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.

Harvest Moon...

It was the Harvest Moon last night.

I thought of you.

I thought about that summer.

Is anything as magical as a summer romance when you are a teenager?

Will you ever feel anything as deeply again as you did at 16?

We had no expectations. We'd never been there before.

We had no calluses. We'd never been hurt before.

I remember sitting down by the lake. Making wishes and skipping stones.

I remember kissing under the stars. Making promises we didn't know we couldn't keep.

My mother warned me. She said that changes would come.

Your father warned you. He said we weren't your kind.

But we were 16. We knew better.

The days were long. The nights perfect.

We were innocent then. We didn't know.

My mother told me it was time to stop.

Your father told you that you were going to leave.

They didn't let you say goodbye.

Would that have made a difference?

If you had been able to say goodbye?

But they didn't let you.

So we made a secret plan to meet one last time.

Furtive phone calls made in hushed whispers.

We would sneak out to the lake. Late September.

We were in love after all.

My mother warned me.

Your father thought you were past it.

Over me.

Moved on.

It was a beautiful Fall day.

The leaves on the trees were gold and red and orange.

The sky was the deepest blue.

The lake was a giant mirror reflecting the world to us.

It was perfect.

We were perfect.

My mother was frantic.

Your father thought you were at football practice.

The sun was setting on our last day.

Our goodbye.

The Harvest Moon rose.

My mother was right. Changes would come.

Your father was right. We weren't your type.

You promised me your heart that day.

I ate it by the lake in the bright light of the full moon.

We were 16. We knew better.

Well...

I did something today I haven't done in the ten plus years I have been on Facebook.
Something I hadn't even ever thought about doing until today.
I looked up my attempted rapist.

There were five people with his name that showed in the little thumbnails. I was on my phone so they were really small pictures. And his was even smaller because it was a shot of his family. I still knew it was his instantly.

I clicked through and got his page.

And my first thought was, "He grew up ugly."

Petty I know. But I get to be petty about the guy who tried to rape me.

Then I looked at his actual page for a minute. At what he shared publicly. And you know what? He grew up ugly. And that brought me a little bit of satisfaction.

I don't know how I would have dealt with him growing up to be a good guy. Someone who posts helpful things. Who, even if he had different political ideologies than I do, posted about ideas and thoughts. I don't know how that would have made me feel.

But he didn't. He grew up ugly. That borderline racist where anyone on the other side can see it as racism and people on that side are like, "What? How is this racist?" The overt misogyny of ugly Hillary memes. He grew up ugly.

Because he was ugly. And he still is ugly.

He might not be rapey anymore, and I hope to whatever higher being you want to believe in, that he isn't. That somewhere along the line he realized that rape was wrong and he stopped. But he's still ugly. He's still not someone I would ever want to deal with on a daily basis. He is still ugly.

But he's small.

He lives a small life. In a small town. With small things.

He can't touch me.

Ever.

We grew up with the same kids and we have zero friends in common.

Isn't that odd?

Not really.

Because he's ugly.

The past week has led to a lot of insomnia. A lot of nightmares. A lot of borderline blah. A lot of anger.

I have said and I will keep saying that we don't know what happened between Dr. Ford and Kavanaugh. But we do know that she has been treated like a liar. Like a woman out to ruin a good man. We know that his buddy ran for the hills after sending a note to Congress that he didn't want to talk about it. That he didn't have anything to add, that he didn't think it happened. Even though he literally wrote the book (books, there were two) on his blackout drinking in High School and his good buddy Bart O'Kavanaugh who drank A LOT with him. We know that Kavanaugh has been less than forthcoming with dealing with Congress in the past. We know that he had a lot of loans that got paid off and that there has been talk about gambling issues. We know that prominent Senators have stated that they already know how they are voting and it doesn't matter what Dr. Ford says. We know that the White House will not have the FBI investigate. Even though an FBI investigation would most likely come back inconclusive so it wouldn't even hurt their case. But they won't.

We don't know what happened. But we know that they don't care.

He's going to sit on the court.

My attempted rapist can't touch me. Can't hurt me. I needed the reassurance of that again today. Thirty five years later.

I cannot imagine what Dr. Ford is feeling right now.

Or maybe I can.

He grew up ugly.