Nothing to be positive about...

When I was working at the Mellow Mushroom our manager had us a little paper to give us something to think about every day. It was always newly taped to the stand, I was a hostess, every day and EVERY day it said that we needed to 86 negativity. In the resturaunt business, if you don't know, to 86 something is to gt rid of it. So we were always supposed to stay positive. Steven wasn't actually that positive of a guy though, if I remember correctly, we had a stafff meeting and everything he saisd the whole time was seriously negative and kind of a downer. But I think a lot of negative people insist that those around them stay positive to sort of lift their spirits, kind of like if you are really not that bright you could hang around with intelligent people and they can fil in all the blanks for you....I am terrible at analagies and not ready for mensa...

So anyway, the facebook has this app that tells you how to do something healthy each day, it sends it to my email, which is great because I don't always see facebook online but i will always check my email. And today it asked for a negative situation that brought about a positive outcome. What an interesting thing for a day such as this. I have a sort of dual sided personality, where, I am almost perfectly saintly on the one hand, and damn near evil on the other. The polar-ness of these two personalities couldn't be any more distinct, or any further and oposing of the other. It is almost like there are two entirley different people living inside of me. ANd one of them,...omg, one of them reallllyyyy doesn't like the other. Hates that person in fact.

Yesterday the ugly side of me got the better of me, and I laid in bed all morning trying to understand where the ugliness in me comes from, and where it goes, because by now, I don't have any idea who the hell that crazy bitch is? Who is the mean and angry person who came out of me yesterday like hurricaine!? I mean it is almost like a storm, there is no better analagy than this, because it stirs up and then bursts forth! And the next thing I know, it is calming, and there are remnants of something terrible, but as it has passed there is no trace of the storm, only the debri? And the sky is clear, and there is nothing left, no clouds, no rain, no fury, nothing. So I lay in bed and I wonder, and I cannot figure out where it came from, or even where it went, my mind is as if replaced by some other person with a sense and knowledge unaccounted for yesterday, suddenly I am no longer stormy, and then I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me!

I think, since I tend to like to read classics, I will get Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde next.But it ios just a story.

So I went to my email and I saw there the little daily reminder, and I am supposed to find a positive outcome from something negative, and I can't think of anything! When did something bad happen and it made things better? Can you think of something like that? I can't. I can't remember anything at all, actually.

I suppose work has improved, I had a couple of rough days last week but by the end of the week things seemed to be picking up,bot business wise and my mood seemed to be improving. I don't think that I know what the point is of complaining, since I have a job and there are people out there who are desperately in need of work right now. I am just a bit of a baby, you know, no one wants to stand for eight hours a day, and I am extra hard on myself for every false thought or feeling and won't tolerate any bad behavior or attitudes towards any one who comes through my line. Otherwise I put myself through terrible anguish, it's that angelic side of me, always trying to be an angel when really I am only human. I think my neighbors must have set their house on fire this morning because I heard an alarm and now I think I hear a fire truck.

Not too bad though because they have left already. So, in other news, I bought three boxesof fully cooked bacon and have found many things to do with it. BLT's, breakfast and quiche are just a few of the easy meals you can just throw on the table with some ready bacon. I made this quiche the other night, it was so easy, bacon mushroom and swiss, and it was pretty tasty, although we are looking for a pie crust that isn't sweet, almost every one you buy has a sweet taste and I want nothing to do with sweet crust when I am eating bacon and swiss! They actually have finely grated swiss at my store, can you imagine! I already told you about this though, didn't I?

I bet fifty bucks....

Lol, you know me, I can't do anything thats not right. And using the P word at all.. Today was a horrible day! It was so long and I was brain dead by the end. The big guy, the head cahoona, looked at me like I was EVIL when I snapped at my co-worker when she asked me where to put a wheel chair.( http://youtu.be/V9--CwUk70Y ) Like, theres a place for it, figure it out! I felt like I was a monster all day. And it got worse and worse until I was either not one of Mother Theresa's own or I needed to take off for home tonight and find a job and come later to collect my things. I am still stuck in the middle of both of those thoughts.

I used to have a daily book of Mother Theresa's. SHe was the nun who was from Calcutta who worked with very poor people, and who died around the same time as Princess Diana. Have you ever noticed deaths come like that. You will lose a few celebrities, a pronces and a saint...you know? When Theresa, my cousin, got sick, I was sure it would end tragically, I knew two people who had only just lost their cousins,and it just seemed like it was my turn to get hit.

SO I came home and ate four cookies, a single pack of pringles, sour cream and onion, and now I'm working on four hershey's kisses with the air holes. I have pms. I have to keep telling myself because I am a super whack job grouchy face right now. I feel hateful!

I have nothing to say. I plan to get creative tommorow. I need to do something worthwhile.

Naw, I eat noodles...

The grocery store is not for me. Just like Mellow Mushroom wasn't for me. Everywhere I work where I am allowed to speak - at all - is not for me. I have a hard time shutting up and I like to entertain people. Really, I should've been a VJ. Today was a most eventful day and I met so many wonderful people, I wish I could tell stories about them all!

Instead, I will talk about the most wonderful visitors today. There was this one woman, she had six kids, and they were all over six, I would say, and some were late in their teens, and they were ALL there. And I was in awe of them and her, and her amazing chinese wallet she said she paid a buck for at the flea market. And her rubbermaide purse she said she paid a buck for at a yard sale. I was thinking this woman is blessed like me. (sometime when I feel like it, I will tell how I got nearly a whole new wardrobe and a bottle of victoria secret perfume for free) She was cool, but she didn't seem to enjoy me as much as I enjoyed her. She was irritated. Six kids. Wow. Speaking of blessings, I got a Jesus Loves You five dollar bill today, twice! It sat on the top of my drawer's stack of fives for like an hour before I gave it as change. I was sad. But then, later a lady came through my line and she was all talkin' about how her daughter asked too many questions, and "Oh! But sometimes I don't even know what to say anymore." I was like, I hear you, my daughter does that too. And she does. Sarah asks lots of questions about all sorts of seriously deep stuff, sometimes deeper than the kids I went to college with. I am awed. I was telling the next lady in line about this as the other left. She has recently been asking me how God was born, not an easy question, and as we were discussing faith, the lady gave me back my Jesus Loves You five dollar bill. I was like, "Oh! I got that earlier!" It was kind of a neat moment.

There was another lady through my line today, her children were seriously neglected. They were covered in skin diseases, their mouths were broken out, the one looked like she was nearly scarred on her face and the ring worm on her arm was so bad it looked like a scrape. I prayed for those children, and I hope you will too. I mean, what do you do? Say stop right there, I am calling the authorities on you?! It was terrible, and the littler one was laughing at me, she didn't understand what was going on and she was pretty old.

Then the noodle dude, man, he was funny. His woman comes through every once in a while. She's in beauty school and today she had a new do, kinda wild, with leopard spots in purple shaved into the side of her head. She was done ringing up and her man was like, not helping her pay for all DAT! He was like, "I ain't eatin none a'that". And I was like, you aren't gonna eat that? He was like "Naw, I eat noodles." And then he told me how to make the most of Ramen. He said add some cheese and butter.

I get a lot of recipes, a lady taught me how to make some tapiocca pudding dessert and someone taught me to make blueberry pie, I was going to make a quiche tonight but got lazy and made BLTs.Taco salad, from a customer. One of my old professors came through and told me where to look for a job. I learned that grits kill ants today, but shhhh, none of the exterminators want you to know that. Yeah, it's real simple. You feed them grits and it expands in them and they blow up. Kills the queen too. I like the job. I just need more money.

I find it really warming and all, and then I have the six-hour-breakdown, at six hours I turn into a f'ing idiot. I don't know why!? I just get a bit sillier and, no...just today I did...and OMG!!! My seventeen-year-old boyfriend came in today and I ducked under my register, lol!!! He's twenty-two now, I think. I really hated to be the one at the register, lol!! OK well, I am just gabbing now. Gots to go, I think I will bake cookies or something :) Chocolate chip. Can't improve on that...

Testing 123

Oh my! Nevermind....

This particular blog was hard to title because I don't really have anything to say, sorry.

I have very little to say. I worked today for like four hours and it felt like a full days work. What a lame, lame day. I think someone spilt raw suage outside my building where I live. I had AMAZING taco salad for dinner. I, um, lost my cork screw. I have killed two cats in the last year. I have the urge to say weird things because thats what they are doing on Adventure Time. I slept in this morning when I was supposed to find another job. My daughter got sequined Uggs. I feel like I am in love with a different person every day. Sometimes its people I dont even know, like Thomas Eddison. I have three children. I used to think certain birds had different meanings, blue birds meant love. I eat a pie a day. I like frogs, and Sarah wants a frog for Christmas. I eat meat. I like steak. I always tell the deepest darkest secrets of my soul after like, two beers. I like music that is so blasphemous. We used to dance to Ministry when I was young. So what. I have three main dance moves, my friends have one. I am bragging. I bought the new Pina Pineapple koolaide flavor today. You should really look up the Really Bad Poetry dude on Live Journal, he's good. I have run out of steam....

Shopping and fantastic finds!

I was fortunate enough yesterday to find myself feeling kind of depressed in the a.m. and so I was forced to try to resuscitate my mood. I even was a bit weepy, which is not uncommon for me at certain times of the month. I took a shower and decided to fix my plight with some good reads. I was thinking about my Women Writers course since I last posted and was excited about Mary Shelley, who I really enjoyed reading, but am not interested as much in the one book of hers I have, which seems to be the only any stores nearby carry, obviously Frankenstain. I have been very interested in and always held close most of my lady reads. I have almost made it a handicap, feeling that there must be something intellectually wrong with me for only wanting to read lady writers. Clearly I am a flake.

Fortunately, I bought two books yesterday and both were by men. And what is even more exciting is that one of those books, so far, has been a real page turning, passion burning masterpiece! Yes, I like my book.

The book is one I had already been introduced to in one of my English courses, probably an American Lit course, by Ralph Ellison, it is The Invisible Man. Coincidentally, the other book I bought was by an author who has his own Invisible Man, the book I bought was, however, The Time Machine , H.G. Wells. It's not one of my favorites because it's gory and scary, but I wanted to see how he wrote because I have only got one horribley boring book of his, a world history deal, and this one is short and it will do for now. But Ellison's book, now that thing has it all. It is elloquent, disturbing, haunting and action packed. It's a long book, I have been through two chapters thus far and have had to take them one at a time.

Omg! What else did I get at the store!! I spent a whopping 12 bucks! Two book, a CD and 2 VHS movies, and a sticker book for Sarah. The Cd, well, I couldn't believe it when I found it I was so excited. It is the soundtrack to a movie that I love thats weird as hell. Welcome to Woop Woop. It has all these old Rogers and Hammerstein songs redone by 90s musicians. Some of them are dance music, (how cool is that?) you will have to look the one up if you are bored and no one is around.(here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6sTn3F1w7k )

That video, I was watching it just now, how terrifying! SO I am dog sitting this week. My gentleman friend has gone out of town and has left me a beer that has yet to hit the market, I am enjoying it now, thank you very much. He is in the beer business. It's kind of a nice coincidence because I just started being into beer as some take to wine. I have been this way for a couple of years, but more so since I worked at Mellow Mushroom and they had an extensive amount to try there. I have had chocolate beer. Can you believe there is a chocolate beer? And would you believe that it tastes like coffee? Who knew? I am partial to my Shock Top rasberry wheat. Its subtle and tasty.

THERE WE ARE IN FUN MIRRORS BATHROOM, GREAT PIC, EH?

Well, mostly I wanted to share about my book. Next time I might have something interesting to say. But it's 1 in the afternoon on Sunday, and I have nothing to do except enjoy my one beer. Oh!! Quick story. Working the grocery store you see folks from every walk of life. The other day a lady was in line behind someone with some beer and she said something deragatory about the purchase. And I said,"weel, even the bible says it's okay to have one drink." And she quizzed me as to where it would say something like that, acted as if it was something old and ignorant and told me that we must all do things according to what our hearts tell us. I said nothing, I only agreed. But I don't live by that rule. I have a wild heart ;) I like a little rulage now and then. So today, a lunch beer. Red Hoptober...

~

I have copied and pasted things and there are a lot of errors but I am done for today so, be patient with me, if you are reading my blogs. I also would like to say that immaturity is ever present in creative types like me, because it is a child who dreams all day, and so I have had to live with my inner child sometimes on the outside.

Just remember, it is a child who dreams all day.

OK...

Well, I put up some of my writings and I have written an opening blog, but it's burried beneath the reposts. I just wanted to say that there is a reason for all this, and the reason is odd and wonderful .... I was returning from a disheartening visit to the local DHS, who help me with daycare, but they are still making me pay more than I can afford. It was getting dark, rolling in over the hills from another town, and I was stopped between two railroad tracks with my phone taking photos, hoping the light overhead would do something dramatic and magical, I don't think it did..... Then I made my way over the tracks, turned toward home and saw some men walking away from a housing project that is near my own little humble dwelling. I saw the man had a cigarette. So I made a big loopty. I had already decided not to buy cigarettes from the store, I wasn't going to smoke, I thought...... Instead I bummed from Jeff, a nice man who invited me back, anytime, to enjoy another cigarette and talk. He gave me three..... When I arrived home I was covered. The clouds had moved in and the wind blew my little kitty cottage thingy up the stairs by my door. I watched it tumble up and was filled with a sense of inspiration, to which I gathered my little bit of cigarettes and walked to the back of my building to watch the wind blow the trees and the rain move over the mountains...... But there, at the back of the building, lying in a crust of mud and trash because my neighbors came from barns, or huts, was a GIANT feather. It was as big as a coffe table book, but thinner. I understood what it meant immediately. I was to use my neighbors computer to write and to start a new blog where I could be inspired further to wirte and to share..... So that is all for today. See y'all later...

Brickston Mill

Brickston Mill

Brickston Mill is the name of a small apartment community at the end of a long road leading from town. The road, darkened by towering umbrellas of trees over rooftops, seems to continue endlessly, with beams of sunlight glittering around through the clusters of leaves. You tunnel through for miles until suddenly it opens up, and there, at the top of a hill, stand six tall buildings in Tudor style laid out to surround you on arrival. Coming up from behind its hilltop resting place, the horizon shines over a descending sea of mountains, as if the world is untouched beyond the Mill. Once you come upon it, you really feel you've arrived at your destination. A secret treasure. A perfect resting place.

"We have very little turnover here," the lady had said when I went to see the apartment. "You're lucky to get in here." She didn't need to convince me. I had dreamed of living here for years. When I saw the ad in the paper I thought it was fate. Ted and I had just separated and I had to find my own place. We had looked at the same apartment six months ago, but he didn't like it too much. Said it was too old. His simple disdain always shot through me like venom. But now, just in the nick of time, the apartment was free again. The girl who'd lived there left. Disappeared really. (Or that's what the landlady said.) She'd said there were rumors.

"She left just about everything behind…apparently something funny was going on." I just nodded. I thought I might gossip in good time. I could see the place like a picture before she showed it to me. The bar to the right as you come in. The small old kitchen open to the large living room and the giant fireplace and mantel. It was the fireplace that I loved so much. It was so large I had joked to Ted that he could make an office of it.

"I'll take it!" I had surprised her with my instant approval.

"Do you know when you will need it?" she asked.

"Tomorrow?" I raised my eye brows. I needed no time.

The next day I was unpacking boxes. By night fall it looked like home. I looked around and found that nothing in the room belonged to Ted. He really didn't have many things of his own, anyway. But independence made me smile a bit. I felt like it had been awaiting me.

In the evening, I began to settle into my new home. I slowly walked from room to room, my feet solemnly padding across the old wooden floors; taking in the height of the ceilings, the intricacy of the moldings, and the beauty of the individually paned windows. I sensed the solidity of the place. They don't build this way anymore. I opened the windows to the chilling October air and lit candles. I made myself something to eat, and sat listening for a long time to the quiet that surrounded me. All I needed now was a kitten. Someone to share it all with. I started to get some reading done for a class I was taking and read all that I could until my eyes grew droopy and the bed beckoned me to feel the cool caress of its sheets. My teacher had commented about my laziness, but how does he know how busy I've been? I went to bed.

At 1:43 a.m. I awoke with the sting of tears in my eyes and my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. I had just had a dream so real I could not bring myself back from it. I sprang out of my bed, but stood still for a long time, not knowing if I could handle the sight of my open windows. When I knew I could safely make my way into the living room, no open windows, no danger, I pulled myself from my bedroom into the large hollow of the living room. The light from outside streamed into the room in lines, hardly illuminating anything but its own bright rays. The dream reentered my mind in flashes. A girl. A man. Violent blows and blood. I couldn't demand myself to stop playing the horror show in my head. There she was in front of the bar, and there she lay in front of the fireplace. My hands and knees were shaking. I couldn't go back to bed.

Not since I was a child had I been frightened so much. In reality it was just a dream, but I felt like I had witnessed something very real; A girl fighting for her life and losing the battle.

The TV played the Best of Late Night which I was thankful for. I wouldn't have cable for a few more days. My mind was in need of distraction. It was a small help, though. I watched all night without a thought of sleep and into the morning when I was sure the sun was overhead. I barely made it to class, stumbling in to my professor's look of disapproval.

"You must have had a very exciting weekend, Mindy." he said mockingly.

"I moved." My reply was quick. I didn't look at him.

And as I sat listening to him preach about the greatness of writers past, I tried to make sense of my own personal drama. Why when everything was going so perfectly must I dream of something so ugly? Why, when life is everything I had hoped for, must I conjure up something to ruin it? Am I trying to sabotage my own happiness?

The professor stood quietly in front of me for a few moments before I noticed him there. I tried to pretend that my thoughtful expression was an offshoot of his lecture, but he didn't buy it.

"Miss Mindy," whenever he says my name, I hate the sound if it. "do you know what I've just asked you?"

"No sir."

"I asked you why you believe that Mr. Thoreau moved to Walden. Do you recall?"

"Yes sir, I think it was because he wanted to get away from everyone." I was in no mood to make an argument for my reading. I wished he would take my ignorance and run with it.

"Well, certainly that was part of it." He has a way of making me feel as if I am in third grade again. "Why else would he want to move there? Did he say?"

I looked at him with my mouth open, feeling a bit like I was hallucinating. I breathed deeply hoping the spotlight might pass me by, and yet it didn't.

"I think he wanted to see things from another perspective, like he wanted to get away and live more simply."

"Thank you, Mindy," he smiled a sickeningly satisfied smile, "for a better answer."

The last thing I needed today was more upset, but I had to deal with him or find another way to occupy my mind. I had no desire to return home. If the images were coming to me, (and they were, everywhere I went today), how entrenched would I be at home? I sat outside Topp Hall, the university's languages center, and smoked and talked to other smokers, coming and going. But as the traffic died down I felt it was time to move on.

The Mill is located somewhat outside of town. It's an odd place for some old apartments. I had always found the ride out there beautiful, although somewhat eerie, like a rainy day. Today it was only distracting. I arrived at the very moment when the sun was falling behind the mountains. The darkening sky was deepening blue. I drove to my building, turned off the car, and I sighed a lofty sigh. "It was just a dream." I said out loud to myself.

When I got out of my car an old woman was standing there. She was trying to hold onto a small dog but it sprung from her arms and onto the landing.

"Mindy, Mindy come here!" she called to her dog. I couldn't help myself.

"That's my name, too." I said, finding myself surprisingly cheerful. The old woman looked me over before asking me about my moving into the fourth floor apartment. We talked for a moment about the move; how much it cost for the movers, how I could use a man to help me, and how much she'd hate to walk up all those stairs.

"You know, it's strange how that last girl just left the way she did." she said at last.

"Where did she go?" I asked, with so much intent she was taken by it. The old lady turned from me. "No one knows really, one day she was living there, the next she wasn't. She didn't talk too much. I don't remember seeing her that much."

"Maybe she moved in with her boyfriend or something?"

"I don't know, it isn't likely… she had been friendly with the neighbor boy." At that she turned toward the door.

"Nice to meet you!" I called after her. She waved to me over her head.

I entered the building and began my ascent up the broad wooden staircase. From the second floor landing an old man stood staring at me, expressionless, motionless. Feeling a little more creeped-out than usual, I bypassed him quickly, the sound of my flip-flops snapping up behind me for the remainder of my climb. I opened my door and threw my things to the floor. I locked the door and stood listening. Nothing. I looked at the clock. 5:45. Before I could really think, I unlocked the door and ran back down the stairs. The strange old man, now on the third floor, looked surprised as I ran past. "Excuse me." I looked him right in the face, and in that moment my confidence seemed to empty from me and right into him. I ran right out of the building, not allowing myself to be moved, and made it to the office just as the landlady was leaving.

"Oh, I'm so glad I caught you!" Breathless, I explained about being spooked and my idea about a kitten.

"We do charge $250.00 for a deposit." she said.

"Can I give it to you next week?" I must have seemed desperate, she looked sorry for me.

"Sure, that would be fine."

Soon I was on my way into town. I arrived at Sam's Pets Plus, the every-kind-of-pet-in-the-world store. The owner sells all kinds of exotic animals but gives away free strays, too. I looked at all the cute little faces, the puff balls and the wild mixes of calicos in their cages. Then a little ball of energy lunged at the cage door, clinging to the wall like Spiderman. He looked at me, and I at him, and I knew he was the one.

"I'm going to call you Sammy!" I said to him on the ride home. At that point, I didn't know where he was. There were meows coming from somewhere in the back but I couldn't see him. We went shopping at the super-market. We found food, a litter box, and of course toys. By the time we got home it was eight-thirty. The strange old man I had seen before was standing outside the second floor apartment where he had been earlier. I felt compelled to say something to him, wondering why he is always standing around. I started with, "Hello."

"What'ya got there?" he smiled, reaching out to pet Sammy. His large hands rubbed and grasped the kitten, messing his long coat and chilling me from the inside out. Trying not to look shaken I say, "This is Sammy. I just got him to keep me company."

"Well, he's a real cute little guy," the man looked up over his glasses and leaned in to look deep into my eyes. He had a strange lazy stare that was for some reason peculiarly penetrating. His hair was a dirty, mousy brown with sprinkles of gray. His long faced reinforced the blankness of his expression. He hadn't taken his hand off the kitten, and I could feel him brushing my wrist with his thumb while he continued.

"Thank you. I thought he was pretty great." I stepped to the side to remove the man from me and my kitten, and turned up the stairs.

"What was your name again?"

"Madeline Roberts."

"Nice to meet you, Madeline." The way he said my name made my skin crawl. I'm almost never called by my real name. I've been Mindy since I can remember. For some reason I didn't want him to know that.

When I got inside I felt safe behind the locked door. It seemed that the feeling of danger had shifted from the unreality of my dream to the very real, very creepy man living in 2-B. I'd put Sammy down to explore his new home when the phone rang. (Cool, the phone is working.) I ran to my bedroom to grab the receiver.

"Hello?" My mother's voice on the other end is the very thing I'd been hoping for.

"I've been calling you all night, where have you been?" my mom sounded worried.

"I went to get a kitten, oh yeah, and I'm going to need to borrow $250." I had my fingers crossed.

"Two Hundred fifty dollars!! You got a kitten for two hundred fifty dollars? Are you planning to show it? I thought you were going into accounting, Mindy?"

"Mom, I feel creepy all by myself. I had a bad dream last night. I don't want to be alone."

"A bad dream and now you've bought a $250 cat."

"I have to pay a deposit, Mom, the cat was free. And he's so cute. I named him Sammy."

"What's creepy now, Mindy? I thought you loved that apartment. You wouldn't look for a cheaper one because you had to live in that apartment."

"It's so weird, there was this girl who lived here, and she disappeared. Last night I dreamed about a girl being murdered in the living room."

"Mindy, it was just a dream, honey."

"I know, Mom. It scared the crap out of me, though. It felt real."

"But it was a nightmare Mindy, not a premonition. You must have too much to worry about, you're just stressed." My mom always thinks I'm being dramatic.

"I'll be home next Tuesday."

"Next Tuesday? I thought Friday?"

"It's only a couple more days, don't worry. I'll come by when I get home, ok?"

"Okay," I start to feel sad, "I'll see you next Tuesday."

When I got off the phone, the apartment suddenly felt so overbearing. I started to feel the urge to remember my dream, but blocked it out. After playing with Sammy for awhile I finally felt tired enough to drift off to sleep.

It wasn't too long before I was awake again. Sammy was lying next to me on the pillow, his comfort and ease so distant from my own feelings. He came over and rubbed up against me, his soft fur on my face, the sound of his purring gently easing my spirits. For a moment I forgot where I was, until a gripping fear rushed over me when I heard the sound of creaking under the door. Is it the living room? Is it out in the hall? Realizing that I've had another nightmare, I start to panic. I wanted to leave the apartment right then, but didn't know how to escape. My worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a man's voice talking loudly in the hallway.

"Hey man…I left my damn keys in your car… dude…hello?" I heard him say. "Hello…shit."

Then there was a loud knock at the door. Because I was already awake, I checked him out at the peep hole. He was cute. Tall, with messy brown hair, and obviously drunk. He didn't remind me of the guy from my dream, I decided, so I opened the door.

"Hi, I'm your neighbor," he smiled a great big smile at me, "I left my keys in my buddy's car and my cell just died… hey, I didn't mean to scare you." He looked at me and narrowed his eyes.

"I know you. We went to Westminster School together. You're Mindy Roberts, right?"

"Yeah, um, what's your name?"

"I'm Patrick O'Brien. I left in 7th grade when I moved in here with my dad. You still a math wiz?" He stumbles in and tries to steady himself at the bar.

"I'm sorry, did you want to use the phone?"

"Oh, yeah. Hey, I didn't mean to bother you. I used to know Rachel, she lived here before you. She used to be up a lot like me. I thought I heard someone. I guess I forgot she wasn't here."

"Yeah, she left." I said, replaying the same story I kept hearing.

"You know, she did. She didn't even take everything. Kinda wondered why she didn't ever say anything, but you know how girls get…" He looked at me and smiled his flashy smile again. Then he seemed to sober up, "I don't know what happened to her."

"Maybe she was murdered." I saw no reason to pretend I didn't suspect it. He was probably too drunk to know what I was saying, anyway.

His gaze slowly made its way around the room and back to me."I would've called the police, but I didn't know what to say, you know? Hello? Yeah, I wanna report my neighbor's missing, no, nobody seems to care, yeah I used to hang out with her sometimes, but I didn't see anything…hear anything. I didn't want to look like an ass, you know?"

"Why would you?" I was getting defensive.

"Why should I make a big deal out of it? She left. She took some stuff, I think. I didn't want to make trouble for her, you know? Rachel was a cool chick."

"I don't know, seems kinda weird to me." At that moment we heard a door slam downstairs. And after a few moments a door opened, and then another.

"Everyone here's so damn nosy." He looked at me with sad eyes.

"Wouldn't someone have heard something if something had happened to her?"

"I guess, but I don't know. You can't really hear… I would have, if anyone."

I thought of telling him about the dreams, but it was too soon, if ever.

"Why don't you close the door." He said finally.

"I was just going to."

He was looking a little pale after our conversation. I decided it would be okay to lock the door. Patrick continued, "I really did want to say something. I wanted to wait first, see if anyone missed her. She said she had a dad up in Wisconsin or somewhere, but I never heard anything. It's been over a month now." He stood in the middle of the floor looking lost.

"Rachel and I had a weird relationship. She might have been mad at me when she left."

"You think she left?" I hoped he would tell me what he thought, that he suspected something, anything, but he never did.

"Look it's late. My friend's not coming back. Can I crash on your couch? It's two o'clock I have to work tomorrow."

Normally I wouldn't have let a stranger stay in my home, but nothing felt normal anymore. I was scared, I wanted him to stay. For some reason it felt right for him to be there.

"Yeah, you can sleep on the couch, I guess."

I got some blankets and gave them to him. Pretty soon Sammy and I were asleep again.

The next morning I awoke to find Patrick standing over my bed. Not expecting him to be there, I screamed.

"I heard something in your fireplace last night." He said.

"Oh," I said relieved, “I have a cat," I called out for the kitten.

"No, it wasn't your cat, it sounded like stones scraping. I want you to come check it out with me."

I got out of bed and we walked into the living room together and stood in front of the fireplace. It was so dark and deep we both stood studying it before Patrick started to act.

"Ok, you hold the light for me while I get in there and look around." He grabbed my lamp from my end table and handed it to me. Inside the walls were made of stone slabs. He started to feel and push around until coming to a spot in the corner of the right wall.

"This is strange," he started to pull at the slab and it began to move until finally he had opened it up to a passage way.

"Normally this would be really cool." he said, his mouth hung open as he sat in front of it.

"Close it! Close it right now!" I couldn't hold on to my fears anymore. I broke down, sobbing heavily while he moved the stone back into place.

"Don't freak out, okay? I'm going to put your coffee table in front of it for now." He grabbed the table and wedged it into place.

"Look… see? The wall can't move." He stepped out looking at the fireplace with the table wedged in it. "What the hell?" He said to himself, and he started to look upset. I was still sobbing.

"I had a dream. I had two dreams. This girl was killed here, she was dragged from the bar to here, and he kept hitting her until she wouldn't struggle anymore." I cried harder as I told him.

"What did she look like?" He seemed to think I had seen her, but I didn't know what to say. I said only what I had remembered.

"She was blonde, I guess?"

He got very pale and then started to put his jacket on. "My friend's coming to get me to get my car. I left it at a bar last night. Can you wait here? I'll be right back, we'll go to the police." He wrote down a number and handed it to me. "Here, call me if anything happens."

"I guess. Okay." I was in a daze.

"Okay," he leaned down into my face, "I'll be right back."

When he left I bolted the door. I stood by the window until I watched him get into the car and leave. I desperately wished I had gone with him. He hadn't been gone long when I heard a noise in the fireplace. In a panic I started toward the door, but waited for a moment, what if I was caught in the hallway? Quietly, I opened the door and shut it behind me. I stood listening in the hallway for any noise. A door opened and shut a few minutes later and the sound of footsteps led down the stairs and out of the building. I started down the stairs then, trying to wipe away the tears that ran from my eyes. As I was leaving the building the man from 2B was standing outside with the old lady. She called out, "Mindy, oh Mindy!" But I got into my car pretending that I didn't notice.

I drove fast down the winding street, watching Brickston Mill fade out of sight behind me. The comfort of escape was lost to me. Every thing had become a part of something dark and threatening. In every place there could be lurking a devil. I didn't know when I would be safe or where safety was. I needed to call Patrick. We needed to go to the police.

It was about five miles to the first gas station. I pulled up to a pay phone and looked frantically around for change. When I couldn't find any, I ran into the store and asked the man behind the counter if I could use the phone. He wouldn't let me. I had to buy a drink to get change. I was starting back to the pay phone just as the man in 2B pulled into the lot. I didn't look, just kept a steady eye on the phone.

"Hello?" Patrick sounded urgent on the other end.

"Patrick, it's Mindy."

The old man called out to me, "Mindy? Is that it then?"

"Patrick he's here! Where are you?"

"Meet me at the McDonalds on Bryn."

"Mindy, right?" The old man started to walk toward me. I got into my car and sped out of the parking lot, though I didn't get far in the morning traffic. The man stayed with me all the way to the restaurant. When I got there, Patrick was alone.

"Let's go," he said, getting into my car. The old man pulled up behind me, blocking me in. Patrick got out of the car and started to argue with him. I got scared and ran into the restaurant. They followed me inside.

"Mindy, don't go with this boy, he's a killer." The place got quiet and everyone turned to look at me.

"You know you hurt that girl, Patrick. You know you did." The man looked calm as he taunted him. Patrick wasn't calm.

"Move your fucking car! We're going to the police. You're done, we can prove it."

"I'll come with you, I'm not afraid to talk to the police." The man stood staring at Patrick, daring him to make a move. Patrick turned to leave, motioning for me to follow.

"Let's go," he said. I followed him out the door.

We hardly spoke in the car. By now I wanted nothing more to do with it. The old man followed us to the police station. When we got there, he parked in the far corner of the lot and Patrick and I pulled up front. We were on our way inside when the man called to Patrick.

"You didn't really like Rachel, did you Patrick?" Patrick turned to hear what he was saying.

"What?"

"You know, I saw you and her. I watched you." The old man lured him to the corner of the lot, away from safety. And like a fool I followed him.

"What do you mean you watched?" Patrick demanded.

"I watched you seduce her, make love to her...I watched." He seemed amused by all this. Patrick went up to the old man.

"How …when?"

"When you brought that girl over you broke her heart."

"I didn't mean to." he said in a low voice. He looked to me for forgiveness.

"She was crying for you the night I went to her."

Enraged, Patrick went to hit him, but before he could the man pulled a gun from his pants.

"Put your hand down, Patrick." He said disgusted, "I don't believe you are angry with me! You would have wanted to be done with her anyway." He waved his gun around as he spoke.

"Get in the car." He motioned to Patrick, then, he looked at me. But we didn't move.

"Don't worry," Patrick said "He can't shoot us here."

"Why not?" The old man grinned.

"Are you really going to shoot me here at the police station?"

Bang. Patrick slumped over the car and fell to the ground. The old man turned the gun to me and for a moment, time stood still. I felt the wet of morning mist dampen my face. My body chilled and numbed as shock set in. I heard the loud ring of another shot fill the air around me and felt nothing. The man's blood sprinkled my face and at first I thought it was rain drops. When he fell to the ground the police rushed in from behind and I started to awaken from my nightmare.

I learned later that Rachel's murder had happened a lot like I had seen it in my dreams. The police found her battered body stuffed in the back of the old man's closet along with some of her things. Among them was a letter she had written to Patrick telling him how much she loved him.

Patrick survived the ordeal. But the heartbreak had changed him. I hear he moved to another town, started a new life. As for me, I returned to Brickston Mill only once, and that was to get Sammy. After that, I never went back.

Psych

Before we begin, let us take a step back to ask ourselves what should be the most undeniable question we will be pondering here. Do we seek enlightenment, or entertainment? If you're interested, then perhaps both. This story is about power. Of the power in the Universe, I can firmly say, that there isn't a soul who would deny it; if not the power of God or the Devil, than of man or of energy. I want you to imagine power, hold that thought in your mind….

1 The Inexhaustible Truth

It's like that Seal song, "….in a world full of people only some want to fly isn't that crazy?" That might mean something different to you than to me. I always wanted to fly. There were half a dozen or so things that I could do to fly. So many ways I wanted to try to. I loved them all so much until someone said ' Jack of all trades master of none'. That really destroyed me. I was going to have to pick one? Well, I never could settle for just one. But only one chose me. The truth is, sometimes on our path to our destinies we decide to take flight, and sometimes we are taken. I will tell how I got here, to the point I am today.

But first, to bore you a bit, I will need to give you insight. If you have any understanding of the basics of nature, than you know that the world, my device for mankind, and nature has many cycles. The earth, the seasons, the food chain, a woman has a cycle, life cycles, power cycles, days cycle, minutes, seconds. All this is energy. If you can picture these cycles it will really work, try to envision them all as circles flowing in and around you and everything, take the pictures away if you would. It is happening in so much steadiness that there can be no greater existence than the force behind them, whatever you might think it is. It fascinated me, more than anything. This may seem very scientific, and maybe I am boring you. I am not really scientific myself, you can rest assured. But there is a certain degree of understanding that must be gained if you want to know my story.

My first memory of the "phenomenon" was of feelings. When, all of a sudden I might take on emotions and I would try to trace them back to something , but sometimes there was no reason for them at all. You might have experienced something more understandable though, some of you, this is the best way to describe it. Once when I was young, I felt very urgent about my mothers speeding. I knew there was trouble ahead, and I said slow down, slow down. Not long after her telling me to hush up, we were pulled over. (Put feelings of doubt aside, please, you must suspend yourself). I call these feelings intrinsic, or basic, feelings. I think many people have these feelings, you should all have stories to tell, at least of someone else's knowledge of their intrinsic feelings. They are the ones that exist on our primary source of insight, that which protects ourselves. They are elementary feelings though because they aren't controllable, are of the self and are not in any way developed. Developing is hard, and sometimes I think impossible. It is truly a gift, but in my way, I managed to turn my little into much.

There would be dreams sometimes. I would see a flash of dark skin, blonde hair, marked features. I would feel desperation or elation, and all that I saw and felt would come in time. I started to recognize when I had my secondary feelings and could finally understand where they were coming from. This feeling of happiness and that glimpse of a shiny black car, that is because so and so is going to buy a black car. Or that woman with the husband who sleeps around, I can see he beats her. Then I would hear about it. It was pretty intense. I started to cut off the rest of humanity to make less matter in my own little world, more like everything was unreal, that way, as it grew, I could bottle it, it was all fantasy. That is, until the day I met Joanna.

Beloved, how much of a blog can be brought from one place to another?

Ah, just as much as can make me feel at home...

This remains funny.

This was written to Brunnelleschi from Giovanni di Gherardo da Prato It's a lovely sonnet

O you deep fountain, pit of ignorance, You miserable beast and imbecile, Who thinks uncertain things can be made visable: There is no substance to your alchemy. The fickle mob, eternally decieved In all its hope, may still believe you, but never will you, worthless nobody, Make that come true which is impossible. So if the Badalon, your water bird, Were ever finished-which can never be- I would no longer read on Dante at school But finish my existence with my hand For surelyyou are mad. you hardly know Your own profession. Leave us, please, alone.

Just makes you wanna find a way to put that in your paper ...

M'first play, yo

A play in one act

Characters

Boy

Girl

The scene opens with boy entering a room. The room is a small table with a girl sitting over a laptop, there are books and notebooks on and around the table.

Boy (entering room) Hey girl? Whatcha doin?

Girl: Ugh! Writing for my drama class...

Boy: (laughing) What's the matter? You have to be creative?

Girl: Actually, I have to write a stupid play for my stupid class, and I can't think of anything to write, everything I write sounds completely retarded!

Boy: Oh, sorry, I can help ya out if you want me to? I'm not a student, but I'm pretty smart I think.

Girl: Very funny...yeah, I guess- give me something to write about.

Boy: Now wait a minute, you have to think about it. I'm not just going to tell you what to write. You have to brainstorm.

Girl: Oh my God, did you just say brainstorm, you're such a retard.

Boy: No seriously, lets think about it. (Looks up and touches his face like he's a big thinker) What can you write about for class? Hmmmm..

Girl: Are you serious? Okay, let me think, I have to write a play, so I need an IDEA!

Boy:What do people care about in college, like, what are they into?

Girl: Drinking and good sex? I don't know, thats stupid, this is a play, remember?

Boy: No, I mean, what are the issues? People are into issues and stuff...

Girl: What kind of issues, you mean like pregnancy?

Boy: Yeah, or like abortion or something?

Girl: No way. I did that once. I wrote a paper about suicide and by the end of that class, I really wanted to shoot myself.

Boy: What class is this for?

Girl: Drama, you retard, I already told you!

Boy: (Gets up and starts moving around) Okay, okay. Do you guys, like, read plays and stuff..

Girl: Well yeah...

Boy: What are they about?

Girl: Drama.

Boy: Your being such a bitch- What's drama?

Girl: I'm sorry, I have been trying to write this for like four years, or hours or whatever. I don't really know? It's drama, it's like, you know....Drama!

Boy: Like you girls and your drama!

Girl: (Laughs) yeah, kinda...

Boy: Well what about that?

Girl: Thats the same thing as writing about your abortion, okay. Thats really cheesy. It's not as easy as you thought, is it?

Boy: No, it's actually not.

Girl: I'm screwed.

Boy and girl sit for a moment looking dejected.

Girl: I hate drama anyway. All the plays are miserable.

Boy: It can't be that bad. We don't actually hate it, cause we go to movies and stuff. Let's think like movies instead.

Girl: Really it's not the same, movies are exciting, they have big budgets and explosions.

Boy: Are you talking action, cause I thought girls were into drama, romantic comedies and stuff...

Girl: We like everything.(girl smiles sweetly)

Boy: So what happens in a movie that makes it cool without explosions.

Girl: I don't know, I'm not that funny, either.

Boy: Just write something.

Girl: Just give me an idea?

Boy: What happens in a play?

Girl: Something stupid!

Boy: Write about something stupid.

.

Girl: They are usually about something horrible that happens to someone.

Boy: Tragedy, ah yes!

Girl: Yeah, so death...

Boy Or...

Girl: Or what?

Boy: How can you go to class and know nothing about what you're doing there?

Girl: I just am not creative, like you said.

Boy: Try.

Girl: Okay, I'm trying. Now what?

Boy:What are plays like?

Girl: They just have some kind of bad thing that happens to someone, and their lives are usually awful. And you feel all sorry for everyone, or some people. Others are not good...

Boy: They play off peoples fears.

Girl: I guess you could say that. Or make you think about how good it is for you...

Boy: Get a piece of paper, we'll write down things people fear..

Girl: ( raises eyebrows) Am I really trying to write some great play?

Boy: You are trying to come up with an idea for a play for your class.

Girl: (sighs and gets out a piece of paper) fine...

Boy: What are people afraid of?

Girl: Am I writing a horror play?

Boy: No, not that kind of scared, like afraid of being stupid or afraid of being thought of as stupid or something...

Girl: Or not being hott enough?

Boy: Or growing old..

Girl: Or being shallow...

Boy: Or not being loved...

Girl: Fat!

Boy: or being rejected

Girl: or being a loser

Boy: or being poor

girl: touche!

Boy: Did you write any of those down?

Girl: I liked the rejected one, that seems pretty easy.

Boy: (laughs) Why not do all of them?

Girl: That would be lame.

Boy: No, that would be a masterpiece.

Girl: Yeah well, this is for drama class, and it's due tomorrow.

Boy: Break a leg!

Girl: Uh..?

Boy: Thats what they say in theater...

Girl: I'm not going to ask....

My first full length paly with more than two characters but barely.

Characters

Ginger-a pretty woman in her mid-twenties

Tom- a good looking guy about the same age

Mrs. Ching- Gingers boss at the resturaunt where she works

Mr. Ching- Mrs. Chings husband

Veronica- works with Tom at his bar

The bar folks- regulars at Tom's bar

Act 1

The stage is set in the opening scene with the two places of business set up back to back on the stage. The bar where Tom works is on the right and Mr. and Mrs. Chings chinese resturaunt is on the left. The bar is pretty busy to start, and they soft talking doesnt fade out as we see Chings place light up, spot light on Ginger, who is making a phone call.

Ginger: (On a phone in the resturaunt)

(Phone rings at Toms, Veronica answers the phone)

Ginger: Yes hello,... I was wondering ... where is your bar?

(Light comes on Veronica at Toms bar)

Veronica:Where you coming from?

Ginger: (stumbling) I, um...I am in town, near the hospital...

Veronica(handing out drinks at the bar): We are just down maple, turn right on Linclon, three blocks on right...

Ginger: Thanks,... can you tell me if Tom Baker still works there?

Veronica: Tom? (stops and puts a hand on her hip) Yeah he's working, would you like to speak with him?

Ginger: No thank you, I might come by.

Veronica: Can I give him a name or something?

Ginger: No, I'll be by later, thanks.

Veronice: (with suspicion) Ok, Bye...

( Veronica hangs up the phone and lights dim on Ginger, she is moving around waiting tables and working, Mrs. Ching repremands her for being on the phone, she busies herself. Light stays on Veronica, she takes an order, then we see Tom enter. Veronica calls to Tom)

Veronica: Tom! Someone just called...

Tom: (Looks intently): Who was it?

Veronica: It was a woman, said she might "come by"

Bar crowd: (group nearest to bar): She called! Hey, she called. Congrats man.

Tom: We'll see. They said they were coming in here? Did they say when?

Veronica: She said later.

(Bar lights fade and we see both scenes. Ginger is waiting on her last customer. At Toms bar, people are going, the crowd at tables linger out. The people at the bar order more drinks, one falls asleep at the bar, one flirts with Veronica. Tom continues to glance at the door. Ginger cleans off the last table, puts on lipstick looking in a compact from her purse. Changes into some sexy heels and stands to view herself in the reflection of a window. She is wearing an old style 1950's dress and she looks beautiful)

Mrs. Ching: You go out in those shoes you break your neck!

Ginger: I have to wear something fancy, you only live once.

Mrs. Ching: You don't look fancy, you look like street walker!

Ginger: Mrs. Ching!

(Mr. Ching and his wife laugh at this)

Mr. Ching: You have good time tonight. Don't listen to my wife. She tease you.

Mrs. Ching: (shaking her head) You wait too long to call. You wait too long.

Ginger: I was waiting for it to feel right. You know about those things, don't you Mrs. Ching? Women's intuition?

Mrs. Ching: Nonsense. Foolishness, this women's intuition. You use your head! (Points to her head) You wait too long!

Mr. Ching: When Mrs. Ching and I were young, we waste no time at all. I see her and I ask her to marry me, and this is it. We married thirty year now.

Mrs. Ching: No time! I do not even think. We meet, we say I like you, we get married. You think, you wait, .. you kill romance. What is the waiting for? You want to know what I think? You don't know anyone till you married anyway. You waste all your time, you never get married.

Ginger: I am too young to be married...

Mrs. Ching: Too young! Too young to get married! You want to grow old, retire and then you get married? You foolish girl!

Ginger: Now we are waiting. This is the the 21st century, Mrs. Ching. Women don't get married and have babies when they are twenty-four! We live too long now. We have time to be adventurous now!

Mr. Ching: Marraige is an adventure!

(Ginger grabs her coat and heads for the door)

Ginger: Goodnight, Mr. Ching, Mrs. Ching. See you tomorrow!

Blackout on Mr. and Mrs. Chings place.

(While the stage is set at Tom's, three girls of different sizes come out in black leotards and tights, dancing and whirling with black scarves to beat music.)

Lights fade in. Focus on Tom's bar. Tom looks more and more anxious at the door as we are focussing on him. Ginger comes in stage right and their eyes meet. Ginger stands still by the doorway and Tom does not move for a few moments. The bar slowly takes notice of what is happening. Then lights slowly fade to black.

Act 2

The Ching's resturaunt has come offstage and now Toms bar is set up on the far left. The tables have been reesembled around the stage, only one with customers, and in the center of the stage are Ginger and Tom at a two-top table of their own. The folks at the bar, Tom's regulars, are trying to not notice what's going on, but they take looks back and whisper to each other every so often. Veronica keeps focussed on her job and seems not to notice.

Tom: I cant believe you're here!

Ginger: Me either! This is just crazy. (Points her feet and makes a big smiley face!)

Tom: Wow, I mean look at you! Look at those shoes! Wow!Those are wild shoes - for you- Ginger, what a change…

Ginger: (coyly) I got them just for you…

Tom: (Smiles then goes back to his serious tone ) So what have you been up to?

Ginger: I moved back in May, as you already know, and I have been working on getting my Master's degree. That will be great because I'm at Chings again…I live down by Rotterdam, I have a nice little flat there, it over looks the river. I sit outside and watch the boats from time to time. Life is really great, Tom. How about you?... Oh my goodness! Your own bar! Your dream come true!

Tom: I opened last fall, we did Octoberfest. It went really well and things haven't slowed, I have regulars!

Ginger: (Warmly) I am so proud of you, Tom. I always knew you had it in you. You have always been so smart and capable.

She smiles at him for a moment.

Both: (At the same time)So … (they laugh)

Tom: What do you want to drink, we have a house brew if you want to try it, it's incredible!

Ginger: Oh, no thanks. I don't really drink beer anymore.

Tom: You sure? You don't want to try?

(Ginger is shaking her head)

Tom: I have a honey…, okay, just a second…

Tom gets up and walks to the bar and gets drinks from Veronica, meanwhile, Ginger sits up a little straighter and plays with her hair, looks around the room with interest.

Tom: (Sitting down and handing Ginger a glass of wine, she takes a sip and makes a face) No good?

Ginger: It's too sweet. Sorry…

Tom goes and gets another drink, the bar regulars watch intently.

Tom: (Back at the table with another glass of wine) Try this, bet you'll love it.

Ginger: (takes a sip and nods) That's fine. It's good, actually.

Tom:I thought you were not going to call.

Ginger: I was waiting for the right time. I have been waiting until I felt settled in. I haven't been in this town in a long time, Tom. My mother always said it's hard to come back. I didn't know this place anymore. I don't recognize the faces anymore. The words, things people say! Everything is foreign to me now, everything has changed.

Tom:(pointing to the wall) See that clock over there, I bought that clock for you. Do you remember?

Ginger: (Looking thoughtful) No…when did you buy that for me? Did I like it? It doesn't look like something I would like….

Tom: Yeah, of course you did, you don't rememeber? You wanted it from that craft fair, but you didn't bring your purse, I went back and bought it for you the next day. You said you didn't have a place yet, that I could hold onto it…

Ginger: (remembering and then laughing) Oh yeah, …oh, Tom! I didn't like that clock! I was just being nice to the craft guy.

A young woman walks in, thin with long hair. Tom watches her walk and turns slightly to get a rear view. Then he looks at Ginger.

Tom: Ginger, Ginger…

Ginger: Yes Tom?

Tom: What happened to us Ginger?

Ginger: You asked me to marry you and I told you I wasn't ready. You said you needed time after that, time to figure out how you felt.

(Ginger takes a large drink of wine).

Tom:And what about you? How did you feel?

Ginger: I took it as a sign…

While Ginger is speaking the girl walks past their table again. Tom watches her walk by again and checks her out as she walks out. Ginger drinks the rest of her drink. Tom looks back at Ginger.

Tom: Ginger…(he pauses to recollect what they were talking about, then shaking his head) I've been in love with you since 7th grade….

Ginger: I finished my drink,Tom…

Tom:(agitated) Are you mad at me because I checked out a girl? You went and got engaged after you said you weren't ready to get married…

Ginger: (shaking her head)That's not what happened.

Tom: What do you mean that's not what happened? That is exactly what happened!

Ginger: No, it wasn't like that. I mean, he was special. It seemed like fate or something…

Tom: (angrily) But we were supposed to meet back up again… you said you weren't ready, that meant when you were ready you'd be ready for me!

Ginger: No it doesn't.

Tom: (Shouting) Yes it does!

The couple seated at the other table gets up to leave. Tom is breathing heavy as he watches them go. Veronica comes from behind the bar.

Veronica: Are you alright Tom?

Tom: Oh, I got this bitch!

Veronica walks back to the bar where she talks to the regulars. They seem concerned for Tom.

Ginger: I thought that since I had turned you down you would move on. I can't help it if there were other prospects…

Tom: Other prospects… Ha! I know what your other prospects were, ya gold digger!

Ginger: You're just mad because I have prospects, and you are still pining over some ugly craft clock!

Tom: I have prospects! I have lots of prospects!

Ginger: Sure, everyone that walks through that door, about four beers later (mockingly) wanna try my honey draft?…

Tom: Whore!

Ginger: (playing with her empty glass) And I'm not a gold digger if I'm worth it.

Tom: Worth it!? You wait tables in a Chinese resturaunt. And what's up with that anyway? You're a fucking American!

Ginger: (starting to get upset) You know Mrs. Ching pretty much raised me. I practically am Chinese!

Ginger gets her compact out. Meanwhile, the regualrs have gotten ready to go and are heading out the door.

Bar regulars: Bye Tom; See ya later man; Bye man….

Tom: (Turns to Ginger as they are still exiting the bar) Oh yeah, and I hate you're shoes. You look like a whore!

Ginger: (putting on her lipstick) That's fine, cause I didn't buy them for you. I have a credit card and I'm bipolar.

Tom: (Shouting) I always knew you were a crazy bitch…

Ginger: Does that mean I can go then?

Tom: (at a loss, stumbling) yeah, yeah, yeah … you can go.

Ginger stands up and straightens out the full skirt of her dress. Pulls her purse over her arm and begins to leave. Tom remarks to her as she is passing by.

Tom: Oh, and that dress makes you look like you're pregnant.

Ginger: (calls back over her shoulder in a sarcastic tone) Good luck on your prospects, Tom.

Tom gets up and motions to the door with kicks and punches in the air. He is still freaking out when Veronica comes in, ready to leave with her purse and jacket folded over her arm. She stands in the middle of the floor behind him.

Veronica: How ya doin? You gonna be alright?

Tom: I'm fine, I'll be fine…Wanna get a bite?

Veronica: Tom, I'm married….

Tom: Right.

Veronica walks toward the door.

Veronica: (exiting) G'night, Tom. See ya tomorrow.

Tom: G'night.

Tom sits down at the table then decides to throw a coaster toward the clock. It floats in that direction. He sits as lights fade out.

The End

Aimless stuff

I

Wintertime. It's cold but the seasons have not changed drastically. I keep waiting for the beginning of winter and it's nearly closed. The book of this year is closing. It's January. The summer will be hot. The seasons will blend, the end will come like a shock. Then we will assimilate. We will return to our instincts, excessively thinking on activities.

It's changes in weather that create this kind of scrambling. I can see the fall already. After the long hot summer, it will be a time of achievement! I see people running around like chickens, creating fancy nests, whatever they can afford for the impending Winter, this coming one, this long awaited feast!

I don't really care for the weather. I am bored to death with pleasantries. That's all that has developed from this winter. The trees were full of robins today. Lovely birds, too. All of them looked fat and beautiful, even the females. They flittered up and came to rest as I was walking by. I felt as if I were at the supermarket, how the lights come on as you peruse the frozen foods section. They made my coming by such an event. But it meant hardly a thing. It isn't even close to Springtime.

It seems I spend most of my time wandering about. I have things to do, but at the end of each day I find myself cursing it as wasted. How many hours have I wasted today? Wasted time comes in all forms, even when I have accomplshed things I would have liked to have accomplished. To me, better than anything is the thing that will please someone else the most. Who will or won't approve of this moments worth? However, if it were only up to me, I would be content to wander. Not aiming at all, as I do. I don't mean to say I have no where to be. That I am not expected to work, or to perform, as we all are expected to, no, I mean to say to really wander, for once, and to end up at no place at all. I mean to say that sometimes I would rather end up no where at all.

Have you ever wondered, as a child even, whether you could just walk to the edge of the planet? And what might you find there? I wondered so much about this when I was young, but it translates. If you keep wandering and you reach the edge, perhaps the edge is only nothingness, metaphorically speaking, or maybe it is a continuum, ever changing, although still quite the same. Rounding about and coming up you would go, like the sun or moon, and around until you reach no particulars, only inexaustible moments. Moments or nothingness. I suppose it is about who cares to go anyway. Who wants to wander?

I don't know that I would survive it. I suppose it is better that I don't think from my own perspective, because who would think of such a life? I have been, in my closet, ... it's been days now, and I look at my belogings and I nearly cry. So much stuff, and it is all but meaningless. It doesn't have any real value. I cannot sell my things. I cannot use them beyond their purpose. Some are articles of clothing. Some are trinkets, some decorations. I have a bed, and things that hang on my walls as well, and even the bed, it holds me down. I make it each day, I cannot stray from this habit. I watch the television only some of the time, and some of the time, I open the windows and I hear the call of nature, where the Springtime will come, and it makes inspirational things happen.

I walked through the rooms of my home several times this week. I walked up and down the hall, one day in particular, and the light was coming in through the window of every room. It was as if there was a sudden life in me. I was joyful! I kept thinking how wonderful it had become there, how nice it was to be at home. And the next day it rained and wouldn't you know? It washed all of my joy away.

I used to enjoy the rain, but now I never sleep. I rest. I don't waste time. I don't break habits. I listen to the voices inside my head. I wander, with an aim I wander. I cast down my head, I look away from new expectations. I desire no more considerations. If it were possible, I think, I might not be expected anything of, and of course I am. So in the midst of all that I do, I realize that none of it matters to me, and it is just like any walk. If I were headed to the ends of the world or to the restroom at Bennigans, I wander.

II

Before I had time to notice, life unraveled. It was as if my permit for delving had expired, and I was called to attention. What a stubborn soldier I am. I had arrived at the moment, boots in hand, dirt on my face. I did arrive. A bit of a pity when life throws you into a frenzy. I was looking at myself with confidence and courage. I had promised myself I would be steady, even though I knew how fragile I really was. But we do that sometimes. We look at how nice it all is and we get comfortable, and we think we have arrived, but there hasn't been an arrival.

So what was expected of me? Clearly, I had to follow through on my promise to Shepard. I had made a promise and I never go back on those things. Never. Unless it is permitable, and I can override such a promise with an even greater promise. And that is what I was hoping for.

Shepard is my brother. He died a while ago. Posthumously, I asked a favor of him, and it exceeded my wildest invention. As it is, I am his whipping boy. But who can avoid such an assignment? He lost his life while saving mine. If there were thousands before me, who among them would share this debt? This was more than any one person could bear for a long time. And the promise was something recorded in time, a memory only, before I had realized what he had done.

Many might have met at the crossroads, that symbolic place where we lay down our very souls, or we arm them, full on, with every strength we can muster. I had to make a decision at some point. This was between me and Shepard. What do I do? Who would make a promise like this, who would agree it didn't even matter after it was all said and begun? Who, I wondered, would follow through, no matter what it meant?

I sometimes thought, in the depths of such a terrible despair, that no one would choose it. That it must not be equal to its promise to you. Would anyone endure, for his own brother even, something such as this? And that was the only way to make it through. But then I remember that the reason I was doing this was that I led him to that dark place, and I sat down with him there. I was the one who had coaxed him, laughed at him. Told him to relax. As he lay, taking his last breath. I denied it all. But in my heart, I screamed in agony. Oh God, why place Shepard in the midst of this? Why did I bring him here at all?

I taught you a lesson once. A long time ago. It was the thought of the moment, a shot in the dark. But making such decisions, decisions to speak, decisions to entertain, I was only just becoming a teacher. They say that teaching is learning, and that a master is never to be surpassed. I doubted my role as master.I was right.

What was I? What was I? Was I the dream I had held so alive in my stomach, the man who had dared a dream once? The dream had a slow death. A slow flicker like breath across a flame. Slow and steady, but increasing, like in play. Then out.

III

(When we went to the water it was just spring and the air, though warm enough to wear our bathingsuits without covering up, was crisp still and the water was freezing cold. I remember feeling that same peace that always came to me when I stood at the edge of any water. There is something so majestic and mysterious about water. It whips and it pulls and it beckons, and the most wonderful thing was the waters had receded and left dozens of shelss that looked like old stones and i felt that I had met with the Gods of the sea. There we stood and my daughter looked out over the ocean while my son wandered off, each time returning just as we wanted to leave. I remember that I had a sense of pride about this when an old man had been standing there and witnesses my sons return, just as we stood from our crouching sand building positions and raised my hand in the direction he'd been off to.

When I think of the vacation, I am aware of how we were there as a last visit together before he left, and I am sad about it. I am sad at his coming to my hearts call. Here I will maybe find a way to write about all the things that came fom this last year and a half of my life, and hopefully it will be awesome, but for now, its important just to recall....) The writing will happen.

Short Story In the back yard they buried a bone for the dog. They buried the dog bone so that their dog would go out and dig it up, maybe he would bury it again. They meant for the dog to enjoy the digging and the bone so much that the dog would bury bones on its own. They loved the idea of dogs who buried bones, they thought that dogs who buried bones were extraordinary dogs, or at least, they liked the idea of a dog who buried bones. But the dog didnt bury bones. And not only that, it didnt like the outdoors either. It wasn't a small dog or a dog who resemabled a small dog. It was just a dog, short hair, busy eyes even when it was laying down with its face on its paws. And it layed on the back porch, its little eyes darting as it waited and its tail wagged whenever someone passed the door. They named their dog crustacean. They lived at the beach when they got him and the name was meaningful then. It meant nothing now, and since they'd moved inland, the dog, now not quite a puppy, was always lying on the back porch and they were sure that since the once frisky fellow had loved to run and jump through waves, well he must necessarialy love digging in dirt, too. His owners didn't understand him quite as they'd wished, and the dog who grew strong and spirited by the water seemed to flatten on the back porch. And he layed and he layed, and life would invaribly stream through sun rain fog and snow, year in and year out because the world is but one steady stream for a dog across the floor. And the bone, though once such a hearty dream for the owners of the once frolicking feller', lay in its shallow grave all the days of the dog's life.

I believe customs are a matter of oppinion.

I work with the public so I am constantly getting to know and see new people. One of the things that has recently occured to me, coming across such a range of different folks, is that people are really set in their ways. It's not really complicated, the way that I see it, people live according to their certain customs and it's so ingrained in they become a little silly. Let's talk about bags, ok? Bags are useful tools. They are useful, they are utilitarian objects. they are able to make things easier on you and therefore they are awesome. But how awesome are they supposed to be? Do you need them for a small thing, like a lighter? If I sold you a lighter, say, and we will make this really like incidental, cause I don't think people with lighters suffer from customary bag syndrom ... if you had something that small, and your check out person says, "You need a bag for that?" ... And not like Daria, or anything ... and not at all like you are making a suggestion. Just courtesy. Would you need a bag? (I am considering Americans consumerism is very evident in all this) But would you believe if you had the choice you would say no, if it was say a box of tylenol? So many people want the bag. So many people think they can't leave the store without one. Now imagine why it's necessary!? Is it because we are afraid of being accused of stealing? Some of these people would be great cons to be approached in this manner, dressed and looking the way they do. I mean, would gramma steal a lighter? Not at all. I think we feel like it's part of the costum of going to the grocery store. Perhaps some people feel that they are not getting the courtesy they deserve. I feel this is a great topic because I feel that the more you learn and the more you know, the more you realize how different things can be from be from what we have become accustomed to. Like, getting a bag with a pack of gum is just bad form, people. We don't deserve to be wasteful. Not only that, but thats just bad for the environment. So don't ever, ever do that. And you know what?? It seems as though we should really be investing in those cloth bags, ... just sayin. I mean, we bag and bag and bag all day long. All day plastic bags, I could dream of walking in like a half-lit place with mist and plastic bags piled shins-high, some of them might float up, ... stick to my face for humor...

As if it's new to me...

I am starting a blog again today. I wanted to write so I guess I will use this minute to enjoy myself. Oh boy. So. Where do I begin? Lets do a getting to know you... I want to start by saying I will begin a lot of paragraphs with so. It's because I say so and like a lot and I write like I talk. You should also know that I don't correct this, where I might have done so, because some girl in one of my classes said something flippant about someone starting a paragraph with so, as if it were a tragic error, and I thought it was silly so I picked it up instead of losing it. She may or may not be the same one who called me fancy pants. And if it was her, to her credit, I stopped with my obsession with stylin britches which was osmething I picked up from the Victorias secret catalogs about two years ago. (I had some red carpenter pants I thought were stellar!! I was stoked, she wasn't.) I quit smoking that month, this month, actually right now, I got a cigarette lit and burnin low. I picked up the nasty habit again when I picked up my neighbor. Weirdest thing, I am his "girlfriend" but it feels like more of an affair. So uncomfortable are our transactions. I mean, you either like me or you don't. I wish he would just tell me :( I am not a bad lookin dame though. I figure I will see what happens. What else, um...I have three children, I write for pleasure, I eat shitty foods, I aspire to be a healthy individual, its one of those begin tomorrow goals and I am hoping sometime in the coming week we will find that day. I will post stories on here. I want to write shorts, I write really bad poetry AND if you get the time or find it exciting you, you should google search really bad poetry, theres a professor out there that will get you rolling. So that is that. MUST POST STORIES, I am moving on to greener pastures having an actual blog. And so without further adieu...