Oz was Lovely

Sunny Sunday, the day after the storms

It's Wednesday night/Thursday morning. I haven't been online in three whole days. Five since I last posted. Tornadoes, right? Well, thankfully that didn't quite happen. We had a few rough storms Saturday night. Wind, lightening, and extremely heavy rain, but nothing worth staying up for. I went onto bed and slept til morning. Cleaned house all day. Got drunk Sunday night. Worked on a short story. Read two blogs and wrote three pieces. Finally passed out for a few hours.

Woke up Monday and worked: I don't remember it though. I love to be hungover on Mondays! It makes it all the more forgettable. Though I do remember one thing from Monday...I finished the short story!! Out of the ten I was to write, only two were fiction, and one was actually already done from the summer: it just desperately needed a rewrite. So yes. The BIG fictional short story, the one I started from scratch is finished, and I'm happy with it. I really am. I think I'll let it "breathe" a bit, then edit, fluff, revise it. But once I'm finished-finished, and have received permission from the two fellow Bloggers I used as characters, I think I'll post it. Or try to have it published. Sure...why not. I've got to start sometime.

Monday night, after getting Baby Girl to bed, I celebrated the finishing of the big short-story by finishing off the big bottle of rum. Yes, got drunk again. Watched Bridget Jones Diary again. Stripped down to my underwear and stretched out on the couch. Wrote a bit of drunken nonsense by hand.

I went to bed and passed out til Tuesday. Had a nightmare. Woke up smiling. Decided to turn my nightmare into my next short story. I think I'll keep going, one after another, til November comes. That's the trick, right? You finish one. You get high off your own achievement. Action leads to inspiration; inspiration rarely leads to action (tis a famous quote, I think). Had busy days both Tuesday and Wednesday. Slept inbetween.

I stayed up last night (a few hours ago) taking pictures and watching Sabrina. Took a shower. Washed my hair. Felt restless for the lack of writing. Thought I'd come in here, and settle in with some hot coffee and prose. Wanted to check my email first. Post a piece or two, maybe some pictures. Of course read blogs and see friends and say hi. (I'll have to wait til Friday or the weekend, though: I'm about to fall asleep and I wish I wasn't. I miss people.)

But no, not a single tornado. Life is actually all right. Been taking long walks every day, as always, but the air is so much nicer now. Thinner. Less steam makes it easier to breathe. Less humidity. I'm loving the cool breeze. The dandelion seeds all dancing on the wind, falling like snow. The trees getting ready to change colors. It's all so romantic. I feel so creative! If only I had more time...October's almost here, and I'll be twenty-three. I want to find some balance before starting my new year.

Last night with Bogart

I'll be here writing, and hopefully all caught up within a few days to come. I hope everyone in the world is sleeping, having sweet dreams. Or nightmares, should they inspire you.

I hope September has a happy ending after all.

Poetry Thursday: Ash can't read good

Three Year Old Me with "Soft dog" and ugly shoes

I'm starting to think I'm not exactly cut out for this Poetry Thursday crowd.

This week, they’re writing something about, um, "synaesthesia"? I can't pronounce that. Can't read it or spell it. I can't for the life of me figure out what the hell it is! "Synaesthesia." Sounds made-up to me...

Something about a feast, or a dinner party? As if I go to dinner parties...I eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets with a two year old! I'm lucky if I have a bit of conversation in the process. Usually something along the lines of, Don't throw your corndog on the floor. Yes, you can have the rest of mommy's mayonnaise sandwich. No, I don't want to "blah blah" my plate. (Sigh)

I'll make something else up, though, just for the sake of continued participation. God knows I'm not doing too well with the whole Sunday Scribblings thing. I've been writing for 'em, just not posting. No time for editing these days, but Poetry and editing don't mix anyway, so here goes nothing.

For the kids who can't read good...

Almost October

I walk into a life
Where I'm not wanted
She's not ready
For another child
I'm supposed to be a boy
That's what they told her
And here I am
Another daughter
For a father
Who's never home

I'll be the son I was meant to
Where blue carpet fills my room
Blue curtains
I'll go shirtless
And fishing
Take long rides in his GTO
I'll never be the girl they never wanted
The boy
The son
The disappointment of October

I'll keep going til they're happy I was born

Out of Season

Several tornadoes touched down here in Arkansas yesterday.

Baby Girl and I went out walking, and the wind just wouldn't let go. It's all I could hear. That, and Baby Girl's cries. The wind was so fast, it scared her.

She pushed me down in the middle of the road, all dirty with bits of gravel stuck to my skin. And although I had spent much of the day crying myself, so worried of the oncoming storms and the mistakes that I have made here lately, I smiled, and held her close. It's exactly what we needed...

Each other.

I hugged her, and told her Baby, it's okay.

I patted her back, and played with her hair, and grabbed her little hands and danced her on my tummy.

She smiled, and the wind blew something fierce, howling down our dirtroad, through our trees and the flowers growing all along side of where we walk with blue skies, massive white clouds and a heartless white sun above us.

She climbed from my tummy. Crawled to my feet. Took off my shoes, and beat me with 'em.

I laughed, and she laughed, and finally put 'em back.

She helped me find my feet.

...

It stormed something horrible after we got home, though lucky for us, not down here. It stayed up in the Northern counties. Warning after warning, moved through the same exact region. Eight tornadoes in all, though I think only four touched down. Causing massive amounts of damage, and one person lost their life.

I'm surprised I didn't stay up to watch the sky. To make sure it stayed up north, though tonight looks to be our night. And seeing this, I decided, Best to sleep while you can, and stay up all night tomorrow...which, of course, is now tonight. So I'll be here. And that'll be fun. I'll write and write, and hopefully evict Fiction from my mind. Get those stories wrapped up, and ready to post.

I'm ready to get back into my nonfiction side. Do whatever I can to make things right, for all the mistakes that I have made.

My child, I've got to keep smiling..I try so hard to bring her comfort in such scary times, though I am scared myself.

I called my mother last night. Invited her to come play with Baby Girl. I get too distracted by the weather. I zone out and pray and cry and think, and plan our possible escape, while Baby Girl's playing, and Oops! she's falling. Crying. Ash, God! you stupid jackass, why weren't you watching her?!

Sometimes it's too much for me to handle alone.

Seeking shelter from this storm, and the wind that blows where nobody knows, I lose sleep and composure, and I can't be weak...I don't know what this day and night might bring. Hopefully just the writing, the eviction, time by my side, happy people smiling, and no tornadoes for any counties of any state, for the comfort of a scared mommy who can't stop watching.

For the child who's watching me.

...

Friday in Photos:

Baby Girl, flying her "grass kite".

Baby Girl and I hugging in the middle of the road. And no, I don't normally take photographical advantage of our special little moments, but this one lasted so long, I thought Well, why not. Maybe it's during those special moments I should take advantage...

Baby Girl, after puttting my shoes back on me: laughing, happy. Thank God.

Poetry Thursday: The Real Me, If I Could Make a Killing...

Tis Friday now, but being late is nothing new for me and you, and how are you? Great, I hope! I'm at an all time low. That's to be expected when you invite an unruly guest into your house. You wanted him there, and he's sleeping on the sofa, eating all your food, blowing out the breakers (oh wait, that was me and the lightening) and generally just making a mess of everything.

His name is Fiction. And while he's tearing apart things in my mind, crashing my nonfiction side, he's still welcomed in my head, though I have a feeling he's about to outstay that welcome.

I know all about that: I constantly outstay my welcomes, and generally make a mess of everything.

Speaking of me...

I'm supposed to be the real me this week for Poetry Thursday. Not Bogart, or McCourt, or anyone inbetween. But I don't like the real me. I don't think she's very smart. Compulsively honest and open to a loathsome degree. She has a dark side she's numb to. She rhymes. She writes bad poetry...

I wrote this on July 12th while heavily listening to Neutral Milk Hotel's The Aeroplane Over the Sea, watching lots of CNN, and contemplating the sad state of everyone inbetween.

Green Ground

We meet on the field where bombs surround
Shining silver
Breaks the green ground

The people are toppled
The ever shrinking crowd
Of eyes, waiting, watching
Cowering down

We make love on the field where bombs surround
Sole survivors
Man the green ground

The people are sleeping
The now silenced crowd
Of fully clothed corpses
Cowering down

We come on the field where bombs surround
Screaming soldiers
Ignite the green ground

The people are burning
As we sigh soft sounds
Of two lovers dieing
Cowering down

Clap Your Hands Say Anything...

Think happy thoughts of Ash sitting at her desk, in a green silk nightgown, drinking rum, coffee, water, yes all three, listening to something loud and fast, dancing in her seat while a storm rages out yonder window.

My power went out earlier, due to the lightning, thunder, and ridiculous amount of rain, but I shall be here all night, writing and blogging on and on until I'm A) sleepy, B) sober, C) no longer wild and wired like a seven year old child who just raided the sugar bowl for their dinner AND dessert.

News.

I have some good news, some cute news, and some very great news! Then I'll be on my merry little way, to write and read and possibly sleep, though the seven year old in me highly doubts it.

Number One) Whatever the hell was wrong with me last week, I'm finally over it. YES. Over it times a million plus oceans and exclamation points infinity.

I'm sorry I got so down.

It happens.

I'm not made of stone. Not a man. Certainly not Bogart.

I'm a girl. And a bit of a silly one at that.

Number Two) Cute news: I bought Baby Girl’s Halloween costume!

She shall be...(drumroll please)...Tinkerbell this year!!


Yay. I absolutely love Halloween! It's my most favorite holiday, except for the Jesus ones...I'm forced to love them more.

But candy and costumes...I've bought mine as well.

It's a pair of fish-net thigh-highs I shall be wearing beneath a pair of blue jeans, with my three-inch black high-heels.

I'm going as a closet sex-kitten. A domestic daydreamer.

And nobody will know it but me...

And you! And yes, I'll take pictures of me and little Tink, and no, probably not in the same shot (wink-wink), and then after she's tucked into bed and I've raided her bucket o' treats, I'll turn back into a pumpkin...

Number Three) The Great News: I'm gearing up for another round of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) which begins November First at midnight.

I'm excited. Hell, I'm ecstatic! I'm already plottin' and plannin'...though in a very simplistic way. I'm only giving myself the title and the main metaphor.

No character names. No starting lines. No ending scenes.

I'm going to do this one right, by God. Do it from my heart if I have one.

Number Four) The News I forgot to mention, which is actually the most relevant at this time:

I'm currently in the midst of writing ten short stories.

Yes...Ten. And it feels wonderful!

The only catch of course is I'll have to continue being selfish AKA a bad friend for the next two weeks until I have my birthday and get depressed for feeling old and tired and be way too sad to write much of anything at all.

Then I'll be a wonderful friend! Blogging again.

Not that I'm going away or anything.

It just might mean a little less posting, a lot more writing. But a lot more writing leads to a lot more posting. It just takes a bit longer for me to do those short stories than it does to write a blog piece.

I'm feeling all antsy just sitting here talking about 'em, and not actually working on 'em, so why don't I change that?

Off to be creative, and silly, and only slightly drunk while sporadically checking the weather report.

Happy Monday times a million plus oceans infinity.