RIP My Dear Frigidaire

Dearly Beloved, we gather here today to lay to rest our dear friend Living Room AC. LR was both a cool guy and a hard worker. He valiantly withstood 9 Long Texas Summers. His last few days were rough, as he struggled to fight through temps of up to 106. Unfortunately, despite all our efforts to preserve him, he went to Silicone Heaven this morning around 11am. We are currently hotly mourning his passing and there will be a giant hole in our window where he is greatly missed. Please join us in a moment of silence for LR and rejoice that, with his passing the world will be a quieter place where we can once again hear the TV, but his cool support will be seriously missed.

LR is survived by his friends Master Bedroom AC, Teen Room AC and Guest Room AC. He had no other known family, having been adopted at a young age from a local Lowe's. There will be no visitation or services, please remember him as the champion Frigidaire he was. In lieu of flowers, please hug your own AC, clean it's filter and offer it a can of freon.

RIP LR 6/2008 – 7/2017


Hello Jar Jar, AKA Monday

Good morning Monday, we are grateful for your arrival. It signals that we woke up still not dead again today. However, each week, we still loathe your coming because it signals the end of our weekend fun and the return to our daily grind. In trepidation, we watch you slowly creeping toward us like a White Walker, filling our Sunday evening with an impending sense of dread. You have succinctly put an end to Netflix and Chill. You've put the Kibosh on Amazon and Commitment. You've ruined Britbox and Tea. We have to wait another week to catch up with Khaleesi. Monday, like the third wheel on a date, you always end the evening before it's time and usually causing awkward irritation. As you begin to open your eyes Monday, we all crawl out of bed, reach for coffee(with or without liquor) and wish you were a figure of the calendars imagination. Sleepily(or drunkenly), we cruise through our day, not fully recovered from that Saturday night binge(three day hangover) hoping no one asks about anything more complicated than the weather and doesn't expect an answer any more complicated than potato. I don't like being the harbinger of doom (actually, yes, yes I do) but it's time to face it Monday. While Tuesday is often called "Just Monday's Ugly Sister", you are the Jar Jar Binks of days of the week. I hereby award you the "Orwell Award for Lifetime Menace". Congratulations Monday! We love to hate you!

Honestly, It could be worse…..


Funny, not Funny at all.
Sorry, NOT Sorry. If I hadn’t been given the memory it wouldn’t have appeared to be written here.

Honestly, It Could be Worse
By Elisha Gordon

I found the picture below and started to just snap it in and post a meme and move on. Somehow, I just couldn’t. That little girls face grabbed me. Yes, it’s a funny, her face and the expression on it probably has nothing at all to do with her hair. It’s just meant to make fun about how we look trying to get that glamorous Hollywood short hair look and end up looking like the stylist used a chilibowl and a round brush with an underneath swirl! It’s cute, it’s light it’s funny. For whatever reason, I can never say exactly why, what or where, but this picture triggered something inside me. To explain it to you requires a little back story revelation. Ooh, a little glimpse into my past, I don’t do that as a rule because there are no memories there before age 14 and I’m always afraid if I share people will see me differently. Guess what? I don’t care anymore. I write it because I need to. So this memory starts when I was about 9 years old. Buckle up, handle it or get off, cuz here we go…When I was about this age, while getting ready for school, my mother had gotten mad, yet again. It was a vicious daily occurrence. Instead of the usual smack on the head with the hairbrush, general yanking and pulling, she decided on her best, and most favorite way, of causing the most pain, dragging a rat-tail comb through it and yelling because that only made it harder to get the tangles out. Finally, decided she would make good on her favorite threat to “just cut off all my hair” because it was always “a rat’s nest” of tangles. My hair is very thick, but also very fine so it matted up overnight and she never had the patience to brush it out carefully. As a result of this treatment I am not the least bit tender headed. Looking back, I guess I have that to thank her for. For vacation that year, we went to Oregon with my Grandparents to visit my Great-Grandparents. She had her hairdresser cousin cut off all my long hair.I  knew I would suffer miserably for going back with this hair and she didn’t give a damn. She never did when it came to me. I thought then, though I know better now, that I could never be so humiliated as we sat down to breakfast with our menus in hand the next morning surrounded by the family, I rarely saw, and my adorable little sister playing crayons in her ponytails as the waitress took orders. When she got to me she asked “What will the little boy be having for breakfast?” I cried. Later, I cried inside, because she only ever allowed so much crying outside before she promised the beating in retaliation while she totally blamed me loudly and explained to everyone how it was all my fault because I had such tangled hair. So, in effect, I made her cut off the uncooperative mess I insisted upon growing on my head and forcing her to brush because I wouldn’t do it myself. I would have happily done it myself, had someone with any patience that didn’t include beating me offered to help me, or show me without expecting me to just drag a hairbrush through it which hurt like hell! Maybe, hold higher up, pull through down low, use your fingers to separate first, here’s some water with a little fabric softener spray, use a little on the really tough ones first…I don’t know some other offering than I’m gonna beat you, yank a brush as hard as you can, hit me on the head and threaten to shave it till I’m bald headed. I cried inside looking for rescue, but I remember my great-grandparents open mouthed looks, I remember my grandfather’s sad eyes. My father hadn’t gotten to come on this trip or cutting my hair off would never have been an option. You see, she tortured us mercilessly, but only outside of his presence and then threatened worse if we told him. She used to count up spankings, then make sure to throw it in our face how many we had coming when he left, but only out of his earshot. Funny, no one made a move to stop her there in the restaurant as she held my arm so tight I knew there’d be a bruise later. Somehow, they must have known it would make it worse. I always wondered, If they did, why didn’t anybody confront the crazy lady and save us?She’s going to deny this ever happened, tell you I’m the horrible child who made it all up. Tell you I wanted that haircut. In her version I imagine I begged to cut off my long locks so I could run around looking like someone’s lost little boy every day. BULLSHIT. Though she’d like you to believe different, she was not mother of the year in anyone’s mind but her own. Believe or not. Get it or don’t, If you were there you know the truth. So, yes, the picture is meant as a funny and even I am laughing my ass off as I type looking at that little girls face, I’m just sharing with you one of my childhood memories. I can’t explain the why or how I can remember it so clearly today when usually it’s black spots. I don’t want your pity, nor am I seeking attention. It’s just a picture and for a minute this picture brought back into focus a lost memory. The memory will probably be gone tomorrow. I won’t remember writing this.  Still, I would ask you all for the sake of your own children, please take a second to think, your actions, especially unnecessarily cruel ones have longer lasting consequences than you think. You need to know that and when the lock on the black box cannot contain all the shit that’s been packed away in it for so many years, you and only you are the target for the hatred, the rage and the vicious retaliation that leaps forth. You are the only person you have to blame. So, I hope your lovely leather belt with your name engraved on it, your vacuum cleaner cords, your coat hangers, your flyswatters, along with all those many colored empty wine boxes, pills and bottles are as great a comfort in your old age as they were when you tortured us with them in secret when no on was around to save us from you. They will probably be the only company you have, because along with your implements of torture all you’re left with are children and grand children who tolerate you solely because they cannot live without the presence of your husband in their lives.

BTW, Upon further study, It’s true! I look awful with short hair!!


My Trip Down Memory Lane 

It hurts my heart to know that what once was a big, rolling and romping famiy full of fun, mischief, acceptance, but most of all love is sadly reduced to a handful of us who bridge the gap one or two at a time, here and there for a few brief minutes, to speak. There are no family photos, no pictures of kids passed around, I have no wall of family, there is no trace that any one exists in my life other than me and my sister. It extremely painful that our once beautiful, loving and close family has been reduced to stealing rarefied pictures of those who are still very dear to my heart out of pictures posted on social media. I’m sad that my kids grew up indifferent to family pictures and family members asking who’s that? When I save pictures to my phone as keepsakes for myself. I think the most devastating blow to my heart was the other day when my now 18 year old son brought me a blanket and asked what to do with it. I said, ” you keep it” he said “why, I was putting it in the goodwill”. I explained ” Nana Mary made that for you when you were little” his.answer was “well, I didn’t really know her, and I don’t want it, but you can keep it if you want it”. I snatched the blanket and held it tightly. I felt felt like someone had just run over my dog, he laughed about it and walked off. I felt so very betrayed. My Nanny made that blanket with her own two hands! Not a machine, no precut pieces, no measuring boards. She eyeballed, she drew, she cut, she sewed it by hand – No less to make something special for you, you little snot. Then I had to stop and breathe and realize, he was, to my deep sadness and regret right. He never had those family ties I cherish in my heart and hold onto as a beacon from childhood. I’m heartbroken that some of the people I love most in the world are still around, but absent from our lives. It hurts even more that others have left this world now, and my kids never knew the joy of their touch on our lives. It pains me that they never got to build forts under Nanny’s table, or watch her chase you round the kitchen swinging a wooden spoon hollering ” I’m gonna git that butt” knowing she would never really hit you. Laughing when she called the proverbial name list that never failed to start with your dad’s name! She either finally ended with your name or “you know very well I’m talking to you, now pick that up!”. They never got to experience the thrill of visiting Grandma Leatha, who was always ready to party, despite her age, make up completely on point, hair done, sitting in a sequined shirt and insistent that you be fed honey buns from the bakery on the corner where she bought them fresh daily. I want to give my kids a short glimpse of what they missed out on. A sassy, vivacious woman, over 80, chain smoking, ready to party every day of her life driving a giant pink Cadillac is not something to be stopped, nor argued with, but my lord she was something spectacular to see! I want them to be reminded every time they smell lavender, of a bathroom at Grandma Velma’s with a window in it that opened, not to the outside, but into the den, and how you pulled the curtain around to be sure no one could see you. No one ever could, they were focused on beer, arguing about football, still…just to be safe, because you were a self-conscious girl who in reality were too short for anybody to see anything but the top of your head you adjusted the curtain and ducked! 😂 I wish for my kids that they could have gone for those Sunday breakfasts and sleepovers I now know we were often invited but not allowed to go, they were never mentioned to me or my sister. Somehow, we always felt left out because no one ever asked us. They did though. We were kept away, separated, except under the most important holidays when my father absolutely insisted we attend. Even then, the list laid out of ” You better not, or, I don’t want to catch you” rules were a mile long. All given away from the presence of and never allowed to be repeated in front of our father or the beating promised would be severe. The problem was, unlike Dad’s family, she could never wait to score a reason and wait for him to leave the house once we got home so she could use it. Enough of that. Anyway, I want to give my kids a brief jaunt back in time to those beautiful Sunday breakfasts, because grandma Velma’s and Aunt Dorothy’s biscuits and gravy melted in your mouth, and were literally to die for. It’s hard to explain how holidays started early in the day, were spent with gaggles of kids underfoot tumbling here, rolling there, hearing get out of my kitchen-don’t you lick that spoon till I get done with it. Middle names meant they might actually get up and chase you out of the kitchen, but you could usually hear them coming, hollering “where’d I put that spoon, I’m gonna tear up that ass” followed by ” git out of my damn kitchen and go play outside”, unless it was cold, then it was “get back in the den, nobody said you could come in here” followed by the random swat in your general direction. Make no mistake, we were NOT mistreated. Usually, this behavior resulted in laughter and jokes on everybody’s part. Another common family phrase was “You better not have those dirty fingers in my chocolate pie!” Aunt Ruth took her cream pies seriously, if you stuck your finger in one you better smooth it out quick, she moved wicked fast! Heaven help you if you stole cobbler, pumpkin or the mince pies Aunt Evelyn made for Randy and Uncle Biily, she really might in the back of the head as you passed, all in fun though, not to hurt! My sister and I grew up in a timeless point where kids made memories that are supposed to last a lifetime, where family is held above all. I am glad that I experienced some of those important moments as a child. It taught me so much that I carry with me as an anchor in my adult life. Sometimes, it’s my landline amidst the chaos in the storm of my mind. Because inside my brain today, up until the age of 14, there are black holes and there is nothing to remember. Nothing can be pulled out, even with the best therapist and types of therapy. I regret deeply that I also have less than a dozen memories from childhood I can share with my son. Sometimes today, the smell of rain, wet dirt and a slamming spring door is the best sound in the world to re-connect me with me.

Pulling Out the Hat. 

I am angry…very angry indeed! I am a gamer, a geek, a fan girl, a writer, an artist, a lover of fun. I am weird. I am twisted. I do crazy shit on a regular basis. Why? Because I feel like it today. I’m tired of all you sanctimonious assholes and your judgement. From this moment on, if you open your self righteous mouth, I will shatter your glass house with my rocks, I will post your idiotic opinions for the world to laugh at with my own slicing and dicing comebacks on every social media outlet I am a member of, and I don’t honestly know of many I’m not, including YouTube and Vine. Please note that all my accounts are connected. With the push of one button anything posted here appears on every social media account out there. I will make sure you are splattered all over every one for all to see, and point out your stupidity while cracking jokes, making memes and generally causing you to be the biggest laughing stock I can create. Yep, I know your solutions, no hate, no negativity, turn the other cheek, be nice, don’t look, scroll on, don’t respond, don’t spread the mean things. Guess what? Tried that for several months now, it hasn’t worked. Fuck it. I’m putting on the hat to remind you who wears it. My monkeys fly, and I am the ringleader of my circus. If you post it on my comment section, on my page, make sure you’ve thought about it, more than once, checked your facts, thought about it some more and considered whether or not you can handle what comes next. Before you post that, ask yourself whether we have interacted personally before or not, will I recognize your name on my Facebook? If so it makes you safe from backlash. Ask yourself if you are completely secure in your post on my account there. I am officially done with being lectured, being called names, hearing  I am being prayed over for a blessing from God to correct my evil ways. (suck my Ouija board, the Tarot cards say I’m fine). I’m done hearing serious recommendations that I need psychiatric help, told that I need medication or to talk to a therapist to work on my mental health. I’m sick of offers for suicide prevention counseling, if you’ve ever been truly suicidal, which I have, this is just insulting. I don’t need recommendations for AA meetings, my alcohol tolerance is laughable. I will not tolerate private messages questioning my parenting or hearing the things I do are affecting my child, who by the way, is an awesome 18 year old and probably reading this now while laughing at you. I am a heartless, ice cold, flaming Bitch from this point forward. If you are not a person in my circle and I have not interacted with you personally before, you have nothing to say on my Facebook that I want to hear and I don’t want to see your dick in my PM box. I am married, I am not available, do not PM me, do not hit on me, my husband carries an axe and he is a territorial, jealous man, so just don’t. Now, in addition to that, if you can’t take a joke, understand sarcasm and reply with at least a modicum of the same, if you can’t laugh or shake it off when you don’t like it, if you’re out to change my religion or educate me about God, my opinion is that going to church doesn’t make me any closer to God than standing in the car wash makes me closer to being a car. Both take my money, leave scars in my paint that don’t go away and leave me stranded alone with bad feelings in the end. If you don’t have a sense of humor, (preferably dark and twisted) and you try to answer my humor with a serious, condescending attitude as if I am a 4 year old asking a serious question about something that is obviously rhetorical, I will crucify you with your own inconsistencies. If you can’t generally accept that I will make fun of EVERYTHING at any given moment, any second or day of the week without warning and without reservation, including myself, and most likely piss off, at least some part/group of society, intellectual, sect, fandom, cult, religious group, stereotype, feminist belief, offended rights group, animal lover, male or female ego or Hell, even Club Penguin. If you can’t take it, scroll here when you feel strong and stay away from the Facebook Page. Life will be easier that way for sensitive people. 

Amurrica’s Language Adjustment. 

Please Inform Me. 

Does that mean there’s cash and God inside? What is a Howbow? Isn’t Dah how the Scots pronounce Dad? I see this new language everywhere. Does Rosetta Stone know? When do the discs come out? Has it been named yet? Is it in Google translate? Is it indigenous to the US, or was it imported? Who first discovered it and why haven’t I seen the Natgeo special yet? Is there a conspiracy by Lucky Charms to keep the decoder ring from me? Where did that idiot redhead learn to speak it perfectly? Is my apparently defective public school system failing my child because it doesn’t teach it in class yet? Do I get passed over for job opportunities for not being fluent in this language? Is this going to replace Spanish as the official National language? Has anyone trained the phone operators in Pakistan, so I can continue speaking to people I can’t understand about my utility bills in the proper unintelligible but acceptable communication methods? I’m going to need research, therapy, grants, theories, studies, hypothesis, trials, tax payer dollars, therapy, group studies, play dates, sponsors, experts, more therapy, decisions, panels, celebrity opinions, drugs, even more therapy, Senate committees, House debates, filibusters, bills, votes, a Jerry Springer special, a blessing from the Pope, sex scandals, verification of truth from Maury, and a spot on Dr. Oz. Get on it people. Answers, I need answers. Meanwhile, I have a therapy appointment.

Dwarf Addiction 

***Dear Friends: It’s only a funny I wrote this morning. There is nothing remotely entertaining about true addiction. Please take it as irreverently as it’s meant and do not be offended.***
Today I’ve been watching my favorite show again. I’m feeling light-hearted. If you haven’t seen it, you probably won’t enjoy this as much as a fan will. I hope it at least gives you a quick chuckle. 

Hi, my name is Jezebel and I am addicted to Red Dwarf. I have been a daily addict, using several times in a single day, for almost 38 years now. No program or therapy will help my addiction and none will be healthier or grant me more happiness. Because of my addiction, I have acquired great friends, even though most are Cyber friends and happen to be far away across the pond. They live in my computer, and are a lovely social media group of like minded individuals where we can all gather 24/7 to learn the core directives, obsess, interact, randomly quote, endlessly fantasize, hope, discuss and practice a tribal salute while we aspire to join the Jupiter Mining Space Corp. We all want to pass the engineering exam, become an Officer, get a sex life and order Lister around. We also want bigger quarters and more hangers for our underpants. We don’t speak of Gazpacho soup, trips to the Zoo or visiting on Mimas for dinner in the red light district. We do charity for people who wear Yak smelling dirty Macs and worship our blessed Deity the benevolent, though usually, cross Mr. Flibble. His hex vision is powerful, but if you’re very fast and don’t say “we’re going to get through this” too often, the King of the Potato people can help you stay in his good graces. Our cult is very dear and we work very hard enabling young children to grow up secure in this addiction across the world. I am proud to be a Red Dwarf addict.

The Place Between Awake and Asleep.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Research has shown that your body is somehow weakest between 3:00AM and 4:00AM. This is the time period when a lot of souls leave this world. I believe that maybe this is the time that Heaven, or whatever version of afterlife you believe in, is closest to our spirits.
I sometimes find the place between awake and asleep among the early morning light. In the time between moon set and sun rise, there is a perfect doorway, a thinning veil, a brief space of access that opens and let’s me wander through with no effort. In this place between awake and asleep, there is no time, there are only endless possibilities and fleeting interactions with those who’ve left our lives. These people haven’t always passed from the world we live in everyday, they just happen to live in both. A duality of existence on two planes if you will. This is not an alternative universe, you won’t find separate reality theory, nothing scientific, only a distant and different place of mind and soul. In this place, between awake and asleep, among the growing light, your people are there. The ones you love, the ones you’ve lost, the ones you desire, those you need. It’s not a place where wishes are instantly granted, there are no awe-inspiring miracle revelations, you won’t be handed the answers to life, the keys to the universe or any upcoming winning lottery numbers, there is no instant gratification. It offers peace, it offers tranquility. For me it offers a contentment and an assurance that my soul is truly whole in this place between awake and asleep. At this time, it secures for my heart and spirit that, though divided down the middle, broken, constantly yearning, containing holes reaching infinity across an unfathomable distance, it is still existing. When I am not here in this place between awake and asleep, I am eagerly peering round edges, peeping out the corners of my eyes for a glimpse and hiding behind a pretense of urbane normality, I am alone in the universe. Do not mistake my words, I am surrounded by amazing people who love me everyday and I love each and every one of them dearly. I do not, in any possible way belittle their existence or in any way intend to diminish their presence in my life. They are my people, my tribe, my family and my life. I would not be here today without them. However, in reality, they are still not the center of my universe. That spot is empty, vacant, void. It is a feeling akin to the sudden drop when you plunge off the hill at the edge of a rollercoaster. The first feeling plummeting out of the plane before you pull the cord on your parachute. It’s the dive to the pit of your stomach when you wake up from a dream where you are falling. Some mornings, when the desire to stay is so strong and I am weak, I try to choose not to wake up and I desperately need to complete that fall. No, you must not. You’re not done yet. There are no applications available for that void of a spot and there never will be. No matter how hard I try, that spot remains vacant. It remains cold and ice filled. I slip between the cobweb silken curtains from our plane to the place between awake and asleep. He stands there as guardian of all that is, or ever was, me. It only lives now in this place between awake and asleep. He holds it softly in his hand as you would a butterfly. He stands tall. He smells of Pinesol and detergent, the smell I associate with everything that has ever been good in my life, though I’ve never been able to duplicate it. Here, in this place between awake and asleep, his long dark hair rustles in a soft breeze, though I can’t place the source. In the distance, here in this place between awake and asleep, stands the familiar family house. Mom, outside on the porch coffee in hand. The car hood is up, there’s a plaid arm and a baseball brim under the old, faded red hood. The dog’s name is Milo, he climbs trees. The brothers are there too in this place between awake and asleep, one so alike and the other so different. It’s a family day, Friday. Tonight Mom will make the weekly family dinner and everyone will pile around while the men try to out eat each other. Children, though we haven’t been blessed with the ones we hope for yet, roll and run in the yard. Tears roll down my cheeks realizing how much it hurts to miss it so much. Now, it only exists here in this place between awake and asleep. It’s only been seconds and I turn back. He always wears white or blue here in this place between awake and asleep. They are my favorite colors, though his eyes are hazel and green has always been his best color. His hand reaches first, he always comes for me, every time without fail. He even comes in random dreams, but those dreams are different from this place between awake and asleep. Those random dreams are fantasies, they aren’t real. They are wishes, needs, cries, sleepy hallucinations brought on by real world manifestations of pain. Here in this place between awake and asleep, it feels so much more indisputably real, here in this place between awake and asleep he truly comes for me to save my sanity, to preserve me, to remind me, to give me back what he can give me of me. Here in this place between awake and asleep is protection, a buffer, a space behind the wall where I can be, where I can hide for just a little while, a few stolen moments in the space between awake and asleep. Here is love, here glowing in the mist and surrounding light, here in this place between awake and asleep is my heart. It is no longer in my body, it stands before me with its fingers entwined in mine and begins to walk across the dew dropped grass and flowers. Here in this place between awake and asleep I gladly hand over life and surrender existence for the blessed reward of the presence by my side. No matter how long it lasts, seconds, minutes, I dare not hope for hours, though I’d gladly give my entire being for a day. I am me again for however long it lasts here in this place between awake and asleep. I can talk, I can tell all. I can speak without editing. I can be crazy, I can laugh, whatever goes through my head comes out with no filter. Here, I am most creative, the ideas flow, the opinions are validated and all is right with my world here in this place between awake and asleep. There is complete, utter, unconditional acceptance from him. There is no worry of division, there is no consideration for eggshells or mincing of words. Here in this place between awake and asleep, we are once again a force of nature, two against the world. There’s no damper or limitation on my personality here in this place between awake and asleep. As always, there is no recrimination, there are no accusations, there is no anger. He laughs, he grins, he listens,he shakes his head, he encourages, he stops and kisses my forehead, tells me to slow down, but I can’t. He’s here, he’s mine, I am by God’s grace whole for as long as I’ve got. My time of freedom with him here in this place between awake and asleep is limited and our visits brief. There’s so very much. It isn’t a true back and forth exchange, it never was. I gushed, he laughed, poked fun, occasionally replied, mostly just listened held my hand and rolled with the whirlwind. He made me Queen of the World, but I belonged to him, he believed that was his job, I lived atop the pedestal he built. He wanted that, he created my world and he upheld the rules with his standards and his person. He maintains the seat, even here in this place between awake and asleep. As we continue to move like two planets with perfect gravitational synchronization, stopping among green trees dripping morning dew, I feel his hand lift my chin, his other arm rests lightly at my waist. Here in this place between awake and asleep, it’s emotional for me, the feel of his skin on mine in so small a gesture. It’s not erotic, it’s human contact. It’s his trademark. When we existed together that link always existed and was never broken. Never an hour passed without that contact, even if only something so simple as a hand brushing across the back of my neck in passing. I physically miss it now. I lean towards it like a kitten, knowing it  only exists here in this place between awake and asleep. As always, my head still rests in the middle of his chest, he reminds me that I still belong to him. Life, death, ride, die, redemption, damnation, the promise we made in blood, tears, happiness, loss, anger and sorrow was Always and Forever. Eternity together. I’ve never given it to another, and I never will for that belongs to him alone. Here in this place between awake and asleep, there is a thread, invisible and stronger than anything found in life or death. Through it, we are still connected and whole, wrapped twice around each our wrists, we are simply on two separate planes at this point in time. Here in this place between awake and asleep, there is a promise, held on a contract, written on solid gold, in the mornings first whisper that both halves of this split and broken soul will eventually be sealed tight and whole again to its true other half. He knows this, he always did have the unswerving conviction. I was the over thinker, the worrier. Here in this place between awake and asleep I am whole, I am me, I am happy. Now, here in this place between awake and asleep, the light is brightening, the dew is drying. Mist starts to clear and the touch of skin starts to fade. Wait, no. I can’t. Don’t let me go back, not yet. If I go now, I will lose it again, I will lose what I’ve found here, I will lose me. You will, he says, but it has to be that way. I’m sorry and I love you. I guard you, I stand over you, body and soul, Always and Forever. That was my promise, I am keeping it from here in the place between awake and asleep even when you don’t know why. You are whole here with me in this place between awake and asleep. The light is getting brighter in the curtain, sleep fades as his hand falls from mine here in this place between awake and asleep. I hang on tightly wishing the light away. Write it he says, write it all, take me with you out of this place between awake and asleep. I will follow, I will hold, I will stand, I will love you. I am your muse, I am your ghost, I am yours, you will always be mine. I am your story to write even when it’s not about me, it’s me by your side. I am your guard, I hold your wall. He fades, I lie there, a train wreck once again, tightening my eyelids trying to force my way back, knowing, it’s over now. I am awake. I must persevere, visit when I am invited, or can steal the chance, and wait patiently. Patience is not my virtue. I am not a patient creature by nature. I am no longer there, I am here in the first light. I will miss the place between awake and asleep. I will write today, I will write this story.


Todays Piss You Off Post…

Good news, I have decided upon the daily sarcastic inquiring post. It’s probably offensive, could be downright rude and quite irreverent. Today, however,  I am genuinely not trying to be terribly political. I completely realize vehement argument and flaming will most likely ensue. I thrive on your overwhelming veracity to make a point, fire away. I will sip coffee and read with glee. I will not argue, but I have some mighty fine inquiries in reserve. All polite, curious and non inflammatory on my part. I really am researching while trying to have fun and truly understand without perpetuating the hate. Even from my own friends with different view points. That’s what friends do, they help each other to consider new perspective and hopefully learn new ways or viewpoints. If not, they remain friends who agree to disagree. I can love you with all my heart and think you are the most amazing person on Earth without thinking exactly like you. Conversations would be truly boring if everyone was a sheeple. I realize and
validate your cause is impassioned, but let’s lighten up and learn from each other please, as intellectual individuals.

 Here goes..I got up this morning, made coffee, checked my gun rack, took my meds, sent my kids to school, kissed my husband and received compliments on my perfume, my clothing and hairstyle. I continue to be maintained and treated like a spoiled Princess by a man. Can I make it alone, Hell yes! Do I WANT TO? Hell No! Do I think I’m being objectified or demeaned? Nope. I’m being treated like a woman, I am not a man. I don’t want a tender high five in the morning. 

Basically, as near as I can tell from my deplorable, backwater, hick town, my own words, nothing is any different than it was 1 year ago, 10 days ago or 5 days ago. I can have, or do anything I could do then, now. I personally, do not feel fearful or threatened by the change of leadership. As near as I have seen, all the rights offered to me are just what they were 365 days ago and just as they were 2 hours ago. I truly, no sarcasm intended, no snark, do not understand the utter perpetuation and distraught sense of disastrous fear spreading around the US. Please enlighten me, banter, discuss, debate, give me sources, named, creditable sources. Point out a genuine reason why I should Change my view away from Trump based on actual fact, not CNN or FOX NEWS. I’m open minded, I’m well rounded. I’m willing to discuss or debate a topic in a civil tone. I’m also not afraid to check and block your ass if you get way out of hand with the overly stupid or downright  “my way or the highway ” name calling or abusive comments. Flame Mode:

Sarcastically Whorish Ways..

It’s time for a lesson, I’d like to call Bad idea,Worse idea. Well, because, there really is no good idea. I’d like to say, up front, I don’t encourage or agree with either. Some girls see it as an opportunity, in which case, I kind of see the point. It won’t last forever, but neither does any other job. They do get some perks out of it, and I can say without shame that I do know some pretty fantastic young women who raised pretty amazing kids and started off successful lives practicing a Bad Idea. However, The Worse Idea is what is really bothering me today. That idea is just plain lazy ass irresponsible sponging hoe syndrome with enormous Daddy issues. If you can’t be independent, take care of your damn self, live life and take care of shit like a grown up without a man in your life and you’re chosen goal in life is to be a Whore, be a good one for God’s sake. Free Country and all, if that’s your life mission, good for you! Dammit, learn to excel, make it a career, get up and show up! Talk to a better class of Whore. Aspire to be her! Take notes, see how she maintains herself, keeps nice clothes, a nice ride, kids taken care of, bills paid AND a place of her own. She juggles those men with efficiency! I bet she has her own appointment book. Chances are, listen closely, they aren’t her ex-fiances, best friends, half brother’s, broke-ass tattooed, wife-beater, internet hook-up from Hillbilly Hell. They probably dabble in oil, drive a Jag, see her during school hours away from their wives and her children leave money on the dresser for cute lingerie and the electric bill and don’t expect phone calls or clingy texts. Thus, a smart Whore is free to do as she pleases, while providing for, parenting and raising her children, taking part in all their activities and being a good Mother, keeping HER activities AWAY from her kids. There are no midnight evictions, impounded cars, impending arrests, flashing lights to interrupt their sleep, or strange assholes pounding holes in walls and one of those assholes is certainly NOT their mother. Because the things in that last sentence, ladies, those are The Worse Idea. If you need more references for the Bad Idea, while still not technically good, but better, please see YouTube for “Sugar Baby” There was a video here on Facebook the other day I’m sure could have given you some pointers, but alas it is lost to me now. If your aspirations of Good Whoredom are true though, I’m sure you could find it.
Now, I know this has been a long and painful post for you. There will be most likely be NO counseling and your bills will still be due. I have Kleenex, I expect tears. However, I must now make my disclaimers for butthurt purposes.

This post is sarcasm folks, any self identifications you may find are purely coincidental, they are in fact NOT (in fact probably are) directed at you. (If the shoe fits, it’s your own damn fault, Lace the Bitch up and wear it Whore.)

For all the empowered, marching, offended, women: Dear Young women, this is not a choice you should make. Your bodies are not objects to be used or paid for by men. If you are mistreated, come South my dear, find a Texas girl. We will teach you how to Chancla, What an equalizer is, How to Bless a Heart with an Iron Skillet, Why we are in fact NOT demeaned by being a Princess born and raised, why a pickup man is HOT, how come his tractor is SEXY, why you need a gun and what to do with it. Yes, I know you are further offended now…

All The Things…

All the things. All the things in your head. Circles and running and spirals and swirling. It rushes and whooshes and mixes. It masquerades as you, pretending to be thoughts. In reality it’s the chaos of shaky, trembling, What if, How Come? Why? When? Could of…Should of…Maybe… Probably..Can I?…Did I?…WTF?..Who?..How??…Yes..No. It never stops, it never slows, it never ends. Your mind never closes, never rests, never takes a breath. It’s one big forward rollercoaster movement on to the next cycle of thought. A whole shift of paradigm to a new plane of reality just as intense as the last where we start over with all the things. All the things that give no peace, all the things burned into our eyelids that play into our own personal version of Hell every minute of every day and every night. It never rests, it just continues silently like white noise in the background. Sometimes you want to take a drill and see if you can get it out, but no, it doesn’t leave. It just moves somewhere else and starts over with all the things, all the things in your head that circle and swirl around behind the person you pretend to be every day. All the things, being silently tormented in the swooshing, never sleeping abyss of Demons that peek out from the eyes behind your masks. All the things that need to come out before you can find rest. All the things you desperately need to share with someone but no one will understand. They roil and roll in endless possibilities offering redemption or damnation in equal turns. Sometimes a final ending, an everlasting peace, but that too is a lie told by all the things. They’ll never let you go. Once they get you in their grip, you float, you sway, you cry, you scream, you plead, finally you begin to demand. It ends, long enough, a matter of seconds, long enough to torture you with hope. You begin to bargain with I won’t..Boom! Laughter…It begins again with all the things….In the end, what it really boils down to is ALL THE THINGS. 
Never poke at what you cannot put back in the box. Leave All the Things quietly alone as you pass.

Political Ruminations….

Ok, I’m sick of the hatred merry go round and I’m getting off. So, here’s the deal from my perspective, and it’s the last I’ll say on the subject. I support the idea of A Great America. I want to live in the greatest country in the world and I can’t afford to move to the Netherlands or Denmark. The idea that this country needs change in many policies across the social structure is dear to my heart. I support putting our country first, before foreign aid. Feed and clothe our own. Keep the jobs here. Take care of our vets and their families. Acknowledge with pride and fairly, the sacrificing they do every day by getting them the help and services they need when they come home scarred from battle. Pay them above the poverty level for their service. They are offering their life to protect this chunk of land and your right to have the freedoms many so flippantly abuse. They give up being with their families, seeing their children born. They miss first steps and first words. They don’t see school plays or soccer finals and a lot of times their only interaction with their spouse and children or other family members is a video call or occasional letter for months on end. They shouldn’t need to rely on food stamps or other services for poverty stricken families when they come home. Our military force, should never be abandoned and left homeless on the streets while we accept, feed, clothe and give free healthcare to immigrants. Don’t get me wrong, by all means if we can help peaceful people in need of sanctuary we should. America was founded based on aiding those very people. Not all those seeking asylum here are monsters. However, our own natural citizens should be first and then sanctuary for others when available. Big government has no place in day to day citizens activities. Government should not dictate my life choices, my parenting choices, what I am allowed to read and see on the media or what traditional values my family instills in its children or lifestyle. It’s none of their business who I love, who I marry or what type of relationship works for my lifestyle. Consenting adults, over whatever the age for consent has been set in their area, should be left in peace to prosper without persecutions for those choices. They should not dictate what grows in my garden or whether I collect rain water to use in my day to day life. Sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, right?! The job of government is to run the country as a whole. They were designed as an overseeing entity to rule with the people’s approval. They were put in place to protect the people enforcing and using the Constitution and Bill of Rights. Their job is not now, nor was it ever meant to be, to micromanage daily life. Church and State should ALWAYS be separate entities. I don’t care by what name you choose to call your God, how you choose to worship, what day of the week, what clothes you where or what type of venue you choose to use. Religion/Church is a private affair between man and maker, in that relationship there is no place for government regulations. The other side of that coin is Church has no place in government, and this is where I make enemies. Each person has a personal relationship with their chosen belief system. That system influences every part of your being. It gives you the grounding foundation for who you are. As a person, even in government, you use those values to make/vote on decisions the way you believe best upholds those standards. That is the crossover between Church and State. Period. Laws should not be created based on the teachings of the belief system of any single religious system. As a nation, we keep hearing we need God back in our country. God never left, he lost his place among all the fear mongering and bickering over which of his incarnations was right and the suddenly overwhelming need to be offended by things that weren’t even issues until hate filled people decided to start using “offended” as the new way to persecute others who do not share the same paradigm as themselves. As far as putting God back in schools, yes, by all means we should. However, in the same statement, I believe, if Johnny wants to say grace before his meals, let him. If Nina, needs an East facing prayer mat when the sun is at noon in the sky, give it to her. If Jodi wears a red beanie while he eats and only eats certain foods, more power to him. You don’t get to dictate which God can come to school. After all, who are they really, truly, hurting with their differences? Your sensibilities? Your outrageous, self righteous idea that only you can be religiously pious by following your choice of deity? Believe it or not, while it may not agree with you, those chilldren are being taught beliefs, conviction, thought patterns and lessons that will ultimately help them be better people later in life. It may not agree with your own ideas of acceptable religious teachings, but it’s still a damn sight better than religious education presented to you by Grand Theft Auto on XBOX. So far, this sounds good, right? Or maybe, I’m making you mad as hell. I know there’s a complainer out there hollering that not all religions teach good, some are violent, some teach what modern society deems unacceptable behaviors. This is true, however, there are very few minority religions that still practice these types of behavior. You hear about them a lot, because sensationalism sells news and generates outrage, feeding hate and fear. Do you see the vicious circle? Religion can adapt changes anytime. People see changes in the world around them that lead to religious reform everyday. The problem is, the few, self righteous, want the freedom of religion, but they want it to fit into their definition of acceptable religion. We cannot pick and choose who gets religious freedom. The very granting, plus acceptance, of that freedom comes with the caveat that not all religions are the right choice for every person. Still, our laws grant that choice. So, while I may not agree with your choice, I’ll stand beside you and fight for your right to have it. In the end, the bottom line for me comes out, if you’re treating me like a decent human being and acting like a decent human being in return, we have no problem with each other. Our views, opinions, skin color, religious background, gender identity, idealism, social standing, political views, sarcastic ability/appreciations, sense of humor, body weight, physical characteristics and any other of a million things that make us unique individuals may differ. That’s ok by me. I can disagree with you, respect your ideals and admire your passion for them, still enjoy drinks and a movie with you and see no need to trash you verbally or physically for those ideals. I will willingly discuss any, or all these things with you in an adult, respectful way. Who knows, we may both get a different perspective and learn something with a new way to think about it. There are endless thoughts and ideas, open your mind to the possibility that exists. Quit shutting down, perpetuating hate, spreading violence and acting like we’re going to revert to the Stone age. Maybe, if we tried a little harder to be basically decent humans and automatically allowed EVERY living creature basic kindness and dignity, the divisive culture we now suffer could begin to heal and we would become the potential waiting in the world around us to see what we can do.  

Friday Morning Darkness

She stood stock still taking in her new surroundings.  As she began to walk, she left foot prints of fire and blood in her wake. The hell hounds walked beside her, treasured pets. The people scrambled, like the peasants they were, to clear her path. On she walked, the Demon hordes following in her wake. Ripping, clawing, tearing…it had been so long since they’d had real flesh to devour. With a whistle, she called them to her, red eyes filling with the flame that so obviously burned inside her. Even the black of her hair shone with fiery highlights, almost like a halo. She laughed at the thought. It was a beautiful laugh, one designed to lure people in, draw them close so she could feast upon the evil in their souls. Men dared to move closer. Fearing, yet wanting to bask in the sound of her laughter, wishing she would speak. She did not, and would not. Not yet anyway, not until it was time. Slowly, she cocked her head to the side, listening. Yes, that was it, the sound she had been so patiently awaiting. He came, he always came for her. Theirs was a love that had crossed time and was destined to last for eternity. Slowly she reached out her hand, not looking, just knowing his would be there to take it. She was finally content. She ascended the last steps from the gates. Hell followed in her bloody, fiery footsteps and beside her was Death riding his pale horse and claiming the woman he loved.  

Sunday Night Short

Well here we are people, on the cusp of another week.  A week of work, a week of vacation, a week long drunken binge, or hell, maybe just a week of retreat into our own minds. Whichever is your choice, I will be here hanging out near the Pineapple bush on the pink beaches of the Astral Plane with my spotted Zebra, who’s name happens to be Zorf. Spotted Zebras are a rare thing, and Zorf is particularly special because he always hangs out in my head when I need encouragement. We have the best conversations, and he always offers wise advice and sometimes rum when things are particularly stressful. I don’t always listen, because the unicorns who also inhabit my brain outnumber Zorf and sometimes their ideas are just too much fun to refuse. I have several other personalities, making for a wide menagerie of weirdness running around inside my head. You never know who might surface and talk to you next. Sadly, we’re running short on time tonight. Zorf just reminded me we must be up and in the shower by 4:30am. He tortures me by withholding coffee and a few minutes of computer time until after I’ve showered and am completely ready for work. I think this is mean, and accuse him of secretly being an agent of the Dark Side. Seriously, he won’t even let me have cookies for breakfast. Wait, that might prove he isn’t on the Dark Side. I hear they have fantastic cookies over there, I need to think about this. Oh well, thoughts for another post. Right now though, Zorf and all our other friends want to wish you the best possible week, filled with happiness, love and above all peace. Namaste, my friends and good night!

Wednesday Night=Wandering Mind

Things I think about while I’m being an insomniac:

1. Leaving the tops of the windows down, while the bottoms are closed, makes the house much cooler for the day. Yes, I know all about how heat rises and cool stays lower, so I understand. It just makes me go hmmm…. Because, well, windows are supposed to be windows right?
2. Why can’t I get something to shut off my head? The circles it runs through instead of sleeping are really exhausting.
3. Qwan (my toy chi-pom) has suddenly become a little asshole. I know he’s jealous of the new puppy, but he always comes to mama. Now we aren’t speaking and he won’t come out of his room. I’m depressed. I thought only teenagers were supposed to act like that.
4. I wonder when I’ll get off my ass and actually buy me a new coffeepot. I’ve been settling for instant for a while now. I’m still not ready to commit to a certain kind of coffee machine. I’m pretty sure I can’t sneak one out of Starbucks, so I’ll have to choose. I like the idea of a Keurig, because my coffee would always be fresh. Having one in reality, creeps me out because of all the horror stories I’ve seen about them growing mold. I can’t breathe anyway, so I can’t have mold in my coffee. Do you think I have commitment issues, or am I overthinking the coffeepot? hmm.
5. Most people have probably already stopped reading this because it’s a long post. What’s up with that? Isn’t that the purpose of Social Media? Read my weirdness people. READ IT.
6. Am I the only one that checks, and re-checks, their grammar and spelling before actually hitting post? I’m a grammar Nazi and a spelling Wizard. Bad writing just annoys me.
7. Speaking of grammar and spelling, I hate the abbreviations people use in texts these days. If I care enough to text you, I text in complete grammatically correct sentences. If you get a text from me using U, R, B4 or C, instead of real words, dial 911! I’m in the trunk and someone has my car, kids and phone.
8. Why is it taking so long for Finding Dory to come out? Maybe I should just shut up and re-watch Finding Nemo.
9. I just watched Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs. I’m a grown woman who feels sorry for Sid the Sloth because he wants kids so bad he’ll steal some!
10. Since I’ve worked so hard to lose a little over 90 lbs., will I let myself buy shorts to wear outside this year? No, probably not. It’s nothing to do with body image, I’m me and I’m learning to love that, but I think shorts make my legs look, well, short. Yes, again, this is just part of my weirdness. I’m a summer dress kind of girl.
11. Shoes. I HATE them. Whoever invented them should be shot! I bet I have less shoes than 90% of other women. Seriously – If you see me buying anything other than flip-flops year round, again call 911. Someone is trying to kidnap me and I am signaling you!
12. I wonder if I can buy Super Hero skins for my Oxygen Concentrater like I can for the PS3 or the XBox. That would be cool. Stop right there, this is my stealing. Everyone wants their Concentrater to look hip while they’re out and about, right?
13. I like typing Concentrater because it’s driving spell check crazy. It can’t suggest a correct spelling either. Concentrater, Concentrater, Concentrater. Ok, I’m done now. and yes, I’m four and my tired is starting to show.
14. You know I couldn’t just stop at 13, that’s unlucky. I wonder if I’ll enjoy the Lady Death movie that’s on Amazon Prime? Going to try it later today.
Nope that’s it for now. Guess I’ll go stare at the insides of my eyelids for a while or, at least look at crochet patterns for a while. G’night ya’ll!

Happy Memory Moment

Ok, so I eat cottage cheese with pineapple chunks in it. I can buy it this way at any local store, but sometimes I’m a cheap chickie and I decide I can make things myself. So, cottage cheese with pineapple chunks handmade saves money and leaves me a glass of pineapple juice. I like pineapple juice, in fact I don’t just like it, I love it. Anyway, so there in the fridge sits this innocent glass of pineapple juice while I nom, nom, nom, all the chunks and the cottage cheese. It looked lonely sitting there, lonely and yummy. I grabbed it off the shelf and as I was drinking, I suddenly had one of those moments where you get sucked into a memory. Usually, this is a scary ass experience ending with tears and a pounding headache. I think today is progress, because today’s memory was happy. For a brief second, I was back to being 14 years old sitting poolside looking out over the ocean on St. Kitts. The breeze was cool, the night air smelt like ocean and sweet flowers. The band was playing a song called “Yellow Bird”. I was sipping pineapple juice with an umbrella in it and watching(flirting with) the boy at the next table who was all dark and sexy. I later found out he was close to my age, being 16, and from Venezuela. I remember that, but not his name. I remember dancing with him there on the patio of the resort in the moonlight wishing that moment in time could last forever. Today for about 10 seconds it came back, I was there under the stars in a strangers arms and happy about it. This never happens, I can’t stand to be touched. Who was that girl? Where did she go? I wonder about her now and I’m pushing for more of her memories. Let’s all cross our fingers I can find some more good ones!

Peaceful mornings

She woke in the air conditioned cool and pulled the covers back up over her head. There was absolutely no need to be up at this time of morning, it was only 4am. Sleepily, because going back to sleep was obviously not an option, she pushed the covers back, grabbed her phone, Kindle and the ever important inhaler and went in search of something to wear. Settling on a red sundress that required no ironing and little effort to slip on, she wandered out into the un-airconditioned part of the house. The breeze coming through the bathroom window was still cool, smelling of honeysuckle and freshly dug earth. She didn’t know why, but it was a comforting smell. One she stopped to enjoy as she checked on the little one to make sure he still slept and that the Mickey Mouse DVD was still doing the Magic Clubhouse thing. There was no sound from the older one’s room, then again that didn’t mean much, he was the nocturnal one and probably wouldn’t even surface until after 3pm.  Content that she had the house to herself for a little while, and savoring every minute, she moved down the hallway to the kitchen, greeting the dogs who waited anxiously to get out the back door. Yawning, she opened the door for them and liking the smell of the lavender bush outside the backdoor, she left it open so they could come and go freely for a while.  Moving over to the sink, she pulled the coffeepot over and began the morning ritual that gave her life and energy for what was to come.  Maybe today she would finish clearing off the table and get the table cloth and cover on.  She really should do that.  Tapping her foot, she waited for the pot to make enough coffee to pour a cup and after getting a steaming breath of life, moved on into the living room to find her favorite mindless TV, Red Dwarf. Flipping on an episode, she settled back and picked up her crochet. It was going to be a market bag, for a crochet challenge that went through the month of June. It didn’t look like much yet, but the pattern explained everything so hopefully this one would turn out well enough to submit for the contest. After that there were the sock owls, the sock monkey and a hundred other little crafty projects she wanted to do. None of these made any money yet, just offered the satisfaction of having created something with her own hands. They grant the gift of comfort and some quiet to a constantly active mind. She picked up the pattern and started on the next round as the theme song played in the background of her mind.

Dreaming #1


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From the hazy unreal hell that had become her reality, she slipped into the coma induced sleep blissfully granted by modern medicine. She looked forward to this time with an almost sick satisfaction. Every night, she counted the time until she could take the pills that would allow her to escape for a few hours, allow her the bliss of a short time to feel no pain. Plus, it was only in dreams that she could see him now, only during the drug induced stupor that for a few minutes she could feel peace. As the fog of her dozing cleared into real sleep, he was there.  Smiling his goofy grin that had always been hers alone. The sun shone, there were trees rustling with a soft breeze and as usual here lately, everything in the dream was white except the lush green of the trees.  He took two of his long strides and stood close, holding her against him in a hug that she felt all the way through her soul. This, this feeling of right, the feeling of belonging, of being whole. This was what she lived for, the peace of his presence in her stormy world. Consciously, she knew she was dreaming, but it didn’t matter.  The feeling of elation washed over her just as it did when he had been real and solid in her life every day.  She savored the feeling because it didn’t exist in real life, only in the few short moments they could spend together in her dreams.  Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his long brown hair,watching it feather as it lay back down. Her hand slid down a scruffy cheek and she remembered how she loved the feel of his skin under her hand.  He laughed then, taking her hand and kissing the palm. “I love you, no less now than then. I promised you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now.”  “I love you too, still so much, always and forever.” she said while the tears ran down her cheeks.  He took her hand and placed it over his heart, reached up, plucking a white flower from the tree and slipped it into her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Don’t cry baby, I’m here and I’m never far away.” She laid her head on his chest, holding him tight and clinging to the lifeline of his words. The fog was returning, she knew she was waking up and he was fading away.  The dream ended and she woke with tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain came again of being ripped away, the feeling of losing half her soul, half her heart, half the person she was supposed to have been.  Through the tears, she realized that every dream was one step closer, every minute was one step closer to being with him again. Every minute she lived was still one minute closer to death and the peace of being with him again. So, with a determination forged in pain, she began to count those minutes and realized that everyday of her life was one step closer to him. All she had to do was wait.