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The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

The Wicked Witch of the Underworld

Somehow we ended up driving into the underworld.  Not knowing where we were, we made a u turn and continued on our way home.  A wicked witch followed us out though.  Something in me knew it too but I kept shrugging off as shadows and road noise.  At home that night I felt her presence and went into the back yard pondering where the safest place would be.  In fright at the dark clouds swarming fast on all horizons, I turned and ran back into the house and up the stairs.  She flew around me in a swirling gust.  I thought I had escaped her as I burst out onto the balcony and climbed onto the roof.  Feeling myself floating I grabbed the flag pole rope and held on in one last attempt to stay grounded.  “It’s no use,” she shrieked, “I’ve already given you the poison.” Her words echoed as Kevin’s sword flew through her apparition, its reflective light joining into my swirling, darkening vision.

I eventually awoke, realizing that my sleeping beauty fantasies were never something that I wanted to be true.   Blinking my eyes, I expected the vague form of Kevin hovering over me to bring me relief, but it didn’t.  “Kevin! Why do you look like that?” I exclaimed.  His Claymation face looked sad.  I reached up to his face asking him if it is really him, when I noticed my own hands had the very same cartoonish texture.  Frightened, thinking this must be a dream, the memory of the witch’s attack came back.  “But how did you get here?” I asked him as he showed me the mirror, “I thought she was only attacking me.

“She was.” He explained, “But I couldn’t fight her off and wouldn’t let her take you alone.  So I let her take me too.  I couldn’t be without you.  “What does she want with us?” I asked.  He didn’t know.  For weeks she has just been flying around like a mad spirit muttering spells as she experiments with the new power having us around gives her.  “She’s been gone for a few days, maybe that’s why you’ve woken up.”  My memory came and went over the next few days so it was easy to live in the cottage as if we always did.

But at random times a memory would come to mind.  “Do you still work at a bank?” I asked Kevin, half knowing his answer but feeling compelled like a child to ask anyway.  “Not since we’ve been here, no.  We’re prisoners here.  I have no idea how to get out.”

One day Kevin began to get spacey and forgetful of what words he had been trying to get out.  He fell into a conscious muttering sleep as the witch flew in.  “Good good, awake awake.  Get up!” she ordered.  I stood, shaky on my claylike legs under her spell.  A salt shaker appeared in my hand and I started sprinkling Kevin with salt as the witch flew around in apparitional ciaos.

The tornedo of wind put me into a black out and I awoke on horseback.  My hands tied in front of me with Kevin walking at my side, looking more and more Disney than Claymation.  We were slowly following the witch’s caravan through a small town.  Children were pointing in awe as the adults hustled them away from the road.  A band of teens threw rocks at us, threatening to break Kevin’s shoes, which were made of half an egg shell each.  Angrily he lunged at them.  Had his shackles not held him back, they probably would have been too scared to throw one last rock.  Egg shell shards spew in all directions, disheartened he turned to me.  “You have to try to remember, remember home.  It is the only way we can get out of here.” “Home…” I whispered as I woke up, Kevin snoring at my side.  I breathed a sigh of relief that it was all just some sort of dream.

On Chasing Dreams

On Chasing Dreams

11pm, Ugh. the night owl in me insists on living by the numbers.

Chasing dreams is a weird process sometimes.

Will I ever just live the dream and be fine with that?

“ets get there and be done with it so I can play all day long,

uninterrupted by feelings of obligation.

That’s what I was promised!

Once I finished my work I could play, forever.

Over and over and over again, they lied.

The nature of work is not to be over.

Hard work, work smarter; they were the choice at the fork in the road.

So many people couldn’t, so they Worked Harder

as if the Work Smarters are in any different boat.

It hasn’t changed.

They call it an education,

people with PhDs work both harder and smarter.

Seeing the false hope is like looking around your room and realizing

that it is all junk.

CEOs are employees too.

We’re all employees if we are employed.

There is no where else to go for most of us.

We can hope and dream and learn and endure.

We can argue, bitch, and be bitter selves.

We must do both sets here, at this time.

We have no choice.

Many egos have softened and turned to reason

some with much spite.

Just work towards freedom


Post vacation stress disorder

Post vacation stress disorder

Oh it’s real.  I do pretty good the first few days as I get back into my routine.  Then somewhere around Wednesday evening it hits me.  I overspent on all that fun, now I have to live a bit more frugal to stay within budget for the enxt few weeks.  “It was worth it,” says one of the minds in my head.  “Yeah, but maybe we could have had a bit more self control.”  Silence ensues as I internalize my internal thoughts.  “Girls, girls!” I butt in.  “It just is what it is and it was worth it.”

Anyway, it exists, but at least it is less intense with each iteration because with life experience i’ve learned to smooth out my happy highs enough so that I don’t fall so hard on the way down.

It doesn’t help that I have a permanent job.  Well it does, because at least now I have a job to return to right away when I return from an adventure.  But two weeks vacation = slavery.  Seriously, who sets these salary prices anyway.  Supply and demand.  I know, I took a few econ classes.  But in the real world I don’t see it as a reason for how all prices clear.  Belief systems seem more of a culprit.  I’m off topic.  Back to PVSD.

I’ve been day dreaming a lot this week about what i would do if I could do anything I wanted and be free like on holiday.  It’s therapeutic, but as a dark side that doesn’t pair well with PVSD.  Because when I think of all the stuff I would do if I could do what ever I want to do, I just feel more blue because it is so far from reality.  Why do our minds genetically tease us with the possibly of other worlds colliding with ours?  My brain must be miswired, because this habit of thinking in no way has gotten me to the top of the success pile. If anything, it holds me back because all the time spent in another world, is time not spent understanding how this one actually works.

Self doubt, lack of ambition, and a complete undesire to try to accomplish anything more, PVSD.

I would want to accomplish more if any of the things I’ve accomplished actually got me somewhere.  Oh mother of glory I am a goal achieving hamster on a wheel rolling up hill next to Sisyphus.  At least I don’t have to push up rocks, so there is a bright side.  Someone is just watching while puffing a cigar saying, “Oh good, she’s almost done with that accomplishment, what meaningless goals shall we have her achieve once she’s done?” Trophies, pieces of paper, recognition, its all junk. junk. junk. junk. Meanless junk.  Just more junk to put on the wall and sort though in my closet.

I just want to sleep in. Every. Day. That makes me happy.

On Overcoming Rivals

On Overcoming Rivals

I never thought of myself as a competitive person because I saw how much more competitive many others were than me.  I never cared to win much at sports or other “see who is best” events.  Maybe it was because the effects of losing didn’t last long or I’d just rather not dive to the ground just to keep a ball in the air.  Regardless, I did engaged in my own competitions from time to time, but they weren’t always so sportly structured.

Often my rivals were simply my friends in school.  We were all trying our best to get good grades and we were all in the same boat when it came to intelligence, so it was often a close call.  I only had to win by a few inches, not cram for a whole mile.

Other rivals were family members of a similar age vying for attention or adoration from the adults, which we were never actually starved for.

These competitions were constant throughout childhood.  As I got older and became aware of these behaviors, I realized that the scars I was accumulating and causing were not longer a result of healthy competition.  It was down right mean.

Though all of this I always thought of myself as a nice person.  I was at heart a people pleaser to the point where I put other people’s wants above my own.  But I wasn’t fully a nice person.  I inflicted social pain on others when they didn’t even know there was a competition.  I felt triumphant when I finally felt better than a specific person.

Then I looked back and realized that they were just being themselves, reacting to the world, looking for a friend.  Here I was jealous of their natural advantages, needing to prove myself when my friend just stood there defeated by my behavior.

Its been over 10 years since I had this realization.  I’ve since made new friends who were so beyond my own situation in life that I felt no need to compete.  We are simply not comparable because we play life in completely different arenas with completely different rules.  We can simply talk about life and try to understand each other without one-upping.

I still encounter my old rivals, often with compassion and guilt over having “beat” them when they were already too far down to fight.  Others, I just avoid, having never settled the score.



Commitment is one of those states of being that you are only aware of when it accompanies feeling stuck.  I don’t have a choice, this world will take away some big things I care about if I don’t conform.  No, I wouldn’t lose it all I would just trade one set of problems (slave to the system) for another (being homeless and poor).  Luckily I am smart and have a more comfortable stuck-state than many people, but still the cloud looms over me at times.

The bright side isn’t in some foreign country or with a different group of friends.  I’ve been there and I’ve met them.  I am still me no matter where I go or what I do.  I should be grateful for that fact that I have had the opportunity to encounter myself in such a vast variety of existence, but I feel a sense of normalcy about it because it is my life and it was me doing what made the most sense at the time.

So I’m finally here.  At that place where there is nothing to discover in my favorite things.  I have no choice but to live for the small excitements.  The little pieces I hadn’t noticed before.  The personalities I previously overlooked.  The benefits of ongoing love and attachments lingering down the same streets as usual.

I’ve been in a place similar to this many times when my dreams abandoned me because I accomplished them.  I asked similar questions like, “have I not aimed high enough?” “Could I have done more?”  The answers are never clear.  All I can do is make new dreams from the drive left over from the old dreams.  That means mapping out a road leading me right back where I am now.  All that work and emotion focusing on what I don’t have to get me what I want, only to get it and be right back here feeling empty.

But the goals are forming, soon they will be full fledged dreams pumping my heart so I can run in these circles all because the sun keeps rising and I enjoy my days to have a standard of comfort.  Off to work I go, I may as well rise through it…

On Ideas

On Ideas

Ideas are worth their weight in gold.  Literally.. how much is gold worth at the moment and how much do ideas weight?  I have many ideas but some find their way into my soul as concrete.  Those who pull through the chaos of the mind have value.  Like offspring in a civil war, they chose the winning side in order to tell their history.  That effort and forbearance has no tangible value as of yet.  If they had the valor to peak through and transmute themselves into a tangible item of this world, then I have no choice but to let them run their lives as they see fit.  Many of them are in infantile stages despite the potential density of their auras.  They live and breathe and gain strength through me.  Just because they can not yet speak for themselves is no cause to cut them off and dismiss them to anyone who sees their worth only as an alternative.  They need to live a life as functional as possible.  Do no look down upon the late bloomers.  They are more the source of out knowledge than any other.  They’ve lived and absorbed what is alive.  Their time will come.  If they choose me as their benefactor, then I can assume no great cause but to bring them to proper fruition.

On House Mousing

On House Mousing

My passion in life is to be a lazy house mouse.  One who cooks, cleans, sews, and helps everyone else in the house get done what they need to get done.  There are plenty of reasons for my realization of this passion.  Here are a few:

  1. I genuinely disliked 80% of the 15 jobs I’ve held since high school
  2. I genuinely disliked 99.9% of the people I’ve encountered in my life.
  3. I love being in a house all day
  4. I enjoy sprucing things up
  5. Household deadlines (like Christmas, birthday parties, and making dinner) don’t stress me out much at all
  6. I can wear whatever clothing I feel like wearing
  7. I don’t have to think about what I look like
  8. Dressing up is rare and fun
  9. I eat healthier food at home than in restaurants
  10. I do work solely for people I actually care about

The list could probably keep going on and on, but the main point comes down to proximity.  There are no beds to relax on in an office.  Whereas in a house, I can choose a variety of different rooms and outdoor spaces to make myself comfortable in while I get my work done.

Being a House Mouse shouldn’t be confused with being a House Wife.  No, no, no.  A House Mouse earns a living separate from anyone else in the house whereas a House Wife is a slave (once removed) to the husband’s place of employment.  For example, if a Husband only gets two weeks of vacation per year, the wife most likely only goes on vacation two weeks in that year as well.  Whereas a House Mouse is free to take as much vacation as her House Mousing allows.

The World is Broken

The World is Broken

All around us are physical paths and roads leading to somewhere.  It seems logical that unphysical paths indeed will lead somewhere as well.  But as we climb through this metaphysical jungle gym, we often end up right back where we started with nothing to show for it except a few months of being lost in thinking about the differences between all the jungle gyms we encountered on our quest.  Yes the world is fascinating, but fascination wasn’t the only place I was navigating towards.

My experience causes me to think that when one is already on the top of the food chain with all basic needs met, anything more really doesn’t make a sustained difference in daily life.  But if that is really true for everyone, then we’d all have the same stuff and means to experience whatever we craved at anytime.  And we don’t.

On relief

On relief

You know it exists.  You’ve felt its embrace.  You’ll wait and wait and wait knowing that it will show up and pull all the pain and sorrow from your depressed mind.  Then one day, one very, very good day, fortune sways her tiller and relief finally pays you a visit.  You rush into its arms, not caring what disruption its presence bring.  All you know is that it is finally here with its many precious gifts:  Endings that didn’t come soon enough, freedom from layers upon layer of self doubt and dread, and, above all, peace.  The orgasmic peace that only comes after a storm.  Safety from past fears is assured and I am once again treading on new shoes in a new town with nothing but newness to strike my fancy.  Oh all the new things I can think and do.  And all the new options available to me too.

On my replacements for crying

On my replacements for crying

I want to cry.  I want to.  I can’t cry.  The culture of my youth beat the crying out of me.  Just like it beat into me when is appropriate to celebrate.  Celebrate your birthday! celebrate your wedding! Celebrate your graduation! celebrate here celebrate there.  Cry for death.  Cry happily for a birth.  Cry for pain so horrible that you can’t remember that you’re not supposed to cry when something hurts.  But under no circumstances should you cry because you had no choice but to take a pay cut that has left you without fun money for the past 6 months you fucking pussy.  Suck it up and deal with it.

Jerks, my childhood friends, plain assholes.  I’ll cry if I want to.  At least I wish I could now.

The world has changed. I’m now surrounded by people of the same generation who all just want to cry and filet their emotions onto me.  The same people who made fun of my glasses in grade school are wearing that exact same style.

Me, I’ve evolved into a cooler style of glasses and have learned to control my crying by just being silent or changing the subject or shrugging it off with some humor so i can sort through my emotions in private.

Now I’m the asshole.  I’m the bad friend who is inconsiderate because I don’t understand why they are emotional.  I’m the one who tried really hard to suck it up to survive and those same skills that made me not the cry baby, now make me he asshole.  I’m fucked either way and to top it off I’m broke.  These parasites just keep feeding!