The Question Jar Pt. One

As much as i enjoy fantasy, writing about what fantastical mystical being i would be and what my special powers are is a tad cheesy- even for someone as cheddar-riffic as me. HOWEVER, i am trying to get into the habit of writing even if it’s not something that’s my usual flavor. i suppose that it can only help me grow as a writer- so—– i’m some sort of wizard or something. here i go-

Walking slowly on the sandy shore in the dead of winter, i watch the foamy gray water roll back and forth towards my feet and then back to the endless ocean. jagged remains of shell fragments stir as water fills them and swirls back out to sea. my mind is as calm and empty as the beach is, now that summer is long gone. a wintry gale adds to the color in my cheeks and it encourages me to continue walking done the shore line. i walk, as all beach wanderers do, slowly, purposefully, and staring down, scanning the sand for perfect shells. my boots scrum across the thick wet sand, leaving footprints that will be erased only seconds after. looking up i see the glitz of Atlantic City in the skyline and wonder how many steps in the wet sand i would have to take to meet up with the towering buildings.

like a child, i stop and let my feet get sucked down into the thick sandy muck, becoming frozen, becoming part of the beach to stay forever, and i feel something heavy drag across the toe of my boot. i look down and see a glass jar. my heart stops a beat when i see silver shimmer glittering inside. i bend down and pick it up and work the lid off. peering back inside, there now appears to be nothing in it at all, and i resist the urge to hurtle it away into the ocean, deciding instead to carry it off to a trash can.

the second before i replace the lid, i hear a tinkling and a puff of glitter is released into the brisk morning air. crystals rapidly form in the jar and a thin line of diamonds fall onto the beach, disappearing as they touch the sand. it doesn’t take long before i realize the jar is full of magic of some kind and i quickly unstick my boots and walk away towards home. as i walk, i look at the newly forming crystals and wonder all of the wonder-able things about this jar, particularly why it had come to me.

almost instantly the answer came to me- i had been wishing for some hope only moments before allowing myself to get sucked into the wet sand. i was in despair. my life was not going as i had planned, certainly not in the way i wanted, and i was feeling lost and desperate. i was wishing to be drawn into the earth, wanting my soul to become a crashing white wave. all of my negativity was swirling around my ankles just moments before, but somehow, the toxicity was diminishing. why now? why after so long of constant sadness and life beating me down was it disappearing? another tinkling and my mind brightened as if by magic and i looked down at the jar. diamonds were still trickling out and down onto the sand. i tried to cup them in my hand, but like liquid silver, it rolled right off. was this jar the answer? was this simple glass jar enchanted? more crystals, and more glittering diamonds skittered down, melting into the sand. yes, it had to be. but why? what did it do? what does it mean? why me? the tiny crystals seemed to be bubbling, foaming, popping, as if excited to answer my questions. it finally occurred to me that this jar was giving me answers to my questions. my brain exploded with joy and a thousand more questions. i turned and hurried myself off of the beach, thrilled at the promise of my new treasure.


Listy OCD

I do something I called PLANNED SPONTANEITY which is giving myself an agenda of listed tasks and sort of just allow myself to go about it in any way that I can to get the stuff done.

I’m a planner by nature. I make lists of lists. I am an uber multi tasker. I judge myself based on what I have accomplished during a day. I judge others on their inability to multitask. And yes, I have been known on occasion to add something to the bottom of a list only to immediately cross it out. It’s a completed task, isn’t it? It counts! It does!

My OCD is boundless, hence the task of going back to complete all of the DAILY PROMPTS from when I started these blogs. Sure, I could easily walk away and just start with the one that starts tomorrow- but what about all of those OTHER prompts? Those ones that were sent and I didn’t even attempt? WHAT ABOUT THOSE????? For the love of god there are so many!!!! But I must do them all! Even if it means not going to the gym, or the GROSSery store, or to the bar with my friends!!! And what if I do? What’s the point? The whole time on the treadmill all I’ll be able to think about is the ten or so DAILY PROMPTS sitting there in my inbox, taking up virtual space! Standing there at the bar, doing shots I will be thinking of how I haven’t vacuumed the living room for the sixth time this week…. WONT SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN????? You may think I am exaggerating, but alas, I am not. Not even a little. There I am, in the produce aisle, deciding between romaine or iceberg and trying to not acknowledge the niggle in my brain reminding me to make sure I update my ITUNES playlist and make sure I don’t have any duplicates in my music library. I am not kidding you.

You would think that this would make me super super productive. But it doesn’t. The reality is that I spend so much energy fretting about getting things done, that I waste time accomplishing very little. I say as I type up my fifth blog of the day while staring at my chipped nailpolish that I am obsessing over painting, while my wet laundry waits yet another couple of hours before going into the dryer and I completely ignore/avoid my taxes. But you know what? Tomorrow is another day. Thank god for procrastination. Thank effing god.

Only Five?

Oh goody! A food-related blog prompt!
Done and done.

I like the premise for this being that I am being HELD CAPTIVE on an island and can tell my captors what foods I want, for one thing…. It’s much more reasonable than being stuck on an island that surely only has oozing berries, bugs, leaves that look like bugs and coconuts that I’ll never be able to open (I’ve watched CASTAWAY, I know how these things work, even WITH a skate that I probably wont have anyway.)

Also, let me state, that if I EVER WAS captured, and held against my will, there’s probably a good reason, and those people holding me hostage certainly would NOT give me ANY of my five food requests. This is probably a good thing- most of which is that, I am, yes, a bitch in most situations, and more than likely deserve to be stranded on an island; not to mention that I am already fat enough, and should probably look to being marooned with only poison berries and footlong millipedes to eat as a chance to lose a “stone” or two (as the English say.)

BUT, having said all of that, and, of course to go along with the prompt- if I were to be supplied with five foods? I’d DEMAND, I mean, I’d “pick”- beautifully crispy fried chicken (I told you I was a fatty) with mashed potatoes, little one inch cubes of sharp Vermont cheddar cheese, chocolate covered pretzels, and diet coke WITH lime (it has to have lime, because I doubt I’ll be on an island in brazil or wherever limes are plentiful and I’m not squishing questionable fruit juice into my soda.) Now this all seems glorious and wonderful, and self indulgent, and bad for me, and whatever, but that was the prompt. If these jerks wanna keep me there, and keep me from raising a fuss, they’re gonna get their best cooks together and fry me up some damn chicken! Hopefully there will be Frank’s Red Hot, because, obviously….but otherwise- I’ll be very compliant and subdued on my island prison with some crispy chicken, mashed potatoes and yummy fattysnack choices. Again, this is all based on some sort of IDEAL captive situation, with cooking oil, refrigeration, prepackaged cheeses, and ice- I WANT ICE, DAMMIT! And my chocolate covered pretzels better not be melty- or there’ll be HELL to pay! DO YOU HEAR ME???? HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh. Forgive me. I got a little crazy there. I’m sort of currently watching what I eat, so I kind of lost my head there thinking about all of the things that I am not enjoying right now. Oh…… what I wouldn’t give to be kidnapped and held captive on an island…..

Cards for Sorrow

surely the last time i cried from joy isn’t as exciting as if i posted about a time that I layed around and cried for days at a time due to crippling depression, but, eh, that wasn’t what was asked. so thinking about the last time i joyfully cried?  embarrassingly enough, it was probably after reading some internet meme on “50 Romantic Things” or something having to do with gay couples getting married.  that kind of schmaltz always gets me.  and although i PROMISE MYSELF that i’ll stop reading stuff like that (because who really wants to sit around and cry- especially in the middle of a weekday?) i still do. i still click on those links, and 35 seconds later, i’m a blubbering mess.

“75 Year Old Couple Weds After Dating for 50 Years?” i’ll click it.

“Soldier Home After 2 Years, Surprises Kids By Hiding in a Box?” i’ll click it.

“Elderly Couple Rescue Blind Pugs?” oh, you better believe i’ll click that.

there’s way too much depressing stuff on the internet, which we all know is a reflection on the world, and no one needs to be crying, but i’m a sucker for romance, and coming home stories and who doesn’t enjoy the feeling you get when you read about a good rescue?  i’ll click them all, and use 23 tissues enjoying these happy times.  i’m not ashamed. ok, so i’m a little ashamed.  but no one is usually around for the blubbering, so no harm, no foul.  i’m guilty, you caught me. send me to CRYING SISSYGIRL PRISON.

and YES, i am also guilty of REPOSTING those tear-inducing links.  i admit it.  i guess, it’s kind of like spreading an earworm to someone; you have “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” or “Gangnam Style” stuck in your head?  how better to get it out than to spread it like a mad virus via facebook.  same thing for a happytears-type of internet story.

i always liken it to the videotape from THE RING…. you let other people see it, they die in seven days, and you save yer own ass.  there’s nothing wrong with making twelve other people cry in their cubicles at work over a box of kittens that some twelve year old homeless kid rescued from a river, is there?  of course not?  why do you think the original poster put that thing out there in the first place? to win an emmy? of course not.  they posted it because they heard the story, and blubbed up their cubicle and had to spread those tears to each and every nelly girl within the sound of their sobbing, sniffling virtual voice.  i’m merely doing MY PART to pay it forward

Deja Vu

have i experienced deja vu? of course, sure i have. too bad it’s never for anything that will help me out- like winning lottery numbers, or during really good make out sessions. it’s usually something pointless like, walking across one of the houses that i’m cleaning to get my glass cleaner and feeling like at another time i had walked across the same room to get the glass cleaner. yeah. real deep, huh? regardless that still doesn’t hold a lot of mustard for me.

i wish i had those kind of deep meaningful experiences, or at least some complex symbolic dreams, but the truth is, that for as multifaceted as i am in reality, not too much supernatural happens to me. my dreams are usually just a culmination of the messed up things that happen during my waking hours. like sam from down the street calls me to ask me about a cake recipe that he wants to take to softball camp or some other unnecessary mix up of facts and events that are floating around in my grey matter.

i neither believe in ghosts nor the afterlife. i am uninterested in psychics, aliens or real life vampires. for me to be so skeptical and cynical might not be so odd if it wasn’t for my upbringing or my spiritual beliefs. i grew up with a mother who believed she was psychic and a faith healer. my childhood was full of seances and healings, ghost talkings and crosses burning on my lawn. the reasons for my current disbelief in otherworldly things is a direct result of this upbringing and a long tale for another time.

the other matter, my spirituality and why it might be odd that i don’t believe in esp and telekinesis and astral projection? welp- i’m pagan. very pagan and proud of it. but the longer i am in the community, the more that i see that i am a misfit among misfits (as most pagans don’t mesh with society.) i see myself as more of a practical pagan. i believe in MAGICK but i feel it is a looser term than saying a spell and waiting for something to happen. my magick is planting a seed and waiting for it to grow. my magick is getting into a trance like state from dancing and gazing at stars to see something bigger than myself in the universe. i say this amongst people that talk about seeing dragons in their homes and fairies in woodpiles. in the same way that society snubs their beliefs, they snub me for my disbelief.

i am of the thinking that people should believe what they want, politically, spiritually, and morally to achieve the best lives they possibly can. i don’t believe that one way is any better than another. i am definitely spiritual and have a lot of faith. but on the other hand, i definitely am more grounded in the things that i can actually tangibly experience. the sun rising and setting, wind blowing, fire burning, waves crashing and genuine love and affection for people. if these things keep me from experiencing deja vu, or deep earth shaking psychic dreams, i am absolutely okay with that.
i like knowing what to expect.

and what do i expect? i expect to love this song forever and ever…


gorillawhen i was a child, i had one of these. to kids that grew up in the 70’s, and retro movie buffs, they would recognize this as KING KONG. to mostly everyone else, they just see that this is one ugly mutha-effing thing. want to know what else? that sucker was A BANK! and not just a regular bank, oh no, it was twenty inches of hard sturdy thick plastic with NO WAY of getting money out once it was deposited.

so what is the importance of a messed up scary-looking, hard plastic impregnable KING KONG bank? welp. that nasty gorilla bank was my friend. Not only that, that there snarly beast was my ONLY friend and i loved him very very much. i had a terribly weird fascination for gorillas as a child, and i cant honestly say where it came from but i do know that it bordered on obsession. now, growing up in the 70’s it wasn’t as easy to overload kids on themes. we didn’t have Targets or entire lines of licensed kiddie stuff- it was you, your mom and whatever you could throw together from Hills or Kmart. so needless to say, i didn’t have much in the way of gorilla-themed bedding, but i did have that bank.
and a tshirt. and pictures cut out from books. yes, i said “books” and not “magazines.” (i sort of got into some trouble with the library and spent a few hours one weekend on punishment for a little problem i had with scissors.) i slept with this gorilla bank, carried him everywhere and played and fed him very much the way most girls did dollys, only, mine was a gorilla, and a bank.

the neighbors thought me odd. my friends teased me. my brother tormented me by hiding “Gorilla” in various places around the house and yard. my grandmother, however, made Gorilla a dress. it was sunshiney yellow and had ruffled sleeves. the fact that Gorilla was King Kong and a boy was unimportant. my gorilla had a beautiful dress. my grandma thankfully understood and eventually Gorilla had a fine crocheted hat, a watering can and a mini wheelbarrow that i randomly found in the trash (and by “found in the trash” i mean “stole from the neighbor kid’s sandbox.”)

Gorilla knew all of my secrets. he talked to me. we washed and ironed his dress (my mother was big on teaching domestic chores as play, so i learned ironing, sewing and even used a washboard early on in life.) Gorilla was my security, and even moved to three different houses with me. this hard plastic King Kong bank went everywhere, and even slept in bed with me. occasionally to annoy me, my brother would stick pennies in him, and i would spend hours shaking Gorilla upside down to try and get the change out of the narrow slot in the back of his head. it would NOT DO, to have him constantly rattling, so coins HAD to come out.

there is of course, no happy ending for Gorilla and Little Tee. during yet another move, to yet another house, Gorilla somehow got packed in with all of my stuffed animals; whether accidentally or on purpose due to my mother’s suspicion of my creepy love for him, is unclear. but he was packed. and packed away for a long time due to a very complicated move to a smaller house and in with my grandmother.

after so much time passing, Gorilla obviously felt abandoned and when finally located and unpacked clearly no longer loved me. this led to my brother filling him with pennies, and ultimately performing minor surgery on the bottom of his feet to remove the money he put in there. to my surprise, Gorilla contained about $3.14 worth of change by that time, including a dollar bill, which my brother promptly claimed as his own. after the removal of Gorilla’s feet (with a serrated bread knife from the kitchen,) he now had a very scratchy and poky scar at his base and now scraped the crap out of my arms, leaving him yet again abandoned on the side of my bed. eventually my mother tried to sell him for a quarter at a yard sale, but with no takers, Gorilla, dress and all was pitched into the trash and is probably under one billion layers of garbage in the land fill for the rest of eternity (i mean, he was made of REALLY THICK black plastic.)

he was a good gorilla, and a fine friend. i will always have to live with the guilt of abandoning him, and not even getting to keep the $3.14 in him that was rightfully mine. i’d like to believe that some child saw him in the trash, in his very fine dress, and rescued him from a garbagey grave. but i know better, he was King Kong for god sake. King Kong in a yellow dress and dreadfully ugly, not to mention SCARY AS HELL, all snarly fangs and blood-red mouth.

i can only hope that maybe, just maybe, he is near that leaky old coffee pot or plastic canvas tissue box my mom threw out too and he feels a little more like home, and a little less lonely. dearest Gorilla, i really am sorry that it’s thirty-some years later and you will be packed solid with crud forevermore, i never meant for it to end this way. R.I.P. Gorilla, you will be forever missed.