7.1.11

The ABC's of a Dream


I'm linking up for the first prompt of 2011 over at The Red Dress Club :

Write a short piece - fiction, non-fiction, poetry, whatevs - in which each sentence starts with the next letter of the alphabet, starting with "A." So your finished product will consist of 26 sentences. (I am tweaking this a bit and making mine 26 lines, so technically just over 26 sentences.)

A dream in which you finally start telling me the truth. Your truth.
Bringing friends with you on a spontaneous trip to Vegas, you appeared suddenly.
Careening your convertible up the crowded street, dirty but drivable.
"Don't come here," I plead, backing away. "I can't. Not again." Willing you away.
Ever the charmer, you hop out and grab my hand, yanking me this way and that. Your way.
"Forget it all and come with us," you said after we sat down to have drinks.
Ghosts floated all around me, warning, wafting, swirling--gentle reminders.
Hovering nearby, my friend Heather made eyes at me, but didn't utter a sound.
I had to borrow money from her to pay for our stuff since you were "saving for Vegas." Cheapskate.
Just like always, you made me doubt myself, your sincerity, your intentions.
"Kid, you know I love you. Just get in the damn car," you said as you looked over at your friends.
Lunging at you with all my frustration in my fist. I miss. I try again.
Maniacal laughter, mirrors in a fun house: everything's misshapen, distorted. Bubbles and blur.
No, no--spinning round and round, my skirt billowing out like a bell. I want off this ride.
Out of nowhere you jump up and grab me.
Pushing and pulling ensue, a tug of war over the past and future.
Questioning myself is never so prevalent as when I'm with you.
Running around doing this same old dance drains me.
Sometimes I get so tired of carrying this burden. Your burden.
Too many people telling me what to do, like you.
Until I remember that this is just a dream.
Vanquished, vindicated me. I hold power over you!
Wielding my magic wand, I wave it until you get smaller and smaller.
Xanax won't be necessary anymore, you are so tiny I tower over you.
You can't haunt or taunt me anymore.
Zen-like is how I feel when I wake.

5.1.11

A Bunch of Wildflowers

I came into my room and it was dark. I saw you standing there, frozen.
Caught by surprise with one of my books open in your hands.
It took me a minute to realize it wasn't just any book, but my journal.
The one Dad bought me from the Smythson Shop on Bond Street in London.
The one with the flowers on the cover and leather tipped corners.

I was the cat and you the mouse:
I leapt to my bookshelves to assess the damage, you scurried out in a blur.

I felt violated in the worst way, unsure of what you'd read;
or what your intentions were.
First I got hot, then cold, then goosebumps and sweat covered me.
I had to get out. Away. My words were stolen, my private thoughts, pieces of me.
Dreams, fears and doubts all splayed out for you to see, to snicker and laugh at.

I threw my journal in my backpack and went to the library.
My steps sent the cockroaches running in droves across the sidewalk.
I shuddered thinking of the ones hovering above me, hidden in the old oak trees.

I chose a desk in the corner by the window and threw my things on the floor.
I opened my journal and re-read the last few pages as waves of nausea washed over me.
Too dangerous to write anymore. Too stupid. Too vulnerable.
What did you see?

When the librarians kicked me out, I trudged home,
Back to the scene of the crime. My deepest thoughts spattered
Like blood all over the walls of my room, the floor...


When I got back you were waiting for me
With a bunch of wildflowers you'd picked.

3.1.11

Ten Things I'm Willing to Admit to Myself (& You)

And so 2011 begins.
I don't make resolutions because they just beg to be broken; but I do have goals for the new year:
  1. Starting today, I'll be writing my morning pages before the girls wake up. This will become my daily ritual, my alone time to think, write and let the words tumble out.  Eventually I hope this will evolve into the beginning of a beautiful book. Don't get your hopes up.
  2. I'm working on a brand new site, my own domain/ dot com. I'm excited, but so anxious I've got the runs. I won't be The Mother Load anymore. It'll be a fresh start and I hope you'll follow me over to my new digs when it's time.
  3. I'm going to Blissdom, a writing/blogging conference in Nashville at the end of January.
In order to be successful, I have to admit some things to myself and to you so we're all on the same page.
  1. It is going to royally suck be really hard to wake up at 5:15 a.m. every day. But I have two (cyber)writing partners who are holding me accountable: Ashlei at Shades of Blue & Green and Nancy at Away We Go. We plan to check in with one another on Twitter every morning at the ass crack of dawn.
  2. A lot of what I write will may be utter crap. And that's okay. The point is just to get into the habit of writing for several hours daily.
  3. There will may be days when I hit a wall. I'm not perfect. No one is. (Right?)
  4. I'm scared to death of my new blog/site. I'm not even really sure what I want it to look like. All I know is what I don't want it to look like. Le sigh.
  5. I'm going to Blissdom at the end of this month and that also scares the pants off of me. But I registered, bought my plane tickets, and booked my hotel room, complete with two darling roommates. So there's no going back. Done deal.
  6. I'm worried I'm going to annoy the heck out of said roommates at Blissdom. Also? I don't want them to know that I poop. Shhhhhh.
  7. I'm terrified that "the book" will never happen.
  8. I don't know what I'll do if the words won't come? (call Ashlei & Nancy or refer to Bird by Bird?)
  9. I will may need lots of help: pressure, pep talks, and ass kicking. Alcoholic beverages are also a given and you might be so lucky as to witness a good cry.
  10. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. With any of this. A minute ago I had "hell" written there instead of fuck. But fuck it. Oh wait, that sounds bad...
What are YOU willing to admit to yourself? Please leave it in the comments---profanity and all.
 

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