The Last Day

It's the end of November, and the end of NaNoWriMo.

I'm not exactly finished, as far as the contest is concerned, but as far as the novel is concerned, I am, in fact, done.

(giggling)

I wrote a novel! It's almost as fulfilling, and thrilling, and a million other bright and shiny words as lovely as giving birth, yet of course, no where close. Just in the sense that it makes me feel whole. It gives me hope.

I'm finished.

Novel number two for me, though with the first one, I had to go back a month or two later and tack on the ending. This one, though, smoothed itself right into that final chapter. Going gently into the writerly good night one hour ago.

I feel so giddy and alive now! As cheesy as that sounds. It's true. And I don't allow myself to feel such things very often. I'll blush over this later. I'm getting very shy in my old blogging age. I just don't know when to be quiet. I've been extremely quiet here lately for the sake of this contest. I'm sorry for basically being dead. For not being a good friend. It did result in a novel, though, so I guess that's understandable.

I just worry too much. And not today. I'm going to let myself be happy today. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my hands hurt from typing, my heart and head from writing, but it's worth it. Despite the isolation, the loneliness, and having no time to play.

Today is supposed to be stormy. Ice, snow, and rain. Even a possible tornado. And watch it come barreling through here and eat my shoebox, along with my computer. I better put that novel on a disk and strap it to my side. I can't believe it's finished! I feared this year would be a wash, as far as my writing was concerned. I wasted most the summer, thinking I would write a novel, but could never get past the first few chapters on either attempt. I came back, and thought I'd get all caught up with everyone, but then an unexpected creative rush found me, and I wrote that short story I hope to get published. And now this novel. It's all falling into place. I'm ecstatic!!

I of course breathe a sigh of Ash, settle down, it probably won't happen for you, and you'll only get your hopes up, but still: it's nice to revel in my optimism. As rare as it is.

Off to win this contest...

I hope everyone is well. :)

I Come in Peace

Thank God Thanksgiving is officially over. I survived. I hope you did too. Baby Girl is also fine. Sleeping as sound as most two year olds do.

Tis Friday night, a few minutes past eleven, and I'm here in my pajamas, fixed hair and full make-up. I didn't take a shower after coming home from the Others. We went down to the uncle's for a (day after) Thanksgiving dinner. She was good, I suppose. I was not so good. I opened my big mouth and offended the hostess, Baby Girl's aunt.

We were all in the kitchen, empty plates in hand, food upon the island and countertop. There were big metal trays full of meat, and I don't particularly like meat. I rarely eat it, and hardly ever cook it, save for grilled chicken or fish. I asked someone, What is all this? pointing to the trays. Whoever said, That's turkey, that's pork, that's deer, and that's dove wrapped in bacon.

I said (in reference to the dove), Wow, that seems sinful.

[Crickets chirping] Complete silence. Then someone asked, What did she say??

I repeated myself. I said that seems sinful.

Someone forced a laugh, as if I was joking, though I did say it in a joking manner. I meant no harm. Nor to preach. I merely thought it a bit much. I mean, doves are beautiful birds. They're religiously symbolic. Noah let loose the dove from the ark. Tis a symbol of hope, and new life. They’re usually released at weddings, not shot, dowsed in barbeque sauce, tossed on the grill and wrapped in dead pig.

That's sad, and disturbing, and aren't there enough animals to eat already? Domesticated animals we raise for this type of thing. Do we really need to go out into the beautiful woods and shoot beautiful white birds??

I suppose for Easter, we should deep fry blue jays. Mince up a couple of cardinals and robins for a Christmas Day feast. Have hummingbirds on crackers for a midnight snack.

I took a piece of pork just to be polite, and gave Baby Girl some turkey. We walked into the dinning room, and the hostess sat at the bar. Whispered something to the uncle about not wanting to sit in the same room...

Am I that dislikable??

I realize the vast majority of my fellow southerners live to hunt. They’re proud of their prey, and their cooking. They think I'm strange. A skinny little snob that sits on the couch and says nothing to no one cause she doesn't know what to say. They all talk about what a shame it is for the Razorbacks to lose, and I don't give a damn. They swig their beers, and get loud, and laugh over corny jokes. Talk about movies you couldn’t pay me to watch. Gossip. I stare off into space and think about my novel. My friends. My internet life. How I need to do this, and want to do that. And how I shouldn't have made that wayward comment about the dove, and should I just apologize?

Baby Girl played with the closer of the others, while the hostess stayed as far away from me as possible. Sitting in the kitchen with a bunch of her friends. Smoking, drinking. All set for a night of riding four-wheelers. And here I am, hated and ignored, back at home, with Baby Girl bathed and in bed. Me, in a desperate attempt to actually win NaNoWriMo, all set to stay up all night, and write till my little heart's content, dowsed in prose, wrapped in blog entries, and thrown upon the hot coals of those I miss.

Poetry Thursday: Blue Monday

This week's prompt was to attend a poetry reading. I can't, nor won't, do that. Instead, I wrote the following this past Monday, after taking a walk at sunrise to cure my writer’s block.

Poor Man's Snow

I went walking through the frost
To pretend that it was snow
Crunching sounds of white powder
Dust
On frozen grass that doesn’t know

It’s not snow
I said, but smiled
For the earth is just as cold

Whether frost is sleeping on the ground
Or whether it is snow.

I know why the baked bird sings

Thanksgiving morning, four AM, and here I sit by an open window. Yes, I'm cold, wrapped in a navy blue sheet, but it's nice to be affected by something. To be able to breathe the cold air of reality versus the synthetic air of the heater. All stuffy as it fills my tiny office. No thank you. I'd rather sit here shivering.

I have a long day ahead of me. Long days behind me. Busy and quiet, but I wanted to come home for the holiday and say hello; stick my head out like a little groundhog who sees her shadow. I get scared. Just one more week of NaNoWriMo. I hope you'll come and see my final word count next Thursday. I'm going to lose, but that's all right. If nothing else, it will affect me.

Off to write. Then it's off to get ready. Pack Baby Girl a bag of toys and snacks and drinks for the long day's road ahead. We're going up north to see my grandparents, her great grandparents, though we have to ride with my Mom on the way up there, and my sister on the way back. I dread it. I wish we could just stay home and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I live for those things.

The best part of Thanksgiving (not including the parade) is filling both our tummies with lots of dressing, not stuffing. Down here, we don't stuff our turkeys. We bake the bird and the "stuffing" separate, therefore, it's not stuffing at all, but dressing. I love it! Wish I could eat a whole plate of it while watching the parade, then snuggle up with Baby Girl, our full tummies. Finding out she was inside me three years ago today. Celebrate the fact that we're both here; thankful for each other, and all that we have; that Mommy quit smoking. Yay for me and the last three years of being smoke free!

So yes, dressing, and two great anniversaries. I hate that we’ll miss the parade, and the potential for naps, though I may sneak one in once we’re home. To stay up all night and morning, over and over, trying so damn hard to win that NaNoWriMo! A contest that is ruining my sleep, my health, my social life. I want it though. I WANT to win. I'm lonely as hell, and sad and depressed, and a million other bad things, but it's pulling a novel out of my heart and head like a dentist pulls a tooth from your mouth.

I hope everyone I know, and everyone here, and everyone everywhere has the most wonderful, lovely, warm and safe holiday! I wish I could make the rounds and tell everyone, Happy Thanksgiving! in a more one-on-one greeting card type way but I do have that novel, and the long day and road ahead. I miss my friends, though, and will be thinking of them. I am thankful for them. I hope they know my selfishness is only for the sake of writing. Limited time. I hope to leave this cold office laughing, for the happiness of being closer to winning that contest and the pride I long for. Should I lose, I'm still grateful for the words I've got so far. For being here long enough to write anything at all.

Because I Don't Want to Write a Novel...

Yay! Guess who's potty-trained!!

Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd fill in the blanks a bit; catch up on blogging, and generally procrastinate.

You know me.

{ Red }
1. Closest red thing to you? Picture on the wall I drew in red pencil.
2. Has anyone ever cheated on you in a relationship? Yes.
3. Last thing to make you angry? Being treated like a child.
4. Are you a fan of romance? Yes.
5. Have you ever been in love? One too many times.
6. Do you have a temper? Yes.

{ GREEN }
1. Closest green thing to you? My coffee mug.
2. Do you care about the environment? Yes.
3. Are you jealous of anyone right now? Everyone who's going to win NaNoWriMo. Everyone who has more words than me. All the writers who are published. The millions who are better at writing. People who are asleep.
4. Are you a lucky person? Not at all.
5. Do you always want what you can't have? I want what I don't have.
6. Are you Irish? One third, plus French and Scottish.

{ PURPLE }
1. Last purple thing you saw? The font on Jemima's page, from whence I stole this.
2. Like being treated to expensive things? No. Gifts make me feel guilty.
3. Do you like mysterious things? I like simple things. Honest things.
4. Favorite type of chocolate? Dark and cheap.
5. Ever met any royalty? Of course not.
6. Are you creative? Obviously.
7. Are you lonely? I'm desolate.

{ BLUE }
1. Closest blue thing to you? My coffee mug. Tis green and blue striped.
2. Are you good at calming people down? Just Baby Girl.
3. Do you like the ocean? I love the ocean.
4. What was the last thing that made you cry? The fear of my mom finding my blogs, now that she knows how.
5. Are you a logical thinker? Unfortunately.
6. Can you sleep easily? Not at all.
7. Do you prefer the beach or the woods? The beach, but I live in the woods.

{ YELLOW }
1. Closest yellow thing to you? The stars and moon in Van Gogh's The Starry Night.
2. The happiest time(s) of your life? I'll let you know as soon as it happens.
3. Favorite holiday? Halloween.
4. Are you a coward? Yes.
5. Do you burn or tan? I usually tan.
6. Do you want children? I've been sad lately, thinking I want another baby, but in the long run, I'm about ninety-nine percent sure I don't.
7. What makes you happy? The happiness of others.

{ PINK }
1. Closest pink thing to you? The tights I'm wearing.
2. Do you like sweet things? Yes.
3. Like play-fighting? No.
4. Are you sensitive? Yes.
5. Do you like punk music? Yes.
6. What is your favorite flower? Daffodils.
7. Does someone have a crush on you? No.

{ ORANGE }
1. Closest orange thing to you? A copy of Huck Finn.
2. Do you like to burn things? I used to.
3. Dress up for Halloween? I was going to, but fell asleep.
4. Are you usually a warm-hearted person? Towards others, when I'm not distracted by my writing, or my own sadness.
5. Do you prefer the single life or the security of a relationship? There’s good and bad in all of it. You're pretty much screwed either way.
6. What would your super power be? To touch people and make them happy. I'd fly all over the world, just touching everyone.

{ WHITE }
1. Closest white thing to you? My bra and socks.
2. Would you say you're innocent? No. I'm drenched in sin.
3. Always try to keep the peace? I try, but fail.
4. How do you imagine your wedding? Me in a Cinderella dress with flowers in my hair, a dark green ribbon around the waist, barefoot. Outside. On a beach or on a grassy hill near a little white church. A gorgeous, kind, brilliant, funny, and thoughtful, understanding man with a good job and great smile, watching me walk down the make-believe aisle, thinking, I love this girl more than anything, and will never be mean to her. Never yell at her. Never cheat on her. Or hurt her in any way. I'll treat her like a princess, and read her writing, and play with her child till the end of my days.
5. Do you like to play in the snow? I love it.
6. Are you afraid of going to the doctors or dentist? Yes.

{ BLACK }
1. Closest black thing to you? My desktop.
2. Ever enjoy hurting people? Never.
3. Are you sophisticated or silly? Mostly silly.
4. Do you have a lot of secrets? Everyone does.
5. What is(are) your favorite color(s)? Green and blue.
6. Does the color you wear affect your mood? Wearing the bright pink tights with a gold silk nightgown, I feel like the most horrible, hideous, and heartless person in the whole wide world. So no. I should probably be wearing all black.

Poetry Thursday: Liar, Liar, Tights on Fire

Tis actually Sunday, November 19th. I missed Poetry Thursday due to noveling, isolation, and depression in general.

The prompt o' the week was to lie through poetry. Pick a few objects, and tell anything but the truth.

I wrote this a few days ago by hand:

Ten

Boys don't cry
Pictures never lie
God is dead
Death is the end
Life is what you make it
Birth is painless
Writing can be taught
Blogging doesn't hurt
Love is all you need
Sex can be meaningless

Okay, so it's not an actual poem, just a list. I’m busy writing. Tired. Lonely.

I feel invisible. Posting in a mere attempt to keep my foot in the door, lest it slam shut, and lock me out in the cold.

I’m so sorry I can’t be better to you.

I’m worn out, and hardly good to myself.

My heart hurts so bad for the lack of something. For the fear of a drunken December. An unfinished novel. A lost contest. Getting lost in the process.

I feel so out of balance. Overworked. Overwriting.

Selfish and guilty for all the promises I mean with all my heart, but never keep. An accidental liar.

It’s just so quiet.

I hope all is well in your life.

Mine’s a mess...

Since we're being honest. ;)

What Can't Be Seen

You know it's a bad sign when you wake up sweating at three-thirty in the morning, mid-November, and run to the living room, turn on the TV, see if the Tornados have died down, stayed West. If we're still safe and sound here in the shoebox. If running the air conditioner is wise, when it's supposed to be a windy fifty degrees after sunrise. I stood there naked in the middle of the room, trying to decide: air or no air. I heard Baby Girl crying, either from the flashing light, or the heat.

I wandered back to the bedroom. Locked the door behind me. Looked at the sheets all thrown about, wanting so much to return to that little space I had created beneath the blankets. Comforting, considering the nightmare I dreamt before waking.

All my friends, mostly of the high school or online variety, were standing about, talking.

Ah yes, I remember Ashley. Car crash, right?

They walked away and left me there, though I wasn't there. I tried to call out, but couldn’t. I kept thinking, over and over, It wasn't just a car crash. I was sleepy...

And then I saw from far above a wet road with no yellow line, trees on both sides, and a green jeep coming straight for me. Hitting me head-on.

I said to another person I couldn't see, but knew was there, I don't like this. I want to change it.

They said, Too bad. You can't change it.

I saw my own grave, and woke up.

I got dressed and made coffee. Came into the office. Sat down and decided, I want to go back to the internet today. Despite not feeling well. Though it's not the same bout of sickness I had when I left. That was no sickness at all. Twas an accidental overdose.

Gives you fever, your body trying its best to reject all that medicine. I felt better, though, as the day progressed. Baby Girl and I watched hours upon hours of SpongeBob. By the time the actual movie came on, we were both so tired of that damn gay Sponge, I happily switched it to Bridget Jones Diary, as she "read" books by my side.

As planned, I spent the weekend offline. Worked on the novel and my word-count. Tis healthy now, though still way behind.

Current Wordcount: 11, 051.
Number of Significant Characters: Seven.
Number of Chapters: Seven.
Number of Deaths: Still too many. (World War III will do that)
Number of Possible Love Interest: Three. (I'm living vicariously...)

They JUST issued a Tornado Warning for one county over, where my sister lives in College Town. I was just there last night.

I took yesterday off. Left Baby Girl here with a sitter, and drove North to a government building. Downtown in a dangerous city. Me in my knee high leather boots with three inch heels. Short skirt. Low top. I rethought the whole outfit as I made the long walk from my car parked in the very back, up to the front entrance where scary looking men drove past. Though I was comforted by the fact that a well-dressed man was behind me. Cute. Mid-thirties.

I lost sight of him once inside. Handed over my purse. Walked through a metal detector for the first time in my life. Looked for the stairwell, but couldn't find it. Went to the elevator, and who do you think was waiting inside?

Cute mid-thirties Man.

Him on one side and me on the other, leaning against the wall, hardly breathing.

I hate elevators, I said.

He smiled, and asked, Are you claustrophobic, or is it the elevator itself?

I told him it was the elevator, and he assured me we were safe.

I used to climb the cables, he said. I checked 'em for a living.

I guess I looked surprised, or relieved, as I nodded and said, Wow, really? and we both smiled and blushed. The cables held.

No goodbye.

I got off on the second floor, and he went onto three.

As I left the government building, I saw his blue car parked across from mine, and thought of leaving a note on his windshield. "Thanks for riding with me," along with my phone number. I thought about it, but didn't. And thought of him all day.

I went shopping. Tried to find my sister a late birthday present. Bought a coat for Baby Girl. A few movies for myself at the video place where VHS tapes are no longer wanted on their shelves and marked down to five for ten dollars.

I drove South to my sister's, and apologized for the lack of a present. She said she didn't care; she was just happy to see me. Her husband was out with Adams, his best friend and a man I was quite smitten with. Gorgeous. Mid-twenties. He's the reason I didn't see Sufjan in concert. Being the terrible driver I am, no one would agree to keep Baby Girl while I ran off to Nashville for an overnight vacation, unless of course, someone else would take me. I fought against it. I'm an adult! I can drive. But you'd be surprised how quick those sitters gang up when they know I want to go to a big city out of state.

My sister, knowing Adams also loves Sufjan, asked him if he would just take me. Though the thought of a long car-ride, concert, and shared hotel room with a sure thing like me literally didn't interest him. Perhaps it's because he was heartbroken earlier in the year when his live-in girlfriend went back to her ex-husband and took Adam's own Baby Girl with her. That, or he just doesn’t like me.

Where do Novelist go when they die?

Back to bed, tis where I'm going. I came in this morning thinking I'd blog, write thousands upon thousands of much needed words for my novel. Read. Send emails. Hopefully mend a few broken fences. Be a good friend in general. But now that I'm here, my head is aching, my mouth hurts, and I think I may have fever.

Baby Girl should be up in a few hours. I'll take some medicine and work for a bit. Spend the remainder of the day watching the SpongeBob SquarePants Marathon. Cuddle up with her on the couch for the movie tonight.

This weekend, I think I better stay offline. Work on my novel. I've missed three whole days so far this month, not including today, and my wordcount proves it. Tis far from where it should be. Though I'm not quitting, nor am I worried. I know I can do it! I simply need to concentrate. That's hard, though, when I have so many other things I'd like to be doing, need to be doing, and feel sicker with each passing minute.

I'm going back to bed now. If you don't hear from me for a while, please send help.

Best of luck to my fellow novelists. To everyone with everything.

NaNoWriMo Q and A:

Current Wordcount? 7307
Number of Significant Characters? Five.
Number of Chapters? Four.
Number of Deaths? Way too many.
Number of Possible Love Interest? Hopefully just two.

Poetry Thursday: How I wish you were here

This week's prompt is to take a field trip. An artist’s day. A date with yourself, then to photograph something poetic. Draw a picture of it. Whatever melts your butter. Then write a poem. Blog it, without complaining of oral pain, how you haven't been online since Monday, and how the hell will you ever win NaNoWriMo when all you want to do is sleep, blog, and complain?

I take a field trip once a week. Unless I can't for some reason (like this week). Then I get cranky. I can't think straight. All work and no play make Ash a dull girl!

The only cure is a day at the lake.

Where the Fish Swim

I sit above them
and watch as they breathe
what chokes me
should I fall in
shining skin
of fins and scales
sunlight reflecting
golden
on each silver face

I wait
as the school grows larger
for the sunset
the heat of the water
soon to fade
bodies turning upright
floating to the surface
where the air is too thin
and the dead fish parade.

Social Engineering, and the proper use of limited time

I was reading the newspaper this morning, waiting for my coffee to jumpstart my mind, when I came across an interesting article, no, not the one about how it turns out there's not plenty of fish in the sea, or the one about how Doogie Howser, M.D. is gay (which is quite surprising, though. I had a big crush on him when I was young), but THIS article here: Euthanasia for Newborns, and the Doctors and medical types who support it.

Apparently, they believe that mercy killing isn't quite popular enough in the newborn society, concerning those who are born extremely sick or disabled.

Why on earth should parents be forced to take care of these less-than-perfect bundles of bane, when obviously the cost and upset would always outweigh the possible rewards one might reap from caring for a human being that was unfortunate in being born into this world where social engineering should not necessarily be more popular, yet merely discussed more actively and openly? So says the article, not me.

Though I do think it should be discussed, perhaps not on the subject of disabled and/or severely ill newborns, those sweet helpless babies who deserve a chance to live, and if they die at young ages, well, then that's nature and/or God's way, so why should we allow them to be killed just because it takes a lot of money and/or love to keep them here and healthy and happy as HUMANLY possible, but on the subject of all society in general.

The online society, for example. How 'bout a bit of social engineering around here?? What if someone were to come along to your blog and say, Hey, Ashley Brooke Chairiet (just tossing out a name for the greater good...tis only an example...cough, cough), you are far too sick in the heart and head, and emotionally disabled, why should you be allowed to live? Why should others have to put up with you? Why should your family be forced to love you? And why don't you just quit breathing altogether, and then maybe, just maybe, the society of Bloggers would all be better off. Perfect, even, without you living amongst them. Constantly saying that you're leaving anyway, and only writing about writing, yet never actually writing, and being a bad friend, etc. We have a whole list of grievances with you, Ash Chairiet, and perhaps you should just bow out now and give us permission to mercy kill you. Think of the blogosphere, won't you? One less selfish, sad-bastard jackass spoiling the whole bunch and giving bloggers, writers, HUMAN BEINGS a bad name.

We sentence you to euthanasia!

Unless you do your part...

As a blogger: I linked the article.

As a writer: I'll say, Euthanasia is a complete delight to type as well as to say. Such a lovely word! Euthanaaaaaasia...

As a mother: I'll share the fact that I actually considered having an abortion (obviously-while-pregnant with Baby Girl). I had just turned twenty years old, and wasn't in the most ideal place to be having a child, yet I could never go through with it. I don't believe abortion is murder, and think all women should have the option, and should I become pregnant again, who knows! But with Baby Girl, I knew she was a girl, and I wanted that girl. I wanted that little human being inside me, to live, and be born, and grow up...but I always felt guilty that I even considered it. I thought God might punish me by making her come out unhealthy, or deformed, mentally impaired, in some way shape or form disabled, sick. "Imperfect."

When she was born, the doctor said It's a girl!

She's perfect.

Healthy. One hundred percent.

Though if she wasn't; if she hadn't been, and they said, Aw no, Ash Chairiet, you've given birth to an imperfect baby, in some way, shape, or form, and we'd be more than happy to dispose of this for you...

I like to think I would have said, No way in hell. Give me my child or give ME death. But no one knows for sure until they're given such a child...and should they feel euthanasia right for them, then I suppose it would be right for them.

It should at least be more actively and openly discussed.

Sufjan, the Soup's On!

Despite being full of coffee, hot chocolate, multiple bottles of water, a glass of peppermint schnapps, and handful after fat compulsive handful of M&M's I keep here in a bowl on my desk, I shall now attempt going to bed.

I simply wanted to stop by one last time and share the fact that my future husband will be on TV tonight!

Austin City Limits. On PBS.

His concert will be aired along with Calexico, a wonderful band I'm also quite fond of.

Check here for your local PBS affiliate, listing, time, etc.

Also, new in the world of Sufjan is the most recent announcement of a five disk Christmas album. How delightful! I adore Christmas songs as is, but sung by Sufjan? Yes, yes.

I could eat him with a spoon. :)

Shouting your name

It's Friday night, and yes, I'm technically (though probably just temporarily) dead, but I'm real lonely right now. Getting good and coffeed up for a night of noveling. Going to try to fix the massive cliché I planted at the opening of the damn thing, and also, my wordcount: it's not exactly up to par.

I missed the first day. And the third.

(Sigh)

A bit of blogging, to warm up and ease my tired mind.
...

Have You Ever ~

1. Taken a picture completely naked? Not completely naked.
2. Danced in front of a mirror naked? Yes.
3. Told a lie? Yes.
4. Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? Almost always.
5. Been arrested? No.
6. Seen someone die? I think so.
7. Kissed a picture? Of course.
8. Slept in until 5pm? Yes.
9. Had sex at work (on the clock)? Not on the clock... ;) But yes. Had sex at the guy's work. On his desk.
10. Fallen asleep at work/school? Yes.
11. Held a snake? Yep. Wrapped a python around my neck.
12. Ran a red light? Yes.
13. Been suspended from school? No.
14. Pole danced? Yes.
15. Been fired from a job? No.
16. Sang karaoke? Yes! I kicked ass with Norah Jones's Don't Know Why.
17. Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Definitely.
18. Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Probably.
19. Laughed until you peed? No.
20. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Yes.
21. Kissed in the rain? Yes.
22. Had sex in the rain? No.
23. Sang in the shower? Nightly.
24. Gave your private parts a nickname? Yes.
25. Ever gone to school/work without underwear? Yes.
26. Sat on a roof top? Yes.
27. Played chicken? Yes.
28. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? No.
29. Broken a bone? Lots.
30. Flashed someone? Possibly.
31. Mooned someone? No.
32. Shaved your head? No.
33. Slept naked? Nightly.
34. Blacked out from drinking? Just once.
35. Played a prank on someone? Yes.
36. Had a gym membership? Not yet.
37. Felt like killing someone? Yes.
38. Cried over someone you were in love with? All the time.
39. Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? No.
40. Been in a band? Yes.
41. Shot a gun? Yes.
42. Shot a bow and arrow? Yes.
43. Played strip poker? No.
44. Donated Blood? No.
45. Ever jump out of an airplane? No.
46. Been to more than 10 countries? I haven't been to ten states! Never left the country...

Poetry Thursday: Reciting Lines on a Foggy Morning

A local pond, from my walk at sunrise

While dead, I can still write poetry...toss 'em like bottles filled with scrolls towards the wooden fence of home.

This week's prompt was/is My Favorite Line of Poetry. I am to reveal a line of poetry I love, whether written by me or someone better, and wrap my own poem around it.

The lines I most adore are by Robert Frost; the final stanza from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.

...

Mile Thick Fog

I walk into the fog of morning
wet grass
the sound of animals and birds
singing and chirping
crickets make violins of their legs

I walk into the fog of daylight
sun shining
casting its rays of gold and orange
to warm the wet grass
and the crickets that play

I walk into the fog of each new day
never knowing
if life will soon end
is this my final moment?
the birds circle overhead

I walk into the fog of evening
sun setting
animals make their bed of dry grass
the dirt where they live
till this day is dead

I walk into the fog of midnight
moon rising
shadows stretch across the land
I lose my way on this cold day
with miles to go before I rest