Under The Bridge Where I Used To Sit

Under the bridge where I used to sit,

It flowed so loudly, and now I hear its quietness.

I hear the same familiar sounds, but there are new ones too.

I hear the quiet whispers of gentler waters.

Was it always this quiet, but I just couldn't hear it?

I am listening now.



I took a few moments to try to write rhymes

But the words want to flow like the waters beside me.

There is structure in a creek, but sometimes it cuts a wider path,

Never minding if it’s doing things right.

I want to mind. I want to get things right.

But I also want to be the water that is so full it can’t be contained by a mere creek bed.



Under the bridge where I used to sit.

There is so much more for me than the mud under my feet.

The creek has more than the mud it glides over.

I am full of that life, but only if I choose it.

Instead I sit in my troubles, unable to hear.

I am listening now.



I am reminded of a song,

but the waters weren’t the ones who were troubled,

I was.

I was on the bridge looking down at calm waters.

But I could not hear them over the pounding of my heart.

Now I am still. I am closer.



Under the bridge where I used to sit

I hear the quietest sounds of the water as well as the loud.

Who knew a creek of barely a few feet could hold so much depth?

The water is truth, cutting its way, raging - now flowing gently.

I am listening now. I am listening.

Speak Lord.

A bouquet of emotions

It was one of those days. Emily lay on the floor on her old tan carpet. Was the original color tan? Probably, but it was so faded and old it was hard to tell.

It was one of those days where she felt sluggish and dead and disappointed for no reason. Her heart felt heavy and trod upon, and yet she had this bubbling excitement in her. She just wanted to spring up on to her tippy toes and dance around to loud music, despite it being 11:15 pm. And besides, she was comfortable lying on the floor and not moving. Springing on to tippy toes sounded exhausting, and yet she had a mad desire to pirouette around to get out some of this wild and weird energy.

"What the heck?" Emily muttered. She had a crazy streak. She knew it. But this mad desire to squawk out some loud and unearthly noise was such a weird combination with the desire to lie on the carpet and cry.

This was not a normal combination. Wild and crazy energy with tired disappointment. It didn't make sense. It was like an outfit picked by a toddler.

She was picturing the mismatched attire of a child and started to laugh. The laughter soon turned to tears and she rolled on to her stomach and sobbed into the carpet.

"This shouldn't be happening!" Emily whimpered through the tears. "I'm happy. I'm really happy!" Snot welled in her nose and threatened to drip on to her carpet.

"What does it matter?" she thought. "The carpet is already disgusting!" The tissue box was too far away anyway so she didn't care as the tears soaked the carpet and the snot dripped from her nose.

"I just wanted to be happy and just up and dance! This is pathetic!" She dug her fingernails into the carpet, trying to stop the tears. "Why couldn't the wild and sassy emotions have taken over tonight?" The anger was helpful. Now it wasn't just about being miserable for no reason, she had some anger too!

Wait, the anger was unfounded too. "I'm just a whole bouquet of uncalled for emotions tonight!" she said giving the carpet a solid whack. She remembered that it was nearing midnight and she shouldn't wake her housemates.

The tears were slowing. "Screw this, I'm just going bed!" she said grumpily. She set one hand on the carpet to push herself up but it wasn't there. Her tears had melted the carpet and she was falling in to blackness.

You can't hug a goldfish

I cleaned my room! I still need to organize some shelves, but the floor is totally clean, all laundry is stowed, and my desk is nearly empty! It feels very good to walk into my room.

But yesterday my sister in law got gold fish, and as crazy as it is, it made me feel lonely. I was struck with a desire to have goldfish too. Maybe a couple goldfish in a bowl on my desk for companionship. Then I remembered how much I don't like fish and that maybe I should get a cat. I've never considered having a pet before. But today I was struck with an overwhelming desire to have a kitten. I could just picture the little fuzzball curled up on my lap or playing in my room.

Then I remembered that I have severe cat allergies. But even now there is a window opened on my browser for hypoallergenic cats. But I know it's not realistic. Hypoallergenic cats aren't allergen free and can still cause problems.

Because I know I have allergies I've never spent any time wondering about cats or dogs. So why now? Is there something inherent in single women in their 30s that just says "Ok. Time to give up and become a cat lady!" ??

I know that this has been brought on from E.A.S (Empty Arms Syndrome). After a week at the shore with kids, including my 2 month old niece, I am missing holding that little baby. I just want to snuggle some cute little things. I think I am feeling hug deprived. Good thing one of my best hugs friends is coming to visit in less than a week! Huzzah! I just need all the hugs.

Crazy is a good place to be

More crap. I have been holding off writing because I want to write at the shore, because it's beautiful and inspiring. But I have to write, even when it's not inspiring and I am not inspired. Inspiration will only come if I start writing. So even if I'm just writing the crap, I must write.

I'm packing. I'm SO excited for the shore. It's going to be so much fun! All the fun people and dishes and bacon and coffee!

I always pack too much stuff, but oh well.

Plans are crumbling around my ears! I want things to stay sane. I'm going crazy, but it's okay. Crazy is a good place to be sometimes. I just have too many expectations for how things could/should go and when they don't I can get stressed out and angry or sad.

Expectations for the day, when I'm going where, what other people are doing, but I can't control things and that's a good thing.

Then there's beyond my current day and week, and thinking about all my life and the future and not knowing how things will look in a few weeks, in a few months, in a few years. Not knowing who I will still be really good friends with and who will drift in and out of my life.

I hate not knowing things. And I hate not having control. But it's useful and necessary. Knowing the future would suck more than not knowing it. Being in control of my life would be so much worse than not being in control. It's supposed to work this way, and it scares me.

Have you ever been dead?

I wrote this last fall. I never had a plan for where it would go. I wrote more, but I never liked it as much as I liked this opening little scene:

“Have you ever been dead?” Sean asked me.

My instinct was to immediately say “No!” What a strange question! But I thought for a moment. I feel dead on a weekly basis. Not in a depressing way. It just is part of being alive. But he hadn’t asked me if I felt dead. He’d asked me if I’d ever been dead.

“No,” I answered, as if the answer could have been yes.

“Why did you hesitate?” he asked.

“Because you didn’t ask if I’d ever felt dead. You asked if I’d ever been dead. I haven’t.”

“Well, have you ever felt dead?”

I hesitated again.

“Why the hesitation now?” he asked again.

“Well, because I feel dead on a weekly basis… and that sounds depressing.”

“Is it depressing?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Cause I don’t think I’m a depressed person. It’s just part of being alive. Parts of you die.”

“And that’s not depressing?” he asked, with a slight laugh

“Not really,” I said slowly. “Because parts of you have to die. Yeah, they’re parts of me that I love. But I don’t want them.”

This time he hesitated.

“You know,” he said slowly. “That makes a lot of sense. You can love something, and still really not want it in your life.” He paused again. “I guess part of you wants it. Cause when you remove it, it does feel like death.”

I smiled at him. He understood me. And how wonderful it was to feel understood! We sat in silence for a few moments. It just felt good to be with him.

At last I broke the silence. “Why did you ask the question in the first place?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said, and the corner of his mouth went up as he turned slowly to look at me. “Because I was dead once.”

The Destroyer

Darkness caused faltering. The alignment of the world was out of sync.

“Best not be out in this weather, miss,” an old careworn man said to me as I walked on the pathway between connection and nothingness. “Storms a brewing.”

“Do storms brew?” I asked. Normally I would have kept my head down and eyes before me. Maybe I would have nodded at someone who spoke to me, but today I was feeling vibrant.

“What do you mean, lassie?” the man asked, clearly startled by my response.

“What do storms brew?” I asked. “Do they brew the salty air and the deep smells that are causing my nostrils to sting with longing?”

He shook his head at me and hurried along home, probably to batten down the hatches as one does when a storm is coming.

But not I. I intended to go headlong into the madness. Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they feel it? I could feel the storm. Not like someone with rheumatism feels it in their old knobbly knees. I could feel it in my spirit.

The sky was an ominous gray-green. The wind felled trees as it ripped along the border of darkness. But it wasn’t raining yet.

Suddenly there was a streak of solid black lightning and a burst of thunder so loud I could feel it inside me. I heard a scream in the distance. Why was everyone always so afraid of a little thunder? It gave me life!

I let out a cackle of mirth. It had come!

Swiftly, I glided to where the lightning had struck and stepped on to the solid gray pathway it had left in its wake. I could feel the excitement bubbling inside me. I was afraid of it. I hadn’t been this happy since the stars had disappeared, and I was sure that this sensation was going to rip me apart.

Desperately I felt for the lighting chalk as I climbed through utter darkness toward the stillness. It was going to happen at last!

Blaythes

Bone achingly cold, the party trudged through the snow, icicles clinging to their hair like fractals. It was no ordinary journey they were on, for they must reach the portal before it closed.

“We’ll never make it!” one blaythe called out over the roaring wind. His breath crystallized on the air, giving his words tangibility.

“Not with that attitude!” the cold one said, spitting out his words like they were unwanted apple seeds.

“Not with any attitude,” the blaythe grumbled under his breath. He turned his back on the cold one and continued beating his path through the snow.

The others followed behind, the cold one surveying them looking down his sharp nose at them as they passed.

“You!” he said, grabbing a fistful of a small blaythe’s jerkin and hoisting him up till they were nose to nose.

The small blaythe shuddered as he felt the warm sticky breath of the cold one entering his nostrils. He had known this would happen, as much as he had known the cost of leaving his family for this fool’s errand. But when he had registered, he had not known that they would be placing the cold one as the master of this expedition. He had been full of hope. He knew that he must do this, for his wife, for his children, and though he hated to admit it, he was doing it partly to prove himself. He wouldn’t let himself get away with one more minute of idleness. He had to break the cycle that he had been trapped in for 22 years.

He had told his children, when he had left them behind, that he must go in order to fight off the evil that threatened their very lives. He knew that when he painted them this picture of his mission, of his task, that they imagined that he was off to fight dragons. Off to save the world from some outside source of evil.

But his wife knew the truth: the only dragons her Jaq was going to slay were the dragons within. The thing that had been tormenting his mind, and preventing him from connecting with his children or even his wife. He had cried when he had left his Merrydew behind, but she had kissed his forehead and told him that she believed in him, and would love him no matter what. So he had kissed her, held her tight, and set out with a heavy heart, but full of determination and a little bit of hope.

The hope had long since departed, almost as soon as the cold one had been placed in charge of the march, Jaq’s hope had faltered. In it’s place was a darkness that he couldn’t shift.

Maybe the cold one knew how much Jaq feared him. Maybe he could smell fear. Jaq wondered what fear smelled like, but right now, all Jaq could smell was the fearsome odor of the cold one’s breath as it filled his lungs, making him want to gag. But he must not show fear, even if the cold one already knew it, he must not reveal any more of his weaknesses to this monster.

“What?” Jaq gasped, trying to sound more resilient than he felt.

“You’re slowing us down with your short little legs. Pick up the pace or I’ll be forced to leave you behind… where you belong.” His lip curled cruelly, as he let out a light snarl. “Get back in line, and don’t let me see you slacking the pace!”

He released Jaq, who stumbled over in the snow. Feeling foolish, and a mite bit angry he picked himself up, brushing off the snow and looking around, trying to pick up a bit of his dignity too.

But dignity meant holding his head high, and the winds were biting so he kept his head down and pushed on. He would not give the cold one the opportunity to call him out again.

“Hey,” someone whispered. Jaq looked up and saw that one of his traveling companions had fallen into step with him. He nodded to him, but kept his chin tucked into his scarf and turned his eyes back to the bleary snow below. But his companion continued, “That was uncalled for,” he said.

“Why are you telling me?” Jaq said gruffly. He didn’t like being singled out by this hairy bloke any more than he liked being singled out by the cold one.

“Hey now, friend!” the fellow persisted. “I only meant to take your side, offer my friendship. The names Howke.” He offered his gloved hand to Jaq who took it and gave a begrudging smile in return, which was probably missed by Howke because of how little of Jaq’s face was visible through his many layers of protection against the harsh weather.

“What brings you here, Howke?” he asked.

"Why must I write?" Wokmuh asked.
"Do you have to write?" Iokbirg asked.
"Yes! I do have to write?" Wokmuh responded stubbornly.
"Then you answer the question," Iokbirg laughed. He turned the question back on her. "Why must you write?" he asked.
"Because I come alive when I write!" Her eyes flashed with excitement. "I discover new worlds hidden inside me! and I discover things about myself!"
"What do you discover?"
"I discover grief I didn't know I was hiding. I discover strength that I forgot about. Sometimes I look deep within me and find something far outside of myself. I get caught up in the dialogues because I care more about how people interact then where they interact."
"Why don't you write an entire story about two people, and never once describe where they are or where they're going? For all we know, maybe they're suspended in space. Or sitting underneath a table with coloring books spread out in front of them, with too many crayons."
"It sounds to me like you should describe things. And I should continue to have people talk and talk and talk. And then have someone else enter the pictures, just to create drama, and then have more people talking and talking and talking."
"Pass the crayons," Iokbirg said. "I will paint pictures with words. And you can weave relationships with your pen."
"I prefer typing," Wokmuh admitted.
"Bring forth characters with your little finger!" Iokbirg laughed.