A Terrifying Note

A Terrifying Note

        Elise woke abruptly, blinking and damp with sweat.  She shook herself awake and was startled to find her hair was dripping; it smacked her face loudly and left a mark of perspiration. She took a deep breath and let her eyes adjust to the comforting dark of her bedroom, something felt different, and she reached over to her bedside table and flipped on the lam. Her hand flew back to her throat as she let out a sharp gasp, eyes wide in her face as she took in her vanity table, which instead of sitting upright on the floor was now on top of her dresser at an angle, her makeup and hair accessories still perfectly in place. She closed her eyes, thinking she must still be dreaming.  The loud crash of her vanity falling over and all of its contents spilling out snapped her eyes back open and she screamed. The vanity settled itself back into it’s usually position, the mirror was foggy, like someone had breathed on it, and there was a perfect circle with a line through its center in the fog.  She sat frozen with fear and watched as the image faded with the fog. When it was gone, she let out a choked breath that rapidly became hysterical sobbing. She cried until she fell again to an exhausted sleep.

        She came to in the middle of the morning, and groaned. She had overslept, and she had a headache from the crying. She peered at her vanity, it looked like it should, and all of her make-up was back where it belonged. Slowly, she rose from her bed, relieved that her t-shirt fell away for her skin and did not cling wetly as she had feared it would. Taking a deep breath, she was reassured by the clean smell of the air, she went to look at her vanity. Everything was indeed back in its place, but all of her compacts were broken, every eye shadow was full of cracks, her lipsticks appeared to have melted out of their tubes. Hot tears welled in her brown eyes, it must have really happened. She ran from the room, and relieved her roiling stomach in the kitchen sink. Outside of her bedroom, things seemed calmer. She let the normalcy of her kitchen wash over her as the water ran her own mess down the drain.  She knew she would have to go back in there, her clothes were in that room, her cell phone was charging by her bed, and her bathroom was also back there. Fuck. She would put it off as long as she could and have some breakfast.

        As long as she could turned out to be about twenty minutes, she was cold, she had to pee and she needed to check in with her boss. She stood in the door frame, mentally chiding herself for being afraid to go in. She had had a freaky dream, nothing more.  She clenched her first and quick-stepped through the room, grabbing her cell phone from the table and the suit she had pulled out the night before from the closet hook, not looking at her vanity, she entered the bathroom and shut the door.  She arrived at work just after eleven in the morning, made her excuses and lost herself in the work, by the time she left for the day, she had forgotten all about the weird dream and the weird morning. A few after work drinks with friends turned into dancing until the bar closed, and when she returned home she sank into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

        The next morning was Saturday, and Elise had a date. She took her time getting ready, soaking in a long, hot bath laced with oils, before showering and washing out her strawberry blonde curls. She sat wrapped in robe and towel at her vanity and began to select her makeup. She noted that none of it was broken, and smiled to herself. She opened her favorite blush and froze; there was a perfect circle with a line across the center etched into the compacted powder. She shivered. Staring at the blush, the symbol seemed familiar to her, not just from her crazy dream the other night either. She decided on a different shade and threw the blush in her trash can. She was not going to get caught up in a stupid nightmare.

        They went to a jazz club downtown, Elise fell in love with the place instantly, it was a smoky, old school, piano bar kind of joint. The bartender was smooth and knowledgeable, the tables were comfortable and not too crowded, the food was incredible and the music! The music was out of this world, Roger danced with her and she found herself laughing and being pulled up on stage to sing with the band. She was terrible, but the crowd was gracious and she felt elated as she walked off stage. The Maître D handed her a copy of the sheet music for the song she had sang (Someone to Watch Over Me) and she saw a perfect circle with a line through the center, hanging out just belong the bottom line of the staff. Her skin flooded with goose flesh and she felt dizzy. She remembered the piano ringing out the note for her to start on, key of “c” they had said.  Dimly she registered a ringing in her ears, the C note; she recognized it, as the sound became louder and steadier inside her head.

        “Elise? Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick?” Rogers’s solicitations snapped her back to reality

        “I’m fine, Roger. Just, I think it’s time you took me home.” was all she said

        Back in her apartment, Elise was frozen in the hallway, hands pressed to her head as the ringing note pulsed, and getting louder to the point she thought she couldn’t bear it before it subsided and she remembered to breathe and then it grew again. She moaned, leaning on the wall for support. Her body trembled with each pulse of sound, and she whispered “Please.” over and over again, pleading with her head, with her apartment, with God, with the dead, with anything she could think of, whether she believed in it or not, to make the ringing stop. Finally, it subsided into a dull aching ring and she fell to her knees and crawled to her bed, burying her face in her pillow.

        Her dreams were intense, she moaned in pleasure and her body moved in response. A hand ran up her thigh, lightly touching, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation, hot breath grazed over the skin of her neck and she arched her back, sharp nails made teasing trails over spine and then dug in. Her eyes popped open and she felt like she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear herself. The ringing started again, and the sharp nails drove deeper into her skin, blood welled and ran out of the wounds, the fingers began to move apart, widening the punctures, impossibly wide. She thrashed against the bed, searching frantically for her attacker, but she saw no one. The blood was pooling underneath her now and she became aware that the stabbing had stopped. She gasped, and was relieved to hear the sound. It was a momentary reprieve, as the nails now dug into her stomach; she looked down at the nothing that was tearing her open. Her skin was being peeled back, layer by layer, and her voice was gone again. Her face was twisted in pain and terror, but she couldn’t stop watching.  She felt a sharp tug on her feet and her stare moved reflexively to look. She saw that her legs were twitching uncontrollably and her toes were being licked by a long red tongue. She could see the tongue, but not the face it belonged to.  She registered that there must be more than one thing attacking her, there was no way anything could have a face at her feet and hands at her stomach. She looked back to her middle and could see her intestines now, and her ribs. The thing was tapping on her ribs; she felt the dull thudding of it colliding with her bone and then a sharp pain as the rib snapped, falling away from her sternum, she screamed silently and the tears that had never stopped, redoubled in her pain. With each break she convulsed, and she wondered why she was still awake, why hadn’t she passed out or died already? She felt a mouth on her neck, kissing her up onto her jawline, the pleasure of the kisses shocked her, could she really be enjoying that while she was being ripped apart? The mouth covered her and she felt it sucking on her, pulling the air from her lungs until they burned, and her body rocked again, her final rib cracked away and her breasts deflated, a hand tugged them back up and her nipples hardened under the touch. She felt betrayed by her body as the pleasure centers activated, and her hips rocked, then the hands released her she felt her breasts flop down onto her lungs, deprived of the protection and support of her rib cage, the pain was beyond anything she had felt so far, dull but fierce and completely new. The things laid her gently back on the bed, into the congealing blood on the sheets, she felt three mouths kiss her, one on the mouth, on the thigh and the other on her vulva. And then they were gone, the ringing in her ears returned.  She saw briefly a flash of three faces, twisted and rotten, before she heard her radio click on and a perfect circle with a line through it was drawn on her ceiling, in her blood. As she took her final breaths and sank out of consciousness into death she heard the song on the radio

There’s a somebody I’m longing to see, I hope that he, turns out to be, someone to watch over me….

Why I Didn't Go Rainbow

 Our country has taken a huge step in equality this week, (It could be argued as either forward or backward depending on you view history) and I fully support the change.  I also love the flood of support I have seen from the majority of people and I haven't been overly vocal. I feel like my friends, particularly my LGBT friends deserve to know why my response has been so reserved. The answer is I've never really thought it should be a big deal.  I've put a lot of thought in how to say this and what I've come up with is:

All discrimination should die quietly and without acknowledgement for its existence.

I firmly believe that statement.

In photography, before the digitalization, almost all pictures were developed from a negative. When that began to change, the change was celebrated, but no one threw a huge party celebrating the death of the negative. Instead it was relegated down to the place it needed to be, where it was still relevant while the positive change was focused on and improved.

That is how I feel it should be with social change as well. Now, the photography metaphor is not perfect, you can blow a lot of holes in it. I am aware. But the spirit of it works.

I look at the history of discrimination and I see these big rallies, these big protests, this huge media presence and I see where change has been made on the surface of society and in the law books but not in the actual roots of the people.  I can't help but wonder if maybe part of the reason it hasn't died is because we have so sensationalized the death of it. Why should anyone give up their bigotry when they can stand on an age old prejudice and get so much attention. Not all of it damning.

In my personal experience, the changes that stick, the ones that really happen are changes I have made without fanfare or announcements. I have quietly killed the negative parts of my life and moved on to a better and happier existence. And I suppose it could be wishful thinking that quiet change could take hold on a massive scale, but I've seen what can happen when friends, neighbors and families have open dialogue, intelligent discourse and compassionate exchanges. Real change happens communities pull tog ether this way.

Real change happens quietly.

Being quiet does not mean ignoring the problem. Just to be clear.

But celebrating the death of discrimination and other negative aspects of society with so much pomp and circumstance seems to me to be feeding the problem instead of actually solving it.

Think of it as good sportsmanship. If you need anything to make it more palatable for you. Or just ignore me, after all this is simply my opinion and my stance.

Just understand that my quiet celebration is a way for me to pay the highest respect to the change that I so desperately wanted. But it is fight that never should have happened, it should not have been necessary and the sooner we start treating it as the norm and making changes in our social circles, changes that do not require glaring announcements ect. the sooner we can have the norm that we should have had all along.

Why aren't you married?

Lately, I've been asked this question or a variation of it (why don't you have boyfriend, etc) with an alarming frequency. I'm assuming it's because I'm now 30 and therefore my STILL SINGLE neon sign has begun flashing. Because all women over 30 have those. Usually this question is met with an eye roll, or silence or an exasperated "because I am."

As tempting as it is to turn the tables on this question and be continually offended by it, and whine about it and give platitudes about "refusing to settle" and " I have just haven't met him yet" I decided to give the question some thought. And the answer I've come up with may be a little startling at first, but here it is.

Why aren't I married?
Because I'm looking for more than love.

Wait, what?

Yep. I am looking for more than love. To be honest, love is pretty low on the list, because love is a chemical reaction between two people. Love is wonderful. Don't get wrong, I want love. But there are things I want more out of a marriage.

Things like: Friendship. Compatibility. Trust. Great Conversation. Stability. Sexuality. Passion.

When you add all of those things together, they are the parts that make up love, right? No.
You can love people you don't even like. Oddly enough. You can love people that you have no desire to be with sexually.

And the truth is, I've been in love. I've been completely shattered by love, broken down and put in "my place" by love. Or to be more specific through people that I loved, people that claimed to love me but did not. I've experienced the highs of being in love before it all came crashing down and I get why that seems to be the motivator for most people, but when you get right down to it, falling in love is easy.

Marriage is not easy.
Friendship is not easy.
Maintaining a relationship for a long time with a person and keeping it going in a way the positively benefits your life and the life of the other person. That is work. Hard work. Grueling work (some days). Rewarding work. Worth the work.

So, since love is easy, I'm not looking for that. I'm looking for real. I'm looking for hard. I'm looking for all the things I listed above, because I deserve all of that, and so does the person I'm with.

Stepping into a volatile conversation

It’s Sexual Assault Awareness time. And yes, I’m going to jump down that rabbit hole with this post, so consider yourself warned.  There are a myriad of topics to discuss here, from male victims to “rape culture” ( I despise that phrase) but instead of pointing out all the symptoms, I’m just going to go straight to the root of the problem, which is that people see other people as property.  Take a second here to note that I said people, not men, not boys, not assholes, not rapists, not women, bitches, whores or girls: People.

I recently shared a post on my personal Facebook page; many of you have seen it:  a woman wrote a post entitled The Anatomy of Rage and I felt it very accurately described my frustration with the state of society today. Now this article is specifically regarding the way men treat women, so that is going to be the focus of this post. Please bear in mind as you read this:  I do not believe that men are the problem just because they are men, women are just as much a part of this problem as men. I firmly believe this to be true and will probably do a follow up post on that very subject sometime in the future.

So, the post I shared talked about the experiences of this woman as she has gone through different scenarios in her life and the inappropriate comments and touching she has endured at the hands of her male colleagues/friends/acquaintances and even strangers.  Reading her words I was struck by the similarity of my own experiences. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times a man has touched me without my consent or sent me sexual pictures or text messages or whispered in my ear. In college there was a guy that was constantly sneaking up behind me to smell my hair, other people took note of it happening, but no one did anything about it, and let me tell you, if you have never experienced that, it is creeptastic.

                Chances are these men that have invaded my personal space and violated my being are in actuality nice men who just don’t know any better. They think the behavior is ok because as a society we teach a basic lack of respect for other people. We portray people as property, as objects, as things to be desired and touched and bought.  And women have gone along with it, for centuries.  We have created our own problems by waiting so long to speak out, and then by being resentful when we are offered protection or help from a man.  It creates a double edged sword for any man trying to change the norm.  So, what gives ladies? How is a man supposed to make a positive change if we react negatively?  A man is not disrespecting you if he sees you are being hassled and he steps up to make sure you are alright, so don’t bite his head off. It’s not a statement that you can’t take care of yourself; it’s a human being providing support to another human being. Now, if that guy then starts hassling you himself, well, that’s a whole new problem, but the chances of that happening are pretty slim.

                Going back to the post I shared, I was for the most part, pleasantly surprised by the comments it received. Most people were just as appalled as I was, but predictably, there was one person who missed the point. I purposely did not respond to that person in detail, wanting to see how my friends, my male friends in particular would handle it.  I was disappointed that they didn’t step up at all.  It was pointed out to me that my friends know me and I generally stand up for myself and they may not want to be seen as stepping on my toes or disrespecting my post (a thing I appreciate) but that is not always the case and guy friends, I do not mind at all you speaking out, just for future reference.  What I did get though, were private messages from people explaining how incredulous they were at this one person’s comments. And that was cool, but, it was also unhelpful.  Bolstering the “victim” is wonderful, it lets them know they aren't alone, they are supported, they are valued, and rebuild confidence, all good. Except, now when the “victim” displays themselves confidently, the person that “victimized” them learns nothing, in fact they are positively reinforced for their behavior. It’s a strange thought to wrap your head around. I know.  So instead of just bolstering the victim, speak out to the assailant, educate, not attack. We can’t keep attacking people for acting in the way they have been taught to act.  Because talk about mixed signals.  Education is the key to prevention, so instead of “Hey you’re a pig and you deserve to die!” try having a reasonable conversation. Explain why what the person did was disrespectful, and don’t be a dick about it unless that becomes necessary. Because unfortunately, sometimes it is necessary to be a dick about it.

                You may be reading this and thinking, wow, this is confusing. That’s because it is. It’s a tough subject to tackle, it seems like it should be black and white. Except it’s not. It’s not black and white because we have been taught that people are objects to be admired and possessed. We have to change what we teach in order to affect change in the actions of society.  There is not a perfect solution for those of us caught in the middle of this mess. We can fight for reform to make things better for our kids, but the sad reality is that we have to deal with the ingrained education of the society we live in presently too.   And the present society is not a society for people; it is a society for masters and subjects.  We have to shift the focus back, away from sex and weight and money, and instead look at health and relationships and how to actually have a life.  We have to end the culture of extremism, because is it so incredibly damaging   and we have to stop expecting men to take all the blame for this. Education, not emasculation.  That is how we really make a change.

As I watch the world fall

              It's been awhile since I have updated this blog. A lot has changed in my life and in the world since I last spoke out this way, I can't tell you if I will update more regularly in the future, but I would like to think I will. Lately, I have been working on a book I have coming out next month. These last two days I have found myself staring at the manuscript, unable to type anything that works, and tonight I think I know why. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's that what I need to say is something much bigger than the story I'm telling in that book.

          Today, twelve people were murdered in the name of a god. Twelve people. Over a joke. Because someone was offended by what they had to say. Because someone was convinced that their god would be so offended by the mere pen-strokes of a mortal man. Twelve people are now gone from this world. This is an indefensible act,  but still it happened, and there are people who will try to defend it. They will try to defend it and they will probably succeed. Why?

BECAUSE WE HAVE ALLOWED THIS TO BECOME THE NORM.

         You read that right. The people of the world have allowed themselves to becomes so concerned with what offends them, with what might offend someone else, with what is "wrong" with the world and the people in it that we will sit back and allow ourselves to be, murdered, to be brainwashed, to be "fixed". But I refuse to be one of those people anymore. I set myself apart from the world and the people that inhabit it today. I want no part of it. I want no part of you.

       Some of you will read that sentence and think that what follows will be a words praising the god of Christianity. You would think this because I have always believed it. I have always professed it. I have always given it credence. Those of you who have known me my entire life, I apologize to you. For I have mislead you in my need for acceptance, forgiveness and atonement, I have allowed myself and you to believe that I truly was a follower of this god. I am not. I have never truly been. I only recently allowed myself to consider this, but it is true. I do not believe in god.

       I do not believe in any god, religion, being, organization, government or person that preaches love but practices violence, aggression, submission, slavery or forced inequality. Period. And I am not sorry for that. I am also not looking to be saved or evangelized or reborn. So please, don't waste my time.

              That leaves the question of what do I believe in? The truth is I'm not sure. I'm not convinced there is a "higher power" out there beyond the universe itself.  I believe that the human mind is a powerful tool that we all waste. I believe that the more we forget about our past, the more we doom our future. I believe in hard work and timing and true love. I believe in the power of words and the power of the individual. I believe in myself.

           Some of you reading this will be a little saddened by my declaration. I am sorry to cause you pain. Some of you will be offended by my words. I will not apologize for that. One day I may write about all the things that are going on in this world that offend me. But really, no one cares about that. And why should they? Why should any of you care what offends me anymore than I should care about what offends you?

            What happened today is not only on the hands of the men who wielded the weapons. It is on the hands of everyone that taught them to do what they did. It falls on the heads of men and women who throughout history have committed similar acts in the names of gods or men and have been hailed for it as heroes. The blame falls on us all.

             Twelve people are dead. I cannot change what happened today, but I can teach my daughter to be better than the world is now. I can teach her to think for herself, to use her mind and not just her hands. I can do that.

               I can use my time to find the truth in things. I can seek solutions. I can look past the masks of the masses and find the people lost in the fray.

               So can you.

A question or two

If he is going to be breaking your heart for the rest of the life, don't you think you should have stayed? At least then you would still be able to screw him too.

An Honest list of Qualities I look for in a man

Every woman has her list of things she wants in a guy, whether she admits it or not, and usually those lists are full of odd Disney references, fantasy ideals and traits that would actually make the man one that they literally could never coexist with.  So, after a rather emotional day that has concluded with me reminding myself of all the things that didn't work with my ex, I thought "Hey, let's make a list of thing I look for in a guy" then as I read the list, I was like, "wait. this guy already exists, and he's my ex for a reason, so maybe I should be a bit more honest with myself". The following is the list I came up with.


1.) You must be willing to clean, like deep clean, it would be best if you enjoyed doing it. Because I suck at cleaning and I kind of hate doing it. Another alternative would be that you are open to hiring a maid.

2.) I like gaming, and hanging out with guys. So let me be part of your circle and don't renege on it. I don't expect to be invited to everything, but really, not many girls in my area actually like doing the things that I like and I like to game: MTG, DND, Video and Board varieties.

3.) Be secure enough to understand that most of my friends are guys, accept that about me, get to know my friends and don't judge the relationships I have. I have them for a reason and they are extremely important to me, so take the fact that I choose to be with you and not with them as confirmation that you are who I want.

4.) Be a reader. Seriously, and while I would prefer some overlap in Authors/Genres it's not really required.

5.) Probably one the most important things on my list is come prepared to deal with my recent past, which include my incredible daughter and her dad. I am never going to put her second to anyone, and her dad and I may not have worked out, but he is an incredible dad to her and he is around and part of my life and will be a part of most major decisions while my daughter is growing up.

6.) Laugh a lot.

7.) Be willing to reassure me with physical contact, even when you're angry or we're fighting. It's bad enough to be fighting, if you refuse to touch me, I promise you, I will think you don't want me anymore and I will stop trusting you.

8.) Have a job, a car, and a place to live.

9.) Take me to midnight movies

10.) Be adventurous, I want to travel and do things other people might call (and have called) crazy, be willing to do them with me.

This list is not in any real order of importance because none of them are more important than any of the other of them, except for 5. That one is pretty damned important. Anyway, just my thoughts.  Carry on.