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Angels vs. Sheer Coincidence…

All in a day's work...of an Angel

 I had a very  L——–O——–N——–G  day at work today. (enough?)  I had been at work since 7:00 am.  I had not seen any weather forecasts the night before or all day.  At 9:00 pm,  I finally managed to surrender myself back to my own life and was the final soul to leave the building that evening (post-cleaning staff).

I got in my car.  It was dark.  It was comfortable.  A few streaks of lightening, absent of sound, kept appearing in the sky.   (Thank God for at least that, or I wouldn’t have known anything).  No rain, no drizzle, no thunder came with it.

I decided to go to Walmart to get some grits I had been desperate for.  I wanted some tonight, since there was no time to cook.  I usually do not go to the store at night (once darkness hits).  But I felt compelled to reward myself for a FULL Day’s Work.    I pulled into the parking lot.  Parked close to the entry and went in. 

Imagine my horror when I saw  a cleared space right where the Quaker Instant Grits packets are supposd to be (yet again, another item allowed to be out-of-stock, Walmart!).   I grabbed the round box as an alternative, some milk and pecans and headed out to the check-out line.  (Okay, I’ll admit it.  I grabbed some M&M’s too.)

Anyway, the nice little family in front of me took so long to check out.  The cashier had a worthless looking-vase that looks like a kindergartener could have made, and was waltzing around trying to find a price for it.  My neutral affect gradually turned to a frown as she then held an inconsiderate conversation with the family as she kept counting their money five times.   I watched as the mother of the little family unit, leaned on my stuff which had glided up next to them.    I started to walk away and leave my groceries right there on the belt.  But I wanted the grits.

By the time they finally walked away, I couldn’t make eye contact with the clerk.  I was that upset with the wait.  I figured I’d teach her what efficiency was supposed to be and rhythmically opened my purse, scanned my card, pulled my bagged groceries from the turntable one by one.  I punched in my PIN, closed my purse, chose ‘no cash back’, then waited the long three seconds while she handed me my receipt.  It wasn’t in my nature not to say, thank you.  So I did and proceeded to leave the store.

Just as I was a few feet from reaching the exit, security locked it and pointed saying they were directing all customers to the center of the store.  A tornado was a few blocks over and headed our way.  My eyes widened in disbelief.   The tornado alarms were sounding.

For about 20 minutes I had to stay there until the tornado had past.

I reflected on the time since 9:00 pm.  I’m  sure I would have driven right into the path of that tornado if I had gotten out the Walmart a couple of minutes sooner.  Moreso, if I had gone straight home from work instead of Walmart, I would have been right in its path.  Was that an act of angels looking out for me? 

Subliminal thoughts, giving me a crave to go to Walmart instead of straight home.  The stalling of the family in the line.  Who knows?

So now, I sit here in the safety of my home.  Not really hungry for any grits tonight.

Tonight…. Sheer coincidence, nah. 

 My sister just tore my shirt.  Out of context?   I guess my conscious mind is trying sign off, and the subconscious dream state must have been setting in.  That means I’m tired…

Later,

Jacqué

 
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Posted by on April 27, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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One Moment. Two Hearts. A Thousand Pieces…

Part II.

I drove towards home in a daze.  I was in a vacuum.  Traffic noises seemed to be an echo  in the distance.  People walking on the sidewalks or crossing the streets were illusions, not innocent fellow human beings worthy of trust.  They would do unto others as they would not like to have done unto them. 

Home would now have a different meaning for me.  It would no longer be a place of reconvening of our bond to each other.  We spent most of our time together, except when we were working.  I had switched to home-based physical therapy.  The separation was vital to our stability.  Joni René’s happiness was a tangible representation of our bond and commitment.  Our family unit was a platform still vital to her well-being.

Thinking of her sent a crescendoing twinge from deep within my chest.  My tongue clamped against my palate to hold me back from bawling where I sat.  The blubbering saliva seeped from the corners of my mouth.  I clutched the steering wheel tightly. 

Oh, Joni René doesn’t deserve this…  None of us deserve this.  We were so immune.  We were doing everything the best way we knew how.

For a moment, I felt sorry for him.  It was as though my loving adorable mate had inevitably become weakened.  He had fallen victim to this highly contagious affliction of people.  My next thought straightened me up from wallowing in my despair.  For how long has he been doing this?   I scanned my memory for all of the tardy evenings he had had lately.  There weren’t many, but there were some for sure.

I had arrived home without realizing it.  I grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes.  I stayed in my parked car to regain my composure.  I backed out and deliberately parked down the street.    The baby sitter and certainly Joni René should not see me like this.  I took a series of deep breaths as I walked down the sidewalk to the house.

Stay tuned for part III.

 
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Posted by on April 23, 2011 in Life Experience, Uncategorized

 

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My Poor Characters…

Writers block?? I dont know what that is, because Id hoped it would never apply to me.

So, as instructed by writing experts,  I have developed my characters.  Did it about a year ago.  So for awhile now, my characters have been waiting on me.   They each have a name, a family, issues in their past, likes, dislikes, personality traits, goals/aspirations.  They each come with an elaborate backstory (which I’ll have to weave in) as they each make their personal debut. 

So my characters sit and wait.  Like on the set for a movie, siting in costume, waiting to step into their respective roles.  They’re bored.   I imagine my protagonist male character lying on his back on a bench, one leg hanging off, the right forearm covering his eyes.  The characters at his scene have small-talked ad nauseam.  They have nothing to talk about except what has already been scripted for them.  The only thing they have in common with each other is the storyline I created. 

There they sit, on the set, stuck at a scene, waiting for the director (me) to deliver their next lines.  I haven’t done so in weeks.  Writer’s block??  I don’t know what that is, because I’d hoped it would never apply to me.

By the way, the setting where they wait is in rural Louisiana, where it’s hot and steamy.  Agonizingly uncomfortable.  Some have loosened their costumes, and kicked off their shoes.  Those who have a part near the fetid swamp have to endure it, because at any time, I might pick up that section and edit it.  I expect them to jump up and resume their positions in the scenes.  I might waver them back and forth for awhile.  Take them this way, then no, that way.  But they tolerate it.  All the time.  They’re my characters.  

  I do care for them,  my patiently-waiting characters.  My men- and ladies-in-waiting.  I haven’t forgotten them.  They are relying on me to come around.  So, I will.  Stay tuned.

 
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Posted by on April 18, 2011 in Writing

 

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Oh, goodness…

I racked my brain trying to think of a good title for my site.  All the obvious ones that popped into my head, had popped into someones-elses-heads first.  (One thing you’ll realize from my posts is I make up my own phrases and words to get my point across- regardless of what Great Grammar Mamar says.)

The word, trance, entered my mind first, because sometimes I do find myself withdrawing out of a trance of thoughts.  It’s like daydreaming, I guess.  My body will become frozen in what ever task I was involved in, and my mind will have taken over.  The trance could be about anything, my book, a review of a conversation, a reflection on a movie I just watched.  But I’ll be in a state of flowing thoughts, one I actually could break out of if I were really made to. 

In this tranced state, my body seems to be rendered powerless.  Perhaps it’s because my brain needs to slurp up all the energy to carry out its function.  It’s as if the battery power of my whole body gets re-routed to my brain.  Once my brain ends the trance, like a switch I can pick back up with what I was doing.  Sometimes I feel like my body is a robot in limbo waiting for remote control from my brain to start back up again.

Anyway, that was off the subject – but that was kind of a tranced moment, there.  What I wanted to talk about was the word, trance and the fact that it’s my title.  After I chose the title and paid $17, I did a google search for ‘daily trance’. I saw sights about trance music.  I don’t want readers to think that this site or I have anything to do with being under the influence of anything.  I saw some other references to ‘the trance.”  and I thought, oh nooo!  That’s not what I mean!

It’s like naming your child Charles Manson, not having known anything about him, and then later doing a  search and realizing– oh nooo!  

No, it’s not that bad.  A better example would be inventing a drink, and naming it Gatorjuice only to find out there’s something out there already very popular called Gatorade. 

No, that’s not a good example either.  Because it has to be two things of different realms.  So how about designing a beautiful pink and white polka dotted outfit to serve on the cover for a new magazine, only to find out that pink and white polka dot outfits are the official colors of a radical group that believes opposite what you do.

Sorta like that.

Oh well, I’m keeping it.  The Daily Trance.  It’s about the mind.  It’s got nothing to do with the music here, so…

Jacque’

 
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Posted by on April 12, 2011 in Life Experience, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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