It’s 5:30 a.m. The alarm beeps.  She contemplates the dedication, rolls over and sees the dog.  She’ll always do it for the dog.  Out of the bed, down the stairs, shoes on, push the coffee button, grab the leash, out the door.  “Shit”, forgot the dog.  Open the door, “Come on girl, time to go run”.  Hop in the car, start, brake, reverse.  Turn right, wait for the green, turn again, park.  Hop out, grab the dog, head over to the trail.  The routine of life.

She passes people and thinks about how she would give anything to have the trail to herself.  The lake, the upcoming sunrise, the trail, the dark.  The things we wish for; how many times are they really what is best for us?  Her head is full of thoughts.  She’s yelling at herself for not being able to concentrate.  Just think about the running.  She’s worried about her dog, she’s worried about worrying.  She’s worrying about wanting  to be alone.  Everyone, just go away.  Let my mind clear.  It can’t clear if additions are being made.  “Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!”  She notices a unique quietness.  She starts to get nervous.  Born with an imagination beyond vivid, she scolds her neurosis.

Footsteps.  There are footsteps behind me.  Of course there are, you are on a running trail.  They are getting close.  Imagination.  Imagination.  Imagination.  Breath?  Just the wind.  Calm down.  You always do this.  Dog seems nervous.

One more step.  Lag.  Drop.  Time is stopped.  This is going to add a minute.  Come on, why are you stopping?   Shit, she’s after a squirrel.  The leash got away.  Yelp.  Bark.  Bark. Bark.  Anxiety, freeze, panic, tears.  She can’t be hurt.  Where are you?  I can’t see.  Do I yell?  Silence.  Where are you?  Please, make a sound.  Lightning bolt.  It’s not raining.

He rationalizes every move.  He just muzzled the dog and tied her to the tree.  He gave her a bone.  He’s been watching her for months.   She has made it so easy for him.  He’s convinced himself that she knows he has been watching and planning.  He dreams that she asks him to take her.  To hurt her.  He’s getting excited.  She’ll be getting close soon.  She’ll smell of sweat just like he likes it.  RAW.  There she is.  No light.  Her protection muzzled.  Why doesn’t she have a phone?  Why doesn’t she have mace, a taser, a gun?  Naievty, his strength.  It’s time to hit.  Don’t let her see.  Get the bat.  Strike.

Eyes open.  Where is Hazel?  I don’t hear her.  Don’t hurt her.  She’s on the ground.  She looks up.  Smile.  Eyes.  Lips.  Muddled.  She can’t put her thoughts together.  The sky is pink.  Sunrise.  Her favorite time.  Her legs are numb.  Lucidness strikes.  Pounding; her head is pounding.  Slice.  Red.  Where is she?  “Come on, girl.  Let’s go”.  Nothing.  Total focus on her safety.  Unconditional love does this; erases your mind of the horror that is forcing itself into you.

He tells himself how bad she wants this.  She’s not fighting anything.  She looks at him without fear.  Slice.  “Wait, look at me.  You have to look at me.”  Slice.  Slam.  Heaven.  Warm.  Slam.  Wet.  “Look at me.”  She’s not looking.  She’s not concentrating.  She’s laughing.  Slice.  “Look at me!”  Slam.  Slam.  Slam.  It’s not working.  Air.  Take her air.  She wants it.  She wants you.  Control her.  Take her.  Slice. Slam.  Slice. Slam.  Slice.  Slam.  Slice. Slam.  Slice.

Pain.  “Where is she?”  I can’t move. Why can’t I move?  Pain.  Red.  She’s hurt.  I have to find her.  Slice.  Slam.  Yelp.  Bark.  Air.  Air.  Air.  I can’t breathe.  Don’t hurt her.  Foot steps.  Calm down, It’s a running trail.  Voices. Voices.   People.  Leave me alone.  Where is she?  Tears.  Scream.  Anxiety.  People.  Watching.  Staring.  Red.  Pain.  Where is she?  Lights. Red.  Tears.  Thoughts.  Where are my thoughts? Cold.  Face.  Gone.

Run.  You can’t take too long.  Stay.  One more.  She wants it.  Slice.  Pink sky.  They’ll be coming.  Foot steps.  Scream.  Go.  Run.  Everyone is running.  Run.  Run.  Run.  Triumph.  Let the dog go.  She loves the dog.

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I love reading old little ditties I’ve written, especially when I remember exactly what I was writing it for.  I wrote this one when I just needed to escape for a moment into make believe.  What I love more than anything is reading something that I’ve written and then realizing that I got through what seemed to be be impossible at the time.  Enjoy.

Headstrong

I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
you’re coming back tomorrow.

Mr. Gingerbread alarm clock excites me with a kiss at 6 a.m.
Ms. Tiny toes leaps from the ceiling springing me from my cloud in just enough time to catch you.
With the stub on the end of my hand, I grab your curl and lasso you back to the clouds.
You flip and hop and bump, and finally land after cupid’s arrow strikes your heart.
Smelling the daisies, you look up and confess your love sending a million kisses floating through the air.

There is a battle I have to fight in my head to get to you.
She’s lurking in the corner, begging cupid to join her.
Goldilox creeps to the bottom of our cloud and you feel a breeze enter your heart.
A bionic ray crashes the remote and throws the screen into a rewind.

My jealousy is erupting and I think of ways to crush her.
I want you for only me, and my obsession is just big enough to make sure that happens.
The pictures on the wall prove that you are mine.
The stories I tell prove you are mine.
Cupid says so.

Descending from the clouds to my bed I sob.
I’m looking for Mr. Ginberbread, Ms. Tiny Toes, and Cupid.
They’re playing hide and seek, so I spring to my toes and run through the house peeking through every door.
A beautiful flash of yellow flashes across the window and I know it’s her.
Cupid launches his arrow and it hits you, but it’s not my arrow.

I know you’re real, but I’m gonna stay in make believe with the tiny toes hopping on the ceiling and the bantam fingers balancing on the flying red carpet.
Because it hurts when you walk away, but here in my head where I pretend,
You’re coming back tomorrow.

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Today, Ginette and I spent some time looking for a few Galleries in Houston.  We found The Deborah Colton Gallery inside this old warehouse right outside of downtown.  The Gallery was closed, however, we found enough surprises to snap some pictures of.

This picture is taken from the third floor of the building, through a cracked, old, dirty window.  Taking the picture like this made me feel a bit stalkerish even though I’m quite aware the sculptures aren’t looking back at me with alive eyes.  In fact, Ginette schooled me today and told me that all sculptures are made with hollow eyes, if not, the eyes look dead from a distance.

As far as camera settings, they were set on the aperature priority at 3.8 since it was pretty dark inside the building.

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Today I officially begin my Social Work career.  I say officially, because even though I’ve been in graduate school for the past three years, it doesn’t feel like I’ve actually been connected to the field.  When the clock dings 8 a.m. I will no longer be an Information Analyst, nor an Academic Advisor; I’ll be a Social Worker who is attending her first day of orientation at the Michael DeBakey Veteran’s Hospital in Houston, Texas.  I’m nervous.  I’m scared.  I’m excited.  I’m anxious.  I’m scared shitless.  Best of all, I’m feeling.  I’m not staring at my coffee wondering if I can take just a few more minutes for myself before I jump in the shower and drag myself to my dreadful job.  I am now 100% jolted out of my comfort zone.

There are a million little wonders in my head, such as “Will they like me?  Can I handle this?  Will I ruin someone’s life?  Will I save someone’s life?” but I know that I have done every ounce of work I can to be ready at this point and honestly, I can’t wait to wear the nerdy lab coat.

Happy.

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I watched Benjamin Button the other day and I absolutely fell in love with it.  A friend of mine had sent me a text and told me that it reminded him of Growing up Backwards, which it does as far as the title, but the content is quite different.

What I liked about the movie:  I’ve never seen anything like it before.  It’s emotional.  The cinematography…..the hands, and faces add for a bit of an eerie feeling, but you’re not quite sure why.  It just provokes curiosity.

So, the movie motivated me to share the first paragraph of Growing up Backwards. The date on it says that I wrote it in January 2003.  I remember starting it with a glass of wine and many deep breathes, and I very vividly remember my hands shaking.  I have no idea what made me so nervous.  I had absolutely no idea where I was going with it, and no idea of what the content would be.  All I knew is that it would be about Isabella.  And from there, I just wrote.  Enjoy and critique away.

““I’m making the right choice,” she tells herself as she stares through the window at the snowflakes falling to the ground.  “They’re not as pretty as people say they are.”  Her thoughts are racing.  She feels the loss of breath she gets when her anxiety takes over.  “She’s going to be taken care of.”  The convincing isn’t working.  Sipping her coffee, she wonders if she should give her one last kiss.  Carefully walking down the hallway to her bedroom door, Isa feels like she is going to faint.  Her second-guessing is over-ruling her logic.  “She needs her Mother.  I want to see her smile a million times over.  We can make it through anything, just her and me.  I only have to work this job until I finish school. I can quit on my own.”   Crouching to the floor, she sobs quietly; if Isa awakes, her heart will stop her.  “Alright, one last kiss”, she says while pulling herself up for the walk.  She pauses at the doorway and covers her mouth and nose to muffle the sobs.  “I have to do this quickly.  I can’t think about it.”  She walks over to the crib methodically.  She bends over, touches her face, kisses her forehead and becomes overwhelmed by the freshness of her smell.  Ignoring the thoughts, she whispers, “Sleep well my little buckaroo.”  Quickly she leaves the room and returns to the window.”

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I took this picture the 2nd day I had my camera.  This cat was playing/eating a gecko.  Sorry, PETA.  I didn’t really mess with the settings on this, just had it on auto everything and used the “sports option”.

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