Life & Otherwise . . .

In a Neighborhood Near You...

2012-01-28T01:20:00.005-05:00

I can't sleep. Not because clowns will eat me or anything. That's one thing I can certainly say has never made me shake in the metaphorical boots people keep going on about.

What has me shaking (in boots that I can only imagine are made out of snakeskin and look great on cowboys that I don't sleep with, though not by choice but most probably because of region) is the fact that my life now occupies a ten foot by 5 foot by 6 foot square in one corner of what will no longer be my living room. I'm sitting on a chair that will no longer be mine, typing on a keyboard that will no longer be mine, on a blog that hasn't been mine lately but is now being reclaimed, among other things.

Now let me be clear-- Hmm, now I'm channeling Obama...

Let me say this, then: I know I will be fine. "Fine," of course, being one of those words used to answer the questions of life that no one really cares to ponder too deeply, lest they learn something about themselves or others that may make them uncomfortable. So perhaps "fine" isn't what I'm trying to convey.

I will land on my cowboy-bootless feet. I will find love and happiness again. I will make it through these next few weeks and months, mourning the relationship and husband I'm leaving behind in my own way (which I'm also sure I'll learn how to mourn a 12.5 year relationship), learning once again how to be alone and enjoy my own company.

Some of this I'm greatly looking forward too. But there are definite things I will miss, not only about having a companion, but having had this specific companion. There will always be things I love about him, always memories I will cherish to my dying day, and always a place in my heart that he will reside in.

This is probably a given, and shouldn't need said, but I said it anyway, because I know, now that I am leaving, he will be reading.

So be it.

Hundreds, perhaps millions, of other people have gone through this and been "fine," cowboy boots notwithstanding. And even though some may disagree, I'm nothing if not rational and logical, with a dash of dreamer and romantic, with leanings toward optimism--ergo, I will be fine.

But at 1:30 a.m., when your brother and father are to arrive in 7.5 short hours to figure out how to fit your life into their respective vehicles...?

I don't feel fine at the moment. Which, of course, is to be expected in this kind of situation. I think. Maybe.

It's almost a shame Oprah's off the air. Almost. She'd be eating this stuff up, and probably trying to get me onto see Dr. Phil. Wouldn't that be fun?

But I digress.

I've never liked seeing my life in boxes. I'm a nester. I like to see knick-knacks of places I've been, or photos of people I love, or items that were once owned by those I loved. I love rows upon rows of books, separated by subject, alphabetical by author, from earliest to latest work published. Same for my music.

And my closet? I look forward to not sharing a closet! To have my clothing once again in color order, from darkest to lightest, on all wooden hangars, and further separated by season?

I know no one believes that I am a highly-organized person. Well, except those I work with which see me in action, attacking and reorganizing the supply closet, neat stacks of folders on my desk, stapler, scotch tape dispenser, and hole punch neatly lined up to one side of my monitor, little plastic bins for rubber bands, paperclips, and pens.

But most, if not all of my friends, have never known me without the other half, so I can't say I blame them for thinking we're just two big pack rats who can't file a piece of paper to save our lives! It's hard to have a system of organization when someone doesn't use your system of organization. Of course, having been raised by my mother, where I get this need to have everything hyper-organized, I also know that in and of itself can be an unhealthy life, and thus for the last 12.5 years, I haven't once made a stink about it.

Now I don't need to.

Of course, you, dear reader, are reading all this and thinking, "Wait--you're leaving him because he's disorganized and can't hang your clothing in color order?"

Of course not. There's more issues between us than Carter has liver pills. And perhaps, when wounds have healed, when hearts have begun to mend, and people won't see things as an attack but instead as the therapy and venting one needs in life in order to stay sane--then perhaps we can get into those things.

By then Armageddon may have happened, or the Mayans may have annihilated us, or a tsunami may take down the entire East Coast of the United States! But we'll just see how it goes, shall we?

I'm starting up and stepping out into my life. I'll be shedding some tears, perhaps getting too drunk on a few nights in the near future, and maybe even second-guessing decisions that have been made, not just recently, but long past.

But that is how I will grow, and learn, and live again.

I've missed you, blog. I've missed you, my audience (if, indeed, there still be one here waiting patiently for me to get my life back in order).

But mainly? I've been missing me.

And I'm coming back.

Just as soon as I find that apartment and unpack. And get my clothing hung in color order. And my books separated. Alphabetized. Color folder filing system...

Did I mention the new car that goes with my new life? Fucking Bambi. My new life also includes a call for the extermination of all deer. But that will be a short-lived campaign, I'm sure. I'm a sucker for those big doe eyes, like the rest of you.

Hello, world. I'm Jason. Welcome to My Life & Otherwise... Complete without cowboy boots in a neighborhood near you.

Good Night, and Good-Bye...

2011-11-30T15:48:00.004-05:00

Week 27
For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Lance challenged me with "the long kiss goodnight"; I challenged wintervixen86 (who has an awesome super-sexy man at the top of her page--not that that means anything when it comes to a writing challenge, but just thought you should know...) with "The neighbor needs help hanging up her Christmas lights--you know, the neighbor suspected of murder?"

This may be my last entry on this blog for a few months...

Good Night, and Good-Bye...
He placed the silver platter gently on the table before her, slowly lifting the ornate lid to reveal it's mirrored surface.

"What's this, then?" she asked, barely glancing up to acknowledge either him or the mirrored tray.

"It's called a... Um... I forget it's technical name, but basically it reveals your worldview through force of will. Sounds neat, yeah?"

"Hmph," was her reply. She gave it an appraising look. "How much was it?"

"Does it matter?" But of course he knew it did. "Anyway, the gist of it is, you gaze on to the surface of the mirror, focusing your will, and it shows the other person your view of the world--as if you were seeing it through their eyes!"

She laughed. "What? Sounds like a lot of hocus pocus. You got ripped off there, Jeremiah." She laughed again and refocused her attention to her knitting on her lap.

"No, no, he showed it to me, see? Watch, it's awesome, wait until you see this." He settled himself more firmly in his chair, the old wood creaking as he shifted. He placed one hand on either side, grasping the silver handles tightly, then focused his gaze on the mirror.

She jumped, losing her knitting needles as a flash of light shot up between them. "What the devil...?" She followed the light down from the ceiling to the surface of the mirror between them, then across at Jeremiah, whose gaze was focused squarely on its center. She looked down again to where it seemed his eyes were focused.

She grimaced as she saw nothing but light, but the longer she gazed, she began to make out shapes and images. A field. The field right outside their cottage, she realized. Small flowers popped up here and there, reaching for the blue sky filled with white clouds. There sat their home, smack-dab in the center--at least, she thought it was supposed to be their cottage. Suddenly a rainbow shot across that same sky, and she placed a hand over her heart as if to keep it within.

Then she laughed. "Jeremiah, you naive fool!" she practically shouted in her ecstasy. "Oh, my. Yeah, we live in rainbow land. Next thing you'll be saying there's a pot of gold just inside the barn doors."

The light went out as he looked across at her quizzically, gaze no longer focused on the mirror between them. "What?"

"When was the last time you saw a rainbow overhead, eh?" She shook her head disapprovingly. "I swear, you see what isn't there and miss what is there with those goddamn rose-tinted goggles of yours."

"Well, then, here--let me see what you see." He pushed the mirror closer to her side of the table.

"Piss off. I have to finish this knitting."

Jeremiah glanced at the half-made item in her lap. "Isn't that the same--"

"Yes, yes. I will finish it one of these days. Darn cheap needles you bought make it hard to do."

"Look, that can wait. Why don't you just--"

"Fine! Fine. If it means you can return this piece of junk and get our money back if I give it a whirl, then fine. Just grab these handles here, yeah?"

"Yep."

"And gaze into it all thoughtful like, yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Rubbish." But gaze she did. Jeremiah himself leaped a little as light once more shot from it's surface to the rough-shod straw roof above. He, too, followed the beam of light down from the rafters and onto the glistening surface of the mirror below.

Dead wheat. That was the first thing--yes, definitely dead wheat. She, too, was calling up the field out front. A drabber version of their home sat amongst the dead grasses, and the trees along the fence line, while green with foliage, showed a dead branch here and there, and a rutted, muddy path. The sky was overcast, a shoddy ashen color. No breeze stirred the scene.

"Millie," he cried. "That's not how it is at all!"

"The hell it ain't," she replied, not bothering to look up.

He watched as her scene drifted now, to the fields where they worked. Everyone looked half-dead, pale skin, blood shot eyes.

"Is that--is that supposed to be Floyd?"

"Darn tootin'."

"Come on, he isn't that sickly looking. In fact, he never--"

"Hush up, darlin'. You wanted to see the world how I see it? This is how it is. This is our world. Not some puppy-loving, unicorn-humping fairy tale."

"I never--" But he stopped. Then he placed his hands atop of hers as they still gripped the mirror. "No, sweetie. This is how it actually is." And he bent his head.

The light from the surface doubled in its intensity as he imposed his views atop hers.

"What? Oh, no, Jer--I don't think so." And she doubled-down.

And on it went. Scenes and faces flashed across the mirror. There was Floyd, first zombie-like, then a happy grinning fool, then a strange mix of the two, and then he was gone. The cottage, a bit worn looking, now newish looking, then worn looking, back and forth, back and forth.

Sweat began to pour openly from both their brows as they fought, will against will, each one sure that they knew what the world looked like, they knew how it should seem, they knew things the other didn't. Scene after scene, friend after friend, scenario after scenario flashed across the mirror as one thought of something, showed how they saw it, and the other quickly disagreeing, creating a nasty, twisted world. As they fought the once bright white light changed as well, flashing dim, sickly yellow, then an angry red, and bruised eggplant purple.

Neither knew how long they raged. Days passed. Weeks even. People stopped by, but they were lost among the battle, and quietly they would slip away, wondering what had happened to Jeremiah and Millie.

And then, it ended. Jeremiah gasped, released his hold on the handles of the mirror, and slumped back in his chair. He chest heaved, reaching for air, his sweat-drenched clothing sending up a stench. He wiped his forehead and placed his other hand on his chest as if to slow his heart beat.

Millie cackled in victory. "See? I told you how it was, but you couldn't listen, could you?" She, too, finally released her hold on the mirror and the light slammed down to its surface, leaving them both in the dank gloom of what little light could seep through the windows.

"What? No, it wasn't about--"

"Seems I was right, eh? It isn't all roses and kittens, is it? This is the real world, Jeremiah. This is how it is."

"No, look. I realize this is how you view the world, but--"

"You want me to show you again? Do you want to see how it is?"

"I'm just saying, I know that not everyone is nice. I know not everyone will always have something nice to say. I know it's depressing sometimes, but--"

"But nothing. I showed you. It was right there! Proof of what I said was right!"

"That was just a mirror--none of those things actually happened..."

"Whatever." She grabbed a knitting needle from off the floor, grabbed the half-finished scarf, and began once again the endless chore.

"Millie, I--"

"Now go return that piece of junk. We need the money."

Jeremiah lowered his head, shaking it in despair. He walked around to the other side, to Millie's side, and lifted her gaze to his.

"Fine," he said. "You win." And he gave her a kiss. A soft, tender, gentle kiss. Then he let go of her chin. He grabbed the mirror, stuffed it into his sack, and headed for the door.

"Jeremiah?"

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Jer? What's wrong? Where are you going?"

He turned his head, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm letting you have your world."

"What? No, wait--"

"Good night, my love. And good-bye. Please remember that I did love you." And he closed the door and walked out into the sunlight. Behind him, he could hear her screams, her wails, her angry taunts. His heart broke, but not his spirit. Never his spirit.

As he sauntered down the path toward the village, he heard her yank open the door and scream that she could change.

But he kept walking.

Previous Challenges I have answered:

Armageddon It

2011-10-19T17:35:00.004-04:00

Week 25
For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Kurt challenged me with "The earth died screaming while I lay dreaming of you. --Tom Waits"; I challenged Sarah Cass with "There's a beak in my sushi."

Armageddon It
He closed the steel front door, slammed the locks into place, and yelled to the back of the house, "It looks like the Thompson's are gone!"

"No!"

"Yes." He sat back in his recliner and started paging through the leaflets that were scattered on the front lawn. "Doomsday is Here--Do You Need Jesus Now?"; "Needleson's: Security Today So You'll Be Here Tomorrow"; "Elect George McGruber for Town Marshall: He's the One with the Guns."

Susie came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a ratty dishtowel. "There's just no telling these days, is there? Guess I won't be getting the Chipmunk Surprise recipe anytime soon."

"Oh, I don't know. Looked like the back of the house may still be intact. Once the fire dies down a little, we'll go over, scrounge up what we can. Perhaps the kitchen is mostly intact?"

"My little optimist!" Susie seemed to brighten at the thought, however, a small smile creeping up at the corners of her perfectly made-up lips. "At least we know what all the noise was last night."

"I told them they should have installed those alarms." Fred tossed the fliers into the burn bucket by the old stone fireplace, then got up from the recliner.

"You men and your alarms," she smiled at him. "I'll take old Rusty over flashing lights and screaming sirens any day. By the way, has he been out yet?"

"Hmm? No, darling. Wasn't he just out yesterday?"

She heaved a sigh, the type that says "I know that you know that I know you were going to say that," and she spun around, heading back toward the kitchen. "I'll let him out. Though I will need you to run out to see if you can find some food."

"I'm on it, darling."

Susie finished rinsing the few dishes left on the counter, then picked up the plastic orange bucket and carried it toward the basement door. Placing it down gently, she took off her "Hello! Kitty" apron and hung it on the peg just so, then reached up to the shelf above and pulled down the revolver. Checking to make sure it was loaded, she stuck it in the waistband of her dress. Unlocking the door to the cellar, she picked up the bucket and started descending the stairs.

"Rusty? You awake, boy?"

As she reached the bottom, she flipped a few switches, shedding a pale sickly light upon the concrete floors and walls. Through the gloomy light, meager even through the gaps in the metal black bars that halved the basement, she could make out the hulking body in the corner on the other side.

"Rusty? Darling, I brought you some fresh water. Are you thirsty? I know it hasn't rained in a few days."

She saw the shape lift its head, and knew she had its attention. "Now you remember what happened last time, don't you? So you stay there, behaving just as you are now, and I'll pour the water into your dish, okay?" She kept her eyes on it for another few seconds, fingers unconsciously caressing the gun at her waistband. Satisfied it wouldn't be moving, she approached the bars, finally spying the water bowl in the opposite corner. After one more glance at the shadow, she tipped the dirty dishwater from the orange bucket through the bars. Some missed, but she was satisfied when the bowl reached the half-full point.

"Now Rusty, darling, try to make this last, all right? You know the longer we don't have rain--"

A loud roar, and almost before she knew it, the creature was across the basement, dirty clawed fingers reaching through the bars, trying to grab at her blouse. Luckily she had been paying attention, and as she jumped back from the bars, she only felt the breeze the hands made, the air wafting softly on her cheeks.

"Rusty! I'm ashamed of you! I was going to open the door so you could run around the yard, too!" She pulled the gun from her waistband, aimed, and fired a shot toward its feet.

"Yooooowwwwwwllllllll!" it screamed, collapsing to the floor, spilling the half-full bowl of water in the process.

"Tsk! Rusty! Didn't you hear me? Now what will you drink?" Giving one last shake of her head, she flipped off the switches, blanketing the cellar once more in darkness. Rusty's silent weeping following her up the stairs until she slammed the door closed.

"Hon?"

She turned to see Fred standing in the hall, a look of alarm plastered across his face.

"Everything okay?"

"It's Rusty. He spilled the only bit of water I could spare him. I swear, you may need to pick up another soon. He's a great crime deterrent, but sometimes--sometimes I think a good old-fashioned Doberman can't be beat. That's the third time this week he's tried to get at me through the bars! He may be too feral to train!"

"I'm sure it's just all the excitement from last night," Fred said, pulling her into a hug. "What with the neighbors house being set on fire, the giant cats prowling just outside the fences all night long--it can drive anyone a bit mad, you know."

"Maybe you're right," she sighed into his shoulder. "It's just... I don't know."

"Shh. I know, dear, I know." He kept her embraced a moment longer, then pulled her back to arms' length. "You know what I'm going to do for you today?"

She gave him a quizzical smile.

"Not only will I find the last can of coffee in the greater tri-state area, but I will get you two--yes, now hush--TWO new Rustys! Just the other day Dan down the street was telling me a whole pocket of the things were found under the bridge of old Interstate 95! As he's going down there today to get one, I'll just tag along and get us a few!"

"Oh, really? That sounds lovely, dear, but I'm not sure we need two Rustys... I mean, we need to feed and water them... Two seems like a bit much..." She trailed off.

"Nothing is too god for my Susie." He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to stare deeply into his. "You hear me, dear. Nothing is too good for you."

He stepped out into the hall, grabbed a few guns and some other miscellaneous weapons that were sitting on the bench, then turned to face her once more. "The world may be dying, honey, but you and me?" He smiled that dazzling smile that she had fallen in love with so many years before, before marriage, before Armageddon, before... Well, before a lot.

"I love you," she said, tearing up quite suddenly.

"And I love you." He slid back the bolts and bars and opened the steel front door with an ease that belied his years. "See you soon."

He turned, and as he began closing the front door behind him, there was an explosion of light and fire...

Previous Challenges I have answered: