Recharging and the Condom Aisle

I think Bilbo Baggins said it best when he said, "I feel like butter that's been scraped over too much bread." Can you guys relate to that?

Like when you step off, and get swept away?

You have a job, you write, you read, you play with your dog, you make dinner, you sleep. Then you get an email from a company you're not familiar with and they say, "We just took $59.95 out of your bank account for your one year subscription" and you're like, "Excuse me, what????"

There gets to a point where your body and mind just can't handle it, and you pass out for 12 hours and then wonder why you're still tired when you get out of bed.

Well, I hit that point.

Thankfully, it ended up being my Half Birthday (6 months from my real birthday). For those of you unfamiliar with me, October 19th, 2011, I'd had every intention of killing myself. I'd set the date, set the means, started looking for a home for Baxter. So October 19th, 2012 was a pretty big deal, because a) it was my half birthday, and b) I am still alive. So I contacted some friends and asked if they wanted to celebrate with me.

They said yes.

Just as I hit Portland, Maine I saw this:

Always happens at the most inconvenient time

So I pulled off, got $5 in gas, donated a crap ton of clothes to the biggest GoodWill I'd ever seen, then continued along. Finally, I arrived in the lovely town of Biddeford where I went to college. It amazed me that you can spend YEARS away from home, and still remember each road, each way to avoid tolls.

Stepping out of my car, I inhaled. If you want to know how Biddeford smells, get a large cup of water. Add about two cups of salt to your water. Swirl, swirl again, put your nose inside the cup and inhale. You cannot escape this scent walking to or from class. This sticky smell reminds me that I am home, and acts like stitches to any emotional wounds I may have.

The Atlantic Ocean

I visited John, my college manager, who told me I looked good, which is always a compliment. This man saw me at my worst, when my weight slipped below 100 pounds, fully dressed, keys and a deck of cards in pocket, shoes on. When people would hug me, I could feel their arms go through me because there was nothing left of my body. I know he remembers this, and I know he worries I'll relapse or manage to hurt myself in another way.

It had been a few months since I'd seen him last, and I brought him up to date on my current living situation, my financial woes, and my hopes for the future. Then he told me about him, his kiddos, his wife, work. "Oh," I asked, "what do you guys want for Christmas?"

"Your presence," he said. My heart swelled. It was nice, and reminded me that I am loved, no matter where I am. He also threw some money my way, so I was able to get a full tank of gas and pay for my storage unit this month. (Which also helps me to breathe a little easier, so thanks for that!)

The beautiful sea

After parting from him, I made my way to the ocean, because though she and I have had our quarrels, I love her. The waves were crashing, hard. Even with the radio playing, I could hear the rumble as white foam broke away from the grey water. Growing up in Michigan, yea, we had lakes, and swimming pools, and ponds, but there is something hypnotic about the ocean. The sounds, the smell, the feel. I LOVE the ocean.

It had been raining all day, but I took off my shoes and socks and walked down the stairs and waited until the waves put my feet in the water.

Of course, when the wave finally came, it was a huge one that soaked through my jeans, and I sat for the next half hour wetter that I'd anticipated.

After that, I ran some errands and went to my storage unit. It was raining. Not a soft rain that somewhat makes it feel like you've been sweating mildly. Instead, it was a hard rain that made it feel like you've just jumped in the ocean. My boxes got wet. My helmet, my boarding boots, they all got soaked. Where I was going to try to dig out some books to take home, I just grabbed my snowboard (because Winter is just around the corner!) and threw it in my car and headed over to my friend, Liz's.

We went to our place (Olive Garden), and had a margarita. We talked about politics, gay marriage, my anger with what I believed when I was younger, and other various intense, and sometimes funny things. After, because she didn't believe me, we headed to a branch of the pharmacy I work at. Upon entrance, we were properly greeted (which I commended Chad, the very attractive cashier on), and I promptly asked, "Where are your condoms?" because the store's layout was much different from mine.

He led us in the direction, and I found the large purple box, and exclaimed, "I told you we sell these!" and she stood there, slack jawed, and partially in awe. "I feel like we should have placed a money bet. I did not believe you, at all."

And then we proceeded to laugh, loud enough that our voices bounced off the aisles.

When the adventure finished, we said our goodbyes, she wished me a happy half birthday, and I bought the Some Nights CD by Fun, and rocked it my entire drive home, feeling that feeling which always results in a visit to Biddeford, love.

For your listening pleasure, Some Nights, by Fun :)

It's like I'm a rechargeable battery. Life sucks all the energy out of me, makes me sleep, but doesn't exactly make me feel like I'll make it through the next few weeks with my head up. Time with John (my manager) and time with Liz is like being plugged into an electrical outlet (in a good way). I listen to them talk, smell the smells associated with a garage and a lovely house. I memorize my interactions with them in case I need to recall they way their presence makes me feel.

Then I hug, release, and it's like being unplugged, fully charged, ready to face the next few months/weeks/however long it will be before I need to recharge again.

I never thought I would need people in my life to help keep me afloat. I thrive on living by myself, and roommates freak me out. But there are people from past lives, who still call me by my first name, that I am incredibly grateful that they've been on this roller coaster with me.

Small Book Reviews

As I've started doing, especially because it takes up a blog post, and I like sharing what I've been reading with you guys, here is my October Segment of quick small book reviews.

Incarnate
By Jodi Meadows
Rating on Goodreads: **** of *****

Still on my "I want to read happy stories" kick, I bought Incarnate.

Talk about an underdog story. Ana has spent her entire life being beat by her hateful mother, and on her first day of freedom she nearly dies. Twice.

It was a fun book, with a cutesy relationship that I swooned over. Plus, it had dragons. Anything with dragons in it is a win for me.

It was a simplistic read, I didn't have to think too much for myself, which was nice. I'm excited for the next installment.

Tap Out
By Eric Devine
Rating on Goodreads: *** of *****

You know those hookers, that first line that grabs you by the eyeballs? This one had it. Immediately I thought I was going to LOVE this book. The writing was seamless, I was in the head of a teenage boy who swore a lot (LOADS of brownie points), and was in a really bad situation.

It was a roller coaster of a book, and an overall awesome read. Up until the last 25% of the book I would have given it a five star rating, however, I had a huge beef with the ending (which I actually contacted the author about and we had a mini discussion). I understand why the book ended the way it did, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Either way, I will definitely invest in Devine's next book!

Anna and the French Kiss
By Stephanie Perkins
Rating on Goodreads: **** of *****

Residual happiness kicker. I'd had a million people rave about this book, saying it's so cute, and so wonderful. But if If I Stay, Where She Went, and Looking for Alaska really did live up to their hype, I assumed this one would be a bust.

IT WAS NOT.

I don't think I've ever laughed/giggled so loud/so hard because of a book in my entire life. It brought me back to high school and first loves, and misunderstandings  and jealousy, and oh gosh. It was wonderful. If you were apprehensive about this book, please read it. You won't regret it.

Though ***Disclaimer*** If you're not in to gushy/chick lit/romancey stuff, I'd say pass on it. I knew what I was getting into when I read it, but I LOVED it.

Also, are you my friend on Goodreads yet? If not, you should be :)

Spooktoberfest

And we have arrived at the Spooktoberfest blog hop. Five manditory words:

Jack-o-lanter

Ghost

Razor

Cauldron

Cobweb

One spooky less than 300 word flash fiction piece. 

So, here is mine:

The cobwebs hang from the bookcase like a sweater begging to be tried on. If they were fake, they’d be charming. Instead, their ghost-like wisps send shivers. I know this place is haunted. The jack-o-lanterns we’d carved when I was seven are still here, preserved like we’d done them yesterday, rather than years ago.

Taking a deep breath, I wander the house I’d lived in.

“We have to cook the seeds first! Otherwise the witches will come and put you in their cauldron and cook you for dinner!” My mother scolded.

“How would they find me?” I challenged, chomping away at the uncooked pumpkin seeds.

“The seeds give signals…”

I shake my head and push the image away. It wasn’t the witches that found us. It was my father.

Outside, a twig snaps. My bones freeze. I can’t breathe.

I beg the ghosts, “Please make me invisible, protect me.”

A breeze floats through the curtains, and the door bursts open. He’s here, wild, drunk.

I’m frozen, a statue to be shattered. There’s nowhere to hide.

His line of vision meets my eyes, but it’s like he’s looking through me. He stumbles through what used to be the living room, and I back myself against the counter, hands frantically pawing for anything to use. A cool razor blade, the kind you’d use to cut open a taped box with, finds its way into my hands. I step forward, toward the monster rather than freedom.

As I raise my hand to strike, the man trips, and falls. A small trickle of blood escapes his mouth. Please let him have hit his head hard enough to have brain damage, I pray again.

Beside his crumpled body, I drop my weapon and venture into the night.

Who says miracles don’t happen on Halloween?

I Pee in the Shower

On October 16, 2012 one of my Life Goals had been accomplished. I was in attendance for a Post Secret event and got to meet the founder of the project.

Frank Warren (the founder of PS) has a theory that we all have secrets, and if we keep them secrets they become walls. But, if we're brave and we tell those secrets, it has the ability to turn those walls into bridges (his words, not mine).

One of the most common secrets he said he gets is "I pee in the shower." I'm not gonna lie, I pee in the shower. I feel like a) it's more environmentally friendly and b) it's a time saver and c) Haha, boys. I can pee standing up, too.

You just, you know, pee first, then lather, rinse, repeat.

Anyways, at the end of the event, Frank invites the attendees to go to the microphones and say something. It can be a secret, it can be a thanks for the project, whatever. And because a year ago last week, I found out I was pregnant, and suicide was a better option than having a child, I went up to the mic. I told my story, about writing "If I test positive I'm going to kill myself," and mailing it in, about having an abortion, chopping my hair off, changing my name, and moving 1,000 miles away.

Frank Warren! I got to shake his hand!

In that aspect, I did kill myself. But, I'm alive. Because I told my friends and my dog my secret, and they kept me alive when I couldn't breathe.

The last girl at the microphone was small, and adorable. She said something along the lines of, "You know, I've always been a goodie-two-shoes. And when I got stoned out of my mind, I realized I have the best friends in the entire world."

The audience cheered for her. I cheered for her. The fourteen year old version of me who believed that Harry Potter was demonic cried a little inside, but thankfully, her voice is getting smaller and smaller by the day.

On the way home, I called my mom. For the last year I've been hiding what happened, why I moved from North Carolina. And I told her. Then we hung up, and I exhaled. I assumed she'd tell me I was a huge disappointment, or that she was disowning me. Instead, less than five minutes later, my phone rang. It was her.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that I still love you," she said.

I smiled. My relationship with my mother is a complicated one. I grew up hating her, moved to Maine to get away from her, and now we chat on a frequent basis. I didn't tell her I loved her back, I wanted to, but I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Thank you. Thank you a lot," and we hung up again.

So, for those of you who pee in the shower, who have holes in your doors from your parents trying to break in and beat you, for those of you who have cutting scars, or want to grow up to become the cat woman, I love you. Don't be afraid of your secrets. Own them, embrace them, share them, and exhale.

You're in good company here :)

Letting Go

Whew. Sorry I'm late. Thanks for checking back (if you did :) ). So, the Letting Go Blog Hop is hosted by Kyra Lennon whose novella, If I Let You Go, just came out. You can buy it on Amazon, and you should :)

The hop consists of writers telling their stories of Letting Go. So, here's mine...which is also an excerpt from my memoir :)

The End of the World

The world doesn’t end in fire and brimstone. It doesn’t end by nuclear explosion, or oil spills, or Mother Nature finally getting pissed off and having a hurricane/tornado/tsunami/landslide/earthquake. Well, maybe actually it does. But not the end of my world. My world ended close to the start of my sophomore year of high school.

I was sitting at the computer, still working on my masterpiece. The phone rang, and my mother called for me.

“Hello?” I asked, grabbing the phone from her.

Laura’s voice rang through on the other end. “Steph, Kellie’s been in a car accident.”

The breath in my chest fell out, like one of the times I’d slipped through the ice when I was younger and unsupervised. I’d been waiting for her to get online. “Is she okay?” I asked, careful not to think anything bad.

“We’re not sure. Everything I’m hearing is sketchy. I’ve heard she might lose her legs, I’ve heard she’s in a coma, I’ve heard…” there were a million possibilities. “The only thing I’m sure of is that she was in a car accident, and it sounds pretty bad.”

What if Kellie can’t walk? What if she dies? Though I tried to fight it, I began to cry. I can’t live without Kellie, I can’t live without Kellie. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine. “When you hear anything…” Let her be fine, let her be fine.

The tattoo I got in honor of Kellie
It reads:
It's just a moment of change KLW 10

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.”

I went to the kitchen, sobbing and handed my mom the phone. “Talk to Laura.”

“What is going on?” Mom asked when she saw my face.

“Talk to Laura!” I screamed, before running up the stairs. Alone in my bedroom, I sat on the edge of my bed, writing Kellie’s name in ink just below my thumb. I’m not going to wash this off until I know she’s okay.

I cried for hours, praying, God, please let her live. Let her be okay. Please let her live, while grossly thinking, Well, if she dies, at least I’ll have a reason to be depressed any time I want.

I half slept that night, waiting for the phone to ring and tell me anything, ideally that Kellie was okay and really it was just a rear ending. They happened every day in the school parking lot. No one was ever seriously hurt. It wasn’t a bad accident. It couldn’t be a bad accident. Kellie had to be fine, I can’t live without her.

In the morning, in a haze, I showered, ate breakfast, and as I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, the phone rang. My blood froze in my veins. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.

“Hello?” I asked, not bothering to check the caller ID, I knew damn well who it was.

“Steph, I’m so sorry,” Laura’s voice said, much more gently than when she’d told me about Kara. “Kellie didn’t make it.”

My legs were unable to bear my weight. I threw the phone away from me as though I could unheard the words. “No!” I screamed, over, and over, and over, collapsing to a heap on the floor.

My mother woke to my screams.

Me and Laura
Until our friends passed away, we kind of umm...
hated each other

I went to school that day and cried almost every second of every class. When a friend asked, “Why are you here? Why aren’t you home?” I laid on the floor in the commons in the fetal position, and continued to cry. “Because if I wasn’t here, forcing myself to keep moving, this is what I’d be doing.” 

Days later, I called my youth group to tell them that on October 6, 2003, I didn’t need a ride to church. I wouldn’t be in attendance, because I’d be at my sister’s funeral instead.

That morning, I woke up on the floor of a mutual friend’s house. Laura and several others were scattered around me before I remembered that Kellie was dead, and we were burying her today. While we got ready, Laura read a poem I’d written our loud, causing me to cry harder and harder.

“Steph,” one of our friends said, “you should read that at the funeral.”

I cried harder. “I’m not sure I can.”

“If you can’t, I’ll read it for you,” my sister offered.

I nodded gratefully. When everyone was ready, we made our walk to the funeral. It was held in the same church that Kara’s had been. In the middle of the road I stopped moving.

“You ready to do this?” Laura asked gently.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”



It took years before I really said goodbye to Kellie. As it is, her anniversary passed this month and, as always, it was difficult to get through. I miss her, on a daily basis. I have let go of the hope that'd she'd come back, and that maybe, like a soap opera this is all fake and she's been kidnapped by an evil ex lover, and is getting brain washed only to come back to us. I've let go of the guilt associated with outliving her. And I've let go of the anger associated with her death (ahem, mostly).

The reality is, she got in a car accident. It wasn't her fault, and though she was only 17, maybe she lived enough life. I know her influence is seen in me every day, whether it's just because I stop and enjoy the color orange, or because I listen to a Godsmack song. She was in my life, and I am grateful for that.

I will never, never, let go of the love that I still feel for her.

Monsters

If you're here for the Letting Go Blog Hop, please don't hate me! It'll be posted Wednesday, I fell behind on all the blog hops I've signed up for! (Sorry!)

This week's portion of Express Yourself is the Top 5 Favorite Monsters

So, without getting in trouble for copyright issues, here are mine:

There are reasons I never went
to art school :)

5) Godzilla

When I was a kiddo I used to read the books. If I remember correctly, he was kind of always the hero, battling the bad monsters, and kicking their ass. 

Then in 1998, Hollywood released the movie. (Spoiler alert) There's a scene after they blow up Madison Square Garden, where all the little Godzilla baby bodies are strewn about. Godzilla sees them, and pushes on this with his/her nose, and wails because it's kiddos are dead. It's heart breaking. So of course, he/she goes on a rampage.

At the end, they trap Godzilla on the bridge, and shoot at him/her, and then he/she dies. Everyone cheered, but I didn't. It actually made me want to cry. All he/she wanted to do was live, and eat, and make babies, you know? And we (people) killed him/her.

4) King Kong

The same goes for King Kong. He was just really big, any maybe misunderstood. I thought the movie did an awesome job of why he fell in love with the girl, though, and I enjoyed the movie a lot. One of the things that really bugged me about this movie (and society in general) is that they were all, "Wow, we found this really huge thing, let's capture it, enclose it in a tiny habitat, and then shoot it when it goes crazy!" 

I don't like that ending. I'd like to see the monster win, at least once.

3) The Hulk

He's big. He's angry. He's green. He also likes to smash things and destroy stuff, so you know, it's pretty epic. PLUS most people don't run screaming, and, as far as I'm aware, no one is trying to kill him just for being alive.

2) All X-Men

Some are "monsters". Most are just plain Bad Ass.

1) Baxter

He may seem all cute, and sleepy, and cuddly. But his tail leaves bruises. If he's running at you, and you don't stand still, he can lay you out.

But you know, he is still kind of cute and cuddly :) Plus, he's my monster.

What are your favorite monsters through history?

Mid Month Goals

It's Mid October. And look at this! I'm still alive!

It's like being on top of the world!

I'm still breathing!

Huray!!

With that said, now that I'm almost through the Month of Hell, it's time to start looking forward. National Novel Writing Month is November (that handy little #NaNoWriMo tag you see floating around twitter), and thus before I delve into a new novel, there are some things I feel I must do:

Wait for it....wait for it...

1) Finish editing the memoir. Find a cohesive ending that feels complete to me, and that chapter of my life. Take a deep breath, find a stiff drink, and keep my chin up.

2) Finish editing After Elizabeth, which...has been edited about a million times, but when agents say, "This is what I have a problem with," well, I'm going to listen.

3) Think. Do research. See if any voices start speaking to me. Take notes.

4) Start doing writing prompts to get the juices flowing. I recommend Old Friend from Far Away, and The Pocket Muse 2, and The Writer's Block.

5) Time management. Money management.

But really the big stressers are the editing. The memoir gives me anxiety attacks and insomnia. The novel just makes me feel overwhelmed. But once those are done, FULLY done, I'm ready for #NaNoWriMo

What about you guys? Any last minute things you need to tie up before diving in?