My Axe

Random

2005-05-20T04:21:07Z

There is this little know bit of information about me that, should I share it, could change the way most people think about the person I am. You see, I am not exactly an idiot and really am far more interesting than people think. Shhh. Don't share this with the world as I'm not quite sure it is ready to hear this news.

Not that those on the Earth couldn't handle this information, individually, at the right time, but humans can be quite reactionary and I would hate to be responsible for the possible effect of such news.

There are many things I can use to illustrate my non-idiot status. There is my ability to make a delicious double-layer lemon/coconut cake from scratch or my insanely mad skills at changing two children's diapers in a relatively short amount of time as they flail about on the changing table screaming and kicking. There is my ability to remember most words to a song after only hearing it a time or two (especially if I *like* the song) and my phenomenal ability to balance our checking account while Jason, two girls, a spotted JimmieCat and a mini-dachshund run, bite, scream, kick and annoy everyone in the room, including each other!

These things, in and of themselves, probably seem quite mundane to the average urban explorer or rural dreamer, but I assure you that in this setting, with this much sleep, all are absolutely amazing feats of intellectual acumen. Try it - be me for a day. Please -- I'm offering!

No takers, eh? Well, then let me tell you about recent events in the life of one Mrs. Hollie.

I took the girls to the pediatrician last week. The three of us glided into the waiting room to the oohs and ahhs of all the other patients (and their mothers). The girls were sleepy and made no fuss as we filled out the sign in sheet and found a place to sit where the double-tandem stroller, baby bag and I would not be in the way. Numerous adults and children came to see them, as if they were the future empresses of New China or a circus side show. We were called back to the examining room, where we were told how strong, how beautiful, how pleasant the girls were. The doctor, after making his obligatory comment on their cuteness, determined that it was time to start immunizations. He then went into a bit of a lecture on how I should hire someone, a local teenager or someone of that ilk, to come in and watch the children in the evenings so that I could make a nice dinner for my husband and, perhaps, complete some of my domestic duties.

I nodded my head as he told me these things, but internally I smirked. "Christ," I thought. "He thinks I'm a stay at home mommy." I started to interrupt, attempting to make a joke about cooking, or cleaning or anything domestic, but decided against it. I mean, in this setting, this was what he thought I was, this is what I should be and it is so much easier to just let him believe.

This got me thinking about my philosophy in general. It really is easiest to comply. I have often tried to put my foot down, to make a stand on certain things, but I always give in if the opposition is strong enough ... and it doesn't take much to be stronger than my will any more.

Of course, I can't always cow-down to every one's whims. At work, it is a completely different story. I have fought tooth and nail for things that I truly believe should be fought for.

So, why is there this double standard? Why do I feel the need to fight at work, yet acquiesce at home? Is it because I have the power of my job title and my reputation behind me at work? Is it because I fear that people in my personal life will think less of me if I don't give them what they want? Is it because the people at work only know what I am based on what I have chosen to show them and the people at home know me far more intimately? Who knows? I can firmly say that I don't. I only know that, in the end, I am the one begging for love at home and begging for hate at work. I am the one cleaning up after the ills of my family while dictating who will clean up the ills of my workplace. Would it be better the other way around? Should it be better the other way around?

My husband has set up a webcam at work so that I, amongst others, can peak in on him and his lunch date and work buddy, Ben, from time to time.

The way the camera is set up reminds me of looking in the small window in the door of the padded rooms at a nut house or the crevice in the door of a solitarily confined inmate's cell. It is positioned up high in the room, possibly in the corner, looking down upon them. The two of them chit-chat, work and generally exist with the eyes of possibly anybody on them at any time. Ben picks his nose and Jason his ass in front of possibly hundreds, though I doubt that many are watching or even know about the cam.

I thought the whole thing silly at first (and still do, sort of), although it has come in handy to see if he has left to come home yet in the evening or to watch his reactions to the pranks I pull via Remote Desktop from time to time.

So, this afternoon I called to speak to Jason after taking the girls for our mile-walk in Macken Park on this sweltering afternoon. (91 degrees and on black pavement. YUCK!) Wasn't I surprised when Ben answered Jason's cell phone. He informed me that Jason wasn't in the office, took a message, then asked shyly if I was watching him on the camera at that moment. I told him that I was not. He actually sounded a bit disappointed that I wasn't! Ah, panopticism backfires -- or does it? Whose to say that some small part of all those inmates in Bentham's panopticon weren't secretly, perhaps subconsciously, relishing the fact that their every move could possibly be monitored at any time? And maybe that's one of the reason's such a system works so well?

Lately I've been having stupid fantasies about opening a small coffee / pastry shop as I'm making my decadent desert of the week each Monday. This week it was an amazingly ugly double layer strawberry refrigerator cake with Hollie-made strawberry puree filling and my special whipped icing topping. It was a newly modified recipe and I wasn't sure how it would go over with Jason's family who was slated to come over and enjoy it with us, so I had also made Hollie's Famous Peach-Cherry Double-Crust Pie. Both turned out tasting very good and were enjoyed by all.

But back to my silly dreams. I've had two recurring fantasies about future endeavors at which I would be fairly happy earning money, but realize that neither of them is really ever going to be in my future due to lack of the necessary talent and funds to leave my current job and pursue something so very unsteady. The first, as mentioned above, is to open a coffee /pastry shop where I would whip up fanciful deserts, pastries and other select delicacies to the delight of my numerous patrons. The other is to open a photography studio where I would take meaningful and beautiful portraits that not only capture the image but the soul of all who partake of my talents.

What silly dreams we have as children. They grow even more ludicrous as adults!

I guess that's really all for now - more than enough, I'd fair to wager. I hope this entry finds all who read it as happy as I am in my life. (Take that as you will!) For all my bitching, I know that I'm supposed to feel blessed.

Ciao,

~H

What a Difference a Month Makes

2005-04-16T15:31:08Z

Hi all!

Wow, what a month we've had here at the Palace Simanowitz.

Of course, the most exciting news is that our twin daughters were finally born and are now home.

The less interesting, but equally life altering, were my being exiled to bed rest at home for a month and then admitted to the hospital on March 14 due to complications associated with preclampsia and gestational diabetes, my blood pressure and pulse bottoming out on the operating table and my ensuing nausea, the girls being taken about two weeks prior to their scheduled arrival date (each spending some extra time in the NICU - one a week at a level three nursery and the other three weeks at a level one nursery) and all the other crazy things that have gone on since the last time I wrote.

Both girls are absolutely beautiful and seem to be pretty observant, for little babies. (Of course, I'm supposed to think they're brilliant and gorgeous, I'm their mother!) Miranda has grown by leaps and bounds and Moira also seems to be getting larger, although her stint at Children's Mercy seems to have put her a bit behind her sister in the growth department. They are what I suppose could be considered good babies: They don't normally cry without a reason and sleep a lot. They are on a three hour feeding schedule that means we have to feed each girl special higher-calorie formula every three hours, night and day. This can get a bit tedious, not to mention stressful when little bellies empty at exactly the same time in the middle of the night. For being such little girls, they can certainly shake the windows when they want or need something :)

I know a lot of you have already seen a picture or two on my husband's BLOG, but, with disregard for redundancy, I have included a few pictures of both girls and their parents,

The Twins
(Moira's on the left, Miranda's on the right)

Moira Eats

Fashionable Miranda

Dr. Jas

I guess that's all for now. I hope you enjoyed the photos and have a wonderful weekend,

Hollie

I just realized ...

2005-01-14T18:33:53Z

Yesterday was my one-year LJ anniversary -- Let's hear it for no longer being an LJ newbie (I mean, I figured the rules for newly weds apply to LJ as well! One year and you don't have the "I'm new to this" excuse anymore :) )

Just thought I'd share as my posts have been mostly private lately and haven't left much for anyone to read.

Have a good weekend,

Hollie

I keep having this thought ...

2005-01-13T21:32:50Z

Growing up, my mother and father both worked. This is not saying much, as many people's parents work. It's common, even necessary at times, to have both parents outside of the home to help pay for the family to survive. I know this. I rationalize this. I expect this ... But I hate myself for having to do this.

I still, at almost 27 years old, find myself looking over my shoulder for the people who took care of me in my youth waiting for them to pop out and get me. I still, on rare occasions, have nightmares about these people. Once in a while I will read something or see something, or hell, even smell something that will take me back to moments that are less than stellar from the time that I was in the late 70's/early 80's child care cycle.

Because of some of these horrible events, I always promised myself that I would stay home with my children. That I would make it happen -- some how. Some how I would have enough money and enough know-how and would make it work. I wouldn't have debt swallowing me whole. I wouldn't overspend. My husband would make enough money. Some how it would all fall into place. Well, I don't, it has, we do, we don't and now I feel forced to make a decision I would rather not have to make. I have to put my children into the same child care cycle and pray for a better outcome.

I have plans to admit my unborn children to a day care center that I as a child remember positively. It's not the same one, but one of the same chain and I pray every day that I can trust them. That these people I have talked to on the phone but can't bring myself to meet (yet) will not do something horrible to my babies. That my children will grow up happy and healthy and not have such deep seeded trust issues and body issues and issues with friendship.

Still, I look back on those experiences and I shudder. The fear that wells up inside of me that I will have to leave my girls in the hands of strangers to raise. That they will count on someone to wipe their tears and their asses that may or may not think of them as just a paycheck, frightens me. How can I possibly do it? How will I ever be able to leave them knowing what happened to me?

I try to tell myself that this is different. That this day care was the good one -- but what if what happened to me, happens to them. What if I can't afford to keep them there any more and have to move them - continually down the line until they end up at that day care with the man in the clown suit and no pants who would set little children on his lap during play time (not me - I have always been afraid of clowns and would steer very clear of this minister) or the woman who would strap us into high chairs, even though we were too old for high chairs, and leave us while she returned to bed for a few more hours or watched her soap operas? Or the one whose son tricked me into getting in the corn bin and then, as I sunk deeper and deeper, shut the door on me to hear me screaming from outside (I was punished heartily by his mother for ruining corn after they had to pull me out and she made me sit on the steps and wait for my mother, denying me supper and warmth until well after 8 p.m. in the late fall weather -- bitch -- I could have died -- fuck her corn and her fucking son! I can still remember the feeling of sinking and not stopping. The kernels closing around me like sand. The dust was thick and I couldn't breath and it was dark, sans a small opening at the top and some cracks in the tin here and there. Horrifying, truly.) Or the white-trash princess who slapped the shit out of me because her daughter fell down the stairs when no one was watching her. (This was the same woman whose wood stove would shoot flames back out the open door every time she added wood. It caught one little girl there on fire, but it was put out before she was severely damaged. I believe her name was Penny Quarter - funny, eh? She also told me to wring out a wash cloth in her washer ringer tub while she answered the phone one afternoon. My hand got caught in it and the ensuing friction from my pulling and fighting caused severe burns and ate most of the skin off of that part of my hand.) Or the one that wanted to play hide and seek and would do inappropriate things to the little girls that he was helping hide. He also would tell another man there about his little trysts with tiny girls and say things like "She plays with herself for me - she loves it when I touch her. She'll do anything I say." The other man would look at you and nod approvingly. Sick - Sick - Sick ...

So what am I to do? Be a good mother and stay home to care for and protect my children or be a good mother and not let my family lose their house and be well-fed and clothed? Those are my choices, as I see them, and neither of them suit me very well. I want to stay home with them. I want to care for them. I feel that fate has dealt me a cruel hand in that I can't stay home with them and I can't be for them what I need to be but I can't expect Jason's job to pick up the slack should I stay home and I can't expect him to give up his little bonuses like lunches out and morning drinks at the QT (besides it wouldn't make up for much and, since I am the main bread winner, we would lose the lion's share of funding should I not have a job). I already know we can't live on just what I make without serious problems and that was for just the two of us.

I am at a loss -- out to sea and drowning. What do I do? I guess, I visit the school. I see what I think. I promise to never send them to a home-based day care or a religious day care center and I pray -- to whom I don't know -- that someday, very soon, I will find a way to make it work where I can be there with them and take care of them like I always promised their little souls before they had any chance of being born.

Sorry for the downer,

Hollie

People Like Me ...

2004-12-30T16:00:09Z

...Don't like shoes with too many ties.
...Think men look a little silly naked.
...Love their significant others.
...Hug their pillows.
...Donate money.
...Have nightmares.
...Miss their fathers.
...Love strawberry milkshakes.
...Read the news online but hate news television.
...Humour their mothers.
...Spend entirely too much time on their computers.
...Are lonely sometimes.
...Make mistakes.
...Admire many.
...Love their children.
...Long for inspiration.
...Hate being pigeon-holed.
...Hug their dachshunds and their beagles.
...Loan money.
...Pay their bills.
...Worry about what others think.
...Have blue eyes.
...Believe that different forms of etiquette are required for differing situations.
...Think Trent Reznor is Super Hot (especially in the Perfect Drug video).
...Don't always play well with others.
...Graduated Cum Laude with a degree in English.
...Feel the weight of responsibility.
...Have held their tongues when they new they shouldn't have.
...Sometimes speak the words no one wants to hear.
...Wonder what happened to all those people they used to know.
...Just don't understand people sometimes.
...Think their spouse is brilliant despite the silly things he/she does sometimes.
...Have a lot of unfinished works.
...Hold the opinion that Harrison Ford has aged very well.
...Often feel overwhelmed.
...Don't feel responsible for the world's ills, but worry about them just the same.
...Want to be creative, but fall just about an inch short on most days.
...Pray for acceptance.
...Long for individuality.
...Worry about their grandmothers.
...Expect no apologies.
...Wonder why they are expected to apologize.
...Decide that this is getting too long.
...End this little meme on that note.

People Like Me --

2004-12-29T22:23:37Z

After recently being placed into a group entitled "People like you" by someone who really doesn't know me all that well, I wondered what it is that people see as being "like me" ... and how does that differ from what I see myself being like ... and how do either of those visions compare to what I really am.

I know,I know, How can it possibly be said that the face we show to the outside world could be anything but the sincere reflection of how we truly feel every moment of every day? How is it possible to think that someone might be so wary of what others think of them that they don't always expose the tender underbelly of their secret thoughts to the entire planet of would be labelers?

Trust me, dear friends, it is true. I have, on several occasions, done this very thing. I have bit my tongue out of fear of some sort of repercussion when I knew it was probably better to say what needed to be said. I have said some strangely embittered thing to someone simply to look somewhat cool. Yes, in all of my fortitude, I have said what I thought someone wanted me to say in an attempt

Life & Death - Christmas & The Surrounding Days -

2004-12-28T15:52:06Z

Christmas was -- well -- relatively uneventful. This was surprising as we were spending the holiday with Jas' family (a normally stressful thing for all involved) and that we were spending it at his grandmother's house (who had died just a few days prior on Dec. 23).

However, his mother was handling the situation well and Jas' sisters didn't show up until later in the day, so all went okay. There was salmon and turkey to eat and gifts to open, pictures to go through and papers to peruse, conversations to be had and conversations to listen to. All was actually quite pleasant, minus the nagging fact that in just a few days we would be standing as representatives of grief for all of Francis' (Jas' grandmother) friends and extended family.

Sunday was spent running about the Kansas City area, including a quick stop at Jas' work and a sojourn to the local Lowe's to order another set of french doors for our living room. I have decided to seal that room off as our beagle finds my furniture irresistible and has now completely destroyed our couch and chaise lounge in fits of manic rage. Both pieces would cost more to repair/reupholster than to purchase brand new ones, so out to the curb this week for bulky trash pick up they go. What a mess!

So, if you are reading this, you might wait to stop by for a visit for a couple of weeks, just until we can install the new doors and get some furniture to sit on!

Monday was Francis' visitation. She was such a sweet little lady and had quite a few friends who came to the event. So many of them were so very stricken by her death -- I just felt so bad for them. It was easier for those of us who saw all of her suffering and were expecting her death as she reached the last days. Those who had seen her smiling and at baby showers and family get togethers just a few weeks before had a very hard time accepting her death. It was so very sad.

I'm not trying to say that we don't care about Francis and her death, just that all of those close to her have been dealing with this since she was admitted into the hospital in one form or another and some of that initial grief has softened, turning more into acceptance than tears at this late date.

I have to comment here, in all my morbidity, that the funeral home did an excellent job on Francis. She was a lovely older woman to begin with, but whomever did the hair and make-up really did a good job. You see, I have a standard for good funerary work -- the hands. Usually you look at the hands and they are flat and lifeless. The color is wrong and the shape and position are off. They look like they've been run over or smashed and they never seem to match the person you knew. However Francis' hands were perfect. Every spot, every scar, every line -- perfect. In fact, my eyes tricked me on a few occasions, making me see them flutter or quiver, as if she were readying herself to reach up and adjust her lapel or earring.

They also didn't use five tons of that nasty orange putty or reshaping wax on her face and neck. For the most part, they stuck with her natural color pallet, choosing shades closer to her normal make-up colors. They really did quite a respectable job - Francis, being very concerned with her appearance, would have been pleased, I think.

Today is the funeral. It is at 2 p.m. My work gave me the day off as funeral leave. This concept is odd to me. I mean, the only person close to me that I had to take time off to help plan and prepare for his funeral was my uncle and, him being only an uncle didn't warrant any funeral leave. Of course, I didn't argue the point, but he was more of a father to me than my own dad and he was one of my best friends. I took several days of vacation time to help my aunt make preparations for his wake as they had no children and I am considered the child they never had.

As for Francis' funeral, Jason is the only pallbearer at this point. I told him that I would have gladly helped had I not been pregnant. The rest of her relatives are mostly older people who are in mixed states of health. I suggested they discuss it with the funeral director and see if a few of his men would help. Of course, I also suggested that Lindsey, Jason's ox-like younger sister help. She is a very stout girl, well over six-feet tall and approximately a size 22. She can lift large televisions over her head, and when angry, has knocked over and thrown several large furniture items. She would have definitely been strong enough to help with the casket. However, that is not traditionally accepted, I guess. I wonder why ... Has anyone ever seen a female pallbearer? I vaguely remember my aunt Viola being a pallbearer at a funeral when I was very young, but that's about it. She was also a strikingly tall woman who was very strong, but far more feminine than Jas' sister.

Anyway, I hope everyone's Christmas holiday was good and that New Year's brings them a new year of hope (and happiness).

Hollie

Life is good ...

2004-12-22T21:17:59Z

Hi, everyone...

...and Happy Holidays, winter or day to you all,

Just a quick post to say absolutely nothing about anything important. It is not snowing here - cold but not snowing. Of course, it could be snowing here and I would never know as I am at work and that means I am sitting in a cave. Seriously, the windows (why they put them in a place like this is beyond me) just look into more cave! So, no snow or ice scrapings off of the cars, but I wouldn't know if a torrential monsoon followed by massive volcanic eruption were to happen outside.

Jason and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary last night. He had to work late, so I went to Barnes & Noble to look at / read / purchase books. We met later for dinner before going home. Not especially romantic, but we just aren't like that. Silly - goofy - dorky - those words describe us - maybe in our own way we are romantic. However, romance to us seems to involve more discussing of the latest iPod Photo or RAID software for the Mac rather than stepping out on the town. Don't get me wrong, we have done our share of looking at the stars and talking into the wee hours of the morning. We walked around the Plaza after all the shops had closed during the Christmas holiday just to be with each other several years back. We have shared visits to parks accompanied only by the crisp winter air and the full moon, but we have grown accustomed to each other -- and I don't consider that a bad thing. It doesn't mean bored or disinterested. It doesn't mean settled or too comfortable. It certainly doesn't mean that we don't flirt with or tease each other. It simply means we are accustomed to each other and comfortable enough to discuss what bothers and pleases us with each other openly.

Okay, I guess that's enough of that :)

Jason's grandmother has been very ill and in the hospital. Originally she was admitted for chemotherapy treatments for leukemia. However, she didn't handle that well and went into Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome. She got better for a while, but she has started to slide back. I hope for Jason's mother's sake she will pull through, but I don't blame her if she doesn't want to go on like this. She has so much pain and sickness. I just feel that she should make that decision for herself based on what is right for her. If she wants to fight until the end, then by all means, I support that decision. If, however, she wants them not to resuscitate and let her spend her last few days with family and friends, then I'm there for that, too. I don't want her to die, but I understand that life will go on should it happen and that, ultimately, the decision is between her and whatever higher power she subscribes to.

On a happier note, lately I have been able to feel my girls kicking with great regularity. Well, one of them anyway. The one in the left front seems to be a bit more active than her sister, though I have felt the other one on a few occasions. I actually think she might be kicking into my back, making it harder for me to feel her, so she is probably just as active. Maybe that's why I get stomache aches - maybe she is kicking me in the junk from the inside!

I guess that is all for now. I really do wish everyone the very best, holiday or no, and hope that whatever you wish for finds you,

Hollie

Today is ...

2004-12-09T19:57:24Z

Odd.

What a silly thing to write and yet so very true for me. On one hand I feel fairly okay. The babies seem to be good, what you can tell from out here :). My husband has a good job again (and one he really loves doing, which is important. I am really glad he is happy again.) Today has been less hectic than the past few. My headaches and blood sugar have all been on a manageable level. All pointing to what seems to be a good day.

However, on the other hand, a tiff with a friend over my seemingly insensitive remarks has left me in a phunk. how can all the world's frustrations be brought out by one stupid girl and her big mouth? I just don't know, but that's just how it happened. As if I were the mouthpiece for everyone ever known, I am now the reciever of all that has built up.

Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I don't. Either way I have received it and have tried to deal with it accordingly. Still, I see me digging a hole deeper and deeper with every reply. I only meant to explain what I had meant to say, not to be blamed for all the hurt caused by everyone so close to you. Don't you understand? Is it possible to mend the tear that has begun?

I fear not ... and this just makes it worse. I see the hole, I want desperately to stitch it shut, but my thread gets caught and I rip it larger with every stitch. Now it engulfs the delicate silk that was once a tentative friendship ... and all because I couldn't keep my mouth shut this time.

Oh, well, maybe I am over dramatizing. Maybe it doesn't mean as much to the person. Maybe I am blowing this out of proportion ...

Who knows? Only Time, I guess.

Crap in, Crap out …

2004-11-29T23:40:18Z

Hi all,

In an attempt to provide, at the very least, a somewhat entertaining BLOG entry, I have attempted to document my thoughts periodically throughout the day. Probably didn't turn out well - probably don't care :)

6:00 a.m.
Exhaustion is something I should be used to. The tick of the clock, the sound of his sighs, the quietness of my house, all hold me captive as I try to sleep.

He gets up, rouses me to nag about my blood test 4 hours late. He means well, everyone means well, I suppose.

Guilt surrounds me – all I see is a sea of wrotten guilty thoughts. Evil thoughts like how much I wish I had never allowed this to happen. Sad thoughts like how I am certain, with every sonogram, I will be told the two beings inside of me are dead. Confusion as to whether that might be, somehow, better? No more waiting for the shoe to drop, you know?

Insensitive jokes passed around in the early morning hours about my killing them by simply feeling for them with fingers too eager as they squish against my abdominal wall or the silent accusations that come with the nagging about how I am taking care of myself all take their toll. Am I killing them simply by existing? Am I condemning them to death for doing what does not come naturally for me? Can the people I love best really believe that somehow, if they don’t live, it is my fault? And, if they don’t live, will I feel sorrow at losing what I never knew or will I simply be angry for having given up so much of my life for something that didn’t come to fruition?

Ah, this is too heavy for my circle of friends. Hell, this is too heavy for even me.

--

11:03 a.m.
So, I am wearing pink, mother fucker. I am tired of hearing it. Yes, if I had gotten off my ass last night and done laundry, I wouldn’t have to be humiliated by wearing a pink shirt that is two sizes too big for my fat ass (thanks, mom, for never asking my size).

And yes, I know I look like a big strawberry shake. Yes, it is funny to point at the pregnant girl in pink and say things like “Looks like the Easter bunny made an early visit this year. He left behind an egg!” or “I never thought I’d make fun of a girl for wearing pink.”

Well, you just did so get the fuck over it!

--

11:15 a.m
Yesterday afternoon, I spent an hour watching the British State Opening of Parliament on C-SPAN being rebroadcast from earlier in the week. I basically was waiting to hear her majesty speak as I had never heard her speak before. I swear. The myriad of times I’ve seen her image used in photos, illustrations and film footage, I have never heard her speak. Well, now I have. I got to hear her read her advisors’ agenda in an extremely flat, boring bit of rubbish I like to call pseudo-power trip for an old, stodgy woman who may be queen, but has no real power.

Surprisingly, her voice had no real majesty – she sounded like any old, british woman with a Cap of Maintenance up her ass and the world’s second largest diamond on her head.

WTF does that have to do with anything? I’m not really certain.

--

12:50 p.m.
Damn it’s cold outside. Not outside in the cave, but outside where you can actually see the sky! I feel like crap. I want to go home. I want – Oh, hell, I don’t know what I want! Actually, I do kinda know what I want. I want my god-damned checks delivered. Yes, I ran out of checks. How this happens, I am unsure. I look, there are three boxes. I look again, there is an empty box – and of course, every bill in the house is due! You are thinking at this point, “Just go online and use electronic bill pay,” or something like that. That’s the point. I did do the electronic thing, but there is still one more bill to pay that doesn’t have an online or telephone pay option (those bastards). Just one and I have no checks. I ordered them rush overnight shipping last Wednesday, so let’s hope they show up today or tomorrow (probably not until Friday which will really piss me off).

So, that’s my thirty second after lunch dilemma. Wow, what an exciting work day I have!

--

1:11 p.m.
I am so tired of putting up with stupid crap from stupid fools sitting behind their stupid desks full of stupid ideas that make me jump through stupid hoops just to get my stupid paycheck.

--

1:50 p.m.
Subtleties rain down from the blackened sky,
Innocence floating down like volcanic ash.

--

3:59 p.m.
I often find myself wondering how people are doing. Not people in general, mind you, but people that are no longer a part of my life. Like my first (what I thought was) true love or my best (that fucking whore) friend from high school. I wonder if they are doing okay. I question if they ever wonder the same about me.

Of course, this leads me to question just what it is they think about me. Maybe, to them, I was the greatest mistake of their lame-ass lives or perhaps I’m the fucking whore. Who knows …

--

4:15 p.m.
So … this pretty much concludes my work day. I hope you all have enjoyed reading what seems to be one of the longest and least interesting BLOG entry I’ve written to date.

Have a good evening,
~H

curious

2004-11-25T04:14:40Z

Who's been commenting in your journal?

1	myaxe	169 comments	34.99% of total
2	recycling	62 comments	12.84% of total
3	Anonymous	39 comments	8.07% of total
4	jasonanonymous	38 comments	7.87% of total
5	kenopolis	22 comments	4.55% of total
6	rosablanca	22 comments	4.55% of total
7	moxiebramble	18 comments	3.73% of total
8	immortalbob	13 comments	2.69% of total
9	rivetchic	12 comments	2.48% of total
10	documenta	12 comments	2.48% of total
11	snickerpuss	9 comments	1.86% of total
12	ohkatiebland	9 comments	1.86% of total
13	kdm23	8 comments	1.66% of total
14	amolasses	7 comments	1.45% of total
15	orgiastic	7 comments	1.45% of total
16	alloveryou	7 comments	1.45% of total
17	never_fear	6 comments	1.24% of total
18	arithmetock	6 comments	1.24% of total
19	christianneil	5 comments	1.04% of total
20	other_whirled	2 comments	0.41% of total
21	devronika	2 comments	0.41% of total
22	scrubbedpotato	2 comments	0.41% of total
23	xcentrikka	2 comments	0.41% of total
24	luckaduck	1 comments	0.21% of total
25	gilbertbee	1 comments	0.21% of total
26	dvocha	1 comments	0.21% of total
27	sarahrae	1 comments	0.21% of total

These statistics were generated using the LJ Stats Web Interface by mpnolan. Original idea from scrapdog's LJ Comment Stats Wizard.

Absenteeism

2004-11-25T04:06:50Z

Howdy all -- I know, I know ... I haven't posted in over three months and then come traipsing back in here all posies and praise without an excuse and expect a single soul to give a shit what it is I'm writing -- Well, if it makes all feel better, I don't really expect you to read it. (But you are certainly more than welcome to do so, should you feel like it!)

It snowed here . Big Fucking deal, I know. But it did suck this morning, driving along with a bunch of speeding assholes swerving in and out. (Normally I am the speeding asshole so it really annoys the shit out of me when others do it!) I actually had to give the "HONK, HONK - FINGER, FINGER" to a couple of dipshits, but no damage was done.

WTF am I babbling about? I don't have a clue and that is the very reason I haven't written a damned thing. I don't make any fucking sense anymore. I can't even think straight without a god damned headache and a lot of cussing. Okay, the cussing is normal, but the headache really isn't! Pregnancy really bites.

Okay, I lied -- I do have an excuse as to why I have not written much in all this time, albeit shitty. For those of you who do not read my husband's BLOG, we found out at the end of September that there is not one baby bean, but two in here (Yes, monozygotic - actually for those in the know who care, monochorionic diamniotic). So yes, there are officially three people in my pants at any given moment and no, it's not very pleasurable!

That having been said, I was extremely sick and tired up until recently due to this fact. Then, I got the flu and ended up spending an afternoon in the ER due to dehydration. Then, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and have been passed around from OB to specialist so many times I don't know what my name is and now am sitting here saying "hi" before I completely crash. (How sad is that? A 10 o'clock bedtime?)

Anyway, I trust that all of you are doing, in some way, okay for yourselves. I know that there are problems and fears and thoughts that you'd rather not face (or so some of your LJ's state) but I am hoping that all of you are doing okay when all is put in perspective.

I guess that's all for now - HOW DAMNED BORING WAS THIS?!?!?

~H

BTW, I hope people have a good thanksgiving. I fucking know that it was made a national holiday to make everyone feel good about a country that was sucking and many claim to not celebrate because it hurts their damned feelings, but it really is more of a celebration of family and friends and really should be treated more as an opportunity to say "hey" to all the folks that you haven't seen in a while, if that's possible, or to reiterate just how much you enjoy the company of often seen and often appreciated loved ones. /Run-on

I'm now stepping off of my soap box (and off of the curb onto my face).

Have a good weekend,

~H

Who Knew?

2004-08-21T02:34:53Z

'Nuff Said

Just when you think things are going a certain direction, something happens that completely changes everything. Although I know that a good many people believe that having children in today's society is -- at best a sin, I can't help but be absolutely ecstatic.

It is amazing how one little thing can completely change your outlook. And now that jasonanonymous got his job with Apple, albeit part-time for now, things are starting to look up. On this rainy, midwestern day it seems my cloud has a shiny silver lining.

Have a great one,

~H

Reduced to Obedience

2004-08-13T02:35:01Z

I can remember how hard I tried not to fit in the round hole. I wanted to be the square peg. I wanted to stand out, to rebel, to feel a part of being a part of nothing.

I spent my very fist pay check at the age of 15 on pink hair dye and a pair of red vinyl platform boots three inches high (pretty tall for clumsy me). I used to wear obnoxious, provocative clothing and shoplift like a mutha! I frequented the sex shops on a borrowed ID and had a collection of outrageous fetishwear large enough to fill a trunk. I even made a chandelier out of whips and chains to highlight my experimental nature (this of course freaked the hell out of my mother, whom I lived with).

I had a lover and a love (the lover was a male, the love was a female). I got into fights and drank myself silly on a regular basis. I stayed out 'til dawn. I slept off hangovers. I never knew what the next day would bring. I loved sex. I loved drugs. I loved people.

So much has changed from what it was 8 years ago. Now, I get up early everyday. I do my make-up exactly the same way as I have for years. I do my hair similarly to the day before and I dress in clothes that are sensible and casual, just like always. I wear the same shoes almost every single day.

I get into my car and drive the same route to work that I drive every single damned day. I wave at the security guards at the gate, just like always, and pray that my parking spot isn't taken, but it is and I have to park in the dark part of the cave, again.

Sometimes I look at that rebel - that paragon of morality - that girl who never backed down on principal - and I wonder what happened to her. I am her, but I am not her. I miss her and yet, I don't. I am saddened by being reduced to obedience, but I am also reassured by it.

Until Next Time,

Hollie

A Random Thought Transformed

2004-08-11T12:39:55Z

She reached above him, grasping for the box just out of reach. Dammit! Too far back. She moved closer - hoping not to disturb his work as she again reached over his head. She touched it, grabbed it, pulled it off the shelf. Its weight surprised her. Her balance faltered and she started to fall forward onto him like a pile of rocks. The two-foot tall step ladder tipped as she tumbled.

She felt his hands grab about her thighs trying to keep her from falling. Her flesh rejected the coarseness of the grab, her mind relished it. He brought her closer to his seated form in an attempt to steady her and, without a thought, she wrapped her arms about his neck. She felt his hot breath on her skin through the blue polo she wore and felt her grasp tighten. She ran her fingers through his hair and felt his breath quicken and arms tighten around her. Now straddling him in the worn office chair she leaned down and kissed his neck. He ran his hands up the back of her shirt. She leaned in farther and kissed him. She began to grind her hips into his pelvis as the warm tickle of straight stimulation warmed her skin. He reciprocated the gesture. She felt his hands moving to the front of her body, leaning her ever so slightly back, as he explored her breasts, navel and neck. He then touched her face, and tilted it up to look at her.

At this moment there was no other office staff. There were no people moving about just 20 feet away. There was no rush job. In fact there was no job at all. No decorum, no life, no spouse waiting at home. No children, no responsibilities hovering just outside the cube walls. Nothing but this moment existed.

She locked onto his gaze with her blue eyes and a small moan escaped her lips. The whimper traveled through them and in an explosion of sensation, both found ecstasy they hadn't felt since they were teenagers. No penetration, but friction hit its mark as both were frozen in that moment for what felt like an eternity.

She slumped onto him. Her body shaked and he wrapped his arms about her, seemingly afraid to let go. Both heard an audible click as the door to their department was pulled shut. The only sound following was their breath as it began to slow to normal. She leaned back, looked at him, and felt no regret. She swung a leg over him, stood, bent to pickup the fallen stool and ream of paper. She turned away, then turned back for one last glance. She knew she would always remember him like this: disheveled, blushing, wanting.

She put both items back in their places and opened the door to their department. She wondered briefly who had closed it, and had consequently seen them, but then decided it didn't matter. It would float as so many rumors did. Float, waft and then disappear like lofty clouds on a late-spring day. She walked into the ladies room and found herself relatively unchanged by the incident. A slight blush graced her cheeks and her hair was a bit tousled, but she looked as she might after a quick run down a crowded street or after a stroll down a wind-lined path. Nothing more.

A chill ran down her spine as she recalled the touch of his hands, the taste of his flesh, the sound of his breath. She grabbed the sink to steady herself and looked into the mirror. Her eyes, wide and surprised, stared back at her.

"No regret," she reminded herself under her breath and walked out of the lavatory to return to her desk.

The BEST Happy Meal Prize Ever!!!

2004-06-24T02:32:54Z

So, Jason and I went to deposit his check this afternoon. You know the check you get from the government that's supposed to make up for the fact that you lost your job but doesn't really even cover the cost of toothpaste. Yeah, that's right, the check that comes from the account you have to sock money into every pay period. Yep, that's the one!

Anyway, we deposited the check and then decided to stop by our local McD's for a salad and a happy meal. (Sorry, but I am a sucker for the apple dippers and chocolate milk combo -- sue me!) While we are in the drive-thru ordering our food a brightly-colored bird flew past the window. I exclaimed something about just seeing a parrot fly by and was greeted with a snicker and a rude comment about knowing nothing. I agreed as I really don't know anything about birds and figured it was probably some brightly colored cardinal or something. I mean, it did fly by really fast.

So, we order our food, Jason a cobb salad with grilled chicken (and not a double quarter pounder with cheese, to my delight), and I an apple dippers happy meal with lowfat chocolate milk. We rounded the corner and started to pay the kid behind the glass when the bird swooped past me and landed on the ledge of the next window. Now I knew it was a parrot of some sort.

By the time we pulled up to the window, the poor bird was all sorts of confused. He looked tired and scared and the boys at the drive-thru were poking at it. I reached my hand out to it and it tried to climb onto my finger. Of course, it also tried to nip it, as well. I pulled my hand back, slowly and then took a straw and set it in front of him. He climbed on and I lifted him into the air. The McD's manager asked if I would take him, he'd been there all day and was getting insistent. I said yes and brought him into the car, where he jumped onto Jason's shoulder and nuzzled his hair.

A phone call to the local Earl Mae garden center sent us out to have him looked over by the bird lady and to purchase a cage, some foodings and some toys. Now the bird sits happily sleeping and singing, or more like shirping. We found out he is a Green Cheek Conure. You can learn about them here.

So, Jason now has the beautiful bird he always wanted and the bird who desperately wanted someone to take him home now has a safe place to sleep with food an water.

At first I felt a little bad about taking him, but the bird lady confirmed my fears that, in this area, he would not have lived long without proper food and care. Too many predators for a tame bird and not enough of the proper foods (not to mention temperature fluctuations and all that stuff) I guess.

So, that was my day. How was yours!

~H

Death & Rebirth

2004-06-22T15:13:47Z

In general, I am the worst friend on the planet. I have issues with closeness and problems with seeming aloof. I lose myself in my own problems and don't write or contact or care as much as I should. But I have to say that, every time someone says it's not personal, it only solidifies that it is personal.

Personally, I am a destroyer. Like Shiva, I throw things out, break them down, remove them so that I have fresh ground on which to start anew. Over and over again I renew myself, my attitudes, my hopes. Over and over again I plow the garden to replant new and different ideas. Over and over again those new thoughts rot and fester or, worse yet, over grow the garden, leaving me to weed them out, yank them up, and start over again. You see, I'm not a very good maintenance man. It don't tend my gardens very well once I've planted them.

I have birthed a new me and killed the old one so many times that now, there is very little left other than empty space and overwhelming desire.

Of course, all of this has come from a single person's simple post stating simply that their friends list had been weeded out and that it was nothing personal.

Of course it is personal. It has to be. It is your thoughts, your feelings, your words. It is very personal. Never, ever say it is not personal. And never, no matter how much you don't want to hurt that person's feelings, say that not including them on your friends list is nothing personal. By its very nature, it is personal. Absolutely personal. That is all it is.

Now, it didn't hurt my feelings to be dropped. Well, it almost didn't hurt my feelings as I will miss the general sweetness of her posts and the odd perfection of her English. It actually serves me right for not being a good friend or posting multiple comments to the lovely thoughts shared by the person. I suppose I am a bit overly dramatic and too sparse a poster to make a truly good addition to anyone's friends list. However, I found it almost laughable that it would be suggested that it wasn't personal. For personal preference is all we really have in this medium and personality is all that we really have to share, so it is utterly personal to make that decision. Don't apologize for it. Don't hide behind it. Relish it! Embrace it! Be glad you can make that decision and never, ever regret it. It is yours, personally, and no one can change what you have made yours.

So, it is personal that I have removed a few names from my friends list. Not that I want to hurt them, but that we either a) have nothing in common or b) don't post enough between the two of us to matter to one another in any way or c) I just felt like it for whatever reason. Please don't be offended, as I am certain there are many who happily read you and share your experiences that would never think of leaving you behind.

Nothing, really ...

2004-06-01T14:48:25Z

There is nothing, really, nothing to say. Nothing to write, nothing to be. There are thoughts, but none that any one wants to hear and nothing worth repeating. No one reads and no one hears it. Nothing will be left behind and nothing will remain a million years from now. Nothing but strange memories and passed-down conversations that have morphed into nothing resembling what they really were.

I have no idea where I was going with this. Nowhere, I suppose.

Hope your day is absolutely something,

~H

Oh, He's Sooooo Brave!

2004-05-25T03:41:27Z

OUR HERO

Jay Ouderkirk, a humble, yet noble (and quite emo in this picture) man, is responsible for rescuing our fleeing beagle from certain destruction this evening after a failed escape attempt. Even though the coffee was nonexistent, your courage warmed our hearts (not to mention raised the temperature in Jason's pants a few degrees).

Although your viking ship has been replaced by a weathered metallic saturn, we know deep inside that your just like that pussy, extra-sensitive viking guy you read about in crappy romance novels and some historically inaccurate bear porn. You really care about your friends and their pets.

Although the tone of this post may be facetious, we really do appreciate your chasing down and hauling about our old beagle to Jason's truck after her attempt at self-destruction.

I could never express our gratitude,

Hollie

Directions - A Cross Post

2004-05-20T01:30:04Z

Since I've had so little to write about, I joined a writing community on LJ and the last two entries (including this one) are the fruits of that endeavor.

Directions

Scars run like train tracks traveling back through time to that moment when life betrayed you. Strength squandered, ever-present, now fails you. Friends bereft, grieve your passing before you've gone. Family hover, then, like dead leaves in fall, swiftly blow away, afraid to cling to what is left of your broken soul. Nothing is left to remind you of the person you were, yet everything you were remains, hidden behind a facade of decaying flesh. Every broken memory, every ordinary thought, every dream, every nightmare, all point to the person you were before. Nothing leads back to you now, except scars.

Blue - A Cross Post

2004-05-19T03:00:07Z

Blue

She had the coolest blue eyes, like dirty blue puddles or kohl-rimmed ice.

She was my apprentice, my double, my heart. Like a younger sister, she followed me, learned from me, imbibed me. When we were together we were of the same mind. Our mysticism was entwined with the intrigue we felt for one another and every moment we spent together was full of more than pleasure. It was replete with understanding, power and love.

Our love was innocence, but the connection we shared brought us closer than the most intimate of lovers. When together, I felt more powerful, more mystical, simply more than I ever had before or since. It was as if we were of the same whole, two halves of the same seed. Having found each other again, we had rejoined and began to blossom. In fact, we grew into the largest tree in the forest and bloomed bright with the blossoms we so rightly deserved.

In the prime of our lives we danced under the stars and slept in each others arms like children. We wished and accomplished. We lived in each other and found all of our dreams together.

But my heart wasn't strong enough to forgive the betrayal that she eventually supplied, nor could it leave behind the pain she caused. I cast one final spell of my design. It was vulgar magic, to be sure, but that is all I have ever known. In the end, I know she made the wrong choice. Who knows, maybe I did as well.

Tired ...

2004-04-19T02:17:18Z

I know, I know, it's a miracle if anyone even reads this at this point. After being nonexistent for months, I write a few posts and disappear into relative obscurity, to reappear now with very little to say, it would be amazing if a single solitary soul even acknowledge my existence. But, I am here, anyway!

Lately Jason and I have spent a lot of time worrying about Jason. How is his health? Does his pancreas hurt? How is he healing from his gallbladder surgery? Has he lost weight? How is his ankle? Has he found a job? Has he applied for unemployment?

Friends, family, passers-by, all have concerns about Jason ... And all of them know what's best for him, of course. Should he be doing that? Is it okay for him to get up and around? Should he eat that? Are you doing enough for him?

What can I say? I work an average of 10 hours per day at my job in an attempt to make up for his missing salary ( a feeble attempt to be sure ). I do more than 90% of the cooking. I clean. I do yard work. I rub his ankle. I do laundry. I manage our finances and am responsible for paying the bills. Am I doing enough?

Probably not - you know how it is when you are an unsympathetic bitch who feels neglected and used. Well, you probably don't know. I can't say that any of you could be called unsympathetic. But I am - I feel a bit of guilt for it, but I can't stop it. I feel so used, so tired. I keep running and running. My back hurts. My hip hurts. I'm exhausted ... and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all.

I try to explain that we have no money, but the money keeps being spent. Our debt is swallowing us whole, but I am the only one who cares. I go to work early and I work late, but I am still needed to rake leaves, cook dinner and do laundry once I get home. The basement is a mess, the house is a mess ... and all he can do is SCREAM about his ankle / foot. It hurts has become his new mantra and I am left feeling disgusted. I know, what a bitch I am. Like I said, I just can't help it.

I feel so selfish when I think about all of the things that have been put on hold or completely canceled because of all this.

It might be different if I had people to talk to about all of this, but I just don't. I can't say anything to my mother because she automatically starts saying I should leave him without even listening to me. Co-workers are out of the question as our relationships are pretty much jocular in nature and this sort of heavy talk would not be received well. My personal friends were all Jason's friends first and think amazingly highly of him. I don't feel close enough to them to say anything, besides I very rarely talk to them. And my only two friends no longer speak to me ( One is a sweet little gay boy who is into partying and drinking, which I don't do anymore. The other was my friend for 8 years, but Jason was uncomfortable with our relationship, so I stopped contacting him. )

So, I guess I'm back where I started - feeling invisible and tired.

I'm sorry for dumping my troubles on all of you. You don't deserve it and I'm sorry. For that matter, I will more than likely make this completely private before anyone really reads it, but it's here for now.

Fuck The World ...

2004-04-04T20:57:55Z

... or 4 states anyway!

Yesterday Jason and I went for a drive. I was assured at the time of our departure that we would only be gone an hour or two. Well, seven hours later we arrived back in the driveway of our home. Not a big deal as it was nice to spend some time with Jason and having an adventure, if you can call it that.

We crossed over into Kansas and drove north along K-7 up to White Cloud, KS (That's where this picture was taken at a look out that overlooks the states of Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska & Iowa). We also visited the Sac & Fox Mission between Atchison and White Cloud. It has been converted to a museum about the Native American tribes that had lived or originated in Kansas. Fairly interesting, even if I had been there before.

Of course, when I look at that stuff I am always absolutely floored by the pompousness of our government and how annoyingly self-righteous and hypocritical it is. At least this government funded site doesn't sugar-coat it. They show how large the tribes' original territories were compared to what they were expected to live on after being forced to move. I have always hated the fact that Andrew Jackson promised the land to them and their descendants "as long as water runs and grass grows," but then turned around and took it back. (BASTARDS!)

Anyway, we then crossed back over into Missouri and came back down I-29. We stopped by an antique shop (because Jason had to use the restroom) and I purchased two old books. One was an old geography book copyright 1876. It wasn't in the best shape, but had some really fun stuff inside (plus it was cheap). I also purchased an older Betty Crocker Kids' Cookbook from 1972. I collect old Betty Crocker Cook and Party Books (they are just so hilarious to read) so this was a real find in my head.

I guess that's all for now. Have a good one.

The Bells - A Partial Story by Yours Truly - Please Forgive Any Bad Punctuation

2004-03-31T03:51:59Z

The frigid northern wind lunged through the crack in the heavy cathedral doors drawing Nancy out into its arctic embrace. Nancy wrapped her scarf around her neck as she stepped into the blustery evening. Her hands sought the smooth, buttery leather of her favorite gloves as she crossed to the railing and began climbing down to street level.

"Could ya' spare some change," came a raspy voice from the shadows. The words, nearly lost within the sound of the bells chiming overhead, startled Nancy. She had seen no one near when the light had spilled onto the steps from the oaken doors above. Glancing in the direction of the Blessed Virgin on the landing below, she could discern a shadowed figure nestled at the bae.

Nancy drew her coat tighter and positioned herself on a path away from the voice, continuing downward. Her suede heels made smart clicks in time with the hurried beats of her heart as she descended the well-worn marble.

The man’s humble form shivered as another powerful gust of snow-coated wind invaded his pseudo-sanctuary of cold concrete. She winced at the thought of him freezing to death overnight, leaving her to call the police and have his lifeless body removed. She slowed and looked back at him over her shoulder.

“Listen to that,” he sang out, realizing she had decided to pay him notice. He began marking each bell chime with a sourly sang note, quietly at first, then a little louder, before trailing off into silence.

Nancy turned again and took another quick step down, seeking the comfortable familiarity of her apartment. She glanced a final time towards the shadowy figure and was struck by his tattered work boots as they slumped against the cement column at the entrance of the grotto. The smooth, blonde leather, stained by the city’s sludge, had given way at the seams revealing tender bare flesh. The frayed shoelaces were repaired by numerous knots and laced only the few scattered eyelets which had not torn through. The soles were tread-bare and weathered skin could be seen through the bottom of one shoe.

The man’s voice was raspy and coarse, but not unpleasant, as he hummed along with the bells. For a moment Nancy was struck by a very immediate and unyielding memory of her father. She could remember his hands, large yet gentle, as he held hers tightly. She remembered walking from her first bus ride down a busy main street, past a diner and a shoe store. She remembered looking at his tattered work boots walking along side her small, black patent leathers. On they had walked, down a house-lined side street and across a park to a gentle lane, with cherry trees in full bloom on either side. She could hear the creaking as she climbed the tall white steps up to the front porch. She could smell bread baking as they knocked on the screen door of a small, well-kept house on that street and a large, older woman opened it to ask them inside. She remembered her father kneeling beside her on that porch and telling her to obey the woman and to do what she asked. Then, patting her on the head, he turned to leave. She remembered crying as she watched his stained and torn work boots walk away from her, never to return.

A single tear slid down her cheek as she nodded her head. She began climbing the steps to where the man lay. A little closer now, she could see his torn pants and a wrinkled hand resting lightly on a torn and scabbed knee. Closer still she stepped and could make out light wisps of hair framing a shadowed face. She began to rummage through her purse as she stood on the landing near the alcove. She fished around until she found her coin purse and, rather uncharacteristically, fished out a $5 bill. She snapped her purse closed and took a step towards the man.

“Isn’t it lovely?” His voice was quieter now. It had changed into something softer, more intimate. Seeing her puzzled expression, he went on “The bells … aren’t they beautiful.”

“Yes, they ring every night at this time,” she replied as she leaned down to hand him the money. He leaned forward to receive her offering and light flooded his features. Nancy tilted her head up and saw the coldest gray-blue eyes she had ever seen. She started and stepped back, but he grabbed her wrist and held her tightly.

“Yes, every night the bells toll,” he hissed. “But tonight, they toll for you.” He tugged sharply on her arm as she tumbled into the shadows with him, too surprised to cry out. She struggled for a moment against his restraining embrace and bit at the salt-flavored hand over her mouth before feeling a sharp sting and seeing darkness creep into her vision.

The last thing in her mind was a row of sharp silver teeth smiling menacingly below winter colored eyes.

Just in case anyone was wondering ...

2004-03-31T02:53:31Z

I am still alive.

Just wanted you all to know, if there is anyone left to remember who the hell I am, that I still exist.

As I told recycling this afternoon, "Sometimes life just sucks." And it has been sucking!

(As evidenced by jasonanonymous, my darling husband).

I will write more as time permits

~H