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Dazed and confused. Like worms after a rainstorm. Are they trying to escape or moving towards their dream? Trying to survive against the shoes, all those shoes. And who knows what they think. Who knows what they feel. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? When I look into his eyes I search endlessly for my reflection, but the emptiness is haunting. The silence suffocates my heart. But I keep crawling. I try desperately to find the truth and at the same time avoid the shoes. I wonder where are all the worms going? What am I to do?
I thought I knew my best friend, but yesterday a skeleton from her closet approached me on the street and during our conversation it became apparent that he had escaped from her closet and was looking to spread the secret that he possessed. Now the skeleton was very friendly and very oblivious to the fact that I had absolutely no idea what had transpired. He tossed the words around casually like a Frisbee in the park, not realizing the sting each syllable released. Not sure what is worse, feeling untrustworthy or talking to a skeleton. She can’t know I know.
A new day and a new hope awakens. You should see them. Perfect little angels not yet jaded by harsh realities. I will do everything in my power to protect them from the cold. Holding them it was as though every ounce of fear was gone and the “to be” no longer mattered. It is what is happening right now, at this very moment. And at this very moment I am in awe of creation. That something could be so pure and joyous. Miracles are happening every day. They are there all around us. Today I saw two of them.
My phone was ringing. Pitch black, except for the bright red numbers on the clock. 3:15 am. I reach around lost in the dark and answer it on the fourth ring. It is him. My insides melt and my heart pulses. I was just dreaming about you. Missed you tonight. When I turned around to share a funny with you, you weren’t there. Wish you could have come with us. Next time definitely. Even when you aren’t there I am thinking about you, you know that right? I didn’t, so I sigh. And then I wake up. I was dreaming.
Tears are soft and warm, but they are never ending and I find no comfort in them. We went through this last time. This happens with creatures of habit. We fall back into the same patterns, the same routines and the same self-destructive thoughts. Even when it looks like the road signs are different, the pavement beneath our feet is always the same. And all roads lead to grief, bitterness and keep us lost in the wilderness. I don’t know how to fix it because even when it seems like I have, I haven’t. The only given is the tears.
Mint chocolate chip ice cream. New sneakers. Roller skates. Cheesecake. Hotdogs. French fries. Definitely French fries. That smell after a warm rain. Dancing. Hop scotch. The Aquarium. Spelling bees. Photos. The Bumper cars. An A. A phone call from a long lost friend. The winning lottery ticket. Marshmallows. Family. Lincoln Logs and Tinker Toys. Grandma’s swing. Acorns. Coloring books. Sea urchins. Froggie. Movie tickets. My car. Sleeping bags. Mail. Being right. Snow. Pajamas. Wheel of Fortune. The Red Sox. Laughing. Pillows. Chinese food. Country music. Dictionaries. A bargain. Fresh flowers. The funnies. The Beachwagon. Sprinklers. A hole in one. Priceless.
I’m not a basketball fan, but it bothers me that tickets to the NBA finals are starting at $1000. I dislike New Jersey so much it would take more than 100 words to express my distaste. I am not sure why anyone would pay to see them, but there are poor souls out there that want to. Isn’t it the average fan, the ten year old boy and his father, who should be sitting on the sidelines? Instead we see hairy Brad Pit and the Joker. We should be concerned the entertainment industry and professional sports are such good friends.
The dryer lint vent: One of my worst enemies. It pretends to be doing me a favor by catching lint and keeping my clothes dust free. But everytime it needs to be changed, the fuzzies and dust particles spring up and attack me. My mother used to yell at me because I would always forget to empty it and she thought it would eventually catch fire. Now I share a dyer with my apartment building and it annoys me to no end when others do not empty it or even worse, they leave the lint remains all over the floor.
Another year gone by and he is still trying to spin straw into gold. When is he going to realize he is not in love with her.Yesterday we were talking and it occurred to me that we had already had the same conversation at least three times. He is holding on to her for convenience. Convenience. She is damaged goods, coverage with handle with care stickers. And on some level he is completely selfish. If someone out there knew that I was just a convenience, it would be nice to know so I could move on. Please tell her.
I’m sorry I cried.I was drunk. I was very drunk. I was scary drunk. Usually, I do not get that way. I think I imagined things happening that did not happen. Regardless, it wasn't even what you said that made me cry. I can't explain what it was and even if I could it would not make any sense anyway. Drunk girls often cry about stupid things. I forgot what you told me anyway so it does not matter. (ok not true) but I am going to pretend it doesn’t. Sometimes we think wounds have healed, but they have not.
The journal sits there on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. She had given it me for my birthday. My eyes glance over the inscription. I’m such a flake. Best of Intentions. Sorry it is late. And after her meaningless apology, a promise we would be sisters forever. She imagined where we would be five years down the road. Following our dreams and always staying true friends. She had know way of knowing she would later betray me to the point where forgiveness was impossible. The only proof of her existence is that dusty journal. My memories have been erased.
The thunder roars in anger and the house shakes in its fury. The rain pours down pummeling the windows and proving strength lies in spirit and not in size. The flowers drink up the fury and harness it into their own energy. The river flows quicker as it rises up onto the banks. There is an indescribable feeling that overtakes me and flows through my veins. The power, the anger is hulk like and I am loosing control. The rain sweeps me downstream and the wind teams up against me making the battle twice as hard. The storm has begun.
I thought my expectations were completely reasonable. Respect. Laughter. Some level of appreciation. But apparently, I am an overachiever and that is just too much to ask. The thing is, these standards are not high and if that is in fact asking too much, then I am going to have to lower myself to a level of mediocre. And I am sorry, but I am a hell of a lot better than mediocre. So something has to give. And since I refuse to settle, it looks like I am going to have a help wanted sign in my window forever.
The truth is, I don’t feel like writing anything today. I just want to lock myself in my room and listen to the rain. It seems like it has rained everyday for a week straight. Maybe that is why my spirits are so dampened. Everything seems like such a struggle right now, especially work. It is a constant battle between being thankful for having a job and fighting the misery that comes with the paycheck. Every last dollar I certainly earned. Life should be about living, not working. It is getting harder to maintain a balance and it completely sucks.
It was just another girl’s night out. The same smoke filled bar. The same cheesy music. The same townies looking for a beautiful intoxicated co-ed. It was not supposed to be a magical evening. On some level, I did not immediately recognize the significance of our encounter. My broken heart was not yet ready to move on, but your energy was medicinal. And our ever growing friendship has given me new perspective and faith. You carry a trail of surprises behind you and can always give the gift of laughter. It was just another night, but I fell in love.
Up the twisted spiral staircase, I made my way. Wrapping around and around and around. It was a narrow passage causing both my arms to rub up against the walls with each step. But I knew the journey would be worth it. At the top of the tower was an even narrower passageway with a window large enough for one ray of sunshine to break through. The passageway led to yet another staircase, only this one going down. And then back up again. The process went on through three towers and then it occurred to me: The castle was unfinished.
I’m sitting here contemplating my future and trying to decide on a career. I have no tangible experience in one particular industry and therefore find myself at a serious loss when all the advertisements I see require two years of experience. Taking inventory of my skills, I find myself with over twenty years experience of being a dreamer. An overactive imagination doesn’t land you much in this economy. There isn’t a pressing need for hopeless romantics like there used to be. So all this energy is put to waste. The only chance I have is to imagine myself a career.
My older brother recently surprised his wife with a garden swing. When I saw it, it immediately reminded me of when we were kids and went to visit my grandparents. They had this old metal swing with the tackiest floral pattern vinyl cushion. The swing was big enough for two, but my brother always insisted there was not enough room for me when he was on it. That would start our fighting. We both loved that swing though. I wonder if he remembers those times and if his swing will give his kids the same happy memories. I hope so.
Ms. Pacman scrambles to collect each pellet, storing them away for strength and courage. But the ghosts remain hot on her trail, tormenting her, scaring her into an abyss of fear. In a moment of weakness they attack her from both sides. A hopeless situation, but somehow she escapes. Only moments later she is in the same situation. This time there is no way out .It was not supposed to end this way, but I can’t say I did not sit there and watch it happen. It does not make it easier. He is going to end it. Game over?
I want to scream from the top of my lungs that I am worth it. I am worth any trouble he thinks I might be because in the end the returns are so great. Relationships take work. They are like plants. They need water, sunlight and love. You don’t just buy one and leave it there to grow thirsty and die. I want to work together with him to create something where we take comfort in one another and grow together. I have so much love to give. I wish he would look inside his heart and see me there.
The loss is completely overwhelming. I don’t know what to say because all I have right now is sadness. My broken heart aches to no end. It is a loss I don’t want to face. I am trying to be strong, but the reality is that I want to fight for him because I know that this thing between us is real. What he thinks I deserve, I know he is capable of giving to me. Now there are so many laughs that will never happen and love with no place to go. He is alive and yet a ghost.
It’s Saturday and I find my mind wandering down roads that seem to never end. I could sit here and bake in the sun for days and be happy. I am thinking I need to find a hobby. Preferably something I can do outdoors. I don’t leave near the woods or maybe I would consider a nice pine cone collection or bird watching. Somehow those don’t seem very thrilling though. What do you do for fun? Pinecones. Yeah, I will have to work on that. The problem is I don’t know how to relax. Maybe the answer will come tomorrow.
A full moon seems to send me spiraling into odd moods. Usually happy odd, but the past few days have been so exhausting that there isn’t really any happy left in me to surface. Instead, it is mostly just sleepiness that has overcome me. It is hard to resist the temptation of snuggling up in my super soft blanket and resting my weary head on my pillow. It makes it easy to forget that every aspect of my life seems to be in complete chaos right now. I’m starting to accept that there are so many things we cannot control.
I know. I fell behind this week. But it isn’t my fault. It is the stupid medicine. It is making me nauseous. I have to eat to take it, but then I just feel like throwing up. All of my energy is focused on keeping food down. And it isn’t just that. I feel like crap all around. What a bad week. Nothing seems to be getting any better. Maybe it is even getting worse. I am like a ball of yarn that has been pushed down the stairs and am unraveling at great speeds. It just is not pretty.
She was sitting there in her stroller crying and tugging at her dress like she desperately needed to escape. I sat there and watched as she got more and more upset at what seemed like nothing. Something inside clicked and I realized that she must have felt confined, locked down and unable to roam along the boardwalk freely. That is all she wanted was a little space, a little freedom. Her caregiver ignored her cries and continued pushing. I looked at the girl with sympathy. I understood the point she was trying to make and her need to be free.
For some reason I am nervous about my 100 words. This is the first time I have ever taken on a venture like this. I know this site means different things to different people, but I was reading some old stuff and it is was good. Even the retellings of daily adventures seemed to draw me in and I could relate. But I fear my writing and the episodes of my life won’t capture many. I did not mean for this to be my diary. If I am lucky, they will walk away thinking, why does she call herself LiteBrite.
I am waiting for a package that’s never going to arrive and I don’t want to believe it. Maybe he forgot or maybe it was never sent, but everyday the mailbox continues to collect dust and all I can do is place my key in the lock and pray that today there will be something in it. I think I may have mentioned this before, but this completely sucks. Tonight sucked and continues to suck as I sit here. Jay says bad things happen in threes. I have paid my dues then. The three things this week hurt like hell.
The tables turned and last night she called me crying. Last week she had been my pillar of strength, but tonight she needed me to be strong. I thought I had it bad and I still think I do, but her misery is more permanent. It involves lying and a secret completely irreversible. He pretended it was not his, but it is. Suddenly, whatever seemed real becomes nothing more than a cruel joke. So now I carry my own misery and hers too, because she deserves so much better. My professor once said, rejection is God’s way of protecting you.
I miss him. If that makes me weak then fine, I am. It’s impossible to forget the way he would smell my hair or the silly nicknames he called me. I miss sleeping over and freezing my ass off because the windows were open all night. But he always warmed me up in the morning. It is not one thing, but the whole package. The butterflies every time I saw him. I miss the butterflies. I wish I could say these things do not matter, but they do. The more I try to forget, the more I want to remember.
This is it, the end of the month and the end of my 100 words challenge. What a month this has been. It started on the highest note and then progressively fell into the emotional trauma it was become. I say that with the most positive tone possible. I am not sure what is going to happen. Strive to be happy. And I do. We have to believe that there is a master plan and somehow things will work out just as they should. It is time for me to change the background and start over. Until we meet again.
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