Monthly Archives: July 2014

I love my kitten. I got her when she was four weeks old. Sometimes she falls asleep sitting up and it looks like she’s meditating and it’s adorable. She is adorable. Here is a picture of my kitten.

Do you like kittens?

When I was a child, I would often go to the grocery store with my mom. I remember her feeding me snacks to keep me busy. Sure, it was semi-distracting to munch on some crackers or pretzels or whatever, but nothing could fully prepare me from what was coming.

I sat in the giant metal grocery cart as we approached a stark white aisle. I closed my eyes, because I was afraid of what was going to happen next. All at once a gust of wind blew in my direction. I kept my eyes closed and I crossed my arms, holding my body to protect myself from sudden temperature drop. I wasn’t prepared for this. I was only wearing a short sleeved tee-shirt.

My teeth began to chatter and I was certain that if I opened my eyes, I would be surrounded by snow. The cold intensified and I had no choice but to put my arms inside of my shirt to preserve body heat. If I open my eyes, I’m sure there will be a penguin standing in front of me. I must be on an ice cap. I thought.

With my eyes still closed I felt around for a box of graham crackers and some bread to hide under to preserve my body heat. They helped a little, but not much.

Were we still in the grocery store?

There’s an igloo here, I just know it.

The cart stopped moving and my body shook with fear and cold.

Then, abruptly, there was another gust of wind. I heard a door shutting and it stopped. There was no more cold. I opened my eyes and I saw this:

I knew it was over.

“Can we get Oreos mom?” I asked

“Sure, honey.” She responded.

I have lived with the memory of this childhood trauma for too long. It’s time to speak about what I experienced. I know there are others out there who can testify to having a similar experience. I am not alone. We are never alone.

It seems like it was only yesterday. I was sitting on the carpet of my room, as a seven-year-old with a friend of mine. We knew something terrible was about to happen but we felt powerless to stop it. The clock continued to tick loudly, one second at a time.

All at once, it happened.

We couldn’t stop it.

There was…an explosion.

Shapes and colors everywhere in our faces. My heart jumped out of my chest. My friend and I both screamed in unison as a pentagon attacked my eyeball and a triangle hit her in the nostril. It was awful. Yet, we couldn’t do a thing to stop the madness.

There were half moons, circles and stars. As I watched the stars (in particular) fly through the air toward my mouth threatening to knock my teeth out (I was certain) I shook in terror.

The game called itself “Perfection” but it was clearly not meant for children. This game should have been used in a police interrogation room to get a witness to crack under pressure. This is not a game, it is a torture device.

“Perfection” claims to teach children shapes, however it also manages to brainwash kids to believe that if they put the diamond in the wrong spot in 60 seconds, something terrible will happen to them. The shapes are actually an army getting ready to attack them by exploding like grenades.

Shapes are supposed to be non-threatening boring objects. Yet this game manages to make a circle into a menacing enemy.

Please, I beg of you, do not purchase this game for your children.

I am still working out my trauma from this “game” in therapy. Until then, I can’t look at a pentagon the same way.

There are some things I can’t write about in my life. So instead of talking about my life, I am going to put my energy, my feelings of being lost and my various emotions that I can’t talk about here into a novel.

I came to this decision in therapy today. I’ve been thinking and talking about mental health so much that I forgot first and foremost that I am a writer.

What I want to do is tell stories. I am going to pour my guts and soul into this novel.

That’s the wonderful thing about writing fiction: freedom. I can say whatever I want because these are my characters and they are real to me. They are like actors in a play or better yet puppets that I can tell what to say.

Writing is freeing.

I want to be free.

I have been trapped inside myself.

Finally my voice will be heard.

I am excited to start.

I’m at a crossroads. I have been primarily staying home with my children for six years. During that time, I have been a substitute teacher and have been freelance writing.

I am now returning to the workplace full time, and it’s terrifying.

First of all, I don’t have any “work clothes.”

The thing about working is that your clothes vary depending upon what kind of job you’re doing. If I end up working in an office I have to buy fancier clothes than if I’m teaching Pre-K, for example.

One thing that I love about job hunting is interviews. I know some people hate them, but to me they’re so much fun. They feel like an acting audition. I get to convince the interviewer why I’m awesome.

Another thing that occurred to me is that I have to remember how to talk to adults. I’ve been interacting with children for so long that I’ve actually forgotten how to speak to adults.

One bad thing about adults is that you can’t bribe adults to do something for you at work. One good thing about adults is that you don’t have to remind them to keep their pants on.

I’m having trouble remembering the things I have to do while I’m job hunting, so I’ve decided to create a list:

List of things to do when job hunting:

1. Buy clothes that adults wear

2. Practice talking to people that are above the age of six

3. Stop making poop jokes and laughing hysterically.

4. Send out resumes and follow up emails.

I think that sums it up.

There were two knights: a red one and a blue one. They were engaged in a battle. The two enemies locked eyes. Their swords were up. Their metal armor was on from head to toe. Neither one of them was budging. They were each afraid to move. Neither one of the warriors wanted to put their swords down. So they stood there, knees slightly bent staring at one another.

Neither one of them had eaten in hours. The red knight had some stale bread in his free hand. The hand that wasn’t grasping the sword.

The red knight was afraid to move. If he moved even an inch it might cost him his life. But something inside him told him to open his hand. So he listened to that voice. He opened his left hand (all the while keeping his sword firmly in his right hand) and revealed a hunk of old bread.

The blue knight questioned this move. The two were starving. They stared at one another for a moment and then, without speaking, both men slowly put their swords down.

Without a word, the red knight extended his left hand, which held the stale bread. The blue knight trembled as he reached out and grabbed a piece of the bread and put it into his mouth. Slowly a smile crept onto the lips of the red knight as he watched the blue knight accept his peace offering.

The red knight broke off a piece of the bread he shared, and began to eat as well. The two men stared at one another, sharing the same bite of stale bread, not knowing what to do next.

I spent all afternoon learning this and I think it’s paid off.

Happy llama, sad llama
Totally rad llama
Super llama, drama llama
Big fat mama llama
Camel.
Bad camel!
Happy camel, sad camel
Totally rad camel
Super camel
Drama camel
Big fat mama camel.
Moose
Fish
Turtle.

Today is Independence Day, or as I like to call it “in your face England” day! But I’d like to talk about what it means to feel independent.

When I was 16 years old I was terrified of becoming an adult. To me, being an adult meant that you were completely “independent.” You didn’t rely on anyone for anything and you were responsible for yourself in every single way. When I thought about becoming a grownup in this black and white way, I started to panic.

How can I do that? How will I take care of myself. I’ll be all alone. I’m not strong enough to take care of me.

At this thought my heart began to race and I was terrified to get any older than 18. Unfortunately, there isn’t a way to freeze time, so I had no choice but to grow up, even though I dreaded it.

Now that I’m 34 years old (and no longer a scared teenager) I have a different view of what being independent means.

It doesn’t mean you’re all alone. In fact, to be truly independent, you accept the help of others, because you know who you are and what you are capable of.

Being independent means my feet are on the ground.

Being independent means that I know who I am.

Being an independent person means that I can ask for help from my friends when I need it.

Being independent means that I am responsible for the care of my two beautiful children.

Being independent means that I am responsible for my own decisions.

Being independent means that I have the ability to stick up for myself.

Being independent means that I can care for myself.

Being independent means that I honor my feelings.

Being independent means that I am a human being and I make mistakes and that’s okay!

Being independent means something unique to every person.

Happy Independence Day to everyone! What does being independent mean to you?

I feel empty but I’m actually a tea kettle full of boiling water. The lid is ready to whistle, but the water stays just under the surface threatening to rise. My eyes glaze over. I am stuck in this purgatory between almost expressing a genuine emotion and just sitting there.

I am naked.

Exposed.

They can see what I’m feeling, even though I haven’t felt it yet.

I want the water to whistle. I want to be able to speak, but the words are trapped inside of me.

So I wait…

I want to cry.

I want to scream.

But I cannot.

They might see.

So I just sit and wait for it to boil. And then I will be free again.

Free to say what I want.

Free to write what I want.

Free to be myself.

I cannot be true to myself when I am under a giant microscope.

Being observed like a human experiment.

One day…

I will be able to speak my truth again without being censored.

One day…

The words will flow out of me like a waterfall. They will gush and flow so much that I will barely be able to keep up with them. But for now, I sit and I wait longingly for that day when I can again be me.