Costume Party...

They both sat at the same time.

"Oh, excuse me, did I bump you?" He was balancing a plate of snacks and a drink and the bench was fairly small. 

"No, did I bump you?" She had been teetering on much too high heels and had just needed to sit. 

The empty bench had probably been meant for one but there weren't a lot of options around the room for sitting so neither one of them really wanted to move. 

"Here, if I turn and sit on the end facing away a little I think we can both fit easily." He straddled the end of the bench giving her just a little bit more room to get both butt cheeks on the seat. 

"Thank you. This is great." She smiled at him and then, "What are you?"

He'd been waiting for the question. "I'm 'That Guy'."

She looked confused. She wasn't sure if that was some meme or TV show, she wasn't really good at keeping up with pop culture. Work took a lot out of her. "Sorry?"

"'That Guy' you know the one. That guy who had no plans to go to a Halloween party so he didn't bother with a costume and then his friends all shamed him in to going and said it was fine there would for sure be other people who didn't dress up and..." He waved around the room at the party. Where every single person was in an elaborate costume. "Well, I'm 'That Guy' the worst thing to be at a Halloween party."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Ask me what I am." 

He looked at her, "I was thinking Vanna White?"

"Nope, but I might steal that. I'm a Magician's Assistant."

Now it was his turn to look confused. He scanned the crowd a little bit.

"Don't bother, you won't find him. He pulled a great trick and disappeared right after we got here. Along with his Playboy Bunny ex-girlfriend. So no, 'That Guy' isn't the worst thing to be at a party. The worst thing to be is one half of a  no longer couple's costume."

"Ouch." 

"Yep." 

"OH MY GOD! LOOK AT YOU!" The squeal came from the crowd and made its way toward them. The crowd parted to reveal their host Julianne, "You look so good!" 

She stood up and gave the hug that was expected. He smiled and nodded.

"I didn't know you two knew each other! What a small world!" Julianna was always very enthusiastic and right now hosting her party and a few drinks into the night she was on full. "What are you?"

She sighed and started to talk when he put his hand on her arm, "Allow me to explain. She's a Magician's Assistant and I'm the audience member that was pulled up on stage for the trick. We're now hiding back stage waiting for the big reveal."

Julianne put her hand over her mouth for a second, "Oh my gosh, a concept costume! That's so fun!"
There was a crashing noise from the kitchen, "Oh no! I'd better go check that out! So glad you guys could make it! And really bummed I hadn't ever thought to fix you up before. This really works!"

"Oh no we aren't...." she started to explain but Julianne was already making her way toward the kitchen. 

"I'd say I'm sorry about that but it kept me from facing Julianne throwing together a costume for me."

She laughed, "Oh god, yes, she totally would have done that! Painted whiskers on you or something!"

He held out his hand, "Well now that we are part of a concept couples costume I guess I should introduce myself, I'm Andrew."

"I'm Lauren."

"Nice to meet you, Lauren. Can I get you a refill on that drink? Those shoes look nice with your outfit but they don't look comfortable for walking."

"That would be great. Thanks."

"Save my spot, such as it is." He smiled at her and took her empty glass toward the makeshift bar. 

She smiled, it might not be such a terrible night after all. 

Meetings...

"Don't look up. Don't make eye contact." EB whispered.

"What?"

"Don't look up. If he sees you he will come over here."

"Who?" And with that she looked up.

"Shit."

"Oh hi! Are you new? I don't think we've met, I'm Jerry."

She reached out her hand, Jerry? Well that was unexpected.

"I don't use my title. I think it's a little overdone."

EB rolled his eyes, "He heard Kris doing it, so..."

"That's not true! I was doing it long before that! I just don't think I need to lord it over everyone else that's all."

"Sure..."

Jerry turned away from EB a little, "So, anyway, nice to meet you...?"

She paused for a moment. "I just go by my title."

Was that a blush? Maybe. "Oh, I didn't mean to...I mean...I didn't know...I just..."

"It's okay. I've just never really needed anything else. I mean the letters and notes come to me that way, imagine the confusion if I was like one of four Janes right?"

"Oh yeah, sure. I get that. Very practical."

"But since we're asking awkward questions, why are you here? Aren't you busy this time of year?"

EB made a strangled noises somewhere between a snort laugh and cough. "Sorry, allergies."

Jerry turned ever further away from him. "Well, it's not really that busy. That Shulz fellow pretty much shut me down."

"I'm sorry?"

EB stepped in toward them, "He's blaming the cartoon. He thinks that it damaged his reputation."

"It did! A complete misrepresentation of who I am and what I do! He made me, well, boring first off, and unreliable to boot! What child wants to put their faith in someone who doesn't even show up?"

EB shrugged his shoulders, "But you are kind of unreliable. I mean you don't visit all of the houses, only some, and even then only sometimes. What exactly is your criteria?"

"I only visit children who can't celebrate on their own. Sometimes sick kids, sometimes kids who parents worry about them out at night. It's complicated, you wouldn't understand."

"You're right. It just seems a little arbitrary. And honestly that Shulz guy did you a favor in a way. Before that nobody really knew who you were at all. Even now they get you confused with The Hea..."

"DON'T EVEN SAY HIS NAME!"

She took a half step back to really look at him. And EB was right, he really did resemble the other guy. Maybe they were brothers.

"So, anyway, without a lot to do, I have time to come to a mixer or two. Get to know the community. Meet new people." He smiled. It was kind of a creepy smile now that she noticed the resemblance to the other guy.

"Well it was nice to meet you. I don't get to a lot of these, I don't really have a busy season. Though next week will pick up a little. I think it's the Milk Duds that does it."

EB laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. Maybe add a few caramels to my rotation for you. Assuming you like to be kept busy?"

"It makes the time go faster, but I have to admit that sometimes it's a bit overwhelming. Nothing worse than getting back and realizing you missed a few stops. But the good news is that a next day pick up works pretty well. I'm not tied to a day like most of you are."

Jerry broke in, "Do you think you would like some help? Like I said, I'm not really that busy anymore and even though I can't get around as fast as Kris or even EB I have resources. I could use the work. I mean, I'm not begging, I'm just offering my assistance."

She actually thought about it for a moment. She was way overworked. She wasn't kidding about sometimes missing pickups. And that really was the pits. It could work out. Jerry could see she was really considering it and smiled again.

She pictured one of his pickups not going smoothly and little Suzie Sweetheart 6 years old waking up to see him looming over her bed...

"Maybe not. I mean I don't think we should be cross working, right? It would just confuse the kids."

He nodded, disappointed but not really surprised. "Yeah, I get it...okay well I think they are about to shut down the bar so I'm going to grab another apple cider, can I get you anything?"

She smiled and held out her glass, "No thanks, I'm finishing my milk now. Strong bones and teeth you know!"

"Yeah, sure. Okay, see you around."

EB watched him walk toward the bar, "I'd feel a little sorry for him, but that Shulz guy really did have him nailed. Hit or miss with the job, kids had to start going door to door to do it for him. No pride in his work at all. And honestly, I think he slacked off because he was moonlighting as The Headless Horseman and got carried away with that gig instead of his original shot as The Great Pumpkin."

The Tooth Fairy nodded, "It's tempting though, right? To do something else? I've just never got the time. So many teeth."

EB's ears twitched, "I've never thought about it. I think what we do is honorable and just and..."

From behind him came a low growl, "Don't make me tell the lady about your time in the theater....Harvey..."

"Oooh...Krampus, so nice to meet you." Her wings practically vibrated.

EB hopped off, why did they always like the bad boys?

Half Baked...

Last night as we were heading to bed we had a massive storm roll through. Tons of rain and wind. So I had a hard time falling asleep. Then I still woke up at 2 AM (guessing, I don't look at the clock, so I actually have no idea but it feels like 2 so I always think it's 2) as usual. Then cat napped my way to Brent waking up.

While all of this not sleeping was going on I was thinking about stories and writing and I got a great idea. For the rest of the year (along with other pieces) I would do a holiday type series. A set of characters doing things around the holidays. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, maybe Veteran's Day and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa as well, I don't know who they are yet so it could be any or all of them.

I really like the idea. The only problem is I have no stories for them. I have an idea of a story framework, but no people, no dialog, no situations, not even a vision of an interaction.

I have my Christmas people, the set of four stories that started with I Believe (do you all remember them?) and I sort of have a group of Halloween characters that have come in and out of stories, but nothing as tied as the I Believe group. But I Believe started with an idea of an adult woman who believed in Santa Claus and then the people around her wanted to talk too, not as an idea to write a Christmas series. Even the twin Santa and Krampus stories I have started with an image and then spun from there. I had no intention of writing Santa and Krampus paired stories.

But I do like the idea of a Holiday Series. That's why I'm writing this blog right now. I'm getting that inner brain spinning going. I want it to become a real tangible idea so if I get some words on paper it might help that along. That's the idea anyway.

The writing process is a weird one for me. I've written about it before. I want to be published, not just me posting something and saying, "TA DA published!", but someone else out there in the wide world saying, "Yeah, this should be published." But on the other hand I don't care about making money off of my stuff. I don't care about finding a bigger audience.

But part of me is like I want the recognition that I am good at this. Which then I stop and think, Why? I think I'm good. Brent (who, by the way,  just walked by the study and said, "Write, Monkey write!" I'm including that because it made me laugh out loud and I think we all should laugh out loud a lot) thinks I'm good. A lot of the time you all reading this think what you've read is good. So why do I need anything else? And I don't. Not really. I think I'm good. That's the part that keeps me writing and hitting publish. And yet...I want that outside stranger to validate it just once. Even though I think I would get a hit of "YEAH!" that would last about a week and then I'd be back to writer world where I think I'm good (except on days that I'm sure I'm a fraud and what did that stranger know anyway I mean SOMEONE published Twilight and the accompanying fanfic 50 Shades so who are they to fucking judge me....) and well you see...

But part of becoming a successful published writer really seems to hinge on planning. You get story structure lined out. You write in your framework. Then you read. Then you have others read. Then you edit. Then you have others read again. Then you edit again. Then your editor and publisher take cracks at what you submit. Then you do it all again and again. And oh my god that sounds awful to me.

So I end up back here where I write and hit publish so quickly that a year or two later I read my own work and don't remember it!

And those are the thoughts I have to sweep away to make a series work in my head. The side tracks and windy paths that I start going down when what I really want is group of people who are connected somehow and how they navigate the holiday season and is it supernatural, or romance (I've done it, don't laugh), or just slice of life stuff, or a blend? Are they always together, or does it start with one and build? Or start with all and they separate and then come back together? Is it just my bar people? Or is it a family?

Or does this just slip away into the recesses of the notebook of ideas?

Because that happens a LOT! People sometimes give me ideas to write about, and often I take them and do a story that was NOT AT ALL what they had in mind when they gave me the idea, but more often it's not that I'm lacking in ideas, it's just that they are all just starters.

Half baked ideas.

I need some oven time.

But I'm too distracted by the raw cookie dough.

Holiday theme...

What are you people doing?

Who are you people?

Why should I care about you?

Do you even exist?

Welcome to the brain of a frustrated writer....

It's half baked.

(Winky face, half smile, emoji)

Binary Complications...

I'm really bugged right now by this conflicting narrative that happens.

The dueling arguments of yes/no simplistic arguing contrasted with the (in a lot of cases same people) super complicated conspiracy theories.

So right now we have a leaked memo that the Trump administration wants to do a gender lock at birth. Doctor looks between the legs, this is your gender, it goes in to a registry and that's that. A little more restrictive than we have now where gender is recorded on the birth certificate but (depending where you live) can be changed later. It's a male/female that's it dynamic. Simplistic. It's an attack on trans* rights. Which is what it's designed for, and even more than that, it's a voter encouragement issue.

I say even more than that not because I think attacking trans* rights isn't more serious, it's because this was a leaked memo that was (I believe) leaked just for the purpose of riling up the Trump base. They cannot stand the idea of trans* rights. Just can't. The number of times I've seen people make the gender binary argument is well in to the who the fuck are you people who don't ever read scientific studies numbers.

Because gender isn't a one or the other thing. It's just not.

But that's their argument. If this then that.

Gun control. Same thing. If I say I'm for gun control you want to start screaming about confiscation. I never said that. I think we can have a lot of really good laws and practices in place that don't take all the guns away. I have friends and family that hunt. I have friends and family that live out in the wilderness (or at least not within a quick response zone from the police) I have friends and family who are incredibly well trained and safe with their firearms. I don't have any urge to take their guns away. It's not a if this then only that argument. I've made it a lot. I believe in the well regulated part of the second amendment.

Policing. Same thing. If I post about a bad cop doing something bad I'm not anti-police. I'm pro-police. I like that there are police out there serving and protecting. I get that they do a really important and extremely hard job. But I don't think they are perfect and I do believe that circling the wagons and drawing a blue line around them when one screws up doesn't do any good. The same way I want a doctor who has committed malpractice removed from the hospital, I want bad cops removed from the force. It's not a simple yes cop/no cop issue.

Border security, if you're not in favor of an expensive and ridiculous wall you are obviously open borders. Well, no. We need to be smarter about immigration, that doesn't mean building a massive wall that won't work and will do other damage and it doesn't mean throwing the whole system open and giving up. It means we need to look at all of the issues and find solutions, or at least try and find solutions. It's not a wall us in or tear it all down binary. And it never has been.

This simplistic thinking gets us in trouble. Nuance is important. Finding common ground is important and yet, we can't seem to get there.

Then we flip the scripts and we have conspiracy theories.

The Clintons kill everyone who is a threat to them, well except for the people who have actually caused them problems. Somehow they were skipped, but still read this three page document of all of the people that have DIED that they KNEW!

False flags! Mass shooting happens and it didn't really happen it's all about stealing your guns. Except when a mass shooting happens what we do is buy more guns so really if there was a false flag wouldn't it be the gun manufacturers and sellers that benefit from it? So...

Right now we have the guy who sent bombs in the mail. We don't know what was going on there. Not yet. But it's already out that the super conservative bumper stickers that plastered his van are "too new" to have been on there for any time. By sending them to Democrats it's obviously a Democrat plot to scare Democrats. To do what? To vote? Democrats are already highly motivated, bombs would scare them away not to the polls right?

The caravan coming from Central America. Supposedly the Democrats set it all up to influence the midterm elections. But border security is a Republican issue for getting votes. Why would Democrats start a massive migration caravan right before midterms when they know that scaremongering around immigration gets Republicans to turn out in massive numbers?

And that's always the problem with conspiracy theories. They don't hold up. They are too complicated, too many things have to be disregarded to make them work, too many things that have nothing to do with the issue have to be added to it to make it work.

So I'm bugged right now.

I'm bugged by people who ignore Occam's Razor and bugged by people who want to overly simplify things. Which seems kind of contradictory. But it's really not.

The simple explanation for an event is usually the correct one.

Not everything is a yes/no if/then proposition.

Basically I just need people to stop bugging me.

If I've Said It Once...

...I'm pretty sure I still couldn't find it in the search results.

I think I've written this blog before. In fact I'm almost 100% certain I've written it before. But I can't find it in my search so I'm writing it again. Because it's still bothering me so even if I have written it before I haven't cleared it all the way out of my head.

So here we go.

Don't take advantage of my good nature.
Don't be a dick to the people I love.
Don't play me for a fool.

Unless you want me to make that face whenever your name is mentioned. Or you want me to tell people the reason why you were taken off of my friend list. Or you want me to treat you as if you do not exist.

Then go on ahead and do those things.

The "On This Day" feature can be really fun or it can make you just shake your head. Today it's a shake my head day. Reading a "discussion" with someone who has since been kicked from my friend list and being reminded once again that they were never ever acting in good faith. They weren't interested in having discussions about differing points of view or expanding their understanding of what other people thought or even trying to see if they could instill a little understanding of their points of view in others. It was just trolling.

Putting out arguments just to argue.

Amazon.com arguing when they started to lose. (Other people who are making the argument you are making have made this argument which I am more likely to win so let me switch)

Taking advantage of my better angels.

Which makes my greater demons come out.

Because I've worked to make sure that I am a decent human being. I let go of the things that I held when I was younger that were making me bitter. I don't like to be like that. I want to meet people and assume they are good people. If someone says something that can be taken in one way that is bad and another way that is good I want to assume they didn't mean the bad. I want you to be acting in good faith when you engage with me in a discussion.

BUT...I'm also pretty observant. I pick up on patterns. I see what and where you are commenting and I see where things are going. Or what you are really doing. I think most people who write can do that. You have to be able to predict human nature if you are going to write convincing characters.

So I was shaking my head today because I really let this person hang around for much too long. I talked myself out of dumping them. Oh they are lonely. Oh they need someone to give the other side of the argument. Oh they are really just looking for information.

Oh, fuck, they were just an asshole all along and you let them be for way too long.

................

Okay, real time attitude shift.

Right before that break the dryer buzzed and it was time to shift laundry around. So I set this aside and went upstairs to take care of that. I'm missing a washcloth. Brent washed towels yesterday and we didn't fold them before bed so I folded them as I started laundry today. The bath sheets and the hand towel came out of the dryer but not the washcloth. I figured that meant the washcloth got stuck to the side of the washer and would end up coming out in the next batch from the dryer. Nope. Not there. So somewhere I've lost a washcloth. Which made me think of a friend of mine who posts about the random things her dryer eats. Mostly socks, but sometimes whole outfits will disappear. The vortex of the dryer.

Then I thought of another friend who could spin a story out of that idea. The dryer as a portal to another realm. The things that disappear are being stolen as supplies.

Then I thought, oh wait, no, that's a story you would write and make your friend read. I get us confused...

And then I realized that I wasn't as angry as I was when I was writing. Which, of course, makes sense, I was focusing on other things. Because that's who I am. You know I like multi-focused better than flighty or easily distracted, but if the washcloth fits...

So then I said it again. Because that's who I am.

So yes, I will never like the person I was talking about before, for all of the reasons I mentioned, but I kept them around for too long because that's who I am.

I want to reach you.
I want you to understand what I'm trying to tell you.
I want to find common ground.
I don't ever want to assume that you are just being an asshole.

Because that's who I am.

I've said it before, don't let who they are change who you are.

I am the sort of person that would rather keep someone around a little too long than drop someone the first time they make me mad.

I am the sort of person who will take it on good faith when you say you want to learn something about someone different than you are.

I am the sort of person who cares if you are lonely or not.

But don't ever misunderstand, I am also not the sort of person who will ignore the warning signs forever. And once I'm done, once I see that you have taken advantage of who I am?

Well, fuck you.

Because that's also who I am.

And now I'm off to ponder the case of the missing washcloth.

Frogs...

He waited. Feeling her breathing slowing and slowing and slowing. They were curled together in their warm bed, her back pressed against him. He had been careful not to place his arm under her; holding her loosely but still curled together big spoon and little. Just a normal night.

Her breathing slowed more.

Then stopped.

He waited a little while longer just to make sure, then eased his way out of the bed. He kept an eye on her laying there while he slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then he went downstairs to his study.

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. He needed to check his files again. To make sure he was right. He opened his shadow system. It had taken him months to get just this far. To be able to run a parallel operation system on a hidden network. One that wasn't monitored. Because everything he did was monitored now. He tried to make sure he acted like he wasn't aware of it, but he was. He had been for awhile.

He logged into the boards. Checked a few feeds. Was there any new information? Were there any coded hints that had been deciphered? He found three references to the work he was doing and copied the information into his spreadsheets then retabuluated his results. They were still tracking on his predicted lines.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed. At best they had three more years.

Three years until it didn't matter anymore. Until they didn't matter anymore.

He sent a few messages. A few warnings. Things were still moving. Still happening. People needed to know. He needed to let them know. He needed to do more.

They all did.

But could they? He said three more years until they didn't matter anymore but was it really that long? Or had they ceased mattering long ago? Had he stopped being able to effect change when he had been hired? Or when he had been partnered? Or was he making a difference now, sneaking around in the dark? Taking risks like this? Was it really doing any good or was he just racing the avalanche downhill?

What was the analogy? Boiling a frog? When did the water first start to get warm? When he was in school. That must have been the first temperature increase. They all were tested. Pulled out and put in to specialities where they could do the greatest good. He remembered listening to stories from his grandparents where they used to be able to choose their own educational direction. What a waste of time. If you had no aptitude for math and had tried to be an engineer anyway what sort of disaster was that going to be? Or worse if you were highly gifted in languages and chose to do something ridiculous like act instead of working in foreign relations. What a waste of resources.

At least that's what he was taught to believe.

The water was definitely getting warm then. When he was redirected from his science classes in to computer technology. But it was comfortable. Like a dip in the ocean in August.

After he graduated and was assigned to work for the State Offices the water was probably heating up again. It was a good job. A great job. High salary, great benefits, a house for him, a home for his parents. A driver. A social calendar filled with events and team building with like minded individuals. He was so busy all of the time. New assignments crossing his desk at high rates of speed. Always a piece of the whole. We all work together for together we work for all! A nice bath water then.

Another turn up of the heat when he was partnered. And this one he definitely didn't notice. Well he didn't notice that his water was getting warmer, he noticed that he was warmer. It was a privilege to get one of the spouse models. Your husband or your wife was totally customized. They were designed to be all that you ever wanted. Sure, it was done subtly, through tests. Fun quizzes. The same sort that would spit out what type of dog you were, or the color of your aura back in his parent's early times. Now they asked questions and weighed your results and you ended up being "introduced" to your spouse as your year in bonus.

He understood that this meant that he had some sort of genetic flaw that shouldn't be passed along to another generation. He also understood it was a huge privilege to be granted a spouse model and he shouldn't feel any shame about it at all. It was a sign of how much the State Offices valued his services and wanted to keep him happy. But still, there was a little shame. He pretended, their friends pretended, they all sized each other up to see who was partnered and who had been allowed to choose freely. If there hadn't been the shame there wouldn't have been any reason to program them with memories of childhood. To have given them history. His wife would have laughed at the thought that she wasn't as human as he was. That she was any sort of robotic creation.

And yet, she lay in their bed right now not breathing. Receiving updates and software patches in her "sleep." Transmitting his movements and conversations. He was always watched, he just pretended not to be aware.

The water was warmer still.

He checked the obsolete boards one last time.

The numbers were increasing.

More than half of the population had been given a spouse. Some were now being given children. Robots who aged. Genetically enhanced lifeforms. They were being phased out.

While his wife slept upstairs he watched messages on boards and entered data on spreadsheets and felt the first bubbles of the boiling water around him.

Was it too late for them all to jump?

Great Starts...

The coyotes were restless last night...

Doesn't that sound like a great opening line to a fiction story?

It's not. It's just a stated fact. I didn't sleep well last night because the coyotes woke me up. When they get together in a pack (not always the case, coyotes hunt on their own quite a bit, they are more scavenger than pack hunter) they yip and cry and carry on. It's eerie.

Wolves howl. It's primal and will raise the hairs on the back of your neck a little. It's also kind of deep and vibrates in your chest a bit. Scary. But in that portion of your brain that understands hunters and hunted.

Coyotes? They scream. And cry. And sound like angry toddlers. Or banshees. They raise the hair on the back of your neck and on your arms and make your stomach kind of twist. Because you aren't sure if you should be scared or should try to help. If they are dangerous or in danger. If they are natural or supernatural.

The coyotes were restless last night...

I think it will be a start to a fiction story at some point. Because I love a good opening line.

Re-reading all of my old blogs has shown me that. Opening lines are most often the inspiration (or excuse) for the entire rest of the story. I like them so much that probably 60% of my stories open and close with the same line.

I love a good open and I love a call back.

Quite often what's in the middle is just a way to get there.

But anyway, last night the coyotes woke me up. I didn't check the time. I don't have a bedside clock. We use our phones for alarms so no need for one. And it's part of not fighting insomnia. If you have a clock you are tempted to just do the math all night. If I get to sleep right now I will get 6 hours of sleep...okay if I get to sleep now I will get 5 hours of sleep...oh my god if I fall asleep right now I will only get 4 hours of sleep... So I never check the time. I just relax and try to get back to sleep or at least to that zone of relaxation.

Last night I was having a harder time getting back to relaxed. Like I said, the coyotes were restless. It's hard to relax and go back to sleep when hell demons are outside your window calling for lost souls.

So instead I started thinking about my life over the past few years. Specifically that I have a written record of what I was thinking at certain times. What I believed. What was really going on in my head. Because (and there are scientific studies to back me up here) we are not actually reliable witnesses to our own past beliefs. We often think we have ALWAYS thought one way when we in fact held opposite views at one point.

I've talked about it before and I'm not bad at it for the most part. I know what I've always believed and know what I used to believe but don't anymore. The things I feel the strongest about I haven't shifted on. Some other things I have, but I've also talked about those and why I've shifted. I also believe that as we age we become more and more distilled versions of who we really are. We tend to shed things that we didn't really hold that tightly to. There are areas that I used to be more willing to bend in, opinions that I didn't hold myself but didn't view as being that bad that I now look at and think, nope. Now I'm not as sure if that's just me changing or if it's the world has shifted and now I see where certain paths lead.

I'm not as willing to keep my politics on my blog and then only sometimes, only for big issues, and not on my Facebook page. In the beginning of my time of Facebook (from reading my blog I can see this) I actually worked really hard at keeping my political opinions off of there and keeping them only here. That isn't the case anymore. Now I feel that it's important to make clear what I do and do not believe and why. I think it's a mistake to stay silent when people are saying things that are wrong, factually or morally. Who knows if in ten years I will feel the same way or think this was a mistake. But for right now I feel like we need to have discussions, and we need to see reasonable people make arguments and we need to see that we are not alone in our opinions so we can gain strength from that. (I also know that there are people who do not feel that I am reasonable or have shareable opinions.)

So as I was contemplating the changes in my own opinions over the years and where I am right now the coyotes were screaming outside the window. And I wondered to myself, Where are we? As a country and as a world where are we right now? There is a lot of divide. There is a lot of hypocrisy. There is denial of science, of facts. In the United State we have a president who constantly lies and his base tries to sweep it away by claiming that the media is biased by reporting that he constantly lies. We have divisions on gender, on color, on everything really. We are all very cemented in our opinions and think those that disagree with us are idiots.

"Don't tell me you honestly believe...."

That's how one comment started on a post I made the other day.  Don't tell me you honestly believe... I've written about this before. Of course I honestly believe that or I wouldn't have posted it. Don't be stupid and don't ever presume that I am.

I'm a happy person by nature. My baseline is happy. Most of my day I'm smiling or laughing about something. And yet, there is a rage that is just under the surface a lot of the time now. Now part of that is menopause. I will be honest here, if hot flashes were heat rays the whole world would burn...but it's also the feeling that the world is out of control. That important things are being dismissed. That the wrong things are being thought valuable. That we are in dangerous times and not enough people are listening. And those of us that are concerned are being dismissed. Pushed aside. Even though our numbers are strong and high, the systems are rigged and so we keep having to push and then get criticized for pushing. It leads to that slow burn anger being right there. All the time.

So sleep was difficult.

The coyotes were restless last night...

The Company You Keep...

Part One

William folded the picture up and started to put it back in his wallet. He paused thinking that he really should just throw it out. Forget about her. If his Commander saw that he carried a picture of her he might get the wrong idea.

It wasn't the first time he had contemplated this. He put the picture back in his wallet. It wouldn't be the last.

He stared at the ceiling in the little bedroom he was currently not sleeping in. Remembering their last morning together. He had been so excited to get started. To really make a difference.

"It's not going to be what you think."

She had told him this before. He wanted to steer the conversation away from the topic. He was worried about what she might say. He was worried someone might overhear. His regiment was packing up supplies, getting ready to leave. But she was talking and he didn't want her to stop either. He didn't know how long it would be before they would come back here. 

"You haven't been out there either. It might be exactly what I think. You could be wrong."

She gave him the don't be an idiot look again then rubbed her shaved head. "I have a good idea what it's like out there. I have a better idea what it's like here. I'm not blinded by some sort of misplaced patriotism."

"Patriotism is never misplaced." He puffed up a bit at the suggestion. 

"So noble. So honorable. That will change."

"I will always be honorable!" He really was starting to get insulted now. 

"I know you think that. But as you sit here eating breakfast your friends are stealing everything that isn't nailed down. What are you going to leave me with? No food, that's for sure."

"They are packing supplies, they aren't stealing!"

"Supplies? They are my things. They are taking my things."

"You will get reimbursed by the Army for anything that is requisitioned."

She laughed her bitter laugh. "Do you still believe that? Oh, William, you are naive."

She walked to the table and leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, "There are things that can never be repaid. There are things that once stolen can never be returned. You are going to have choices to make once you're out there. Make the right ones."

Then she walked out of the kitchen and in to the yard where his Commander was working with a group to round up the chickens to take with them. If they would lay eggs while they were in transit that would be best but if not they could kill them and have meat for dinner. William watched from the window as she strode out in to the yard. She walked up behind one of the men that had been sharing the house with them. One that William had never liked. He was the type to take things that weren't his to take, and to leave bruises on white skin that couldn't be ignored. As she neared him William saw a flash of silver in her hand. He could have shouted out a warning right then but didn't. He tried later to tell himself that he hadn't known what she was going to do but that wasn't honorable. He couldn't lie even to himself.

But he never told anyone else that he had seen it coming. He wasn't that stupid. 

She plunged the knife into his brain. Targeting the small vulnerable spot at the back of his neck. It was fast. Up and in. He dropped without a sound. Then she had turned and opened her arms to his Commander, "Fuck you." Those were her last words. He shot her at least 8 times. It wasn't quick and clean. She had been better than them all the way to the end. 

That had been two years ago. 

William had done and seen a lot since then. 

It's why he couldn't always sleep. 

The room was starting to fill with sunlight. He didn't want to look at the floor. He wanted to keep looking at the ceiling. He wanted to keep replaying the memories of her cooking him breakfast. He wanted to go back in time and listen to her about leaving. He wanted to talk her into going with him. Smuggling her out from behind the fence. Living a life where she could grow her hair back or get another tattoo or cook like she loved to...

He looked at the floor. At the stain where the blood had pooled. He didn't want to think about that. 

"Gosser! You're smaller than me, go see if you can reach her."

His friends, as she had always called them and now he even thought of them that way, had been laughing and joking outside the door to the room. They had stopped at this house not expecting to find it occupied. Most people moved on if they knew the 2nd was on the march. But sometimes they didn't. Then they would hide. Sometimes that worked. If they were only looking for supplies they would sometimes pretend they didn't see anyone. But if they were looking for other things...

William had gone into the room and looked around. He could hear her breathing. She was trying to be quiet but the panic had set in so each breath was a quiet whimper. She had to be under the bed. It was a small bed, low to the ground. They could have lifted it off of her maybe but it would be easier for him to slide under there and just drag her out. His friends closed the door to make sure she couldn't run once he got her out. 

He grabbed her arm and drug her across the floor to the middle of the room, she blinked up at him, the fear turning to confusion, "Billy?"

He hadn't been called Billy in a long time. It was familiar, but not him, not anymore. 

"Billy? It's you, isn't it? It's me, Suzanne. From Mrs. Springfield's class. Remember? We sat next to each other..." She trailed off and then shook her head. Remembering where they were. Who they were. Just how far away Mrs. Springfield's third grade class really was.

William stared at her. "Suzanne. Yeah. I remember you." And he did. She had always been so nice to everyone. One of those people who even in the third grade didn't give in to bullying the weird kids. She never made fun of the quiet boy who just liked to listen to people talk.

There was a bang on the door, "Did you get her Gosser?? Save some for the rest of us!"

Suzanne closed her eyes as her body shook with fear. "Billy..."

"I'm sorry." He reached up and scratched his own face, then yelled as he shot her.

The door slammed open as he stood over the bleeding out body. "Crazy bitch attacked me."

"Ah shit...well that's no fun."

They drug her out into the yard and burned her on the trash pile. 

He slept in her room that night. Spoils of war. 

He put his hand over his wallet, making sure it, and everything it contained, was secure in his pocket. She had been right.

It wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought he had made the right choice though. The honorable one. What would she have thought?

He heard her voice in his head,

"Fuck you."

Useful Idiots...

While she was dressing to go out she had the news on in the background.

The newscaster's face held in what she thought of us "interested listening" pose. But she could see in her eyes the reflections of "why are we listening to this crap?" Or maybe it was her own reflection she was seeing.

Though she knew why she was listening to that crap. Useful idiots. 

Every movement has them. The ones that are sent out, or set up, to spread a certain message. To either take the heat away from what is really going on, or to move the needle with the "invisible hand."

The woman on the news program was a useful idiot. 

She had no idea that's what she was. She was truly sincere in what she was saying. That's the only way it worked. But she still was what she was. She was there to talk about the offensive Halloween costumes that they saw every year. Horrible things. Pushing outdated and incorrect ideas. The newscaster was wondering why she always got stuck with these interviews. 

Useful idiots. 

The nonexistent War On Christmas was fully manned by useful idiots. The first seedings in of them had started years ago but they were having a difficult time reaching full potential for awhile. They (them, the big THEY) had really hit the bonanza when that talking head idiot started making it a centerpiece of his show every year. THE WAR ON CHRISTMAS! It was good marketing. You saw the shift from people being a little put out that stores started hitting them up for Christmas dollars in November to being able to shame anyone who said anything about it when they went up in October. 

How dare you! You are part of the WAR ON CHRISTMAS! 

So they won a nonexistent War on Christmas. And now you were expected to shop for decorations right after you got the kids off to school in September; to plan your gift list, get your matching pajamas, buy the food that will cost you the entire rest of the year budget all to show that you were not part of the WAR ON CHRISTMAS!

The only misstep they had was in trying to take over Thanksgiving as well. More and more stores opened for the day. And earlier and earlier. They were really close to getting all of the calendar between October and December but then...well...the whispers started. "It's the liberals, trying to take away Thanksgiving with their revisionist history." "You know how they are, they don't want us saying grace around the Thanksgiving table. They'd rather we all be shopping! HOW DARE THEY!"

That's the problem with useful idiots, they are useful, but they are still idiots.  So Thanksgiving went back to being a day off. A Fall colored island in a sea of red and green. But just that one day.

They'd try again later. Of that she was sure. 

She had history on her side after all. 

Listening to the woman on the news talk about ancient religions and peace with nature she nodded. 

The first time they had tried to create a diversion it had been like the Thanksgiving debacle, really. Okay, maybe it was worse. She didn't really feel badly about it. It wasn't her. It was history. She only used they because it was her ancestors. So really it wasn't a we sort of they it was a them sort of they. That's what she told herself.

But basically they had been too successful. And then there had been backlash. 

"...we don't wear ridiculous pointed hats, or fly around on brooms..."

So Salem had been a low point in her family history. Who knew that the reaction would be so strong? Sure, looking back it was clear that old superstitions would lead to violence, but at the time? She had to think that her ancestors were just trying to show it was all very silly business and nothing they should even pay attention to. Little girls playing pretend games. But then crops failed (not unusual, crops fail all the time) and people got sick (again, not unusual) and people started to doubt that praying to their God was doing any good. So they found scapegoats. So many scapegoats. Beyond the two useful idiots that had been part of the original plan. Over 200 in the end with 20 dead...

She shivered a little then. 

"...it's very unpleasant to see your culture maligned with silly hats and warty noses..."

So it was a few years later, quite a few years later, before they tried again. And now they had groups all over the world. Women and men who would go on news programs and talk about the ancient Wiccan religion and how it had absolutely nothing to do with story book witches! They were very convincing. As they should be considering they really believed what they were saying. They were a good distraction. 

She opened the hall closet and grabbed her hat and her broom. She needed to pick up a little eye of newt before she could finish her latest brew. There was a weather system coming in that was going to be bad, very bad. She needed to do what she could to make it less so. To provide the "miracles" that always came after such storms. The world needed witches.

And useful idiots. 

I'm Not a Pacifist...

I don't take a lot of shit.

I don't put up with a lot of nonsense.

I have no truck with fools.

I'm not a bystander by nature.

You all know that.

When you are hit in the face you see stars. Mostly nose hits do that. A solid jaw hit can actually drop you unconscious because of the nerve that runs along there. But nose hits, cheek bone hits, those can make you wish you were dropped they hurt so much. Eye sockets? Fragile things. Even if the orbital bone doesn't break the eye swells easily. Nature's way of protecting the eye from damage. Pretty genius really.

If you hit someone in the face your hand hurts. If you hit them hard enough your whole arm feels it. Your hand is solid. The bone you are hitting is solid. The impact stops the momentum so all of the energy has to go someplace.

That funny shot in a movie where someone who has clearly never hit anyone before shakes their hand out? That's real. It's a shock. You don't think you should hurt. You are the one hitting after all.

If you have never been hit at all, let alone in the face, the first time it happens is a shock.

If you are lucky and you get hit in the face, it is the only time you are ever hit in the face.

But if you have been hit in the face, or hit a few faces yourself, you know what it feels like and what to expect. So you are prepared when you might get into an altercation.

I think there are violent people in this world and nonviolent people.

I also think that violent people can learn to curb their violence and nonviolent people can be pushed to violence.

But there is a divide. Even people who have worked very hard at curbing their tendencies can feel it sometimes.

The itch in your hand that creeps along. That makes you feel your fist curling. Or maybe the itch is your subconscious trying to get you to uncurl your fist. I'm not sure.

Saturday before the game we were eating dinner, watching football, and wasting time at BWW. The table behind us had 4, (maybe 4, I didn't turn and look, not by choice, we'll get there) guys watching games. They had been drinking for awhile. Loud. Obnoxious. Told the waitress to smile. Which sets my jaw. Her facial expression is none of your goddamn business...

That was the first time Brent leaned over and put his hand on my knee.

See, Brent knows that if I lose my cool it's not good for anyone around. So he works as my Jiminy Cricket. And as everyone else's protector. Because first I'm going to say something, then I'm going to do something. Jiminy reminds me that's not the right thing to do.

They kept up the "banter" with other fans in the bar. And by banter I mean screaming at them about their team choice. Now, here is where I have to say, as much as I swear and as much as I don't give a fuck about good words and bad words I also don't like it when people swear loudly when kids are around. You don't know how those kids are being raised. You have no idea what their families are like. So watch your mouth. It's just common fucking decency...

Brent's hand on my knee again.

And then one of them started peppering in the gay slurs. The f word that I don't use. Ever. The one that I even have a hard time with hearing my gay friends use as they try to reclaim it. Because of assholes like this one, who use it as a slur. As a slam to insinuate that teams, coaches, players are somehow less than.

And now I'm not even supposed to turn around. Brent is holding eye contact with me, and his hand is firmly on my leg. Because I'm going to lose it. And if I turn around they are going to read it in my face and as soon as they say anything I will be off.

I am not a bystander by nature.

BUT...

I'm there with Brent and with Christopher.

I was raised around assholes like the dude at the table behind me.

The type that get drunk and obnoxious and use the f word as a slur.

I know that the moment I unleash on them, they will want a fight and they won't be coming after me.

Because that wouldn't be the "manly" thing to do.

And as there are three of us at that table. And as there is one of us who can tell you what it feels like to punch and be punched and still come up for more and as I love the other two people and have no urge to drag them in to my fight even though they are pretty big guys and most likely could handle themselves, as I believe even nonviolent people can be pushed...but I don't want to push the nonviolent people in my life so...

I had to remain quiet.

And it still pisses me off.

It was the safest call to make.

On one hand it was the right call to make.

The unclenched fist hand.

If I had been there by myself I would have said something.

That's the other hand. The clenched one.

Which is slightly insane, I get that. There were 4 (?) of them and one of me.

But as Brent put it as we walked away they would have been shocked that the one they needed to worry about was the one they wouldn't have been worried about at all. Until they realized their mistake.

Because I have no quit when that is flipped.

And, as Brent also said, they wouldn't have understood what I was telling them when I explained why what they were doing was offensive and they needed to knock it off.

Their ignorance radiated off of them.

Just like my anger radiated off of me.

Brent is a good man for a fighter with no quit to be married to. When he sees the rise, he puts his hand on my knee and makes me consider the consequences.

I fucking hate considering the consequences.

When you hit someone your hand hurts.

When you don't your conscious does.

I'm not a pacifist by nature.

Breakfast...

William couldn't fall asleep. He was cold and hungry and the bed he was sleeping in was too small for his 6'5" frame. He knew he should be glad to have a bed, the week before had been spent camping out on cold, hard, ground but the bed wasn't much better really. And the house was only marginally warmer.

He tossed and turned for a while longer before giving up. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a folded picture. She was smiling. Radiant. Happy. He closed his eyes and pulled up some of his most worn memories. The ones that would have fold marks like the picture, fuzzy edges from being held too often, looked at too much. The ones that got him through the cold, uncomfortable nights. The ones that helped him forget the day.

She was cooking breakfast. Eggs. The chickens in the yard were still laying plenty of eggs. And even though he knew they would be either over cooked or underdone he was still looking forward to a warm breakfast to start the day. She was also terrible at making coffee. It was going to be bitter, watered down, burnt or cold. Never could predict how it would be bad, but it was going to be bad.

She was lousy at cooking. But she was great at making conversation. She always gave him something to think about.

"How did you get that scar?" William asked.

Her hand reached up to the side of her head, fingers caressing the raised and puckered skin. "It was a tattoo."

"Did it get infected or something?"

She had laughed. That bitter laugh that he would replay in his head over and over again, trying to hear the joyful laugh inside of it. "No. They cut it out of my skin."

He had looked shocked. He had been shocked. He could still be shocked in those days. "Who cut it out?"

She had turned and looked at him. What he thought of as her "don't be an idiot" look. "When they shaved my head they saw the tattoo so they cut it out."

"Why?"

"Because you can't shame someone who has chosen to be that way."

He didn't understand what she was saying. That was probably why she often gave him that don't be an idiot look.

She sighed, "They shaved my head to shame me. To make me look less than. To make me unattractive. But the tattoo shows that this is not the first time my head has been shaved. That at some point I chose to shave my head. I chose to be bald. I chose to decorate my bare scalp in celebration of my baldness. Shaving my head to shame me doesn't work if it reveals I am not ashamed."

"What was the tattoo?" He wanted to picture her from before. What would she have gotten a tattoo of?

"It was a rose." Her fingers traced the scar again. "My sister and I got them together."

"Why?"

"My mother had cancer."

He started to say he was sorry and she raised her hand to stop him. "Don't do that. Don't tell me how sorry you are for my loss. Just don't."

She turned back to the stove and then kept talking, "When she lost her hair my sister, my aunt, and I all shaved our heads as well. When the doctors told us that the treatment wasn't going to work my sister and I shaved them again and got roses tattooed on our scalps. Her name was Rose."

She kept her back to him. He didn't say anything. But he remembered watching her touch the scar and thought about it a lot. How it must feel. That raised and puckered skin. How it must feel to her, to have lost that piece that connected her to her mother and to her sister. He ate his overcooked eggs and drank his watered down coffee.

Another morning a few weeks later they were talking about movies.

She was cooking again. He was waiting for breakfast. The house was warm and cozy. And she was talking more than normal which made it even better.

"Is it a reflection of society or was society shaped by its reflection?"

"It's just a story."

"It's just a story that is told over and over again. So is it just a story at that point or is it a blueprint?"

He was lost again but he didn't want her to stop talking. "It's not even that common of a story."

She shook her head, "Really? It's not? If you have a strong woman in a movie how do you show her vulnerability? She's raped. Or you say she had been raped and that's what made her tough. If you have a man that you need to spur into action how do you do it? You rape the woman he's closest to. Rape has been used as a plot device since stories have been told. Is it because rape has always been used as a weapon, or is that rape is now used as a weapon because we've seen it so many times in our stories?"

"But the stories show how awful it is, so maybe it's a lesson."

"Does it really show that? If the outcome is that the hero is heroic, that the woman is stronger than she knew, or more vulnerable than she was before, is it really showing that it's awful? Or is it giving permission to use it as needed?"

"I think it's awful."

She nodded then shrugged her shoulders. Placing his plate of runny eggs in front of him he noticed the line of bruises around her wrist. He didn't ask where she got them.

A week or so later she was cracking eggs getting about half of the shells in the mix.

"Are you from here originally?"

"Yeah. Born and raised. I left for college but I came back."

"I'm..."

She cut him off, "You are from some quiet suburb someplace. Not quite a city boy, but not really one of the country kids either. In the middle."

"How do you know that?"

"Your accent for one. Your friends all have country accents. You don't."

She always called them his friends. He had corrected her a few times, they weren't his friends, they were part of his regiment, but not really friends. She had just shaken her head and said they weren't hers and yet here they were so they must be his. He had stopped arguing.

"My accent gives me away?"

"And your manners."

He pulled his elbows off the table quickly.

"Not manners like that. Manners like mannerisms I guess. You approach the world a little differently."

"So do you, but you were raised here."

"But I left and came back. I saw other ways to be. I'm from here, but not all here." She laughed her bitter laugh again.

"Why do you talk to me and not anyone else?" His friends as she called them always said it was weird that she never spoke. But they were never here for breakfast.

"Because you listen. Because I want you to hear me."

A few weeks later her jaw had a dark black bruise lining it.

They were talking about the 2nds. They were moving out soon and he was excited.

"It's not going to be fun, you know." She never really talked about what he was going to do. This was new.

"Well, no it's not supposed to be fun. It's important though. We have to make things right."

She laughed, "Right. Sure."

"What are you going to do when we leave?"

"Same as I'm doing now, I guess. Wait for one of you to be smart enough to kill me."

He laughed. She had to be joking. "Why would any of us kill you? We aren't killers."

She nodded. "It's not going to be like you think out there."

He was frustrated. She didn't know anything. She had been a subversive. That's why her head was shaved. To show that she wasn't really one of them. He shouldn't have let himself forget that.

"We are defending The Constitution. We are the 2nds!"

"You should have read it before you decided to defend it. Did you know there are other amendments after the 2nd? The 3rd would be interesting to you I would think."

He was mad and wanted to give her a smart answer about defending all of the amendments, but he knew it had to be a trap. He had no idea what the third amendment even said. But she wouldn't have brought it up if she didn't have a point. She always made him think.

"Why are you waiting for one of us to kill you? Why haven't you just killed yourself?" Even as he said it he regretted it. Kill yourself was not what he wanted to say. He was going to take it back, but then she answered.

"I did. A long time ago."

"What?"

"When I decided to stay when all of my friends where moving away. When I made the choice to help others get out. I knew the risk. I told myself it was like my mother's cancer. I was going to die anyway but I could help. I sent people to the city. As many as I could. When the fence was electrified and the gate locked I knew it was too late. It was like the cancer had spread. When they shaved my head and cut out my tattoo. When they put in the tracker. When they forced me to open my doors to you and your friends. This will kill me. Eventually. I made that choice."

"You don't have to be like that."

She smiled at him. "I do. You don't though. You have a choice still. You could walk away. Once you are on the other side of that fence, you could just walk away. Your accent would protect you."

He felt the eggs churning in his stomach. She was trying to get him to desert. That was treason. She could be shot. She would be shot. He could shoot her right now and it would be legal.

He didn't.

His commander did.

Going through the house before they left he found the picture. It was of her standing with friends around a table filled with food, she was wearing a chef's hat and an apron with the name of her catering company on the front.

She had been an excellent cook.

Bad Influence...

Sometimes I wonder what my parents were thinking when they raised me.

I'm pretty positive my siblings always wonder what they were thinking.

I've talked about it before. They raised me to question things. To never just take a straight answer. To keep asking questions until I got an answer I was satisfied with. And I will be honest I am always more satisfied with "I don't know" than I am "Because that's the way it is." I don't know is a perfectly valid response. Because that's the way it is is a cop out and means you have never thought about it.

So I question things. And I have talked about the fact that the first two big things I questioned were their religious beliefs and then their politics. And I didn't stay with their choices. The answers didn't make sense to me.

I was raised in a time and in a conservative dynamic where men and women were treated differently, they still are, that hasn't changed, I just left. Men are the teachers, the leaders, the head of the household. Women follow. It was technically what my parents preached but I never really saw it in action. Yes, I knew, theoretically that Dad was the head of the household and if he had ever come down on the opposite side of Mom in an argument he would have won. But as far as I know the only time he told my mother no was when she wanted to name me Sarah. So, yeah, theoretically I got it. But practically? Six years old sitting at the dinner table, "Dad may be the head of the family but Mom is the neck that turns the head."

Listening to an interview the other day from a woman who wrote a book about leaving the Purity movement in Evangelical churches. She talked about a story from her first experience with the Evangelical movement, it was a summer camp. One of the girls was pulled aside and chastised for answering too many questions in bible study.  She was asked how the boys must feel with her always jumping in ahead of them with the right answer. How it must make them feel less than. And honestly who was going to want to spend time with such a know it all?

This wasn't an unusual message when I was growing up.

How will the boys feel about that?

Let them go first.

Let them answer.

Be impressed with how smart they are. How fast. How strong.

Dim your light a little because they can't stand the glare.

I chafed against that, as you can all imagine. But I still tried. It was expected. I laughed at dumb jokes even when I knew they got the punchline wrong. I waited to raise my hand in class to give someone else a chance to go first. I pretended to not know or understand how to do something so a boy could teach me. It was all part of the way the world worked. Until I realized that it really didn't work for me like that.

It made me miserable.

If I'm smarter than you are and that bothers you then learn more. Or deal with it. There are three people in my little alphabet family and I am pretty sure I'm third. It's not because of my gender. It's because I like smart people so I married one, then bred with him and made a REALLY smart person. Brent, by the way, would argue with me and put me above him. Marry someone who thinks you are the best.

But anyway...I can deal with not being the smartest person in the room. But I cannot and will not act like I'm not smart so you feel better about yourself. And I absolutely won't put up with you treating me like I'm not as smart as you are because I don't have a penis.

And if you are friends with me I am going to encourage you to ask questions. To find answers that satisfy you. To understand why people are asking you to do things. Or be a certain way. Or think a certain way. I want you to question your world. Even if the first thing you question is my lack of religious beliefs and my politics. Even if you come to different conclusions than I did. I want you to question things until you are satisfied.

I'm a bad influence that way.

Lucky Lady...

She was born in the middle of a blizzard.

"How lucky!"

That's what everyone told her parents.

Even though the power went out and the hospital was understaffed and the pipes at the house froze while they were at the hospital leaving a huge mess to take care of when they came back home with a new baby in tow.

How lucky!

When she was 5 she was struck by lightning. It was a freak accident. She wasn't even outside. The bolt had hit the front porch, traveled along the rail, through the wall across the floor and into her where she sat on the floor in the living room. When she was 9 she was struck again. After the lightning rod had been put in to prevent another freak accident. So lucky! Struck twice by lightning in the same place and she was (mostly) fine!

I mean she was terrified of storms. She had not one but two burn scars on her legs where the electricity went in one side and then out the other after traveling through her body, stopping her heart on the way through. But, as luck would have it, both times she had been with someone who knew CPR and got it started again.

Really lucky!

Her first date with Gary had been a picnic on the beach. So sweet. It was going really well and then the seagull pooped on her head. So much poop. So much digested fish-smelling poop. "Oh my gosh! That's such good luck!" That's what everyone told her. Except for, you know, Gary, who threw up when it happened. And how could she blame him really? It was not a good smell. It wasn't a good feeling either. Warm. Wet. Smelly. But it did free up Gary to date Susan and their marriage seemed really happy.

Such good luck!

It rained on her wedding day. "Best luck ever!" That's what everyone said. Rain on a wedding day was lucky weather.

Even though the reception hall flooded and a lot of their gifts were ruined and the cake disintegrated. And her parents fought with the caterers and the caterers fought with the rental hall and everyone was yelling at everyone else and the rain just kept falling. It was so lucky.

Best luck ever!

When the crickets invaded the basement of their new house everyone said, "Crickets are good luck!" So much good luck. You couldn't walk without wading through all that luck. "You can't call an exterminator! Killing a cricket in your house is bad luck!" Living with a basement full of crickets wasn't great luck either. For four years they did everything they could to get rid of the crickets.

She saw a shooting star. "Make a wish! It's good luck!"

So she did.

The house burned down. The crickets had ruined the wiring. That had been her wish, to get rid of the crickets, she should have been more specific.

Nobody was home when it burned.

That is fantastic luck.

She had been traveling for work, out of town for the week. But where had he been? The house had burned overnight. Lucky that nobody was home. But why wasn't he home?

What great luck.

When she met her second husband the first thing he had asked her was, "Do you believe in luck?" She had laughed so hard she choked on the hors d'oeuvre she was eating. Luckily he knew the heimlich maneuver. He saved her life. She felt lucky.

Really lucky. For the first time. He was her luck.

Her eyes opened slowly. She listened to the hiss of the machinery around her. Then she could make out the voices in the hallway.

"It's just luck that anybody survived that accident."

"Amazing. Did you see the pictures of the car?"

"I couldn't believe it."

"Did she lose...."

"Yes, but really, with the amount of pain medication she's been on, and then being the only one to survive the accident. Really, it might just be lucky for her."

She closed her eyes again.

She had always been just so lucky.

Lucky...

We are an optimistic species.

I mean that, really as a whole in general we are optimists. We want things to go well. We will mold things to fit that narrative as much as we can.

For instance a friend of mine posted that a bird pooped on her head today and the responses were "That's good luck!", "Buy a lottery ticket!", "Oh! Good Luck!"

A bird shit on her.

On her head.

Bird shit.

Lucky!!

Rain on a wedding day? Lucky.

Right hand itches? Oh! Money luck!

Bats in your attic? Really good luck.

Accidentally put your shirt on backwards? Oh good fortune coming your way!

See a ladybug? Good luck!

Shooting star? Make a wish, that's really lucky!

So...bad weather, bugs, guano, space debris, inattentiveness, all of it, really good things.

We're optimists.



And we really sort of have to be, right?

I mean if we didn't have that stubborn optimistic streak in us somewhere it would be unbearable at times. Right now a lot of us are struggling to see the good side. To see the it's going to get better path. To really believe that the world is not lurching backwards.

So today as you realize that it's raining, and there are bugs and shit everywhere and the stars seem to falling from the sky, take a breath. Make a wish. Look to your friends. And realize you are lucky.

We are lucky.

We have each other.

Contained...

She kept it in a box on a shelf in her living room.

It used to be on her bedside table but she found it hard to sleep with it there.

So she moved it to the living room.

The box was sturdy but attractive.

It fit her decor.

Solid metal with lovely scrollwork designs.

Windows for ventilation.

That was important.

If you didn't give it room to breath it would either die or explode.

Neither of those things would be good.

Though they would prefer it died. For her.

So she had the box made specifically for it.

And she kept it there.

In a box on a shelf in her living room.

She used to keep it closer.

With her all the time.

But it really wasn't allowed.

Not really.

Not for her.

It was too dangerous.

It might cause problems for others.

So she was told to let it die.

That that would be better.

Not to feed it.

But she didn't want to let it die.

So she moved it to the box.

She kept it there.

In the box. On the shelf. In her living room.

She watched it now.

The faint glow that had been there.

The one that would keep her up at night when it was on the bedside table.

That faint glow.

That was gone.

The box was now shining full and bright.

There on the shelf in her living room.

Not dead. Fed.

Today she would take the box off of the shelf.

Today she would open the box and take that spark out.

Today she would burn it all to the ground.

Starting with the other boxes on the other shelves in the other living rooms.

Sparks aren't meant to be contained.

No matter who tells you so.

What is the Worst Case?

More Kavanaugh posting ahead...

So I've talked about the #metoo cases and how I was going to evaluate each one. I'm not an always believe the victim person. I'm a never automatically disbelieve the victim person. It's a difference. I will always listen and then decide.

Where we are with Kavanaugh right now is that I don't know. I still don't know what happened. I found Ford's testimony to be really credible though. I did. But because there is nothing there except her word and his I still don't know. So start there.

Now we back up.

I've posted about the Chris Hardwick accusation and what I think. I think it was a bad relationship but I don't think that he is an abuser. But there is doubt there. A few things he used in his comedy show that she referenced in her essay gave me pause. A few things he has talked about in the past make me think, well from his side that would look like that but from hers? So I think it was a bad relationship. I don't know if it was more than that.

There is a little doubt.

C has no doubt. He's sure that it was an abusive relationship. So on Sunday we talked about it, and talked about a few things in relationship to the Kavanaugh accusation. Because with Kavanaugh I lean the other way. I don't know. But I have doubt that he's telling the truth. I have more faith in Ford. Because of the little lies that Kavanaugh told to make himself look better. To try and look like a choir boy instead of a party boy. He lied about stupid stuff. If he had owned up to being a party boy and that he outgrew it I would have more faith in what else he said. For instance Hardwick said it was a bad relationship, didn't try to say it was perfect and had no idea what she was talking about, if he had done that I would have less faith in his side of the story.

But Kavanaugh didn't own up to the small things. He lied. And if he was willing to lie about ridiculous things that other people could come in and say were lies why wouldn't he lie about what happened with Ford?

Now, I get it, if he says he was a big drinker and did crazy stuff when he was drunk then there is room there to say, "Well she says you were drunk. Maybe you don't remember?" He doesn't want to give an inch because he's afraid. But because he lied there is doubt there for me.

And here is where I go "What is the worst case with that doubt?"

Brent and I were at dinner after I talked to C and we were discussing Hardwick and what career wise he has and hasn't lost. And Brent said, "If he came to town again would you go?" and I said "I don't know." And I said that after a long pause. Which Brent rightly interpreted as a no. If I had that long of a pause and if I have doubt the answer is no.  Even though I'm pretty sure he's not a bad guy.

And here is why.

Worst case scenario I'm right. He's a good guy. Never was abusive at all. The little bit of doubt I have is misplaced. I buy the tickets I go to the show, everybody is happy. But if I don't buy the tickets what happens?

Someone else buys the tickets. Life goes on. The price isn't that high.

Worst case scenario I'm wrong. He's a bad guy. Was a horrible piece of shit. The little bit of doubt I have should have been much bigger. I don't buy the tickets, he doesn't get my money. But if I buy the tickets what happens?

I've given money to a predator. I'm funding an asshole. Me personally. I'm saying it's okay. That abusing women is fine in my book.

See? That's why if there is a doubt in my head I'm saying no. Because the worst case is clearly worse on one of those things.

I look at the Kavanaugh confirmation the same way. I don't know. I still don't know. I'm not comfortable saying that he for sure did it. But there is doubt there. I think it's very possible that he did.

Which is the worst case scenario?

Worst case scenario. I'm wrong to doubt him. He's innocent. He's not confirmed. He goes back to his lifetime appointment in the lower court. He's livid about the system. The Right uses him as a scapegoat talking point forever. He's confirmed he sits on the highest court of the land. He's livid about the system. The Right uses him to shut up any future victims from being heard. (see Duke LaCrosse team)

Worst case scenario. I'm right to doubt him. He's a blackout drunk who attacked a high school classmate and got away with it. He's not confirmed. See above. He is confirmed. We sent an attempted rapist to the highest court in the land.

Don't confirm him. He goes back to the lower court. He still has a lifetime appointment.

Confirm him. He sits on the Supreme Court. The highest court in the land.


One of these for me is a worse worst case scenario.

I think his nomination should be pulled. I think he showed you who he is during the hearing on Thursday and that person is someone who doesn't always tell the truth. Who can't put personal anger aside for even a moment to listen and answer questions in a respectful manner. Who will not for a second imagine themselves to be less than the image they want to be. I still don't know if he attacked Dr. Ford, but I'm not really comfortable sending Judge Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court.

Doubt.

There might not be beyond a reasonable doubt evidence that he did it, but there isn't beyond a reasonable doubt that he didn't either. I'm not saying send him to jail, but I am saying keep him off the Supreme Court bench.

Now, I imagine I will have one more blog about this when they confirm him anyway and it makes me spitting mad.

Catch Up Time...

I have some catching up to do if I want to have a shot of reaching this year's goals.

I am behind on fiction pieces posted to the blog.

I am right on track for total pieces, but that's actually behind when we enter the Fall with travel picking up and the holidays chunking out time.

The over all sit down and write for 1-2 hours 5 days a week? Well somehow I forgot that was the original goal. Whoops. Need to get on that one.

Also need one more submission for the year. Looking over a lot of the old pieces and I think next year I might actually submit a few of those to places. Just take them down off the blog for a bit, submit then repost. I'm not sure, but I'm thinking about it. There are some good things in there. I'm not sure if you realize it, but I'm very talented.

I mean, really, I'm not sure if anyone but me realizes it...oh the life of a writer. I'm pretty sure I'm the best or I'm pretty sure I'm total crap!

My long term items are just well, looking at another year roll over.

I am all finished with both of my reading goals. That actually happened because I took July off of Facebook and replaced all of that time with reading. It wasn't as productive as I thought it might be, but it was really enjoyable. But that put me within striking distance of finishing the published each year I've been alive goal and once that was done I was only a few away from the entire year goal. So sailed past that and I'm going to probably end up a dozen or so ahead.

Setting a weight loss goal was always a bad idea. I mean, I did it anyway, but it was a bad idea. I'll talk about that in the year end recap I'm sure.

So thinking about all of these goals and things I still want to get done and it's already October and I spent all morning coming up with Porn Star Lawyer jokes...

(you can't see the sheepish grin, but it's there)

It's hard to find a fiction groove when I'm pissed off at the politics. But I learned in July that I don't like being out of touch with the news either. So I need a balance there. A little more letting go of things I can't control.

(you can't hear the laughter in my head but for some reason it sounds like Brent)

So yeah...that's not going to happen. I know I can't control much that goes on in the world but I'm also not designed in such a way that I can ignore it. So I keep finding work arounds. Right now Porn Star Lawyer jokes are amusing me.

(seriously sheepish)

And yes, for those of you who have been here for awhile you have already recognized the structure of a just write something dammit blog!

Today counts toward the overall blog numbers.

Unless you take in to account the part where I said I'd let go of things I'm not in control of then it could be fiction.

(eyebrow waggle)

Okay, maybe not.

This month!

Five more fiction pieces for the blog
Find a place/contest/anthology for one more submission
Eight more nonfiction blogs
Get downstairs figured out
Porch repairs
More Porn Star Lawyer Jokes

(so sheepish)

(or maybe less sheepish now and just flat out cheeky)

In Her Room...

"Are you staying with her parents?" 

"Yeah..." Peter wondered why Carl cared where they were staying.

"Are you sharing a room?" 

"I would think so. I mean we live together so I can't imagine they would expect us to sleep in separate bedrooms." Now Peter was really confused. Carl sounded almost giddy as he asked. 

"Nice." Carl nodded and smiled.

"Nice? Why nice?" Peter often responded this way when Carl declared something as Nice.

"You are going to get hot, hometown, childhood bedroom, sex." Carl nodded and smirked.

"What?"

"Have you never stayed with a girlfriend in their childhood room? They get crazy, man. I'm telling you."

"Why would they get crazy?"

"I don't know. Maybe they feel like they are being sneaky and sneaky makes it hot. Or they are living out some sort of bad girl fetish dream from when they were younger. Having a boy over when their parents were there. Whatever it is, it makes them crazy. A little role playing, you know?"

Now Peter would be lying if he hadn't thought about this conversation a few times as they flew back east toward Janet's folks. Carl might be a letch and a dog and a bit out of step with the times, but...Peter wasn't going to turn down hot sex, ever. Even if he and Janet already had perfectly fine sex. Well, more than perfectly fine. The best sex he had ever had. But to be fair he had only had sex with three different people and the first one barely counted. They had both been a bit disappointed and embarrassed after it was all over and the relationship did not make it very much longer. So really, there had been his first time, his second time and then Janet. So...

But still. The sex was really good.

Peter had no idea why he was getting defensive thinking about it. 

Maybe because he had bought in to it; to thinking that the weekend was going to be some sort of wild sex romp. Wild but really quiet because her parents were sleeping right across the hall. Which was going to make it even more wild. And...well. Carl might not be the only letch.

Instead he had walked in on Janet staring at her bedroom wall. Just standing and staring at it. Not once but three times now. Still. Quiet. Facing the wall. Staring. No wild sex. Just weird staring. 

"So...what are you doing?" He finally had to ask.

Janet jumped a little and turned toward him. She had a small, sad, smile, "I was trying to see the door."

"It's behind you?" Peter didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but it did sound like a question. 

Janet laughed a little and shook her head. "No, not that door. The other door." She gestured toward the wall again.

"There was a door there?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid. There was a door there. I was kind of hoping to be able to show you."

Peter walked over to the wall and knocked on a few places. Trying to find the hollow sound that would indicate where the old door was. "What did it lead to? Like an outside staircase? That's an interesting design choice."

Janet shook her head again, "It wasn't like that. It was..." she trailed off here. 

"It was?"

"Nothing, lets just go down to dinner."

"Come on, tell me."

Janet sighed, "Okay, so you know those like Magic Eye posters? The ones that just looked like a  repeating pattern but if you stared at them long enough a like 3-D image would kind of pop out?"

Peter looked at Janet then looked at the wallpaper on  the wall. "Oh! I get it. The wallpaper right? So you could do one of those optical illusions because of the busy pattern."

"Sort of..."

"Sort of ?"

"Sort of. I mean, yes, it was like those optical illusions, but not the same. That's just the best way I have to describe it. When I was younger when I would look at the wall I could find the door."

"And now you can't get your eyes to go blurry the right way?"

Janet smiled again and realized that he wasn't going to get it. She really couldn't blame him, it was pretty crazy to say out loud. She had only told a few people in her life about the door and they had all had this sort of reaction. They couldn't, or wouldn't, understand what she was saying. 

Because it wasn't an optical illusion. It was a door. She just couldn't always see it. She hadn't been able to see it since she came back from college. She hadn't been through it since she was in middle school. She had tried a few times in high school, when she could still see it, but it wouldn't open for her. She had hoped that showing it to Peter would reopen that world for her. That it would be something they could share together. 

Even as she thought that she realized that wasn't true. Not really. She didn't care about sharing the world with him. She just wanted to go back. To prove that she wasn't crazy. That there really had been a door there. That she really had been able to travel to a different world. To have adventures where she was brave and smart and faced real danger but always won and...

Maybe it had all been in her mind.

Maybe it was a dream. 

It just felt like a memory. It felt like it had happened. But there was no door there.  No matter how much she stared.

"Yeah, that's got to be it. My eyes just won't go blurry like that anymore. It was really cool though. Something to see." Janet looked at the wall with a small frown. Her first step in believing that it had been her imagination. Just a childhood recurring dream. That must have been it. She sighed. It really had all felt so real.

Janet and Peter went downstairs to dinner. 

Her room was so quiet you could hear the clock on the dresser ticking away the seconds. 

That and the creak of door opening that had been shut for years.