Category Archives: blogging

Dead lines

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Today’s Daily Prompt – Write about anything you’d like. Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, “I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”

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(image courtesy of Google)

The computer screen projected phosphorescent beams of light coating the room in an eerie glow.  It had a macabre essence to it but nothing helped to pique my keen sense of the unusual.  The walls in the tiny room inched closer to me with every passing second and the absence of any natural light in the small window signaled that the clock read 9:00 pm.  I could have sworn it was still morning.

The cursor continued to flash on the screen and only served to remind me that time was ticking.  Each flash represented another second gone by with no words to add to the 100,000 needed to finish the project.  Being a ghost writer was one thing, being a dead writer was the threat that gnawed on my consciousness.  The shackles around my ankles didn’t allow for the normal freedom of movement I needed to change my perspective and allow the creativity to flow.  It was a race against time and I was losing the race.

The only way I could keep track of my time spent in this tomb was to count the number of fast food bags that had been delivered to keep me nourished.  The remnants of congealed grease and faux-beef were piled in the corner and the stench was nauseating.  I had been here for six days.  Watching the cursor was hypnotic and the repetition lulled me into sleep.

I awoke in a panic and the clock on the wall slowly swam into focus.  It was 3:00 am.  I had a mere five hours to creatively articulate his vision and another 40,000 words to write to meet his deadline.  The computer woke much faster than I did and I feverishly began to type the words that had followed me from my dream into reality.  The word count rose at a rapid pace.  There was no time for editing, no time to read anything back to see how the story flowed.  I was writing for my life at this point, I don’t think a misplaced comma truly mattered in the grand scheme of my situation.  My bladder argued vehemently and I ignored it.  That was the least of my worries.

Light slowly filtered through the small window and I checked the word count – 85,400.  I was close.  I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.  I had failed.  Somewhere at the beginning of this torture, I knew it wouldn’t end well.  Many times during my captivity I had wished for a self-destruct button on the computer, or that one little pill that would end it on my terms, but dreams and reality rarely ever meet.

The door opened and light stabbed the floor in jagged patterns.  The man responsible for my disgusting diet over the last week hovered over the computer screen to assess my progress.  I knew what was coming as he stepped back shaking his head.  I had been preparing myself for death for the last seven days.  I never even heard the shot.

Read these other entries:

  1. Daily Prompt: The Clock… digital awakenings | Fasting, Food and other musings by determined34
  2. The Clock Test | The Chatter Blog
  3. Tick Tock. | Hope* the happy hugger
  4. The Counting… | Yeahthtsme
  5. Ulysse « Spunky Wayfarer
  6. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Completely Disappear
  7. The Unbearable Burden of Beauty | Rolbos ©
  8. Time To Rewrite (Short story) | The Jittery Goat
  9. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Mama Bear Musings
  10. Daily Prompt: The Clock « JUkk
  11. The Clock | MC’s Whispers
  12. Daily Prompt: The Clock (Fiction Story) « DiaryCube
  13. Too Late | Chasing The Bubble
  14. Dead lines | polysyllabic profundities
  15. Slam – A Daily Prompt Post | Edward Hotspur
  16. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  17. Daily Prompt: The Clock « In Love With The Lord Poetry and Prose
  18. Daily Prompt: The Clock Was Ticking | My Blog
  19. Daily Prompt: The Clock 16th February 2013 « ittikorn1994
  20. DPChallenge: The Clock | stuffy tales
  21. I Will Be Gone…. « So You Think You Can Think
  22. The clock always ticks | The Nameless One
  23. Daily Prompt: The Clock | Daddy’s Naughty Little Girl
  24. Daily Prompt: The Clock « It is me, Claude. . .
  25. Daily Post Challenge, I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock. | notyethere
  26. Hope | Prayers and Promises
  27. Time up. | Multifarious meanderings
  28. daily prompt: the clock | dandelion punch
  29. Daily Prompt: The Clock | The Daily Post – waldina
  30. Daily Prompt: The Clock | Fish Of Gold
  31. My struggle with Time | بيسان
  32. Never Been Kissed « I’m Afraid Of The Dark
  33. Daily Prompt: The Clock | retiredruth – Life in the 50’s and beyond
  34. Daily Prompt – Random Post « My thoughts, My life

Love Actually ~ Valentine edition

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There seems to be a common theme throughout the blogosphere surrounding the celebration of Valentine’s Day.  And until I re-read my thoughts and deleted the 500 +  words I had written on the subject of the commercialism of the day I would have written an entire post about the monetary veil that looms over this auspicious holiday.  But something changed.  The words I had composed left a bitter taste in my mouth and what I had written felt inappropriate in relation to the manifestation of my tumultuous emotions.

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(image courtesy of Google)

Don’t get me wrong…..I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. I, like so many of you, don’t believe in the hype of all the industry propagation that surrounds it.  Candy manufacturers and card makers jump at the chance to cover their windows with hearts and arrows to remind people to spend, spend, spend for their loved ones and money is discarded on items littered with hearts and oozing with sentiment written by the prolific writing staff at Hallmark.

In a moment of what can only be described as lucidity, I realized that there are many people walking the face of this planet who are unable to show their emotion as easily as I do.  There are many who do not feel as comfortable with the phrase ‘I love you’ and cannot utter it as often as they feel it is deserved and wanted.  In that moment, I understood that Valentine’s Day may be the one day that they can express their love through cards and flowers.  They are able to show the love they feel on a daily basis but are unable to articulate as often as they would like.  After years of being disgusted by the store displays enticing people to spend money, I got it.   Maybe the cards and candy hearts are the only way some can divulge their feelings without suffering the spontaneous embarrassment or discomfort of uttering those three words aloud.  Because I feel so comfortable sharing the emotion I have, it never dawned on me that others do not share that luxury and perhaps this day is their moment to shine.

Many people I know are far more fortunate and have displays of love bestowed on them quite frequently.  Ironically, Valentine’s Day is hijacked by those fortunate souls and held hostage with threats if they are not bathed in ornate displays of store-bought compensation.  They reside on a pedestal, but still hold their partner accountable for lavish gifts and dinner, negating the fact that they see more affection in a year than others are only privy to on a day that comes once a year.

I was watching Anderson Cooper last night and his co-host told a story that brought me to tears.  She read on the internet about a woman from Houston, TX who had been married for 46 years had always received a bouquet of flowers from her husband with a card that simply read “My love for you grows”.  Her husband passed  away and the following Valentine’s Day, the first one she would spend alone, she received a bouquet of flowers.  She was angry at first and called the florist to ask about the delivery and was told her husband had prepaid for that same bouquet to be delivered on Valentine’s Day for several years to come.  When she opened the card it read “My love for you is eternal”.  (yes, I’m crying)

Maybe I’m getting older, maybe I’m getting wiser or perhaps I had that moment where the lightbulb finally shone brighter than it ever has in regards to Valentine’s Day.  Whatever the case may be, these words from Henry David Thoreau ring true today ~ It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of the people in my life.  Whether in person or in words, you all inspire me.

The Watchers

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As I child I would lie in the grass for hours, watching the clouds and their ever-changing patterns to see what images I could find in each collection of vapor that passed by.  It is still something I love to do, but sadly I don’t get to do it very often anymore.

Recently I have begun to notice patterns in the snow, especially the patterns created as that snow clings desperately to the bark of the trees.  The position of the snow and the melted remnants of snow around it created what I saw as a panda bear feeding himself.

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This is the image I saw this morning.  The snow pattern on the left made me think of Santa Claus.  It wasn’t until I looked more closely adding the image to this post that I saw the face on the right of what may be a youthful member of the chimpanzee family clinging to the tree.

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If this was my Rorschach Test, I hope I passed!!  Do you see what I did, or do you see something entirely different?

Losing sight of what is important

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For all intents and purposes, I am a still somewhat of a virgin in the blogging world.  I started this journey in August and have been doing my best to stay true to what really means something to me.  But as it is in many cases, I felt somewhat lost along the way.  I spent a great portion of my time watching the stats on my blog instead of focusing on what was truly important – the honesty and sense of self in the words that I write.

I began this journey because of a deep yearning to free the ideas in my mind, to let loose the writing demon that was trapped in the confines of my cranial matter.  I spent my days off this past weekend utterly disconnected from the outside world.  I turned off my phone, ignored my television, refrained from playing any music and just lived in the silence.  And within that silence, I found my inner voice.  I connected with what it was that brought me to the blog world in the first place – the love of writing.  I finally allowed myself the chance to be what I desperately yearned to be – a writer.  Although there was no looming deadline and no urgency to put ideas on a page, I fervently followed a passion that has recently been rekindled.  I conceded to the power of the words so desperately trying to form themselves into ideas and let them paint the landscapes of my prose.

For me, watching the stats on my blog almost made me forget why I began this journey in the first place.  I don’t write for anybody other than myself.  That may sound like an extremely selfish statement, but it is based in pure truth.  I write because I want to, not because I feel pressured to write.  The fact that other people enjoy what I write makes me utterly ecstatic and urges me to continue along that path of creativity.  Throughout this journey I have met a great many people who not only share the same passion, but who are becoming friends in the process.  They are people who have found a forum to let their inner voices escape and meet in a place where they are not only accepted, but adored and applauded.

Losing sight of what is important to me may have momentarily altered my bigger picture, but spending a day listening to the writer in me brought me back to reality.  It refocused my yearning to write, if for nothing else, than to put words to a page and to connect with others who can translate my voice into their own words.

I had the rare opportunity to regain my vision and recapture what holds a true place in my heart.  My writing is my passion and I will never lose sight of that again.  The otters in the video below remind me that it is not about the people who are watching, it really is about getting back to the things that are truly important to us and forgetting what is happening in the world around us.  It is holding true to the things we value the most.

What’s in a name?

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Today’s Daily Prompt ~ brought to you by the makers of ‘what were you thinking’ ~ is this – Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to choose something a little more mainstream, but when I sat myself down to create a name for my blog, the first person that spoke as a distant voice in my head was my friend Sandra.  She and I went to college together and although she was 10 years my senior, we became fast friends.  After two years of sharing great laughs and torturing our classmates, she moved back to Halifax and I remained in Ontario.

We spent countless hours on the phone and practically wore our fingerprints off spending so much time on our keyboards. When I would ask her what she had been up to, she would always reply, “pontificating on polysyllabic profundities”.  That silly statement that may not have been significant then took on new meaning when Sandra suddenly passed away in 2003 at the age of 43 after succumbing to the flesh-eating disease.   There would be no more pontificating with her.  The polysyllabic profundities were all I had left.

It made absolute sense when coming up with a name for this blog that I would somehow honor her for all of the support and encouragement she gave me in her too-short time on this earth.  I’m sure she still reads over my shoulder and I do hear that all-too-clever advise in my head on occasion.

Here’s lookin’ at you, Kid!!

Something feathered, something blue

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It’s February – blah.  I shouldn’t complain too much about the weather since this past weekend was gorgeous, but now it’s Monday and the rain has been falling continually for a couple of hours.  Any of the beauty of yesterday has been washed away and the trees no longer seem to be stretching to reach the sun.  Their branches have resolved to reflect the mood of the weather and are hanging limply, not even attempting to fight the rain that saturates their bark.

I took these pictures on Saturday and wanted to post something uplifting to help me hold the memory of the sun that kissed my cheeks on the weekend and the canvas that the wind created in the sky by using soft bristles to paint the clouds.

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Stolen Moments

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do-not-disturb-logosmall

This is another story written for Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday.

The first thing that struck her when she saw him was the depth of blue in his eyes.  She swam in the ocean of color before she was able to say hello and when she finally collected herself it seemed awkward, but only for a moment.  His smile and wit quickly reminded her what it was about him that had attracted her in the first place.  The embrace was slight but his kiss sent a shock through her system and she blushed.

Dinner began with a barrage of laughter and good friends talking about years gone by.  They stole a few glances at each other when they thought nobody would notice – his wink melted her.  She had expected nothing to happen since he had left his commitments behind, but only for a few precious days.  After dinner ended and the laughter subsided, the house fell silent.  She lay in her bed thinking about him, thinking about the time they had spent together in the past, in what felt like a different lifetime.  The tenderness and passion that seemed so natural between them lurked in her thoughts and danced like visions behind her eyelids.   She could still feel his breath on her body from those moments long ago.

The noise in the other room pulled her from her reverie.  She stole towards the distraction and saw him alone on the couch.  Tentatively she approached and was greeted with a warm smile and an invitation to join him.  His embrace was as she had remembered it so many times and she pulled herself closer into him. His arm wrapped around her and she stroked the hair on his chest.   The moment was idyllic.  No words were exchanged and none needed to be as they rose from the couch and he led her into the bedroom.  She lay on her stomach and he gently began to massage her shoulders.  His touch was electric and, yet, the softest touch she had ever felt.

Although still partially draped in clothing, their bodies began to move together.  She felt the heat from his breath before his lips touched her back.  His kiss was soft and sweet and she gasped in anticipation of having his mouth on hers.  She arched her back and turned to meet his lips.  Time stood still in those moments and they lost themselves in each other, he feeling her emotion and she feeling his pain. They both knew this shouldn’t be happening but neither of them had the will to stop. Their bodies moved rhythmically together and eventually they lay spent in each other’s arms, lost in the moment, lost in their thoughts.  He was the first to move and, as much as she hated it, she knew she should be back in her own room.  Nobody else could know the extent of their relationship.  Nobody could know of the passion so deep and so strong that it threatened to swallow her every time she saw him. He laid in bed with his eyes closed.  She leaned over and slowly let her lips trace the curve of his.  With a gentle whispered goodnight, she left him and closed the door.

The next morning, there was no awkwardness, only longing.  She wanted to embrace him, but would have to settle for a hidden trace of his finger along her arm.  He winked and her heart warmed.  One by one their friends emerged from behind different doors, coffee was poured and the day was planned. She sat with the group at the table, staying as close to him as possible and she longed to touch him.

After a day of great adventures, darkness descended, stars filled the sky and the wine flowed freely.  Conversations and laughter were caught on the breeze and carried infectiously around the lake.  Although the rest of the group had gathered by the fire, only four of them stayed by the edge of the water staring wordlessly into the night sky.  Dusk had long descended and the darkness enveloped them, but she could feel his stare.  Neither of them spoke as the group made their way back from the lake.  The flashlight beamed in front of them but they held back behind the other two by a few precious feet.  In the darkness she felt his hand reaching for hers.  Their hands clasped with such ferocity she thought she might lose feeling in her fingers but she wasn’t letting go.  Light filtered onto the path ahead of them signaling the closeness of the cottage and their hands reluctantly parted.   Their friends took chairs by the fire and he headed towards the cottage, his eyes asking her to follow.  She found him in his room and curled up beside him.

His lips met hers in the dark.  Sweet, tender kisses were shared, his embrace was comforting and everything about being with him just felt right.  If only things could be different.  If only these stolen moments weren’t the thoughts in her head every day knowing he would never be hers.

My Dog Gets Me

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I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by pets.  We always had dogs growing up and when I was old enough to learn how to debate properly with my dad, and win, we had a couple of cats. Although cats are certainly quirky and amusing to watch, I have always been a dog person and I always will be.

A dog is the one truly unselfish friend that will love you unconditionally.  Callaway is a blend of black lab, border collie and psychologist.  She gets me, and she has such great intuition when it comes to my moods and my feelings.  We lead a pretty happy life and she is a joy-filled dog, but if I am having an off day, she senses the change in my mood and doesn’t leave my side.  If I am lying on the couch, she will leave her regular spot on my bed and be on the floor right beside me. Every now and then she will sit up and rest her chin on me just to check in and see how I’m doing.

Dogs read human energy.  They may not be able to correctly identify the specific emotion as a human would, but they feel the change in that life force and react accordingly.  She visibly becomes agitated if she senses that I am upset, she consoles me if she senses I’m feeling down, and she never ceases to be there for me.

And through all of the ups and downs that she understands and helps get me through, somewhere in the process she always manages to leave…….

 …..paw prints on my heart.

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A short joke to brighten your day

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When I got married, I wanted the gift for our guests to be memorable…..so I made a cookbook.  I collected recipes and jokes from our friends and family and spent many hours in Microsoft Publisher putting together a creation that would be a lasting memory.

This is one of the jokes that was given to me.  I just found it again and it still makes me laugh!

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Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time which produced an impressively thick callus on his feet.  He also ate very little which made him rather frail and, with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath.  This made him……wait for it…..

A super fragile callused mystic hexed by halitosis.

You’re welcome!

 

 

(Image courtesy of Google)

Stalking isn’t always a bad thing

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Let me preface this post by assuaging any negative connotations about the subject line.  I am not a dangerous person.  I do not hide in bushes and make a mental note of people’s habits and movements.  But when something strikes my fancy or my funny bone, I can be tenacious and become extremely enthusiastic.

I work at a large resort, and often people have difficulty finding time in their busy days to call us during business hours. Many messages are left and returned.  On the odd occasion, a game of phone tag ensues until we finally connect voice to voice.

I had the good fortune of returning messages on a particular day and it was serendipity at its finest.  When the recorded voice message first began, I thought that I had dialed the number in error.  But the further I got into the message, the funnier it became and I began to giggle.  By the end of the comedic rhetoric on the other end of the phone, I was in hysterics.  I phoned back immediately to listen to it again, and the message became even funnier.  My co-workers were concerned that I may be slightly losing my grip on reality, but when I called the number a third time and put the message on speaker phone, they were laughing just as hard as I was.

The crowd continued to swell in the office and in response to the demand to hear what was so funny, I kept calling back.  After the mayhem died down and I collected myself, I called another four or five times to write down, verbatim, what the message was so I could steal it.  I’m sure the poor gentleman that called for rates was marginally alarmed at how many times the resort had tried to return his call.  Although we were apparently desperate for his business, he surprisingly did not call back.

I have since modified the message to fit the time allotted on my cell phone.  I have thought of changing it to something a little more professional since the cell is my only phone, but what would be the fun in that?  Here is the gist of how the original message sounded.   I hope none of these apply to you….but since I have struck up some friendships with some of you, I now know they just might.

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 Hello, and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline.

  • If you are obsessive or compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
  • If you are co-dependant, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
  • If you have multiple personalities, please press 3,4,5 and 6
  • If you are paranoid, we already know who you are and what you want, but stay on the line while we trace your call.
  • If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
  • If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.
  • If you have short-term memory loss, press 9, if you have short-term memory loss, press 9, if you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
  • If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the # key until a representative comes on the line.
  • If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, phone, date of birth, social security number and your mother’s maiden name.
  • If you are menopausal, hang up, turn on the fan, lie down & cry. You won’t be crazy forever.
  • If you have a masochistic complex, please press “0” for the operator. There are 200 calls ahead of you.
  • If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All our operators are too busy to talk to you.

I had posted this earlier in my blogging journey, but after a series of repeated calls to my cell today with no message, I finally understood why and called back to explain the message.

Do you have any new ones you think I should add to the list?