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I should write something

And I will. Eventually. Probably. Maybe?


Hiding Place
One of the best, most honest, most crafted and chaotic blogs I have found. Sometimes this man scares me. But almost always in a good way. This post is one of my favorites so far.

Down Forever Lane

A beautiful poet. Love to read.


Gosh, I should post something. Been a few days.


Yeah, I got nuthin’.

Maybe later.

First Love, Best Love, Pt2

Continuing from

So, the guy I loved, wrote out a fantasy life about, dreamed of, was in love with my new best friend.

Did it hurt?  Shyeah.  Was there anything I could do about it? No.

So life continued.  Freshman year of High School was an exciting time for me.  Of course I’d found my way into a few demanding classes – namely honors English.  And there was band, which took  a lot of time and effort.  Marching in formation while playing an instrument is HARD.  Plus, I was meeting all kinds of new people.  People who would later have a bit of a negative impact on my life.  But I digress.

It was hard watching Josh and Katrina together.  So hard that I think I’ve blocked out most of the memories of that year that had to do with them.  I know I saw them together.  I’m sure I saw them kissing.  And because Katrina was a friend, and fast becoming a best friend I know she would have talked about their relationship.  But I don’t remember anything about it now.  It is a blank spot in my mind.  And one that I have no desire to explore.

What I do recall is them breaking up.  It was at the end of freshman year.  How a few short months of love can change one’s world.  Well, if you’ve been there, you know.

I don’t remember the details of their break-up, though I have hazy images of Katrina, red-faced from crying, and Josh, red-faced from yelling.  After all these years, those memories could be confused, clouded and corroded.  But that’s how I remember things.

Now Josh and I had somehow remained friends through all this.  How, I am not sure.  Again, it’s been lost to time, and that cloud of “thou shalt not remember.”  So, to not strain my mental facilities overmuch, we’ll just say, “It is known.”

The summer of 1994.  Most of my friends had been accepted into Varsity Band that year, including Josh.  Band camp therefore was even more fun – and exciting.  Whether it was because he knew that I adored him or just because we were both available, Josh and I grew closer.  It wasn’t until we attended a party of an upperclassman later that summer that I found out how close.

*I won’t tease – you can have this moment now, and then I’ll do the cliff-hanger.*

It was at James Hunter’s house, the party that changed my life.  James was a saxophone player, incredibly sexy himself, and the dream guy of many many girls in my circle.  (Yeah, I had him several years later, but that’s a different story entirely.)

Thanks to my new friends – Sara Nieves in particular – I was getting myself into a whole new world.  One that included smoking pot and drinking.   And was just what I needed.  A lot of my friends weren’t happy with the path I had chosen.  But Josh, he was willing to see what the fuss was about.

The party that changed everything was a pretty mild one, from what I remember.  Sure, people were smoking and drinking, and that one asshole was, as usual, hell-bent on burning down the tree in James’ backyard.  But once things quieted down, and most everyone had gone to sleep – or passed out – I was left alone with Josh.

The John Candy/Steve Martin movie, Planes, Trains & Automobiles was on.  Oh, I wish I could draw you this picture, as I remember it so clearly.  Josh was sitting in an armchair, and I was sitting on the floor beside him.  The words that passed between us seem so insignificant now.  All I remember, all I ever want to remember, is when he leaned down and his lips met mine.  The first lips mine had ever touched in passion.  And what passion!

It was electric.  It was mind-bending.  To have this boy, who I’d longed for for years, wanting and needing me in that moment.  To be stretched out on the floor with him, his lips, tongue, hands performing magic that I hadn’t known was possible…

James’ mother interrupted us before things could go further.  Bless and damn the woman.

But a spark had been created that night.  And sparks so often turn to flames.  And flames, so often devour.

Writing, Again

These stories I posted in my previous blog, now lost in the Bermuda Triangle of “posts that came before.”  Please to enjoy, or not.


The Bus

The wind was bitter cold. Her cheeks burned, blazing a painful red. She tucked her chin into the collar of her coat, her breath steaming. She stepped carefully down the un-shoveled sidewalk, her entire body clenching in on itself in a futile effort to stay warm.

A part of her welcomed the cold. There was something sadly ironic about piling on thermals, sweaters, coats hats gloves and scarves – and still feeling the bite of wind down to her bones. No matter how she guarded, shielded herself, there was always cold. Always pain.

Her eyes glued to the beaten path before her. To her feet as they trudged on. She wished she had a good pair of boots; the Airwalks she wore were only a year old, but the thick rubberized fabric was already tearing, pulling away from the sole. He feet would be wet and cold all day. She’d stop in at the thrift store, but boots were hard to find. Everyone needed them – they sold as quickly as they were brought in.

Her eyes filled suddenly, and she gave a strong sniff, shaking her head. The last thing she needed was to be crying as she walked down the street. Not only would it be embarrassing to be seen in that state, but the tears would cloud her eyes, and she could step wrong, not seeing a patch of ice or a huge shard of broken glass (why did people feel the need to throw bottles onto sidewalks?). Then she’d be on her ass, crying and hurt with twisted ankle or deep cut. Why add to her problems?

She reached the bus stop without incident. And with ten minutes still to wait. She’d missed enough buses to know that it would be better to pace the corner for a few minutes than to face the decision to walk back home, knowing she’d have to make the trek again. So she paced, walking circles around a guard railing. She pulled her phone from her pocket to check the time. Eight minutes till the bus. Six minutes. Five.

She tried not to think, of anything. Being idle was cruelly anxious. Waiting was torture. Her mind wanted to wander, to touch on those random ideas that made pain flicker inside her, electric. She looked again at her phone. Three minutes. That was good. Maybe the bus would be early.

Traffic blew by her as she raised her eyes to the corner the bus would turn down. She felt embarrassed and exposed standing on the corner. She pulled her coat tighter around her. Her hands were clenched in her pockets, her toes curled in her shoes. Her hat – an old black knit Adidas cap – was pulled down just below her eyebrows, almost too low for her to see. She bounced on the balls of her feet, willing the bus to appear.

Finally! The white and blue monster grumbled around the corner, trailing a steam of exhaust. She groped in her jeans pocket for her bus money. She should really just buy a pass for convenience sake, but she somehow felt the physical presence of the dollar and quarter reassuring. She kicked the snow for her shoes before stepping up the blue treaded stairs. The bus hissed with heat, making her hands and feet ache with excruciating relief. After slipping her fare in the box, she settled into a middle seat. The bus roared, shook, and trundled down the busy street.

Brown eyes, shimmering slightly, took in the scene as it passed by the window. The dirty looking shops, the shoddy little houses. The gas station she was surprised still remained opened, after having been the site of so much violence over the years. The Walgreens she would walk to on days when she just needed to walk somewhere. Her whole life had been lived in this run-down part of town. She wondered if she’d ever escape it. If she even wanted to.

She closed her mind to the thought. Her eyes glazed over as she shut down. Enjoying the warmth of the bus, the satisfaction of being out in the world. The fear of being out in the world, however briefly. Maybe today, she’d smile at someone, and they’d smile back. They’d talk. They’d laugh.  And that would be good. That would be good enough for today.

She smiled, and it hurt her wind-burnt cheeks.


The Pain

Her heart ached. Literally.

The intensity of the feeling was so powerful, a physical blow that knocked her to her knees. She didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend the feeling – the gnawing, burning pain in her chest. Her hands went to the spot, eyes wide as she looked down. She half expected to see blood seeping through her shirt, staining her hands.

Her confusion added to the pain, and she doubled over, gasping. A shudder passed through her, chilling her even as her chest caught fire, exploding. Freezing, shivering while she burned with agony.

The fire found her face, her eyes, and they stung bitterly as they filled. At once, a dam burst, and she buried her face in her hands as tears poured from her. Sobs wrenched her body. From head to toe she burned hot and cold. Her muscles clenched uncontrollably, locking her into a tortured caricature of a human being.

She felt she couldn’t breathe, the pain was too great, her cries too overpowering. She gasped, and the feeling of drawing a breath made her throat raw. She coughed, then gagged. It was all too much. The tears pouring from her eyes, the seeping of her nose, the incredible pain in her chest.

What was this? If this was heartache, heartbreak, she hadn’t though it would be anything this physical. Her body convulsed, and fresh sobs poured anew. Uncontrollable. Every nerve in her body sizzled. Her veins throbbed with the maddening, wrenching beat of her heart.

Kneeling on the floor, her stomach clenched then turned. Acid boiled up her throat. She reached around blindly, finding a nearby trash-can and dragging it over just in time to empty her stomach. A blinding pain seared around her midsection as she heaved repeatedly. Dry retches followed, and coughs that tore at her throat. She moaned, her head hanging, the smell of vomit and bile burning her nose.

She collapsed onto her side, drained and exhausted. The tears, never ending, leaked across the bridge of her nose, pooling in the cup of her ear before spilling and soaking into the carpet beneath her. A feeling of heaviness settled over her like a concrete blanket. Like a lead casing. The fire still burned in her chest, but it had reduced from an all-out inferno the the dull steady heat of a blacksmith’s forge. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than an end.

She awoke hours later, maybe days. Laying prone on the cold floor, every muscle cramped and sore. Her eyes felt thick and gummy, eyelashes clinging to each other with every blink. The room was dark, night had fallen, and she somehow felt relieved by the company of shadows.

Slowly she sat up, propping herself on one arm. Her hand rubbed roughly at her eyes, grinding the salt crust from them; wiping her hand down her face, grimy from all the tears. Looking around the grey-shaded room, she felt dazed, disconnected. She felt strangely calm, and utterly empty.

Shakily, she got to her feet. She just stood there, unsure of what her next action should be. She felt like a robot whose programming had been wiped. The irony lifted the corner of her mouth – the slightest movement – before disappearing beneath a wave of vacuity.

She was vaguely aware of the sick smell in the room, and mechanically set to emptying the trash, opening a window, and setting her apartment to rights. Collecting the cell phone she’d dropped after receiving the call, setting it into its changer. Sweeping the contents of her purse back into the leather bag: her keys, lipgloss, a hand-full of loose change, a wallet open to a picture of a striking man with auburn hair and laughing hazel eyes.

Alone in the darkness, the quiet, she wondered briefly if a heart could grow back. After being so thoroughly removed. The thought passed.

Last Night’s Dream

I dreamed of this guy last night.  You can read about him in the post “An Unhealthy Relationship.”  Yeah, that guy.  Read the blog, I won’t give any backstory in this one.

In the dream, I was at home.  Ironically being sad because my Twitter followers had fallen from 22 to 17, and I couldn’t figure out why.  @PessimisticLaw dropped me!  AND @Jay_Squires!  (I’m name-dropping, but it’s true.)

So there I am, lamenting my drop in fame, when I get a call from the aformentioned guy.  I don’t know why I listened, but when he said he’d come pick me up I agreed.

*blurry lost moments*

We’re at his house, and suddenly we’re in bed.  Now let me mention here that the guy does have a girlfriend.  The same girl he’s been with for like, 15 years plus.  So yeah, we’re gonna be doing some cheating.

Anyway, there we are in bed, and he’s saying all the right stuff – how he’s missed me, how he’s wanted me, how he’s so happy we’re gonna be having the sex now.  Apparently he’s really happy.  So happy that that he has to stop very soon after we start!  Either I am that good, or the man has been without for a while!

After a calming breather, it’s on to Take #2.  And things are progressing well, I’m enjoying myself.  So much so that when I next open my eyes, I see his girlfriend in the room, moving about like she doesn’t even notice us!  HAH!

The guy doesn’t see the need to stop, but being a lady, I DO.  So I quickly gather my things and run off to the bathroom – which is disgustingly filthy, by the way.  While I’m in there, doing my delicate girly things, the girlfriend walks in and starts to dump some eggs and hashbrowns from a pan into the toilet.  Thoughtfully, she asks me if I’d be interested in them – I assume they were for the guy, but as he has displeased her, his breakfast is now to be flushed.  I decline, and try to apologize.  She waves me off and heads back to the kitchen.

Now, and you boys might want to avert your eyes for this next part, I realize that all the sexin’ has caused my period to start, and I’ve literally soaked through my jeans.  Eww, right?  Guess that’s the price I pay.

I dart out to my car (which has magically appeared), grateful for the faux leather seats that are so easy to clean, and head home.  /Dream.


Don’t think I need to spend too much time figuring out the meaning behind this dream, right?

A)  I want to get laid.

B)  This is not the guy to do it with.

C)  Did I mention I need to get laid?

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