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I'm behind by about a thousand as of today... boo.

This means about 16 00 words in... oh, eight days. Seven days, actually, since a whole day will be used up going to Windsor with my favourite twins...

so: AHHHH

Also, I have to write an 8 page essay on atheism. Woo. Which is an additional 4000 ish words. Joy.

Also, I am finding out I will still have an additional 30 000 - 45 000 words to write before the plot has fleshed itself out. That's AFTER the 50 000 I will have at the end of the month.

Oh, well. At least now I know I can do it in thirty days... or less.

Wish me luck!!

I am coming to the realization that there are many facets of my personality I find really annoying, or just flat-out hate (as I'm sure you all can agree with them ;)).

For example, I procrastinate on a daily basis, no matter how much I really wanted to get something done.  ie) get fit and slim down to fit into those jeans again.

I guess what I have is a lack of determination.  No matter how determined I am to run a mile every week, I guess I need to be graded on it in order to get my ass in gear more than one every couple months.  haha

Aside from laziness (because despite all those fancy words like procrastination and determination, that's what it all boils down to), I have another flaw I want to work on.

See, I have this remarkable ability to put my fat fucking foot into my fatter fucking mouth.

(hee.  I like that sentence.  It's been a while since I swore on here, seeing how its been ten whole weeks since I last updated!)

For example, I called some of my close friends losers (would you call them close if I didn't even know they were ON that team?!).  It's not a defense of any sort, but I would like to say I honestly didn't think my words would EVER have gotten back to the individuals I DID NOT know (who were on that team), who don't know me and who I don't know either.  I was just making conversation - badly - because conversation is something I am bad at but can't seem to shut up during. 

Anyway, you can just disregard that last paragraph because they're just excuses that I needed for my own mental health.  To anyone else, they mean nothing, so let me get to the good stuff.

I'm so, so sorry for saying those things.  I shouldn't have.  (On a side note, I'm also sorry this apology is a day late.)

As I've said... it's something I'm working on.

It seems as if almost everyone is doing a sort of "summer-in-review" post, so I may as well jump on the bandwagon before it gets too far away from me and I splat.

I lost a lot this summer - I think without even realizing it.

I lost a lot of money.  Vet bills, you know.  They add up.

I lost part of my heart.  Neko took it with her when she died.  I don't think I'll ever get it back.

I lost almost eleven years of companionship.  Ripley was a good dog.  I miss him.

I lost a lot of quality time with - hell - everyone.  I worked so much, and I guess I need to be thankful for this loss.  WIth it, Tickles was able to get the surgery he needed to survive.

I lost a lot of steam.  The sun shines lackluster.

I lost hope, too.

Amongst all this loss, what did I find?

I found that girl's nights rock hardcore.  I found that even through all the pain of losing, those last horrible, awful times are utterly outshined by the beauty and the wonderment of when they are healthy.  I found that I really love my Grandma, and she really loves me back.  I found that running or dancing in the rain is a pick-me-up, but only if you let it be.  I found that driving around town with the music blaring, the backseat packed with friends, is the only way to travel.  I found that getting blisters walking around downtown is more than worth it when you get to dip your feet in the pool with a friend by your side.  I found that cat incisors from root to tip are HUGE.

And I found that even when you lose hope, when you get lost, even when there's nobody around to guide you back and can only point you in the right direction, you can find hope, that treacherous, beautiful terrain, quite easily again... if you really try.

I love you all lots.  Cheers to our Senior Year!

HAHAHAHAHA

Worst piece of advice I've ever gotten? 

My grandpa told me to have sex a lot so I could lose some weight.

HAHAHAHAHA

You don't deserve me.

You don't.

I do everything around here.  I clean, I look after the animals, I scrub the floors, I do the dishes, I do the laundry, I clean the pool.  Everything.

I pay for everything around here.  Vet bills, pool chemicals, family trips, health appointments, and - oh right - day-to-day food.

I get one day off a week.  One day.  I work nights, so I don't have a social life.  I work at home, so I don't have a social life.  I work late at night, trying my damnedest to finish my book.

I plan everything.  My hair appointments, dentist appointments, doctor appointments.  Your hair appointments, dentist appointments, and doctor appointments.  And when they're the wrong time, or you screw up, it's my fault.

You don't do anything around here.  You yell, you eat, you demand, you watch TV, you complain, you whine, you sit on your fat asses and do nothing.  Nothing.

You don't pay for anything around here.  You're already three thousand dollars in debt to me.  My hard-earned money.  Mine.  Not yours.  Not yours to blow on some godforsaken idea that is leeching us of all humanity and hope for a future.  I loan you money, you use it to put down your dog so you don't have to pay for medicine or food anymore.  You don't pay for anything.

You ARE nothing.

Discipline, you said.  Discipline is what I need.  Discipline?  You don't know the meaning of the word.  If you were disciplined, you wouldn't be three hundred pounds and worried about a heart attack.  You know what?

You don't deserve me.

You don't.

I could be knocked up three ways from Sunday, doing drugs and smoking, skipping class, out all night partying, failing school, landing in jail, getting into fights, whoring myself out.  I could be.  But I'm not - and don't have any disillusions that it's because of you that I'm not doing those things.  I'm not doing it for you.  I'm doing it for me.

I'm doing it for me because when I am out of here in a year, I will have a future, regardless of how much money you stole from me and claimed it was going towards a good cause, regardless of the ass-handed job you did parenting.  I will have a future.

And you know what?  Even without doing all those terrible things listed above, I could still be worse.

How?

I could be you.

You don't deserve me.

You don't.


So BACK the FUCK OFF.

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone

Gone



Oh, god, she's gone.  Died right there on the table, in my arms.  Before they even had a chance to get the needle in her.  Lasted the night.  Didn't get past 8:35am. 

I know you're okay, little one.  I know it. 

Can I ask you something?  Tell Kiki I'm sorry.

I love you.

I miss you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you, my Neko, my littlest of angels.

I love you, and I miss you.

Farewell, my love.

My pixie, my sprite, my littlest of angels, my darling, my doll, my love.

The time we spent together was far too short.  I wish I'd spent a lifetime with you.  Instead all I got was a year, but it was a year with you that I would never give back.

A month of your sickness, a thousand dollars in bills meant to cure, meant to diagnose that which is still a mystery.  All that effort, all those days and hours and torturous seconds lost in the pursuit of that which still goes unnamed.  I hold tight to that string of hope that tomorrow will bring good news, but I know also that tomorrow we'll most likely have to say goodbye.

I can only hope that the years you spent without us were as happy as the one with us.  I can only hope your brother, left behind, will learn to live and go on without you, as I know I, too, must learn.

I just wish I didn't have to.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gently into that good night.

But the time to fight has passed.

Please, please, go softly into the dawning of the light.

Solar Eclipses

Yes, they have inspired fear, trepidation, superstition, and downright the-sky-is-falling terror in the past.  When people can't offer explanations for the happenings of our magical world, they turn to standard fall-backs: fate commands it, the gods are seeking vengeance against mortal disrespect, that's just the way the cookie crumbles; all of these are cop-outs.

Solar eclipses occur when the moon comes between the sun and the Earth, blocking the path of light.  That's the what and the how.  The when is fairly spread out.  The where differs time to time.  The why is that it's - well, to engage in previously looked down upon cop-out - how the cookie crumbles.

But the what next to every whom out there, my friends - that's what top astrophysicists can't explain.  Also, incidentally, the question behind this writer's block.

Obviously, I have a penchant for answering questions in a roundabout way.  Ignore me.  Me likes to hear myselfs type.

Back to the topic at hand!

What do solar eclipses mean to me?

To me, solar eclipses inspire plot bunnies of ferocious appetite.  They inspire awe and mystery.  They are the cumulative image for power and hidden agendas.  You want breathtaking, you see a solar eclipse.  Solar eclipses are free.  They are contained within the fine, eon-aged lines of circles of the sun and the Earth.  They are natural.  They are unnatural.  They are rare and feared.  They are once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.  Solar eclipses are possibilities.  They are symbols for countless meanings, some good - some terrible.  They inspire.

To me, solar eclipses are inspirations - one of hundreds of millions upon billions of possibilities that can be found in our plane of existence, viewed from our planet, experienced beyond the borders of what can be experienced.  Solar eclipses are not alone in ability to inspire.  They are just one of an eternal quantity of what can get our blood burning, our thoughts yearning, our imaginations churning.  Tonight, eclipses inspire me.

What inspires you?

...I'm going to vent.

No, I don't take being chagrined or corrected very well.  It's my pride - not my ego, not even arrogance.  There is a difference between pride and arrogance.  I like being right, but I don't claim to be right about everything, so yes - I take pride in what I do get right, because of that category there is slim pickings.

But being chewed out for "being fucking lazy and not being responsible" while you're away?  Nuh-uh.  I don't think so.  You don't get to bitch me out for being lazy, you fat sons of bitches.  That DOESN'T happen.  You DON'T get to do that.

I hate this.  I hate you.

Yes, okay - I said it.  And you know I don't mean it, not all the time.  But right now, yeah; it's a pretty solid representation of my emotions.

I took care of a sick cat and worthless house and spidery houseplants.  I ate, I did my dishes, I cleaned my room, I fed and cleaned and watched out for my cats.  I did exactly what I do every fucking day.

But apparently that isn't good enough.

Story of my life.

I'm not good enough for you.  I'm not pretty enough.  I'm not smart enough.  I'm not healthy enough.  I'm not active enough.  I'm not responsible enough.  I'm not mature enough.  I'm not involved enough.  And here's the kicker - I'm not home enough.

Seriously?  Really?

Here's my life recently, from April to June: Wake up, go to school, go to choir/reach, go home, eat, go to work, sleep.  Everyday.  And in the summer: Wake up, clean the house, eat, go to work, sleep.  Do you know that I've hung out with friends five times - one sleepover - since summer started?  I haven't seen anyone except the twins.  I haven't talked to anyone.  I'm like a fucking hermit, constantly cleaning up after the rest of my family and shouldering the blame that omg why the fuck is the pool green - quinn did you vacuum it like you were supposed to? - yes, I did - did you put chlorine in - WHAT chlorine and what the FUCK was I supposed to do, walk to the store and spend my own money buying it then walk back?

CHRIST!

I hate living here.  At first, you know, I thought it was just Chatham, but no - it's my parents.

And one more thing.  ONE MORE FUCKING THING.

I don't know.  Is it because I get jealous easily?  Is that it?  Is that my relationship faux pas, my one failing quality (oh, sorry, one of my MANY failing qualitites) in this lot of life?  Am I really jealous of my brother's girlfriend?

She's a nice girl, kind of bland.  I barely know my brother as it is, how am I supposed to talk to someone when our only connection is someone I barely know?  It's not my fault we're not insta-BFFs.  I try to talk to her, but they both look at me like I'm a stupid, annoying, useless (worthless) little sister.  Not worth getting know.  Not worth anything.

Do you think it's fair that I say that about her?  Let me paint you a picture.

You leave for four days.  There's not enough room to bring me.  Okay, whatever.  I work the whole weekened (having to find my own way to work the whole time).  I look after the house.  I water the plants.  I feed the pets.  I do some housework.  I cancel a party to look after a sick pet.

Then I find out that - lo and behold - there wasn't enough room for ME in the van, but 100-lb Jamie-Lee can fit in just right.  They have a blast all weekend, sleeping in a wonderful hotel, visiting Ikea, going to Baskin Robins.  The four of them - mom, dad, brother, and girlfriend.  Left sister behind.  No use for sister.

And then they come back and yell at me for not washing the floor and not getting the mail.  They visit me at work today and introduce Jamie to my boss.  Then, after, see me and say, "Oh, hi Quinn."


 

This has quit being a rant.  Rants are angry.  I'm just pathetic.

And, incidentally, not good enough.



Happy birthday, H.Adey!!!!!! =)

So I'm lying here on my bed, way past my bedtime, and I'm feeling a little pensive - but in a good way.  I've been wondering about this, unable to get it out of my head. I suppose it came about as I was going over past journals, both mine and others, written down and live-updated.  And I'm seeing here a pattern: we most often write in order to vent.  Oh wow, huge discovery there.  But that's not all, see - I think a lot of what those journals were about came from our hearts, our souls, our very essences - at the time they were written.

So whether it's love trouble, friend trouble, family trouble, financial trouble, or just overall my-life-sucks trouble, we like to write about it so it doesn't seem like it's our trouble anymore.  So we can reread it later and somewhere, deep inside, we can trick ourselves into believing we're reading someone else's lives; on some level, by getting it out of us, we're getting rid of it all.  And in a way that is so deliciously true, it would be a cruel sin to take that away from us.

So now we've got the reason, the purpose for journaling: to purify ourselves of the trouble in our lives, if only for a brief moment of respite.  And that's a wonderfully amazing and blissful ability to possess.  Except, I can't help but point out, in doing this in permanent paper, it makes us seem petty, pathetic, and pretty perpetually pissed off.  Yet we all know that's not all we're made of - we're also made of beautiful, compassionate, and such brilliant stuff that is really only ever looking for love and and that fleeting answer: just who are we?  What are we meant to do?  What is it that we're made of?

So I challenge you, my compatriots of the thinking lot - I challenge you to stop second-guessing and stop wondering in vain when you'll find your answers.  Stop looking outside of yourself completely! - the outside doesn't know you!  Only YOU know you.  But never stop searching for those answers, because you are indeed a complex labryinth of thought and depth and emotion and beauty and potential.

So stop for a second and ask yourself, really:

What 
         is it
             you're
                     made 
                              of?

Yeah, well.  I don't really know what to write here, but I just felt like writing.  You know?  Probably.  Or probably not.  I dunno.

I don't know a lot of things.  I don't know how the world will end or how many prime number there are from one to one million.  I don't know if there's a guy out for me or for you or for Jimmy, the Friendly Neighbourhood Fairy Man.  I just don't know.

La-la I hear moonshines on the next rise and sonatas on the perriweather.  What's perriweather?  I don't know.  Ha-ha.

See, this is what happens when I get bored.  Flee!  Flee!

All the pretty little cows go moo-EEEK as the farmer cuts off its head for food.  Doncha think that cow had family?  How the FUCK would you like it if you got your head chopped off only to rot in the back of the freezer until you're useless and are thrown out?  You live your entire lives knowing that you'll get the axe, and then those fucktards don't even have the decency to eat you.  I dunno.  I dunno.

I dunno why everybody's so down.  It's summer!  Summ-a!!  Woo-wee-waa.  Summer.  Went swimming today.  Parents left the heater on since yesterday so it was a jacuzzi temp at 82.  Haha - not really.  Waste of energy.  Too expensive.  Too worthless for the environment.  Probably.  I dunno.

See, there are ways of tricking your subconscious.  Every time you see a chocolate bar, fake a gag like it's veal or lamb chops or minced kittens.  Because, hell, who knows? Maybe it is.  Maybe some nutjob in Pennsylvannia where the chocolate comes from was eating their lunch and tripped over a cable and spilled hagus into the mixture.  Maybe the cocoa beans from Haiti have AIDS.  I dunno.

That's the point!  The real ticket in life!!  I dunno.  And not just me.  YOU dunno.  Dunno is funner than don't know, you know?  I dunno.  I dunno.

But one thing I DO KNOW.  Life isn't all moonshines and perriweather.  Sometimes it's the realization that sometimes, life is like veal or lamb chops or minced kittens.  On the flipside, it ain't all fatty and degenerative and murdered meats.  Sometimes it IS moonshines and perriweather.  Sometimes it's fresh woolen mittens and brown paper bags tied up with string.  Like that song, you know?

I know.  I know.

So that's what you've gotta live your life for, you know?  The rainbows and the giggles and the kisses in the rain.  And the purring kittens and the foot massages and the girl's nights out - or in.  You know?  I know.  I know.

Just to let you know, you know?

I know - you dunno.

Hmm... writer's block for the day is an interesting one.

What is the one thing I want to come true this month?  Well, since it's June...

The one thing I want to come true for this month is to have my Birthday Rejuvination complete - my three transformations: room, body, and mind.

Read more, dance more, smile more, write more, laugh more, hang out more, cherish things more, go outside more, see more sunrises, see more sunsets, update more, bike more, enjoy more, and, most importantly --

Live more.

What's your June wish?

That... was unsettling!

I just experienced my first-ever panic attack!!  HA HA!!

Funny story, but funnier effects!!  Like being unable to end a sentence without an exclamation point!

And it's all because of a fucking - you guessed it! - SPIDER!!

HAHA!!

Really, you have to see the irony here.

Ah, there we go - no more strange typing side effects.

Hopefully.

Today, a coworker and I, Susan, were discussing bugs and how they freak us out.  We decided that centipedes and that weird flying thing that came through the window and we had to kill before it flew at us were miles less scarier than, of course, spiders.

Evil things, those.

Good god, I'm still jittering.  Kind of like shivering, but with jerks.  Disconcerting.

Right.  But not from the conversation, see.  I'm getting behind myself (wow, did that sound weird or what?).

So, now that we've got the set up for the irony...

I was browsing youtube a few minutes ago when I felt something brush across my arm.  Figuring it for cat hair, since Tickles was being affectionate right after I changed into my pyjamas and cat hairs drift, I ignored it, shrugged it off.

Too much of a set up?  You'd think, huh.

Happens again, higher up by my shoulder, and I'm paranoid, now, right, so I sit up fully, look around, don't see anything but cat hair stuck in my black shirt, shrug it off again.

Couple minutes pass.

Good god, another jerk.  Shhhh.  Calm down, body.  Moment's passed.  S'all's good.

Ish.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, right.  Couple minutes pass.

THEN A FUCKING BLUR DROPS DOWN IN FRONT OF MY FACE LANDS ON MY CHEST AND I FLAIL LIKE A SALMON DRAGGED ONTO A DOCK WITH A FUCKING HOOK TEARING THROUGH ITS CHEEK AND I'M FAIRLY SURE I SCREAMED BUT MY PARENTS DIDN'T WAKE UP SO MAYBE I ONLY SCREAMED IN MY HEAD OR MAYBE I JUST FIGURED I WAS ACTUALLY BEING PARANOID AND WANTED TO GET A BETTER LOOK AT THE EIGHTLEGGED FREAK THAT MIGHT'VE BEEN A CAT HAIR CAUGHT ON AN UPCURRENT INDOORS.

I toss back the sheets, leap several feet away, turn on the lights and ----

Nothing's there.  I'm still twitching, I tear off my shirt to see if it fell down there but it didn't, I'm fine, look in the mirror and I"ve got a red splotch on my chest where I probably punched myself, but.... there's nothing on me, or on the bed.  I sigh, cursing myself for being paranoid (but still paranoid so I'm not getting back in the bed, yet).  I narrow my eyes, glare at the bed, glare at my laptop (which I'm happy to say I didn't hurl halfway across the country when I flailed), glare at the bed some more.  Draw back the sheets and then! 

Suspicion confirmed.

Not paranoid.

Well... proven paranoid, proven good reason.  So there, Sheppard - Mckay's not the only one who's got it.

In a daze, as the thing scuttles across my bed (jitter), I dash for a Kleenex and smush the thing.

Then I stand back, because - that thing

was

-----wwas oo----

on

my

my

my

----armshoulderchest

It had... had touched me.

Was... was scuttling across my skin.

Was.. was TOUCHING ME NEAR ME ON ME OH GOD

And I just sort of lean my head in my hands and stand there and stare into my palms and just breathe.  Hasn't quite hit me yet.   And then, suddenly, I SEE it on me, scuttling all over me, on my hand, on my arm, on my shoulder on my chest couldve been my FACE--

Suddenly, I'm sobbing, wheezing, not breathing, my face getting hot and red, tears and jerks and spasms and I'm sinking to the floor, inconsolable, sobbing, wheezing and I"m not - fucking - breathing! --

Whoosh.

Panic attack.

Then I'm out of energy, and then, emotionally exhausted, I start to laugh.  Laugh so hard I start crying anew (or did I ever stop?)  and I get up and look at the tissue on my bed, then at my face in the mirror and I realize what I REALLY should've been afraid of - red face, splotchy, watery eyes, tear tracks, hair plastered to my face where it met my tears - and I'm thinking, yikes but what I'm doing is pointing and laughing and giggling and suddenly giddy as I take a new Kleenex and clean off my face, then without a thought pick up the tissue on the bed and throw it out.

Just like that, I'm all better.

I thought I was pretty much over the worst effects of arachniphobia but this goes to show you, once in a while you can be caught off guard and totally freak. 

Panic attacks... yeah.

It was... unsettling.







PS:  Death to spiders.

This whole "move scare" mumbo jumbo offically went from "move eventually" to "move probably."

Parents were talking about mortages, how much it'd take to move, how much monetary leeway we'd get if we got a house in this price range, what IS our price range, should we get a realtor or sell ourselves, and what would be better - Ottawa, Ajax, or a Hamlet outside of Bowmanville/Petawawa.

All of which, might I add, haven't really happened before.  And they asked me, seriously, "Would it devatstate you if we moved before you graduate?"

And my answer?  It was a war, but I went with my heart.

No, I wouldn't be devastated.  I mean, yeah, it would kinda suck, but it'd kinda be like a new beginning, right?  Can't blame me for wanting that, after all the shit that's gone down. 

What I'd like is if we moved to this little hamlet outside of Ottawa.  Half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes from school.  But it'd be okay, cuz we'd buy this little three-bed, two-bath bungalo and use maybe three thousand extra to buy me my own little used car (and insurance!).  Or maybe I'd buy it myself.  Cuz I'd have my G2 in August so I could drive myself to school, after a summer-long get-heathy and tanned binge, maybe get a real boyfriend, someone who loves me and I love back.  Maybe get a best friend who lives NEAR ME and who deserves that title for once.  She - or he - would have this cottage on the river that we'd go visit and we'd go bar hopping the summer after in Quebec cuz we'd both be eighteen and it'd be awesome.  And then that next summer I'd go on that road trip I've always wanted to go on but when I get to BC I find I just want to stay there the whole time so I let everyone I was travelling with head out and I'd hitchhike back to Ottawa.  Then in August I'd hop a plane to Asia and backpack my way across China, Japan, South Korea, Vietnam, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, New Zealand, Australia.  Then the next year I'd hop into my first year of university the same age my brother was when he started and I'll publish my book to pay for tuition and I'll get a degree in History and Journalism and I'd get to revisit all the places I'd seen before and write about them and get paid big bucks by National Geographic for doing it and then I'd settle down with my Grade 12 boyfriend with my Grade 12 (or SK**) best friend right around the corner, have three kids (with the boyfriend-now-husband after he proposes at dawn on the last day of a vacation to the Bahamas )and teach the kids about all the things I've learned in life starting with take risks and chances and if you get the chance to get out of a no-win situation when you're seventeen, take it and move to Ottawa the moment you get, because if you don't take it, you may never get that chance again.

But no matter what, that new high school had better NOT HAVE UNIFORMS!!

Now excuse me while I scrounge up a clean top for fitness...

It seems I've forgotten that, lately.

Home is behind, the world ahead.

Never forget that, guys.  Home, and all those memories, friendships, everlasting relationships, friends, family, life lessons - they're all behind you, 100%, backing you all the way.  If you ever get lost, remember that.  Home is behind.  It's always there, even if you move or moments pass or friendships fade, you've got those behind you, backing you, supporting you.  Making you who you are.

And the world is ahead.  We've got so much to live for, so much we're meant to accomplish.  Don't ever let yourselves fade into the limelight or just let go.  You can't live your life in regret, because then you're not living at all.  Wouldn't you rather live, than survive?  Take some risks, shoot for the moon, dance like nobody's watching.  Let go!

I've finally reached my favourite number.  I'm going to make sure it becomes my favourite year.  No, not my favourite.  Nothing now can ever erase the good ol' days before all this drama-bobama shit.  BUT!  I'm going to make sure it's the best.  Because it needs to be.

Today really stuck it in my mind.  I really feel blessed to have the friends that I do.  I have the best friends of all the friends that have ever been, and I really know that I don't say that enough.  Especially lately.  Expressing my real feelings?  Yeah, not what I'm best at.  But if ever I'm actually straight forward about something, know this: I love you, guys.

This comes at a time where a lot seems to be changing.  Long, weathered friendships seem to be fading, newer and more exciting things arising and taking up precious time.  But today really hammered it into me: even though relationships morph and change and grow and fade, they're still there, and they're still strong.  I felt so blessed at lunch time, surrounded by a bunch of friends (though admittedly, still missing many).

("Blessed" - am I allowed to use that word?  Ah, hell, you know what I mean)

So, thank you, guys.  You made this day a great one.

Ya ya, I know, bad timing for a post like this, being Easter weekend and all.  But I liked what I wrote.  See, my awesome friend in BC, Jo, has to do a project for a class and asked me for my beliefs, since I'm one of the few, I'm guessing, "non-believers" she knows.  Here's what I wrote:

Holy crap!!  See what ya mean, miss two days miss a whole lifetime on this thing.

Just... yikes! 

Yeah.

Yikes.

Heart: pounding

Knees: weak,

wobbling

Breath: gasping.

Phew.

*whistles*

Tried






...no answer.

I keep reaching

for that phone

but

my fingers forget the numbers

my heart never will.

I keep thinking,

yes,

I can do this;

only to pull back,

hesitant,

confused,

dazed,

like I'd just headbutted a Mack Truck going the wrong way down the 401.

I glance at it

and it

glances

back;

no, it's glaring

back,

shouting!

screaming!

demanding!

so I turn away,

hide my face,

ears,

fingers.

Even though I

long

to grab that phone,

punch the numbers

I know by heart -

always will -

and let all fade away.




I'm ready now.

I'm ready.








...Hope you're home

Everyday.