The One

When my father told me that there was no such thing as “the one” I was heart broken. Being of the Disney princess generation it was akin to telling a 3 year old the truth about Santa…by a bully. Yeah there’s a whole other story there, but that’s not this one. The point of this post is that, while he wasn’t exactly wrong, he’s also not right.

Every day we make connections, unless of course you lock yourself in your house and completely ignore social media. (I am only guilty of one of those things.) Sometimes we make hundreds of connections in one day. Over a year we make thousands whether we know it or not. Most of those connections will be dropped calls. Some will become friends and acquaintances. A few will set your soul on fire, and they will become forever lit beacons in your life.

And then there will be one.

It won’t be the one because it’s the only one. I’m sure there’s more than a few (maybe hundred or thousand) that will be capable. They will set all the appropriate pieces of your being on fire (soul, loins, something I haven’t thought of). They will be available to do it again and again. All the parts will fit. (Forgive the innuendo, though entirely meant). The one definitely exists.

Suck it bullies.

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Love

How do I know I love you? You scare me. I could tell you it’s because I would die for you, which I would, but dying‘s easy. If I were dead I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit anymore, and, quite frankly, that doesn’t seem so bad. The reason you scare me is because you make me want to deal with the shit so, maybe, I’ll actually live here, not just exist here. I don’t know if you’ve got demons like mine, but they can be a bitch. So you scare me because you make me want to face my demons so maybe I won’t lose you in their masochistic self destructive frivolity…and that’s real.

Writing Prompt: This spring I want to…

So far this year I’ve had to deflect lawsuits, struggle to keep a company afloat while struggling to keep my very tiny family afloat, stay strong for my daughter while her Nana – her other mother – battles lung cancer, and break a heart. This spring I want to not do anything like that. I would very much like to take my daughter to Universal Studios and completely immerse ourselves in a Harry Potter experience. We would buy robes, Ravenclaw for me and Slytherin for her, and strike out on Diagon Alley in search of our first wands. We’ll have a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks and brave the pea soup at the Leaky Cauldron. Just have fun and forget all the shit we’ve already been through, and may still have to go. I do love dreaming.

Writing Prompt: My scariest moment ever was…

In a second floor office trying to determine if a bill matched the bid making it payable I got a text. It said “I love you”. Kids say that. Especially if they are 10 and you are still the center of their world.

The rest made no sense. She said she was sorry, but she had to go. She promised she’d be safe and she would see me in a few months. That is not shit a 10 year old should be telling you!

I called. Five times? Ten times? A hundred? I only remember that she wasn’t picking up. Two employees and a contractor now existed in a completely separate world I could only register as incoherent noise.

I retreated behind my office door with no explanation. I was to powerless to even speak. It took her voice to give me that much back. I didn’t scream. I checked my tears.

“I don’t understand, baby. What do you mean? Florida? Please go back to the school.”

I had to catch my breath and reign in the flood.

“Please go to Nana. Nana is going to be sick with worry. Please. I love you. Please go back to the school.”

I honestly couldn’t believe she agreed to go back. I had her put Nana on the phone just to be sure. Then I raced home. Longest drive of my life. Best hug at the end.

My daughter wanted to go with her friends to another state make money so we could get our own place. Immediately after a painful divorce I lost my job. I had a new one but it takes time to recover. It was a rough time. I’m not sure how far a group of run away 10 year old would get. The horrifying possibilities still make my throat raw. They’d planned. She’d stolen supplies from her Nana. She told me she didn’t realize it would scare me so much. Obviously I missed…a lot.

She told me she was sorry. I changed. We left it at that.

Bear

I wish I was a bear

Wrapped and warm in fur

Hidden away from winter wear

In sleep I would confer

I find that I am bare

Naked without my faith

Exposed and retreating where

Sleep becomes a wraith

I wish I had a bear

Stuffed full of love and hope

With button eyes so fair

Stable against this tightrope

I have all these wishes

And the warmth of friends that care

Full of love their dishes

My heart beats as the bear

To Write or not to Write

I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.

Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.

If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.

So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.

Home

I remember a little way into my first year at college in 1996 I wanted to go home so I pack my shit up and I went. I want to now so bad today, but there isn’t one to go to. I don’t think there was back then either, but at least I didn’t have to worry about bills and grades. Life as a teen wasn’t so bad, but there was always an underlying dark yuck that followed me everywhere I was. Seems it still follows me. Everything is an almost…well almost everything. What do I have now?

  • A wonderful healthy daughter
  • A full belly
  • A full tank of gas
  • Rent will be paid next month at least
  • A Car I love
  • A man I love even if I haven’t told him that full out yet
  • Friends that I love and love me

Life is good even if it isn’t perfect. One thing someone with a rough past can almost always say is that things have been worse. And if you are sitting where I’m sitting now you can say they tend to get better.

Home isn’t where the heart is or where you fall back to when you have no place to left fall. It may be for some people, and I guess home is something a little different for everyone, but for me home is where you make it. Just some days it’s a little harder to make than others, but that’s why I’m the Battle Raven.

Awake

A few years ago I was standing at a reunion of a family that was mostly not mine. I wore capris jeans with frayed holes in them and became the subject of conversation with a preacher. The standard joke: “I just threw away a pair of jeans like that. Should have had you pay me a hundred bucks for them.” He also asked me why I would want to scar my body in reference to my tattoo. I tried to tell him they were free, but he was far to amused with himself. Honestly it should matter. Petty shit like that from “Christians” made me give up on being spiritually awakened.

At one point I decided I rocked those goddamn jeans and I’d rather be sexually awakened then whatever the fuck they thought they were. These days though I just want to….be. If someone wanted to comment on my jeans (still have them) I wouldn’t care. I honestly don’t understand why they would. It’s just clothing. Here…let me take it off if that helps ::evil grin::

When you are comfortable with who and what you are the “slings and arrows” of society stop bothering you. You don’t get pissed because someone attacks your beliefs or style. You certainly don’t get pissed if someone believes differently than you…even if it’s really fucked up. Difference becomes interesting.

This, I feel, is awake.

The Veil 

“They” say that the witching hour is 3am. Or maybe it was midnight. I don’t know. Hollywood and wild imaginings have mucked it up a bit. My hollow bones disagree. 

The witching hour is maybe a moment when magic is easiest to summon. It may be the moment when monsters are most likely to roam. Regardless of how it manifests it is always a moment “between”. 

There is a veil that protects us from the between. Most people never even know it’s there. They move through this world as if it is the only one. Some people can hear or even see through it. A few can cross it. Me? I just know it’s there. 

I can feel it when the sun dies daily leaving only the strangeness of twilight. I know it in the moments before I lose the last vestiges of a dream. I am positive I’ll find it as I move from life to death so death doesn’t scare me. 

I think a part of me exists on the other side of the veil. I think that’s why crows call to me and why I don’t quite feel I belong here. Maybe at one time I was a messenger between gods and men. Or maybe a guide from this world to the next. I wonder why I came here sometimes. There must be a reason. The places my mind wanders…