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One moment. Two Hearts. A Thousand Pieces…

Like shriveling petals of a drying flower, what once was, would no longer be...

Part III. 

I was relieved that Joni René was already in bed and sleeping.  I still went to her bedside.  I stared at her delicate face that lay atop her peach satin pillowcase.  She looked content.  I tiptoed away as I felt myself becoming distraught again.  I closed her door, and made my way to the master bedroom. 

I sat on the bed.  I jumped back up.  I couldn’t sit there.  It had been a sanctuary for my husband and me.   It was where we had shared a lot of things – thoughts, emotions- we had soothed each other’s pains, silly jokes, back-scratching, foreplays, and the ‘real deals’. 

I was so disappointed and angry at him, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.  I wanted to break everything in sight.  I wanted to cut – no, pull my hair out.  I wanted to take spray paint from the hallway closet and spray all over the walls. 

I saw a pair of his pants from the cleaners hanging on the doorknob of the closet door.  It was still covered with the clear plastic wrap.  I walked over to the closet, which was barely walk-in.  I looked in at his half.  I felt his testosterone exude right into my soul.  I collapsed to the floor into a sitting position with my legs sprawled out.

I let some of my pain out – I sobbed.  I couldn’t do it loudly because my baby was in the next room.The beautiful rose silk top I was wearing -for him- got stained with my mascara-laden tears.    Betrayal of this kind was debilitating.  I had a physical ache in my heart that radiated through my chest.  I had a similar ache on the right side of my head.

My sobbing was followed by a blank stare at nothing while my body sat catatonic.   Was this me going insane?

I stayed there until I heard the sound of a whooshing engine approaching the house.  It shut off.  He was home.  I tried to rise.  I had sat so stiffly, I had to slowly unhinge my joints to stand up.  Once I got to my feet I went over to the bedroom door and closed it.  I locked it.  I didn’t know what I would do next.  I was numb now…

Stay tuned for Part IV.

 
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Posted by on April 25, 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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CluTteR, no cure…

CluTteR, no cure…

There’s no cure for clutter.  It is the default condition of anything I own around me.  I think I have it more than the average person.  I know I do.  

Believe it or not, I’m pretty organized.   Any thing I don’t touch for weeks or months, sits neatly in its place. I have a neat closet.  Inside my kitchen cabinets are organized.  I have books organized and stored neatly on shelves.  But the floor, the bed, the bathroom counter, and kitchen counter are all cluttered. 

The problem is, anything I touch on a daily basis looks like it’s been thrown and tossed into its resting place:  clothes, shoes, towels, kitchen stuff,  my car…oh, my car… it is the worst. 

My car:  I hardly worry about being carjacked.  A carjacker would be sidetracked because they wouldn’t be able to get in.  There’s only enough room for the driver, and even in that case, the driver would usually be sitting on something.  The passenger seat and floor are full of mail from the mailbox, magazines, books, lots of stuff.  The backseat and trunk are junked, too.  Well, here look for yourself: 

Uh..theres no room to ride with me...

Im in the process of moving...

I’ve had to constantly  lie to people and tell them I’m in the process of moving.  This is the only thing that relieves the shock from their faces, they then nod, and an “oh, I see..”  comes afterward.

 Once a friend ran up to my car while I was about to drive away to hand me something.  She unknowingly pulled open the passenger door, and junk fell out onto her feet and the street.  I couldn’t stop her in time.  It was very embarrassing.  You’d think after that, I’d straighten it out.  Well, I did,  and within a week or two – back to the default clutter. 

The top of my desk at work is a mess.  But inside the drawers, my papers are organized in hanging folders.  What do you make of that?

All suggestions you’re thinking of right now, I’ve tried.  Believe me.  Okay, well, except counseling.  But I don’t want counseling for this.  I already know the answers:  ‘once across the desk….’; ‘put things away right away’; etc.

  I will  have to work on it like I solved the missing keys problem.  I consistently put them in the same place now whenever I come home.  Problem there, solved.  So.  GoalTomorrow:   I’m going to clean out my car. 

My kitchen:  This one will be next.  Here’s a picture of my kitchen taken about 5 years ago.  It spends 75% of the year like this.  The other 25% it is spotless and bare.  At the moment,  it’s actually reasonably neat.  I just have a few groceries (not food) from weeks ago still sitting on top, so not bad.  For now.

My CluTteRRed Kitchen...Ill clear it at, uh...4:30, no, 4:45.

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2011 in Life Experience, Uncategorized

 

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