it. For now, however, I am pleased a bit with what I've started with, now the question remains, where do I go from here?
I will start by making one chapter, and will not move on until I find it to be "perfect" in my own eye's.
Premise of this story; A girl living alone with her dog and built up emotional trials.
Chapter One
Layla sat in the rocker. Back and forth, back and forth. She puffed silently on a Marlboro Light 100. Beside her sat her German Shepherd mix, Dance. The creature had been her companion on many a sleepless nights.
How many days had she spent in her lone shack? Has it been a year, two? Or maybe only a few months? Not possible, time was a bastard and she liked to go along without thinking about it, if she did, she would become like a dog seeing a mangy cat it'd been trying to get to for years, and now it's rope that tied it down was wearing away. The dog in her snarled at the thought of the elusive time. Mangy fuckin' time, Layla thought. Mangy, mother fucking time!
She stood up and flicked her index and fore finger, signaling Dance to come inside with her.
Then something strange happened. In all the time she had Dance, it must be the German Shepherd in her, she merely wanted to please her master and would do whatever she was told to do, but now the dog sat solid. Staring with intent bright, brown eyes into the forest. Her cream coat began to rise, it looked as though the dog had grown a mo hawk.
"Somethin' out there, baby girl?" Layla asked as she gave Dance a firm pat on the head. Dance jerked and looked to her master, having been brought out of her trance of whatever she sensed. For a moment the dog stared at her, almost questioningly, it seemed, as if to ask "What more do you want from me? Let me watch over you. I sense something coming.". Layla shrugged, gave the dog another firm pat and went inside.
Once in, she examined her surroundings. She stayed in an abandoned cabin, two bedrooms, one full bath, a small kitchen and just as small living room. A beat up sofa, recliner, coffee table and a very small chester droor by the recliner, were her refuge.
After taking post on the recliner, she opened the first droor in the small cabinet and began rummaging. There were many a different pipe in the droor, along with four sandwich bags filled with a different strain of marijuana. She decided on a bag labeled "#3". Layla believed it contained the strain called Popcorn Kush. Now to select the pipe that would serve her. Though they were all dirty she decided on what she called "Ole' Faithful". A wooden Sherlock Holmes styled pipe, the mouth piece and bowl were ivory, or at least very good imitation ivory. The bowl was the head of a renaissance styled goblin.
She walked straight from living room to the connected kitchen with Ole Faithful. Before she crossed this 'threshold' she looked outside, Dance still was on guard. "Strange creature, but thank all that watches over us for her." Layla thought as she went to the kitchen cabinet above the sink and pulled out a bottle of 97% alcohol and a large container of Morton Salt. She took all three items to the sink and pulled a ziplock sandwich bag from the box that was next to the sink. Being careful, she held Faithful over the sink, opened the canister of salt and began pouring it into the bowl of the pipe and down the stem. She then set this inside of the baggy, and poured in about 1/4 a cup of alcohol. She held the stem and bowl closed with her hands after making sure the baggy was zipped locked tight, and began shaking the pipe back and forth, counting to thirty, then swishing it in the now dark brown substance for another thirty seconds.
She took the pipe and out and began running it under warm water for a few minutes, making sure to get every bit of salt and alcohol out. She threw away the baggy and began to dry off Faithful, changing from using a towel to blowing in the stem and helping the water to get out. When she was 'sure as shit' she was done, into the recliner she sank.
Layla had loaded the pipe with the Kush and puffed silently once more, using matches and enjoying the high that began to creep into her. When she bought this, the thought of renaming it The Creeper entered her mind, but she didn't like to fuck with what others had grown, and named themselves for all the work they had put into it. So she let the sleeping dog lie.
Once the first bowl was finished, or nearly so, the Kush was still amazingly wet and took quite some time to actually burn out completely, she stepped out to check on Dance.
This time the dog was standing, in a perfect imitation of a real Shepherd, ears perked, body tense and tail down but not in between her legs. There was a light rope tied around the dog, giving her a good amount of freedom, enough to wonder all around the small cabin and then some, she stood as far as it would let her, the mo hawk higher than ever. Is that a low growl Layla heard being made from her normally quiet creature?
"What the fuck is goin' on, Dance? Never seen you so tense 'cept that time that homeless fucker tried to break in! Calm down, girl!" Layla took no mind to speaking aloud. She realized it was one way of not getting cabin fever here. She grabbed her pack of smokes, a book of matches and sat back down in her rocking chair, steadily puffing on the pipe and wanting to pick up the old Stephen King paperback of Night Shift but not able to. IF something were to come out of the woods, she sure as shit wanted to be ready, and she was. Under her make shift table by her rocking chair was a Smith and Wesson .50 caliber. It'd knock the shit out of whoever needed it.
Layla briefly remembers buying that gun along with a .45. The gun shop owner laughed at her, saying she'd end up with a broken nose trying to handle a .50. Stone faced she asked for the God damned gun and the ammo and left. She had spent weeks practicing with the .45 until she felt almost no kick back, and then, scared as shit regardless, moved onto the .50. She DID NOT want to end up with a broken nose, miles from the nearest hospital, or a broken wrist. However, she got that .50 purring in her hands at the end of the first month once she had switched over. Once a week she took it to the gun range when she made her horribly needed trips to the local town, and made sure she still had it under control. No accidents as of yet.
Soon the Sun was dimming, Dance let out a small bark, very small for her normal fury, and then began to walk back to Layla, only once looking over her shoulder and emitting a low growl.
"Good girl, I knew I got you for a reason baby girl! C'mon, let's eat somethin'."
| © |
by V. A. Knowles
~~~~~
This is all I have so far, but I intend to edit it and elongate it. For now, however, I am pleased a bit with what I've started with, now the question remains, where do I go from here?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I sit with a stack of books to my right. I type on my trusted ASUS linux laptop. More like a mini notebook. Barely two gigs of memory and not much for keyboard use of mouse control. Regardless, it is all I have at this time.
Unwind, written by Neal Shusterman
Everything's Eventual, written by Stephen King
Punkzilla, written by Adam Rapp
The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, written by Douglas Adams
Atonement, written by Ian McEwan
These books serve as some to help me sustain my sanity in a somewhat lonely world.
I do not have real friends. I lost those in the war of Becoming Who I Am.
I am also not to proud to admit(between me, you and this blog) that I sometimes ponder on what could have been life-long friendships. Good ones, had everything fallen into place. However, through my long seeming, yet short life span of nineteen years, I've learned things don't quite work like that.
There was a co-worker whom I always road home with whom I'll call Tammy. Tammy and I would ride past my house to her apartment and get stoned on the way there, while we were there, and then she'd take me home. We worked at a petstore together and mostly opened together or closed together.
Well at this same time I was in(though it was unbeknown to me) a horribly verbally abusive relationship. Tam tried telling me this and tried to get me to open my eyes to this concept. When she went off one day I stopped contacting her.
This is the only friendship I've lost that I consider a true mistake.
The second would be that of Shayna. I had been friends with her since we were both just out of diapers. Up until earlier this year, that is.
Shayna had always been an ADHD type, but as she grew older(twelve and up, really) she began a downward spiral into drinking, abusive relationships and failing grades. By earlier this year I'd had enough of the drama that trailed behind her and called quits, even having to change my phone number in order to get her to leave me be.
I miss times when days were more innocent but don't regret not having to babysit the co-dependent child she is.
The last of these is an older woman named Samantha. Sam had been my dealer and a good friend. Not afraid to front you if she knew you, and an over all sweet tempered woman. This all despite the fact she has progressive M.S, and is on a suicide cocktail of, unfortunately, necessary medications.
I always offered to be there if she needed me. However helpful I try to be, I make up for in clumsiness. The poor woman had a broken foot that I accidentally stepped on. Other such things that started to plague her, stains on couches from ink or cigarettes, scuff marks on floor, all these things she says were never there till we showed up. We being me and Ben.
Well one day, not so long ago, Ben offers to take Sam to the Doctor the following morning because she thinks she might have something wrong with her spine. Even with the Fetanol, Methadone, Klonopin and Alprazolam, she is still in chronic pain.
Now on this day Ben and I had planned with Sam that that day she needn't do a thing but sit in her recliner and we'd take care of everything from cleaning to loading the next bowl. Instead when we get there lo'and behold there are already some people there. Then more appear, all not purchasing anything from this dealer. Then some customers show up and it's getting late, and Ben has to wake up at 4 am to get to work on time so we tell her we're going. Ben makes sure to tell her to let him know A.S.A.P when she needs to go.
We leave her apartment and when we pull into my driveway I get a txt
S- Don't worry about tomorrow, I've got it covered. Thanks anyhow
Me- Alright, well if anything happens just let us no!
S- Yeah, right. I already tried that once and won't ask again. Thanks anyhow.
M- Sorry, did we do something wrong?
I never received and answer from that. I find this strange for a few reasons, or maybe only one big reason with many little reasons feeding on it.
We owed her money. Not a lot, but she isn't a big dealer. $55 and ten pills. Saying she needed them by next week before her clinic appointment or she wouldn't be able to go. Now if this woman was so desperate for this money why would she suddenly shut us out so? What had we done to offend her that much that she found our money not worth it, nor ourselves?
Things like this have me wondering, but as days pass and I don't get calls, nor feel the urge to make them, I worry less. However, in the back of my mind, drilling away slowly at the soft, grey tissue, these things pick along with another bag of issues wah-wah needa tissue?
Sam would tell me, "Don't burn bridges." Yet it seems she's done this very sin against us.
Ben works and I try to keep my sanity by keeping thoughts in their rightful place.
Unwind, written by Neal Shusterman
Everything's Eventual, written by Stephen King
Punkzilla, written by Adam Rapp
The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, written by Douglas Adams
Atonement, written by Ian McEwan
These books serve as some to help me sustain my sanity in a somewhat lonely world.
I do not have real friends. I lost those in the war of Becoming Who I Am.
I am also not to proud to admit(between me, you and this blog) that I sometimes ponder on what could have been life-long friendships. Good ones, had everything fallen into place. However, through my long seeming, yet short life span of nineteen years, I've learned things don't quite work like that.
There was a co-worker whom I always road home with whom I'll call Tammy. Tammy and I would ride past my house to her apartment and get stoned on the way there, while we were there, and then she'd take me home. We worked at a petstore together and mostly opened together or closed together.
Well at this same time I was in(though it was unbeknown to me) a horribly verbally abusive relationship. Tam tried telling me this and tried to get me to open my eyes to this concept. When she went off one day I stopped contacting her.
This is the only friendship I've lost that I consider a true mistake.
The second would be that of Shayna. I had been friends with her since we were both just out of diapers. Up until earlier this year, that is.
Shayna had always been an ADHD type, but as she grew older(twelve and up, really) she began a downward spiral into drinking, abusive relationships and failing grades. By earlier this year I'd had enough of the drama that trailed behind her and called quits, even having to change my phone number in order to get her to leave me be.
I miss times when days were more innocent but don't regret not having to babysit the co-dependent child she is.
The last of these is an older woman named Samantha. Sam had been my dealer and a good friend. Not afraid to front you if she knew you, and an over all sweet tempered woman. This all despite the fact she has progressive M.S, and is on a suicide cocktail of, unfortunately, necessary medications.
I always offered to be there if she needed me. However helpful I try to be, I make up for in clumsiness. The poor woman had a broken foot that I accidentally stepped on. Other such things that started to plague her, stains on couches from ink or cigarettes, scuff marks on floor, all these things she says were never there till we showed up. We being me and Ben.
Well one day, not so long ago, Ben offers to take Sam to the Doctor the following morning because she thinks she might have something wrong with her spine. Even with the Fetanol, Methadone, Klonopin and Alprazolam, she is still in chronic pain.
Now on this day Ben and I had planned with Sam that that day she needn't do a thing but sit in her recliner and we'd take care of everything from cleaning to loading the next bowl. Instead when we get there lo'and behold there are already some people there. Then more appear, all not purchasing anything from this dealer. Then some customers show up and it's getting late, and Ben has to wake up at 4 am to get to work on time so we tell her we're going. Ben makes sure to tell her to let him know A.S.A.P when she needs to go.
We leave her apartment and when we pull into my driveway I get a txt
S- Don't worry about tomorrow, I've got it covered. Thanks anyhow
Me- Alright, well if anything happens just let us no!
S- Yeah, right. I already tried that once and won't ask again. Thanks anyhow.
M- Sorry, did we do something wrong?
I never received and answer from that. I find this strange for a few reasons, or maybe only one big reason with many little reasons feeding on it.
We owed her money. Not a lot, but she isn't a big dealer. $55 and ten pills. Saying she needed them by next week before her clinic appointment or she wouldn't be able to go. Now if this woman was so desperate for this money why would she suddenly shut us out so? What had we done to offend her that much that she found our money not worth it, nor ourselves?
Things like this have me wondering, but as days pass and I don't get calls, nor feel the urge to make them, I worry less. However, in the back of my mind, drilling away slowly at the soft, grey tissue, these things pick along with another bag of issues wah-wah needa tissue?
Sam would tell me, "Don't burn bridges." Yet it seems she's done this very sin against us.
Ben works and I try to keep my sanity by keeping thoughts in their rightful place.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Savior
So in a few weeks it will be a strange sight. I will be with Ben and his three kids, two girls and one boy. It will be the beginning of the summer and mark a new era in mine and Ben's relationship. Last summer it was Ben and some Venezuelan bitch(she's not a bitch because of her ethnicity but because she was one, please understand =) ). This chick only wanted to use him to get her green card, she wanted to at least get pregnant so she'd have to be allowed to stay. So she didn't care that he drank heavily and leered at other girls and didn't really care for her at all. Just fucking is what they had.
Before I was with him he always appeared to of not showered in a day or two at least, puffy curly hair and always a seven o'clock shadow. Let's not forget the always present beer in one hand. Did I mention he was 'surprisingly' unemployed?
Now he is happily employed, clean shaven always, and never needs to be drinking. Though he will on occasion.
So now we shall see where this summer leads us, and how it will change us.
I do have one issue with this matter....quite unresolved....
Ben and his mother. Ben says his mum has one problem with me (and it's not my fault cause I'm so young!). The fact that I apparently have nothing to offer his children, I would never love his children like I would love my own biological children, and I've got not maternal instinct.
Now, yes I've heard from many people it's impossible to love step children as much as your own, well I suppose that's all fine and good but I don't have any of my own children. Just a ten year old niece I started to help raise when i was at the age of nine, no big fucking deal, right? I will be quite happy to show them what I have to offer the kids, especially the girls, how they should act, etiquette and so forth. All in a gentle way so they know I just want to help them have a better life.
Now here's where I get pissed. No maternal instinct? Ben and his mum agree I don't have that, could not possibly have it. Now I have to grant that his mother does not know I've had a miscarriage, however if you don't know someones whole life story I think you should shut your goddamn mouth on the matter of something like that. Ben apparently had no idea that those two weeks the child was inside of me I was constantly berating myself for planning on an abortion, or any time I'd have a cigarette or would skip a meal, my hand seemed to naturally go to my belly. Then a few tears would sting my eyes.
Is it not maternal instinct when you take your three year old nephew and you're fourteen, to the playground and realize as you turn around he's walking towards oncoming traffic, you gain speed you never knew you had and snatch him before he crosses the white line that I saw as his death.
Ben can never understand this and still doesn't, and it still upsets me.
Every day I'll have a thought, "This barely effected Ben, he didn't want to see me in pain but has no idea how emotionally fucked I really am now. Doesn't understand how badly I had hoped he'd say let's keep it and we'll do all we can to give him or her a happy life." Even now just typing this I want to cry, shake and ask why did mine have to die? Why doesn't he realize he has three children, maybe he can see them in the summer, but he knows them, they were able to come into this world, why the fuck couldn't mine?
Every day I feel like trying to explain it but he goes back to the same ole same ole
we have no money for a child
I am only nineteen
he has three kids he cannot afford already with his ex wife
and if I had had the child it would be unhealthy because of my lifestyle.
These things, though they do make sense and ring true, doesn't make me stop thinking of a small pink infant with baby blues holding my finger and staring into my eyes as he or she slowly falls asleep. This thought brings stinging tears to my eyes.
Savior by Rise Against
It kills me not to know this but I've all but just forgotten
what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them
as the telling signs of age rain down a single tear is dropping
through the valleys of an aging face that this world has forgotten
there is no reconciliation that will put me in my place
and there is no time like the present to drink these draining seconds
but seldom do these words ring true when I'm constantly failing you
walls that we just can't break through until we disappear
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
and the day pressed on like crushing weights
for no man does it ever wait
like memories of dying days
that deafen us like hurricanes
bathed in flames we held the brand
uncurled the fingers in your hand
pressed into the flesh like sand
now do you understand?
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
one thousand miles away
there's nothing left to say
but so much left that I don't know
we never had a choice
this world is too much noise
it takes me under
it takes me under once again
I don't hate you
I don't hate you, no
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
I don't hate you
I don't hate you, no
Before I was with him he always appeared to of not showered in a day or two at least, puffy curly hair and always a seven o'clock shadow. Let's not forget the always present beer in one hand. Did I mention he was 'surprisingly' unemployed?
Now he is happily employed, clean shaven always, and never needs to be drinking. Though he will on occasion.
So now we shall see where this summer leads us, and how it will change us.
I do have one issue with this matter....quite unresolved....
Ben and his mother. Ben says his mum has one problem with me (and it's not my fault cause I'm so young!). The fact that I apparently have nothing to offer his children, I would never love his children like I would love my own biological children, and I've got not maternal instinct.
Now, yes I've heard from many people it's impossible to love step children as much as your own, well I suppose that's all fine and good but I don't have any of my own children. Just a ten year old niece I started to help raise when i was at the age of nine, no big fucking deal, right? I will be quite happy to show them what I have to offer the kids, especially the girls, how they should act, etiquette and so forth. All in a gentle way so they know I just want to help them have a better life.
Now here's where I get pissed. No maternal instinct? Ben and his mum agree I don't have that, could not possibly have it. Now I have to grant that his mother does not know I've had a miscarriage, however if you don't know someones whole life story I think you should shut your goddamn mouth on the matter of something like that. Ben apparently had no idea that those two weeks the child was inside of me I was constantly berating myself for planning on an abortion, or any time I'd have a cigarette or would skip a meal, my hand seemed to naturally go to my belly. Then a few tears would sting my eyes.
Is it not maternal instinct when you take your three year old nephew and you're fourteen, to the playground and realize as you turn around he's walking towards oncoming traffic, you gain speed you never knew you had and snatch him before he crosses the white line that I saw as his death.
Ben can never understand this and still doesn't, and it still upsets me.
Every day I'll have a thought, "This barely effected Ben, he didn't want to see me in pain but has no idea how emotionally fucked I really am now. Doesn't understand how badly I had hoped he'd say let's keep it and we'll do all we can to give him or her a happy life." Even now just typing this I want to cry, shake and ask why did mine have to die? Why doesn't he realize he has three children, maybe he can see them in the summer, but he knows them, they were able to come into this world, why the fuck couldn't mine?
Every day I feel like trying to explain it but he goes back to the same ole same ole
we have no money for a child
I am only nineteen
he has three kids he cannot afford already with his ex wife
and if I had had the child it would be unhealthy because of my lifestyle.
These things, though they do make sense and ring true, doesn't make me stop thinking of a small pink infant with baby blues holding my finger and staring into my eyes as he or she slowly falls asleep. This thought brings stinging tears to my eyes.
Savior by Rise Against
It kills me not to know this but I've all but just forgotten
what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them
as the telling signs of age rain down a single tear is dropping
through the valleys of an aging face that this world has forgotten
there is no reconciliation that will put me in my place
and there is no time like the present to drink these draining seconds
but seldom do these words ring true when I'm constantly failing you
walls that we just can't break through until we disappear
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
and the day pressed on like crushing weights
for no man does it ever wait
like memories of dying days
that deafen us like hurricanes
bathed in flames we held the brand
uncurled the fingers in your hand
pressed into the flesh like sand
now do you understand?
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
one thousand miles away
there's nothing left to say
but so much left that I don't know
we never had a choice
this world is too much noise
it takes me under
it takes me under once again
I don't hate you
I don't hate you, no
so tell me now
if this ain't love then how do we get out?
cause I don't know
that's when she said I don't hate you boy
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save
that's when I told her I love you girl
but I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have
I don't hate you
I don't hate you, no
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