In the slow motion of her fog, she wondered if she would remember him differently. Had it been so long since she'd seen him, touched him? Could it ever be that way again? Sadly, she realized it would not. Too much had happened. She wasn't sure that her love for him was so pure and unconditional any more.
He was aging; a little thicker than when she had seen him last but still as handsome with that same commanding energy that had sent shock waves through her body with a simple glance. She smiled softly at the thought of her last words to him.
"You've made a mistake."
And the part of her life that was him: the love for him, the touch of him was gone. Black. He'd never glanced back for her, crushing her spirit in one more creative way but somehow she'd moved on. Alone but forward. Her days were spent, if she wasn't busy enough, drifting in and out of her loved one's experiences; vicariously living and laughing. She often felt like a stalker to them; always just out of sight, out of reach and beyond their feelings and emotions. She wondered if she would ever feel again. Ghosts do not feel. She did not seek him though her mind showed him to her daily; remembering:
The thin hunger on his lips as he kissed her or the raking passionate grappling as they battled valiantly against their clothes. The sweetness of his skin and the taste of his body. She treasured how they had moved, searching for their own pleasure but creating an incredible heat together. She would close her eyes, seeing him before it all went wrong. She enjoyed remembering when it was good to love him. She had simply adored him; accepting stubbornness, callousness and carelessness. She'd forgiven his indiscretions simply because he'd asked her to. She had loved him over and over because he said he'd needed her. He tried to be a good husband. That last night, he'd told her once again that there was someone new. She'd smiled through the burning pain and had even managed a "wish you well". She would let him go again. It's what she did because she knew he would come back. He always did. In these times she tried to tell herself it wasn't for the money but because he loved her deeply; much more than the passing business trip bimbo or mile high club whore. She would leave and wait until he came back to her, certain that it was her he wanted. Perhaps he enjoyed the arrogance of being treasured. But that night, he'd asked her to stay. As always she did as he'd asked.
His kiss was rougher than usual but invoked the same response as always; hunger. His hands were aggressive and familiar with her body; knowing and comfortable with secret spots to spark her almost instantly into a sensual frenzy. She would try to stave him off, but he worked her well with soft whispers against her back and delicate tracings along her skin that ignited each nerve in her body. She lost herself in his arms and savored the feel of his touch. She tasted his skin with anticipation, growling his name as he moved inside her to the point of a climax so powerful she cried. His hands trailed her waist, thumbs tracing the flat of her belly then along her spine so smoothly that she shivered and giggled. He traced her jawline and kissed her mouth. And squeezed. His passionate mouth twisted into a hateful grimace and the groaning came not from their lovemaking but the force he was using to crush her throat. Her eyes closed to this horrifying realization. She gave in to the throbbing behind her eyes and stifled the screaming in her lungs. In this fog she floated around the lives she had loved; though not more than him.
In this fog, he had left her for dead to be with someone else. In that fog she laid motionless while he dressed and wrapped her in old blankets which he carted to the trunk of his car. He'd driven her out to the place where they'd first made love; a neglected but scenic pond she'd thought was so romantic. He had dumped her amongst the scrawny wild daisies dotted with spit bugs and brittle weeds. She had been there all night, chewed by bugs and sniffed by tall curious shadows that also left her for dead. Disoriented and sore, she sat for an entire day there where her great love had been born and died. She cried for her life and the time she'd wasted forgiving.
Then she'd heard the hunters tromping around and cautiously followed them to their truck. She realized there had been great damage to her throat. It cracked and garbled but no voice would come. Too terrified to speak, both parties communicated with gestures like a sick game of charades which got her a coat and into the back of the truck; to the hospital where an officer came to ask her questions, writing it all down. Then he told her that her husband was at the police station and had been aiding in the search for her. This caused her to laugh bitterly. But the fog had cleared and she stood tall in the hallway to the courtroom. She waited patiently for her name and then relished the look on his face as she walked in; her voice intact and more than ready to scream now.
She had not lied. He had made a mistake.
A little more abstract and short. My prof liked it a lot and wanted me enter it in my new competition. I am not so sure. I enjoy it for different reasons but it is not one of my favorites. Well, I hope you enjoy it. I am glad you came by. Your visits are special to me. Enjoy your night and I hope we can get together before the holiday.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
SNAP JUDGMENT
Claudia loved her reality shows. You betcha. Because she could plainly see that there were some REAL troubles out in this mean world. Her favorites were the new "Extreme" law shows. During their allotted sixty minutes, a criminal case was presented and a "panel" was given the opportunity to decide if the offender was guilty. After the verdict was rendered, the punishment was decided in the same manor. Although anyone who watched could vote, only those selected had the actual influence and control. It prevented "over voting" and was the network's way of keeping the process fair and just.
They all needed to go, in Claudia's mind. She had grown tired and frankly intolerant of the "poor me" attitude and excuses that all those losers seemed to use to justify their bad life decisions. "They are just excuses Ruthie." she slurped through a milkshake. "And excuses are like butt holes. Everyone has one and they all stink." she slurped again for emphasis. She loved voting, feeling that she had seen more than enough "Law and Order (in any city)" and "Forensic Files" to qualify herself to sit in the catbird seat right there next to Nancy Grace (minus the bad haircut and vesty ensemble) "See Ruthie, shows like this could save this country. Let the decision be made by the REAL people of America. We could eliminate lawyers. Why, they're just bullshit salesmen with mouths full of samples." She raised her hand to cover her giggle and sucked her sausagy fingers authoritatively before continuing her wondrous pontification.
"Rapists should be raped. Beaters should be beat and thieves should be robbed." She said matter of factly through a mouth full of cream puff to her best friend on the speaker phone. Claudia was proud of her "Nancy-like" no nonsense ability to decide swiftly. There were no liberal grey areas for Claudia. As the television droned on, she continued to spout her wisdom to Ruthie in between snacks and commercials. This was how her days were usually spent.
When the opportunity arose to participate in just such a show, Claudia waded in full tilt; and at two fifty, most of which was sturdy, one-sided, uneducated opinion, it was just that: tilt. These shows only reinforced her strong sense of (in)justice for the "few good people left"; so when the "golden ticket" dropped in her lap and she had the chance to apply for a spot on "Jury Duty", Claudia moved as quickly as her microwaving of the next round of Hot Pockets would permit. She began filming her response and audition video. In it, she was careful but sure to include her concise opinion about the mess made by today's soft -hearted, weak society and how the thugs, self-entitled crybabies, and non-working worthless drug addicts were sucking the morals, funds and spirits from this once strong country. Faster than she could open a Little Debbie Oatmeal pie , her chubby hand smudged with cheese puff dust she signed her name like an autograph. She briskly licked her fingers and attempted to erase the smear. She had to hurry because "Mob Wives" was coming on; a welcome distraction while she waited.
The congratulatory letter came a few weeks later which she framed and hung nobly next to her signed pictures of Orville Redenbaucher and Dave Thomas. She then called Ruthie to briefly brag, followed by excited frantic packing. In three short days, she'd be in LA filming. She bought new shades and clothes because as an important person mingling with MORE important people, she'd need them. Fame came with a price. She also practiced signing her name "on the run" and shielding her puffy eyes from the paparazzi. Claudia wanted to be prepared.
But LA was bustling with indifferent, busy snobs and sweaty suspicious hoodlums. She stepped out at the taxi stand and waited, flagging every cab that passed. The producers wanted her to meet them at the hotel at 3. She had six hours which should be plenty of time; until the rude man in the shiny business suit stole her cab. Then there was the traffic and not even mentioning the cabby barely spoke English but at last she arrived at the hotel. She couldn't understand why they hadn't sent a limo for her. She vowed she would return to the airport in one.
"This is America; learn damn English Buddy." she offered as her only tip. She barged angrily up to the concierge desk, eager to crash in her deluxe suite only to find the ditsy, too tan blond couldn't find her reservation or anyone who could help her. Forced to foot the bill herself, Claudia settled on a regular room and dragged herself to it where she attempted to freshen up by applying too much war paint and too heavy perfume. She then returned to the lobby to find a message. It was simply an address and a "see you there soon." style note. Returning to the useless Barbie doll at the desk, Claudia loudly insisted a cabby be called for her and waiting after she made a pit stop at the little bake shop for a soothing overstuffed apple turnover. Comfort came in the first bite and she sighed heavily slumping into her car; trying to relax a little, regain the focus of her mission here and enjoy the sights of a town in such turmoil and desperate need of sound judgment.
The cabby slowed, gesturing her to get out. Hoisting herself from the sticky hot and torn seat, she ripped her dress and scraped her leg. The driver clucked impatiently and even gave a little warning push on the gas as she scooched out. She shook her head and paid the man realizing all too late that the street sign was not the one given to her. He'd made a mistake but now he was gone. With the same confidence in her sense of direction as her sense of righteousness, Claudia began to walk through town asking passers-by for directions; but no one spoke English and she didn't know Spanish or anything for that matter. Tired, frustrated and sore from the two block meandering, she collapsed at a small bistro where she demanded water from a young waiter. Balking at the four dollar bill he laid underneath, she got to her feet and committed a dine and dash. "It's just water for Cripe's sake." she spluttered, pushing rudely passed him and his threats and objections. She casually flipped him the bird and kept going. Making it one more block before she was certain her heart would explode in her chest, she finally stopped a young man and showed him the paper with the address on it. He looped his ropey muscular arm through her beefy one and began to walk her. He spoke no English but nodded nicely and smiled a lot. Claudia smiled too with relief to have found such a nice young man so willing to help her. Help her he did. Right into an alley where he mugged and assaulted her. This "happy go lucky" broke her cheek, punched her chest and stomach so hard that she vomited and lost consciousness. Her last thought was that she'd be late for the meeting.
Clarity and searing pain returned her to the stinking alley. The sun was gone now and Claudia simply wasn't sure if it was night, or if it had merely hidden from the filth of this city. she staggered out of the alley and into a small grocery store. Woozy from the beating she lost her footing and crashed into a small display of fresh thin skinned fruit. Plums, peaches and raspberries toppled to the floor where her hefty frame quickly made a colorful yet messy puree. The shop keeper, a tiny Asian man with a shrill voice began to swack her with his broom. The only word she even remotely understood was "cops". She laughed with exhaustion and pain and said "Yes Please."
Too thick men in black arrived and pulled her to her feet. The shopkeeper was prattling on and on at an alarming rate. Claudia simply sat in the back of the cruiser. They nodded and wrote down things as the owner ran through his verbal and physical acrobatics; arms flailing and voice sinking and rising to lows and highs beyond her hearing. The police nodded and drove her to the station. She smiled and asked if they wanted to hear the truth; which they said they were all too interested in.
Claudia began her tale of woe.
To her true amazement, no one believed her; not one word. They didn't think she was heading for a meeting with television people to be on a reality show. they didn't believe that she had been mugged or raped. They didn't believe her so much that she was given an ugly jumper and led down a hallway where her picture was taken but no one asked her for her autograph. They began to read a litany of charges consisting of theft, public nuisance, assault and worst of all prostitution. Claudia watched as the shop keeper, the waiter from the bistro and the young man who had in fact hurt her all began to talk and point.
This was simply too much for her. She leaped from her seat and began to pound on the window. "Hey! Hey you asshole! I want a lawyer! Get me the phone book. I know my rights. I'll sue you from here to Titicaca. ALL of you!"
One of the officers came back and loomed over her asking her carefully to sit down. The tightness in his voice was an unmistakable warning and Claudia did as she was "asked".
"I want a lawyer." she said again quietly.
"You don't need one." he replied smugly and stepped from the room.
Bright lights flashed in her face. Cameras began to crowd the window and she was paraded out to a voracious crowd. She was heading for television all right; as the criminal. She was a homeless prostitute who stole and assaulted a waiter and beat a shop owner for the drugs she needed to pay her pimp.
The votes were tallied.
Just like that.
Well this was a labor of love. I was plagued with technological snafus and yet here we are. I like it. Especially since I hate "reality" shows with a passion. I have a couple more ready but we'll see if my computer savvy holds out.
Thanks for visiting. I'm glad you shared some time with me. It's been too long. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.
They all needed to go, in Claudia's mind. She had grown tired and frankly intolerant of the "poor me" attitude and excuses that all those losers seemed to use to justify their bad life decisions. "They are just excuses Ruthie." she slurped through a milkshake. "And excuses are like butt holes. Everyone has one and they all stink." she slurped again for emphasis. She loved voting, feeling that she had seen more than enough "Law and Order (in any city)" and "Forensic Files" to qualify herself to sit in the catbird seat right there next to Nancy Grace (minus the bad haircut and vesty ensemble) "See Ruthie, shows like this could save this country. Let the decision be made by the REAL people of America. We could eliminate lawyers. Why, they're just bullshit salesmen with mouths full of samples." She raised her hand to cover her giggle and sucked her sausagy fingers authoritatively before continuing her wondrous pontification.
"Rapists should be raped. Beaters should be beat and thieves should be robbed." She said matter of factly through a mouth full of cream puff to her best friend on the speaker phone. Claudia was proud of her "Nancy-like" no nonsense ability to decide swiftly. There were no liberal grey areas for Claudia. As the television droned on, she continued to spout her wisdom to Ruthie in between snacks and commercials. This was how her days were usually spent.
When the opportunity arose to participate in just such a show, Claudia waded in full tilt; and at two fifty, most of which was sturdy, one-sided, uneducated opinion, it was just that: tilt. These shows only reinforced her strong sense of (in)justice for the "few good people left"; so when the "golden ticket" dropped in her lap and she had the chance to apply for a spot on "Jury Duty", Claudia moved as quickly as her microwaving of the next round of Hot Pockets would permit. She began filming her response and audition video. In it, she was careful but sure to include her concise opinion about the mess made by today's soft -hearted, weak society and how the thugs, self-entitled crybabies, and non-working worthless drug addicts were sucking the morals, funds and spirits from this once strong country. Faster than she could open a Little Debbie Oatmeal pie , her chubby hand smudged with cheese puff dust she signed her name like an autograph. She briskly licked her fingers and attempted to erase the smear. She had to hurry because "Mob Wives" was coming on; a welcome distraction while she waited.
The congratulatory letter came a few weeks later which she framed and hung nobly next to her signed pictures of Orville Redenbaucher and Dave Thomas. She then called Ruthie to briefly brag, followed by excited frantic packing. In three short days, she'd be in LA filming. She bought new shades and clothes because as an important person mingling with MORE important people, she'd need them. Fame came with a price. She also practiced signing her name "on the run" and shielding her puffy eyes from the paparazzi. Claudia wanted to be prepared.
But LA was bustling with indifferent, busy snobs and sweaty suspicious hoodlums. She stepped out at the taxi stand and waited, flagging every cab that passed. The producers wanted her to meet them at the hotel at 3. She had six hours which should be plenty of time; until the rude man in the shiny business suit stole her cab. Then there was the traffic and not even mentioning the cabby barely spoke English but at last she arrived at the hotel. She couldn't understand why they hadn't sent a limo for her. She vowed she would return to the airport in one.
"This is America; learn damn English Buddy." she offered as her only tip. She barged angrily up to the concierge desk, eager to crash in her deluxe suite only to find the ditsy, too tan blond couldn't find her reservation or anyone who could help her. Forced to foot the bill herself, Claudia settled on a regular room and dragged herself to it where she attempted to freshen up by applying too much war paint and too heavy perfume. She then returned to the lobby to find a message. It was simply an address and a "see you there soon." style note. Returning to the useless Barbie doll at the desk, Claudia loudly insisted a cabby be called for her and waiting after she made a pit stop at the little bake shop for a soothing overstuffed apple turnover. Comfort came in the first bite and she sighed heavily slumping into her car; trying to relax a little, regain the focus of her mission here and enjoy the sights of a town in such turmoil and desperate need of sound judgment.
The cabby slowed, gesturing her to get out. Hoisting herself from the sticky hot and torn seat, she ripped her dress and scraped her leg. The driver clucked impatiently and even gave a little warning push on the gas as she scooched out. She shook her head and paid the man realizing all too late that the street sign was not the one given to her. He'd made a mistake but now he was gone. With the same confidence in her sense of direction as her sense of righteousness, Claudia began to walk through town asking passers-by for directions; but no one spoke English and she didn't know Spanish or anything for that matter. Tired, frustrated and sore from the two block meandering, she collapsed at a small bistro where she demanded water from a young waiter. Balking at the four dollar bill he laid underneath, she got to her feet and committed a dine and dash. "It's just water for Cripe's sake." she spluttered, pushing rudely passed him and his threats and objections. She casually flipped him the bird and kept going. Making it one more block before she was certain her heart would explode in her chest, she finally stopped a young man and showed him the paper with the address on it. He looped his ropey muscular arm through her beefy one and began to walk her. He spoke no English but nodded nicely and smiled a lot. Claudia smiled too with relief to have found such a nice young man so willing to help her. Help her he did. Right into an alley where he mugged and assaulted her. This "happy go lucky" broke her cheek, punched her chest and stomach so hard that she vomited and lost consciousness. Her last thought was that she'd be late for the meeting.
Clarity and searing pain returned her to the stinking alley. The sun was gone now and Claudia simply wasn't sure if it was night, or if it had merely hidden from the filth of this city. she staggered out of the alley and into a small grocery store. Woozy from the beating she lost her footing and crashed into a small display of fresh thin skinned fruit. Plums, peaches and raspberries toppled to the floor where her hefty frame quickly made a colorful yet messy puree. The shop keeper, a tiny Asian man with a shrill voice began to swack her with his broom. The only word she even remotely understood was "cops". She laughed with exhaustion and pain and said "Yes Please."
Too thick men in black arrived and pulled her to her feet. The shopkeeper was prattling on and on at an alarming rate. Claudia simply sat in the back of the cruiser. They nodded and wrote down things as the owner ran through his verbal and physical acrobatics; arms flailing and voice sinking and rising to lows and highs beyond her hearing. The police nodded and drove her to the station. She smiled and asked if they wanted to hear the truth; which they said they were all too interested in.
Claudia began her tale of woe.
To her true amazement, no one believed her; not one word. They didn't think she was heading for a meeting with television people to be on a reality show. they didn't believe that she had been mugged or raped. They didn't believe her so much that she was given an ugly jumper and led down a hallway where her picture was taken but no one asked her for her autograph. They began to read a litany of charges consisting of theft, public nuisance, assault and worst of all prostitution. Claudia watched as the shop keeper, the waiter from the bistro and the young man who had in fact hurt her all began to talk and point.
This was simply too much for her. She leaped from her seat and began to pound on the window. "Hey! Hey you asshole! I want a lawyer! Get me the phone book. I know my rights. I'll sue you from here to Titicaca. ALL of you!"
One of the officers came back and loomed over her asking her carefully to sit down. The tightness in his voice was an unmistakable warning and Claudia did as she was "asked".
"I want a lawyer." she said again quietly.
"You don't need one." he replied smugly and stepped from the room.
Bright lights flashed in her face. Cameras began to crowd the window and she was paraded out to a voracious crowd. She was heading for television all right; as the criminal. She was a homeless prostitute who stole and assaulted a waiter and beat a shop owner for the drugs she needed to pay her pimp.
The votes were tallied.
Just like that.
Well this was a labor of love. I was plagued with technological snafus and yet here we are. I like it. Especially since I hate "reality" shows with a passion. I have a couple more ready but we'll see if my computer savvy holds out.
Thanks for visiting. I'm glad you shared some time with me. It's been too long. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Well hello my Dears.
I got really sick after the Dash and am just now recovering. I literally slept for a day. I simply lost it. I've never been so exhausted. Well, there have been a ton of things circling the air aside from my dash so when the fit hits the shan, it usually splatters everywhere. *sigh* Life has gotten in the way of my blogging intentions but I am roping off the weekend and cuddling up with the remainder of my research as well as the two I have written. Let's meet back here after the weekend and see what developes, okay? I'm really excited about one of my new projects since it's one of my favorite topics and I have a BOATLOAD of info on it. Hooray me.
I hope you are doing well and that things are good for you.
For me? I just want life to slow down. My seatbelt feels loose and I don't want to fall out at the top of the hill, know what I mean?? Sure. It's nothing new.
I'll get there and see you soon.
Miss you.
Love
Tess
I got really sick after the Dash and am just now recovering. I literally slept for a day. I simply lost it. I've never been so exhausted. Well, there have been a ton of things circling the air aside from my dash so when the fit hits the shan, it usually splatters everywhere. *sigh* Life has gotten in the way of my blogging intentions but I am roping off the weekend and cuddling up with the remainder of my research as well as the two I have written. Let's meet back here after the weekend and see what developes, okay? I'm really excited about one of my new projects since it's one of my favorite topics and I have a BOATLOAD of info on it. Hooray me.
I hope you are doing well and that things are good for you.
For me? I just want life to slow down. My seatbelt feels loose and I don't want to fall out at the top of the hill, know what I mean?? Sure. It's nothing new.
I'll get there and see you soon.
Miss you.
Love
Tess
Thursday, June 16, 2011
On to the next
I stood there raising myself up onto my toes and stretching. We were all (500 people per heat) milling. Some were laughing and you could always tell the newbies because they were just standing looking around. There was a guy on the loudspeaker but we were so many in number, no one could hear. Then there was fire above the banner. Huge volcanic plumes shot out and we shouted in unison as our pulses raced, our feet began to fidget and we surged forward. It was hot to run under there. The race began.
For four days prior it rained; sometimes steady, heavy or just a drizzle but it was constant. That made our course sloppy. You could not take a step and not be submerged at least two inches in to dark, deep mud. My running partner and I did our best to stay to the outside of the "path" . It was muggy and thank goodness only cloudy. We kept praying for the rain to hold off. We could see it watching us with great interest and blowing windy threats our way. "Be ready ladies. I'm gonna show up for your parade!"
Through the first obstacle: a little maze shaped like a castle. How cute. We giggled and I heard newbies say "Ohhh this is EASY" I hunkered down and pushed a little harder. The crowd was thinning out.
Next we came to some "tunnels" loosely called such; more like tarps over mud filled trenches. These were also fairly simple aside from the dark. You struggled to see the rocks and roots before they pinched your palms and snapped at your knees. Whew! Good job. Onto the next.
The "teeter totter". These looked like chicken coop ladders but they were strung together like inverted "V's": four all together and the last set being so steep you had to run down or scooch on your arse. My cheeks are splinter free, thanks for askin.
And we ran some more; all the way to the hurdles. Now these were chest high for my 5'4" bad assed warrior self and so I had to run, lunge, hike my leg and roll. Beautiful vision isn't it? ahhhahahhaha. Well as you land in mud, (Did I point out there was some on the course? ) you had to duck and crawl under a razor wired plank and you DID have to crawl. It was knee high. Five more times we jumped and ducked.
We then did some running; around some of those newbies who were discovering it wasn't so "easy". Sweat soaked our clothes. As we jogged out of the forest, we saw or rather smelled mud. Oh yeah baby, this is one of the reasons you become a warrior. We had to cross a bog full of stagnant waist high midnight colored lumpy pudding.. uh no wait... mud. It was gross. There couldn't have been an ear within an quarter mile radius that didn't hear "EWWWWW" as it crept into our shoes, sped passed our socks and snuggled in between our toes. The other cracks and crevices were even LESS impressed by this uncoventional spa treatment.
It was now time for some water sports. We trudged out of the bog of stink and loped to the swollen swift moving stream where we all spent a little extra time. We simply wanted to shed the extra fifteen pounds of spoiled Delmonte pudding we felt we were wearing in our warrior pants and shoes.
What? Why yes we did. We ran after that. AND came to the obstacle that stopped me short. A fifteen foot wall with a rope dangling in front of it. "What the firetruck?" I shook my head. This shocked me and for a moment I thought about running around it but my partner said. "I can't climb this." and I stepped up, handed her a rope and said "Shut up. Let's do it." and by God we did. Up and over. Now the over part was tricky because it was like a ladder but my stumpy legs didn't reach the distance so I had to let go for each rung and grab the next. Remember everything is covered in shiny slick mud. Regardless of my fear and the frustration of climbing that effing wall with anywhere from 6 to 10 others (which only make the wall SWAY....HELLOOOOO..).I did it and when my partner and I hit the ground realizing we had, I yelled something like "Mother Firetrucker!" and we went whooping off in to the woods. Warriors on the loose.
Nut jobs? you betcha. And we swam some more and climbed some hills and we ran a little farther. I have said that if this race had been dry, I'd have run differently; better. But I was doing okay until while running/dodging stumps, roots and rocks, I missed. There was a thick popping noise as my ankle twisted and shouted at me. I was just passed the half way point.
no. I simply said no. I got up and walked for a couple steps. I twisted it and heard some more popping as my tendons shifted painfully. I wiped tears from my face and sighed. My partner stopped. "You done? Want the medic cart?" She may as well have asked me if I wanted to eat my children. "No." I said again out loud this time through gritted teeth and began to walk faster. My muscles winced but I ignored them and began to jog. My pain was tuned out. I was going to fucking finish this race.
More water and it was cold. I welcomed it, working my ankle in it like a whirlpool. PT on the go. It's all the rage for anyone who is of warrior status. Finally, we heard the shouting and the music. We were almost there. There is something about it; the cheering and the thumping ...it gives you strength way down deep. We began to race each other and laugh. Around the corner we came to the cargo nets. Up ya go. I pulled and growled ignoring the throbbing in my lower leg. My partner was just ahead. Then we dashed to the junkyard: a field crammed full of tires to jump alternating with cars lined up bumper to bumper. Some had sunroofs and of course those were open so you couldn't just run across. Some of the hoods were gone so you might have to jump from car to car. We did that four times and came to the coup de gras. The reason you do this.
Fire. Can you hear me say it? FYE-YER
There are two burning rows of logs that you must jump. The heat makes you second guess your eyebrow status when finished. The air is thick, dark and wavy. You are wet and feel like you weigh forty pounds more than when you started and to confess, you look it because somehow you have collected rocks, pebbles, sticks, hay and other natural components in all the secret pockets of your clothing and body. I know this is true since every time I shower, I leave a little pile of muck and mud behind. I told my friend I believe I am the only one in our house who can currently shit a sand castle. The saving grace there was that I made it leech free. Silver linings must always be found.
And last but not least is the pit. It is filled with chocolaty mud and covered in razor wire. The crowd usually eggs the warriors on to get in/ get dirty as creatively as possible. There are cannon balls, swan dives, belly flops and most frequently, "Too tired, get me the hell over that line" fall ins. As I crawled out and staggered those last fifty yards I began to smile; uncontrollably. I did it. I took my medal, placed my hat on my head and snagged (after my bananas) my beer. My kids and husband were laughing and clicking away at the pix. No hugs though. Not until after the firetruck water. And I'm not covering up the "f"bomb. It really was firetruck water that I believe they piped in from the Arctic. My lips were blue and I shivered non stop.
And that was my race. It was hard and painful. I have bruises which make me feel like I failed at ninja school during the nun chucks portion of exams. But I am a warrior and I will be one next year. On to the next. Wanna come with me? We have room on our team. My daughter is hounding me to train already..
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The time draws near my friends. Yesterday was my last run. How fitting with the forecast for the area that it was in the rain. My time was not so hot but it still felt good. I think I am warrior dash ready. Earlier, I had a dream that I arrived (hurried but still in time to run) and it turned out to be my high school gym class. Instead of the race, we were waiting in line for our fitness tests. To add insult to injury, they kept changing my results which royally pissed me off. I'm glad I'm not stressing over this as you can plainly see by rude hour. *yawn*
I do want to take a minute to thank all of you for your encouragement and support. It means a lot and I know that in spirit, I have as many cheering me on as I do along the sidelines. I hope I do well for as hard as I've worked. I'll get there, right?
So I hope that you have a good rest of the weekend. How about we catch up after Monday when I've had a chance to recoup hopefully without the aid of hospital staff.
I guess there is only one thing left to say as I sit here, listening to the lake and waiting for the sun to wake up:
"Warriors to battle! HooYAH!"
And does anyone have any crutches I could borrow? Just in case.
See you soon.
Love,
Tess
I do want to take a minute to thank all of you for your encouragement and support. It means a lot and I know that in spirit, I have as many cheering me on as I do along the sidelines. I hope I do well for as hard as I've worked. I'll get there, right?
So I hope that you have a good rest of the weekend. How about we catch up after Monday when I've had a chance to recoup hopefully without the aid of hospital staff.
I guess there is only one thing left to say as I sit here, listening to the lake and waiting for the sun to wake up:
"Warriors to battle! HooYAH!"
And does anyone have any crutches I could borrow? Just in case.
See you soon.
Love,
Tess
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Talk of Summer
As we get close to the end of another school year, I feel it coming on like a freight train. My jaw is a little tighter, my shoulders slightly hunched and my brow gently furrowed. Summer. *sigh*
My lovely children are under the impression that this house is 1) a democracy 2) a place where their vote counts 3) if you tell me a lie enough times, I will believe it is the truth.
It begins shortly after lunch. My children will call (or text) to find out what time I'm coming home. I"ll tell them usually fifteen to thirty minutes later than expected because I know they want to half-ass their chores in the time it takes me to pull up, activate the garage door, and actually step inside. Once I do, the conversations go like this:
"Hello lovely mother. We have made you a treat because you have worked so hard at your job today to provide a better life for us." ~ a plate of cookies is laying decoratively on the counter (or a sundae in the freezer or a cake...you get it right?) The dishes needed to create such thoughtful culinary masterpieces are still laying in the sink now dried with miscellaneous sugars, icings, and other sticky substances.
"Hi. Did you take the dogs out today?"
"Oh yes Mother, they were well behaved but lonely for your company as were we."
"Did you watch much television today? Or did you get done what I asked on the list?" my foot is tapping; a sure fire signal that I already have seen nothing was done/made besides an additional mess to clean up.
"Oh no Mother, we worked hard at mopping, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms ...just as you so rightfully asked."
"Bull."
There is a mock wounded gasp and alligator tears well up. They should be on stage because they even manage to work the quivering lip into their performance. "Why Mother..." their voices soft and fragile.
"Show me." I sigh and shift my jaw to keep from laughing. This is going to get good.
Not much differently than a "Price is Right " girl, I am shown all the wonderful jobs they have "accomplished" to make my daily life more comfortable. They ran the vacuum so fast, poor Magnus actually threw up some dust bunnies. He didn't even have time to leave tracks; not a single one. The sweeping? well, they sort of did it but they swept it onto the carpet for Magnus to eat and ... he simply didn't have time. So there is a pile on the carpet. Mopping? The package of wipes is unopened, untouched and still resting quietly in the cupboard. And then there are the bathrooms. Having two males in the house, there are certain "requirements" when you clean. They just exist. Throw Winston into the mix of happily sharing the "marking spot" and it is a job that needs regular attention. They managed to reorganize their toothbrushes and turn out the light from the previous night but much like the males in my house...they missed the target. I am walking along behind them with my hand clasped behind my back desperately clutching for a straight face while they parade their successes in front of me.
"So you didn't watch television?"
"Ohhh NO Mother. You asked us not to until we were finished. May we watch it now perhaps?"
I lick my lips and enjoy the taste of what I am about to do: lower the boom. I walk out to the television and, laying my hands on it pull them back as if burned. Then I used the remote that is NOT where I left it in the morning and turn it on. Teen Nick is screaming at my face which is odd because when I went to bed I was watching the Travel Channel. I pose this question to the tiny slaves in my home.
"Perhaps.." they begin but I brush my hair from my face tap my foot some more and raise my eyebrows to allow complete permeation of the the lie about to unfurl.
"the cable company had to reset some things and..."
I shake my head like a pitcher on the mound. Nope. Try again.
"The dogs spent time on the sofa so their feet might have..."
I repeat my rejection and throw up two fingers. This is it fans. It's go time. I relish the moment that they realize I'm not budging. I really do. Is it a childish and tawdry victory? Perhaps but to quote my offspring: It makes my life happier. Say it with me: It's trite.... but I like it. So as their shoulders sag and they close their eyes in defeat the truth comes out.
"We watched TV."
"All day?"
A dramatic crushing sigh fills each un-vacuumed, un-mopped, half-swept crevice in my home.
"Yes."
Now it is I who must rear back and sigh. It's out there. I purse my lips and look around. I'm mad and frustrated but they told me. The truth. "Well," I begin, "What should we do?"
My son's is the first offer. "Go out for supper and regroup".
I look at the floor to try to keep from exploding in laughter. He's my firecracker all right. His sister takes the stoic approach; all but singing the "work song" from Cinderella. I was thinking "Nobody Knows the trouble I've seeeeen..." but that is just a creative familial difference. I have no choice. I divvy up the chores again and get out all the things they need to complete them. I set the timer and holler "go!" they start to rush and then as I pitch in I see them smile just a little and work a titch harder. I have always promised them that telling the truth gets you a lot less trouble than lying. It was the least I could do. Granted I simply wiped the counters and put a few dishes away, but I felt honestly, I'd done my part.
Then we ate cookies.
Welcome summer.
Well, it's been crazy busy and I'm starting to get nervous. The kids are helping me greatly with such...distractions. I'm sorry we've not been able to spend more time together, I do miss your company. Almost there Warrior fans.
See you soon
My lovely children are under the impression that this house is 1) a democracy 2) a place where their vote counts 3) if you tell me a lie enough times, I will believe it is the truth.
It begins shortly after lunch. My children will call (or text) to find out what time I'm coming home. I"ll tell them usually fifteen to thirty minutes later than expected because I know they want to half-ass their chores in the time it takes me to pull up, activate the garage door, and actually step inside. Once I do, the conversations go like this:
"Hello lovely mother. We have made you a treat because you have worked so hard at your job today to provide a better life for us." ~ a plate of cookies is laying decoratively on the counter (or a sundae in the freezer or a cake...you get it right?) The dishes needed to create such thoughtful culinary masterpieces are still laying in the sink now dried with miscellaneous sugars, icings, and other sticky substances.
"Hi. Did you take the dogs out today?"
"Oh yes Mother, they were well behaved but lonely for your company as were we."
"Did you watch much television today? Or did you get done what I asked on the list?" my foot is tapping; a sure fire signal that I already have seen nothing was done/made besides an additional mess to clean up.
"Oh no Mother, we worked hard at mopping, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms ...just as you so rightfully asked."
"Bull."
There is a mock wounded gasp and alligator tears well up. They should be on stage because they even manage to work the quivering lip into their performance. "Why Mother..." their voices soft and fragile.
"Show me." I sigh and shift my jaw to keep from laughing. This is going to get good.
Not much differently than a "Price is Right " girl, I am shown all the wonderful jobs they have "accomplished" to make my daily life more comfortable. They ran the vacuum so fast, poor Magnus actually threw up some dust bunnies. He didn't even have time to leave tracks; not a single one. The sweeping? well, they sort of did it but they swept it onto the carpet for Magnus to eat and ... he simply didn't have time. So there is a pile on the carpet. Mopping? The package of wipes is unopened, untouched and still resting quietly in the cupboard. And then there are the bathrooms. Having two males in the house, there are certain "requirements" when you clean. They just exist. Throw Winston into the mix of happily sharing the "marking spot" and it is a job that needs regular attention. They managed to reorganize their toothbrushes and turn out the light from the previous night but much like the males in my house...they missed the target. I am walking along behind them with my hand clasped behind my back desperately clutching for a straight face while they parade their successes in front of me.
"So you didn't watch television?"
"Ohhh NO Mother. You asked us not to until we were finished. May we watch it now perhaps?"
I lick my lips and enjoy the taste of what I am about to do: lower the boom. I walk out to the television and, laying my hands on it pull them back as if burned. Then I used the remote that is NOT where I left it in the morning and turn it on. Teen Nick is screaming at my face which is odd because when I went to bed I was watching the Travel Channel. I pose this question to the tiny slaves in my home.
"Perhaps.." they begin but I brush my hair from my face tap my foot some more and raise my eyebrows to allow complete permeation of the the lie about to unfurl.
"the cable company had to reset some things and..."
I shake my head like a pitcher on the mound. Nope. Try again.
"The dogs spent time on the sofa so their feet might have..."
I repeat my rejection and throw up two fingers. This is it fans. It's go time. I relish the moment that they realize I'm not budging. I really do. Is it a childish and tawdry victory? Perhaps but to quote my offspring: It makes my life happier. Say it with me: It's trite.... but I like it. So as their shoulders sag and they close their eyes in defeat the truth comes out.
"We watched TV."
"All day?"
A dramatic crushing sigh fills each un-vacuumed, un-mopped, half-swept crevice in my home.
"Yes."
Now it is I who must rear back and sigh. It's out there. I purse my lips and look around. I'm mad and frustrated but they told me. The truth. "Well," I begin, "What should we do?"
My son's is the first offer. "Go out for supper and regroup".
I look at the floor to try to keep from exploding in laughter. He's my firecracker all right. His sister takes the stoic approach; all but singing the "work song" from Cinderella. I was thinking "Nobody Knows the trouble I've seeeeen..." but that is just a creative familial difference. I have no choice. I divvy up the chores again and get out all the things they need to complete them. I set the timer and holler "go!" they start to rush and then as I pitch in I see them smile just a little and work a titch harder. I have always promised them that telling the truth gets you a lot less trouble than lying. It was the least I could do. Granted I simply wiped the counters and put a few dishes away, but I felt honestly, I'd done my part.
Then we ate cookies.
Welcome summer.
Well, it's been crazy busy and I'm starting to get nervous. The kids are helping me greatly with such...distractions. I'm sorry we've not been able to spend more time together, I do miss your company. Almost there Warrior fans.
See you soon
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Bah!
My week is gone and I've got nothing. Well, that isn't true but to confess, I have my race in less than a week and am one minute off the time I wanted for my mile. I'm so close I can taste it. Additionally, I'm riding about 5 min faster than anticipated. There is SO MUCH pressure mounting over the next week. I'm getting nervous and excited. If I do well, then this cinches the race in Oct as well as the big boy in the spring. I know...it's important to me...and that's really it, but you've all been so supportive and grand, I want to thank you; no matter what. Oh and yes, celebration dinner IS steak; a big fat boy followed by cake...and you know what kind. :) I've earned every naughty delicious bite and will feel no remorse.
So I have several stories in mind, but I can't seem to focus. Being at Promises this weekend I'm hoping will help. I miss my mountain. I'm caught up with work, my family, my ....everything. Funny how life gets in the way while you're busy making plans...isn't it? Nothing new to any of us. So I'll ask forgiveness, and plan to meet you here at week's end; even if for just a quickie. But let's face it, it's about the 12th and that damn hat.
Yes, there will be photos. Yes, we will giggle and point. and YES I will take a week off; well a couple of days anyway before October's training begins.
Don't give up on me, just give me a little wiggle room. I want to share it with you and can't wait till we can spend some real quality time together. Miss you.
Much love to you all.
Tessa
My week is gone and I've got nothing. Well, that isn't true but to confess, I have my race in less than a week and am one minute off the time I wanted for my mile. I'm so close I can taste it. Additionally, I'm riding about 5 min faster than anticipated. There is SO MUCH pressure mounting over the next week. I'm getting nervous and excited. If I do well, then this cinches the race in Oct as well as the big boy in the spring. I know...it's important to me...and that's really it, but you've all been so supportive and grand, I want to thank you; no matter what. Oh and yes, celebration dinner IS steak; a big fat boy followed by cake...and you know what kind. :) I've earned every naughty delicious bite and will feel no remorse.
So I have several stories in mind, but I can't seem to focus. Being at Promises this weekend I'm hoping will help. I miss my mountain. I'm caught up with work, my family, my ....everything. Funny how life gets in the way while you're busy making plans...isn't it? Nothing new to any of us. So I'll ask forgiveness, and plan to meet you here at week's end; even if for just a quickie. But let's face it, it's about the 12th and that damn hat.
Yes, there will be photos. Yes, we will giggle and point. and YES I will take a week off; well a couple of days anyway before October's training begins.
Don't give up on me, just give me a little wiggle room. I want to share it with you and can't wait till we can spend some real quality time together. Miss you.
Much love to you all.
Tessa
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