For some reason unknown to me, being single has begun to bug me since I past 40. It didn't really bother me in my twenties or my thirties. Yet lately I've been getting this odd sensation that I'm supposed to be married by now. I feel as if my expiration date is approaching but someone has already pulled me from the shelf and decided I'm not as good as the younger models that have just rolled off the assembly line.
So, I have been doing my best to put myself out there and advertise myself. I have registered with three different dating websites and that doesn't seem to be doing the trick. So, I have also been trying to attend more single activities put on by my church. I have found most of these activities to be quite terrifying. I'm originally from Ohio and have only resided in Utah the last four years. Where I come from, you just get out there and shake what yo momma gave ya to the beat of the music. Here, they're into ballroom dancing. I like to watch Dancing with the Stars and under the right circumstances, I wouldn't mind learning how to do a little ballroom dancing. But to show up at a dance stag and find that everyone else seems to know what they're doing is terrifying. I'm more comfortable with the pot luck dinners. Betty Crocker I may not be, but I do alright in the kitchen.
But I got invited to a singles picnic that was today, Saturday. And I went not knowing what to expect, except to meet up with some new associates and see what happens. I guess they had planned for us to play volley ball after we ate, but all of the volleyball nets were being used by younger more in shape folks than us. So we couldn't beat them up and send them on there way. Instead we played volley baseball. Something I had never played before. But it wasn't much different than baseball, except that you could tag a player out by hitting them with the ball like in kick ball.
Well, I'm one of those people that does my best to give 110% or better when I do something. I had worn athletic shoes instead of something cute because I didn't know what type of activity they had planned for us. The park was beautiful and is was a beautiful day. Problem was, I'm wearing athletic shoes on a baseball diamond that was made for cleats. So running full out, not a good idea. But I ran full out anyway. I managed not to loose my balance completely between and first second as my athletic shoes slid on the smooth soil meant for cleats. I made it to third. But between third and home, my feet slid out from underneath me on the meant for cleats soil and I wiped out.
My lovely naturally tan legs that I had carefully Naired are not a lovely matching pair at the moment. My right leg is wearing the battle scrap from knee to to mid-calf as a symbol of my valiant effort for my team. My right arm isn't happy either. I think I may have fractured it. I'll see how it behaves, which isn't very well at the moment, for the next day or two. If it still feels this bad or worse on Monday, I'll have it looked at.
And you want to know what? I'm so glad I went to that picnic. I had a great time.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
The Passenger
Why do human beings want to live forever? Beats me, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Hell, after a few thousand years, most go crazy. Me? I haven't gone crazy yet.
Who am I? I am who ever my current host is, I guess you could say. My parents didn't give me a name. I just inherited all their knowledge and life-experiences from both of them. Which means I have a lot of information. Some of it useful, some of it not. Most of it didn't make any sense until I had my own life-experiences to relate it to.
Yet, here I am, still living among you. I've been worshipped as a god. Bowed down before by you as a Pharaoh, a king and a queen. I've been a man, but I prefer to be a woman. With men, as long as there's sex involved, they'll go with you. You don't even have to be pretty.
Who am I now? I'm currently a single mother with two kids. Or at least, that's how it appears. Because you see my host, not me, because I live inside my host.
I'm a parasite, but I don't live off my host. That would be counter productive. But I do feed off other human beings. Don't worry, I don't have to kill my prey to feed. Even though, the best feeding is achieved by sucking the prey dry of its life force. If you suck the prey dry, the feeding last between a decade to a quarter of a century depending upon the age and health of the prey. The younger and healthier the prey, the better the feed. That's why virgins were often sacrificed to us.
The way I do it, I select men between twenty and fifty years of age. The feed last between three to five years. It means I have to hunt more often, but there's no trail of bodies either. Just a guy here and there that thinks I'm kinky, or rather that my host is kinky. But I don't hunt in the town I live in. I drive out of town, and move every decade or so.
I only stay with a host about half a century now. The benefits of being a host are excellent health and longevity. How do you think those guys in the bible lived so long? The blessings of being a God fearing man? Please.
Not that you don't have creators, you do. They invited us here because we would give you excellent health and longevity. Our realm was imploding, they offered us refuge here in your realm on your world.
They hadn't meant for you to grow old and die. But they are feeding off your souls after all.
That's right folks, and for those that are a little slow, I'll put it bluntly. You are not the top of the food chain. The reason you grow old and die is because your creators are constantly feeding on your souls.
They've gone by many names: Zeus, Apollo, Hera, Aphrodite, Ra, to name a few. And they did interact with you in the beginning, or rather what you think of as the beginning. You can even reproduce with your creators. you were after all created in their image. But it's been a long time since you've reproduced together. The last guy that was born of such a union, you now call your Savior and pray to him. Not that he's not capable of hearing your prayers. But come on people, do you really think he's listening? Well, maybe once in a great while just for a laugh.
I wonder what they do over there on their side of the veil to keep themselves busy. They're not here hunting to survive, that's for sure.
And sometimes I think they made you way too intelligent for your own good. figuring out your average life expectancy, counting and keeping track of each other like cattle. That's why I have to change host about every fifty years. If the villagers got suspicious because we didn't seem to be aging, we just moved on, went some place else. Sometimes we even faked our own death. No body in a burnt down house, no problem. Not possible these days.
These days, by the time I get my host's life in order and we're finally living comfortably, it's time to go to a hospital and pick out a new host.
Yes, a hospital is the best place to find a new host. There are plenty of unconscious people. Where do you think miraculous recoveries come from? God? Not that your creators aren't capable of healing you and extending your lives, but they don't bother with that anymore. You do very well at it yourselves now anyway.
When I found my current host, she was in the hospital having a paldynado cyst removed. Not necessarily a life threatening condition, but very painful. She was thirteen. I thought: "Cool, teenage guys are always horny. My next feed is going to be so easy."
And it was easy. The only problem is the only reliable form of birth control is abstinence. So, in the process of getting myself fed, I got my host pregnant at fifteen. Not me personally, but me, as in, I was in control that night. I was driving the car so to speak.
There was a time when humans volunteered to be the host for my kind. And lined up begging to be the human sacrifice, eager to be the one to die while being embraced by a god. And just for the record, I wasn't the one who told that lie. One of your own creators said we were gods too. And adoration is fun for a few centuries. Then it starts to get monotonous.
I think it may be the monotony that drives some of us crazy. And one of us gone crazy inside one of you is a bad thing. Children, can you say Hitler? Count Vlad the Impaler? Nine Eleven? How about Jack the Ripper? Child Corpse Collecting Chad? Harold the Human Skin Collector?
You guys don't need any help killing each other. And when one of us goes nuts, we manage to take out a lot of you in all kinds of ugly ways. We try to police ourselves, but we're not as good at counting ourselves as you humans. I just know there are a lot more of you than us. And when one of us goes crazy, it has to be terminated. We usually do that by preventing it from getting a new host if their current host dies. You can keep a dead host's body animated about four hours. But you're integrated into your host. You're part of him or her. Part of their immune system, connected to their brain and spinal cord, to their intestines. Our tendrils are connected all over the place, including the respiratory system. I need oxygen too.
So, if you can't get out of your dead host, you expire too. You can heal a lot of things for your host including most cancers. I've healed damage that would of killed them otherwise. But I can't fix stuff like decapitation or a severed limb. We all have our limits.
Yet, I miss the good old days when my hosts were partners who shared thoughts and feelings with me, when we made decisions together. All my knowledge, was their knowledge too.
Now, They never know I'm there. I sneak into their body while they lie unconscious in a hospital bed. It's better if they're unconscious. No matter how you enter the body, it's uncomfortable, even quite painful if they fight you. And you do damage on the way in, but I heal it quickly. With men, there are only two ways to enter, orally or anally.
I know, eew, gross. I guess that might be why I usually choose a female host. Entering the body vaginally is easier than orally or anally. Less discomfort to the host too if you enter vaginally.
My first host was a young girl of eleven, a virgin. Don't ask me why they liked to use virgins for everything. It's certainly not necessary. But Cleo was so brave. She received me on her knees, opened her mouth willingly, never flinched, never screamed. Of course, the fact that she didn't struggle means she didn't suffer any pain, just momentary discomfort. I loved her very much. So many centuries ago, yet I still miss her very much.
The thing about going into a hospital and choosing a host is that you don't know everything you're getting. Take my current host for example. I really love and like her. She's awesome. But when I got her at thirteen, she had already been molested by a preacher as a preschooler. And just a few months before I got her, she had been raped at a party in her own home while her mother was downstairs partying. Her mother's a fairly functional addict. Her father is a drug pushing pimp, who spent most of her childhood in prison. She was a little suicidal when I got her. But I helped her through, subtly, of course.
She's not aware of me exactly. She's aware of me in the way that she's aware of her conscience, or rather she thinks I am her conscience. I whisper to her. She hears me the way she hears her own thoughts. And when she argues with me, she just thinks she's arguing with herself. But she's such a good person, a lot of internal strength and endurance.
When we got pregnant when she was fifteen, I say we, because you have to remember, I become an integrated part of my host. I hear with her ears. I see with her eyes. I touch with her hands. I experience everything she's experiencing: the good, the bad, and the Why me?
Yet finding yourself pregnant at fifteen... She was so scared. Her mother offered to take her for an abortion, but she didn't even consider it, decided to keep her baby. Her mother offered to sign papers so she could drop out of high school because she had the baby. But she didn't go for it. She stuck it out and got her high school diploma. Then got her bachelor's degree through a university partnership program at the local community college. Had her second child a year before she earned her bachelor's. That pregnancy didn't have anything to do with me. She was in a relationship with what we both thought was a nice young man. But his reason for dumping her was the pregnancy. What an ass! I should of fed on him and sucked him dry. Bastard!
My girl can't catch a break. Rotten parents, irresponsible fathers, two kids with special needs, beat up old transport, and she doesn't give up. She just keeps trying, keeps pushing forward. She's intelligent, honest, hard-working and reliable.
She's got herself some religion now. I can't say I'm exactly happy about it. Except it gives her hope. So, I'm not going to rain on her parade in this area. I've only ever lived in this area of the realm. For all I know, maybe you creators have some sort of paradise waiting for you all after you die. I have no trouble saying my girl deserves such a reward.
Except this new religion is going to be a problem for me. It's so strict. We're not allowed to have any fun. No coffee, no cigarettes, no booze. My girl's not a drinker, but I like to have one once in a while. I like the fruity ones.
Here's the big problem, she took a vow of chastity... Chastity!.. During sex is the easiest way to feed. Of course, I really enjoy sex too... I can manage to feed during hot and heavy making out. But she's not even allowed to do that.
I hate to totally take over and drive. That leaves her with a blank spot like a black out. Then if she finds out what happened while I was driving, she'll be afraid she's becoming a nut job like her mother. I don't want her to doubt herself. She's vulnerable and fragile as it is. And she's so lonely. She's hoping that if she's a good girl, God will finally reward her with her soul mate.
I'm not even sure I believe in such a thing as a soul mate. But I guess it's possible. My parents were in love. Said it was very rare for us to find someone to endure eternity with. My parents died when their hosts were beheaded. I have a sibling I haven't seen hide nor hair of in a few centuries. I have no idea if my sibling is even still alive. It's been nearly two centuries since I've come across another like me.
How would I know if another like me was in the room? Scent. Your noses are more sensitive than you think...
Okay, I want my host to be happy. She deserves it. And if she meets Mr. Perfect for Her, then what? I don't want to feed off her mate. A feeding that last me three to five years knocks up to a decade off the prey's life. I don't want to her to be a young widow because of me. But she's not the type to cheat. I'ld have to take over and drive... Hell, a lot farther than just the next town over. Because if it got back to him, it would ruin her marriage. And believe it or not, I'm trying to help make her life better, unlike her own parents. We don't talk to them anymore and have moved about as far away as we can get.
My girl has big brass ones. I gave her the idea it was time to move again and she ran with it. She spent a year preparing, packed up her kids, rented a twenty-four foot long U-haul and started driving.
Everything didn't go as planned. Yet, we've managed to land in a decent area. We haven't been here a whole year yet. And because of her rough upbringing, she's slow to make friends. She has trouble trusting people. But we're going to make it.
I have always managed to help my host build better lives for themselves. It would make me very happy if by the time I'm ready to seek a new host, she had a good mate to spend the rest of her life with and a nice fat retirement. She's never had a real vacation. I'ld like to see her get that. There's so much I wish I could share with her, let her know she's not alone.
I hate it when she cries herself to sleep at night. She's a quiet crier. She doesn't want her kids to know how lonely and scared she is. She's afraid that no one matter how hard she tries, her life will always be a living nightmare.
I want to tell her she is one of the bravest women I've ever known. Every bit as brave as my first host, Cleo. And braver than any male host I ever had.
I have found males to be unbelievably insensitive. A male will tell a woman he's gotten pregnant, without batting an eye, "It's not my problem," or "Get rid of it," often both. Like his own child is an unwanted litter of puppies or kittens. The laws protect pets better than they do children.
I did admit I prefer to have a female host, didn't I? That's because women are truly the strong ones. There isn't anything my current host wouldn't do to make life better for her children. For most males, their whole focus is themselves and their third leg.
Sorry, didn't mean to male bash. But remember, I have centuries of personal observations and experiences, centuries.
Who am I? I am who ever my current host is, I guess you could say. My parents didn't give me a name. I just inherited all their knowledge and life-experiences from both of them. Which means I have a lot of information. Some of it useful, some of it not. Most of it didn't make any sense until I had my own life-experiences to relate it to.
Yet, here I am, still living among you. I've been worshipped as a god. Bowed down before by you as a Pharaoh, a king and a queen. I've been a man, but I prefer to be a woman. With men, as long as there's sex involved, they'll go with you. You don't even have to be pretty.
Who am I now? I'm currently a single mother with two kids. Or at least, that's how it appears. Because you see my host, not me, because I live inside my host.
I'm a parasite, but I don't live off my host. That would be counter productive. But I do feed off other human beings. Don't worry, I don't have to kill my prey to feed. Even though, the best feeding is achieved by sucking the prey dry of its life force. If you suck the prey dry, the feeding last between a decade to a quarter of a century depending upon the age and health of the prey. The younger and healthier the prey, the better the feed. That's why virgins were often sacrificed to us.
The way I do it, I select men between twenty and fifty years of age. The feed last between three to five years. It means I have to hunt more often, but there's no trail of bodies either. Just a guy here and there that thinks I'm kinky, or rather that my host is kinky. But I don't hunt in the town I live in. I drive out of town, and move every decade or so.
I only stay with a host about half a century now. The benefits of being a host are excellent health and longevity. How do you think those guys in the bible lived so long? The blessings of being a God fearing man? Please.
Not that you don't have creators, you do. They invited us here because we would give you excellent health and longevity. Our realm was imploding, they offered us refuge here in your realm on your world.
They hadn't meant for you to grow old and die. But they are feeding off your souls after all.
That's right folks, and for those that are a little slow, I'll put it bluntly. You are not the top of the food chain. The reason you grow old and die is because your creators are constantly feeding on your souls.
They've gone by many names: Zeus, Apollo, Hera, Aphrodite, Ra, to name a few. And they did interact with you in the beginning, or rather what you think of as the beginning. You can even reproduce with your creators. you were after all created in their image. But it's been a long time since you've reproduced together. The last guy that was born of such a union, you now call your Savior and pray to him. Not that he's not capable of hearing your prayers. But come on people, do you really think he's listening? Well, maybe once in a great while just for a laugh.
I wonder what they do over there on their side of the veil to keep themselves busy. They're not here hunting to survive, that's for sure.
And sometimes I think they made you way too intelligent for your own good. figuring out your average life expectancy, counting and keeping track of each other like cattle. That's why I have to change host about every fifty years. If the villagers got suspicious because we didn't seem to be aging, we just moved on, went some place else. Sometimes we even faked our own death. No body in a burnt down house, no problem. Not possible these days.
These days, by the time I get my host's life in order and we're finally living comfortably, it's time to go to a hospital and pick out a new host.
Yes, a hospital is the best place to find a new host. There are plenty of unconscious people. Where do you think miraculous recoveries come from? God? Not that your creators aren't capable of healing you and extending your lives, but they don't bother with that anymore. You do very well at it yourselves now anyway.
When I found my current host, she was in the hospital having a paldynado cyst removed. Not necessarily a life threatening condition, but very painful. She was thirteen. I thought: "Cool, teenage guys are always horny. My next feed is going to be so easy."
And it was easy. The only problem is the only reliable form of birth control is abstinence. So, in the process of getting myself fed, I got my host pregnant at fifteen. Not me personally, but me, as in, I was in control that night. I was driving the car so to speak.
There was a time when humans volunteered to be the host for my kind. And lined up begging to be the human sacrifice, eager to be the one to die while being embraced by a god. And just for the record, I wasn't the one who told that lie. One of your own creators said we were gods too. And adoration is fun for a few centuries. Then it starts to get monotonous.
I think it may be the monotony that drives some of us crazy. And one of us gone crazy inside one of you is a bad thing. Children, can you say Hitler? Count Vlad the Impaler? Nine Eleven? How about Jack the Ripper? Child Corpse Collecting Chad? Harold the Human Skin Collector?
You guys don't need any help killing each other. And when one of us goes nuts, we manage to take out a lot of you in all kinds of ugly ways. We try to police ourselves, but we're not as good at counting ourselves as you humans. I just know there are a lot more of you than us. And when one of us goes crazy, it has to be terminated. We usually do that by preventing it from getting a new host if their current host dies. You can keep a dead host's body animated about four hours. But you're integrated into your host. You're part of him or her. Part of their immune system, connected to their brain and spinal cord, to their intestines. Our tendrils are connected all over the place, including the respiratory system. I need oxygen too.
So, if you can't get out of your dead host, you expire too. You can heal a lot of things for your host including most cancers. I've healed damage that would of killed them otherwise. But I can't fix stuff like decapitation or a severed limb. We all have our limits.
Yet, I miss the good old days when my hosts were partners who shared thoughts and feelings with me, when we made decisions together. All my knowledge, was their knowledge too.
Now, They never know I'm there. I sneak into their body while they lie unconscious in a hospital bed. It's better if they're unconscious. No matter how you enter the body, it's uncomfortable, even quite painful if they fight you. And you do damage on the way in, but I heal it quickly. With men, there are only two ways to enter, orally or anally.
I know, eew, gross. I guess that might be why I usually choose a female host. Entering the body vaginally is easier than orally or anally. Less discomfort to the host too if you enter vaginally.
My first host was a young girl of eleven, a virgin. Don't ask me why they liked to use virgins for everything. It's certainly not necessary. But Cleo was so brave. She received me on her knees, opened her mouth willingly, never flinched, never screamed. Of course, the fact that she didn't struggle means she didn't suffer any pain, just momentary discomfort. I loved her very much. So many centuries ago, yet I still miss her very much.
The thing about going into a hospital and choosing a host is that you don't know everything you're getting. Take my current host for example. I really love and like her. She's awesome. But when I got her at thirteen, she had already been molested by a preacher as a preschooler. And just a few months before I got her, she had been raped at a party in her own home while her mother was downstairs partying. Her mother's a fairly functional addict. Her father is a drug pushing pimp, who spent most of her childhood in prison. She was a little suicidal when I got her. But I helped her through, subtly, of course.
She's not aware of me exactly. She's aware of me in the way that she's aware of her conscience, or rather she thinks I am her conscience. I whisper to her. She hears me the way she hears her own thoughts. And when she argues with me, she just thinks she's arguing with herself. But she's such a good person, a lot of internal strength and endurance.
When we got pregnant when she was fifteen, I say we, because you have to remember, I become an integrated part of my host. I hear with her ears. I see with her eyes. I touch with her hands. I experience everything she's experiencing: the good, the bad, and the Why me?
Yet finding yourself pregnant at fifteen... She was so scared. Her mother offered to take her for an abortion, but she didn't even consider it, decided to keep her baby. Her mother offered to sign papers so she could drop out of high school because she had the baby. But she didn't go for it. She stuck it out and got her high school diploma. Then got her bachelor's degree through a university partnership program at the local community college. Had her second child a year before she earned her bachelor's. That pregnancy didn't have anything to do with me. She was in a relationship with what we both thought was a nice young man. But his reason for dumping her was the pregnancy. What an ass! I should of fed on him and sucked him dry. Bastard!
My girl can't catch a break. Rotten parents, irresponsible fathers, two kids with special needs, beat up old transport, and she doesn't give up. She just keeps trying, keeps pushing forward. She's intelligent, honest, hard-working and reliable.
She's got herself some religion now. I can't say I'm exactly happy about it. Except it gives her hope. So, I'm not going to rain on her parade in this area. I've only ever lived in this area of the realm. For all I know, maybe you creators have some sort of paradise waiting for you all after you die. I have no trouble saying my girl deserves such a reward.
Except this new religion is going to be a problem for me. It's so strict. We're not allowed to have any fun. No coffee, no cigarettes, no booze. My girl's not a drinker, but I like to have one once in a while. I like the fruity ones.
Here's the big problem, she took a vow of chastity... Chastity!.. During sex is the easiest way to feed. Of course, I really enjoy sex too... I can manage to feed during hot and heavy making out. But she's not even allowed to do that.
I hate to totally take over and drive. That leaves her with a blank spot like a black out. Then if she finds out what happened while I was driving, she'll be afraid she's becoming a nut job like her mother. I don't want her to doubt herself. She's vulnerable and fragile as it is. And she's so lonely. She's hoping that if she's a good girl, God will finally reward her with her soul mate.
I'm not even sure I believe in such a thing as a soul mate. But I guess it's possible. My parents were in love. Said it was very rare for us to find someone to endure eternity with. My parents died when their hosts were beheaded. I have a sibling I haven't seen hide nor hair of in a few centuries. I have no idea if my sibling is even still alive. It's been nearly two centuries since I've come across another like me.
How would I know if another like me was in the room? Scent. Your noses are more sensitive than you think...
Okay, I want my host to be happy. She deserves it. And if she meets Mr. Perfect for Her, then what? I don't want to feed off her mate. A feeding that last me three to five years knocks up to a decade off the prey's life. I don't want to her to be a young widow because of me. But she's not the type to cheat. I'ld have to take over and drive... Hell, a lot farther than just the next town over. Because if it got back to him, it would ruin her marriage. And believe it or not, I'm trying to help make her life better, unlike her own parents. We don't talk to them anymore and have moved about as far away as we can get.
My girl has big brass ones. I gave her the idea it was time to move again and she ran with it. She spent a year preparing, packed up her kids, rented a twenty-four foot long U-haul and started driving.
Everything didn't go as planned. Yet, we've managed to land in a decent area. We haven't been here a whole year yet. And because of her rough upbringing, she's slow to make friends. She has trouble trusting people. But we're going to make it.
I have always managed to help my host build better lives for themselves. It would make me very happy if by the time I'm ready to seek a new host, she had a good mate to spend the rest of her life with and a nice fat retirement. She's never had a real vacation. I'ld like to see her get that. There's so much I wish I could share with her, let her know she's not alone.
I hate it when she cries herself to sleep at night. She's a quiet crier. She doesn't want her kids to know how lonely and scared she is. She's afraid that no one matter how hard she tries, her life will always be a living nightmare.
I want to tell her she is one of the bravest women I've ever known. Every bit as brave as my first host, Cleo. And braver than any male host I ever had.
I have found males to be unbelievably insensitive. A male will tell a woman he's gotten pregnant, without batting an eye, "It's not my problem," or "Get rid of it," often both. Like his own child is an unwanted litter of puppies or kittens. The laws protect pets better than they do children.
I did admit I prefer to have a female host, didn't I? That's because women are truly the strong ones. There isn't anything my current host wouldn't do to make life better for her children. For most males, their whole focus is themselves and their third leg.
Sorry, didn't mean to male bash. But remember, I have centuries of personal observations and experiences, centuries.
Boogie Man
I had the strangest nightmare the other night. Usually if there are actors in my dreams they are people I have the hots for like Dwayne Johnson, Vin Diesel or Keanu Reeves. But Charlie Sheen and John Cryer were in this dream.
So, me Charlie and John are in Africa I think, definitely somewhere hot, dry and deserty. We are on some kind of treasure hunt and have found this ancient tomb full of ancient text. And we have stopped for the night. It was an isolated two room hut where a woman and her two or three children resided.
Now, the tomb said that it should not be read before going to bed. But apparently we're so smart we read from it anyway just before retiring for the night.
As we began to lay down on straw mats on the dirt flour, Charlie became violently ill and died. But we weren't anywhere near where we could get help, so we tried to go to bed again.
This time John was attacked and bitten by a big mother-loving black spider of some kind. And I'm not sure if he was just unconscious or dead. But again, we're very isolated and there's noway to get help until morning.
So now this woman and I lay back down to try to get some rest. Her children are sleeping peaceful in the second room of the hut, and neither of us, me or the woman, are falling to sleep quickly.
We're barely a foot away from each other on the floor. Close enough that I feel her begin to tremble and I realize we're not alone and what ever else is in the room is not friendly. I have my blanket over my head as it begins to crawl over me.
It stops with one hand on my sleeping mat by the right side of my head and I can hear it breathing. I grab it's forearm and feel very dry desiccated flesh. Then it says to me in my mother's voice "Bad children awake at this hour come to hell with me."
Damn was I scared. It had my mom's voice. But I managed to say, "There are no children here. Go back to hell where you came from," and I broke it's desiccated arm. Then I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.
My mother's voice was the scariest freakiest part.
So, me Charlie and John are in Africa I think, definitely somewhere hot, dry and deserty. We are on some kind of treasure hunt and have found this ancient tomb full of ancient text. And we have stopped for the night. It was an isolated two room hut where a woman and her two or three children resided.
Now, the tomb said that it should not be read before going to bed. But apparently we're so smart we read from it anyway just before retiring for the night.
As we began to lay down on straw mats on the dirt flour, Charlie became violently ill and died. But we weren't anywhere near where we could get help, so we tried to go to bed again.
This time John was attacked and bitten by a big mother-loving black spider of some kind. And I'm not sure if he was just unconscious or dead. But again, we're very isolated and there's noway to get help until morning.
So now this woman and I lay back down to try to get some rest. Her children are sleeping peaceful in the second room of the hut, and neither of us, me or the woman, are falling to sleep quickly.
We're barely a foot away from each other on the floor. Close enough that I feel her begin to tremble and I realize we're not alone and what ever else is in the room is not friendly. I have my blanket over my head as it begins to crawl over me.
It stops with one hand on my sleeping mat by the right side of my head and I can hear it breathing. I grab it's forearm and feel very dry desiccated flesh. Then it says to me in my mother's voice "Bad children awake at this hour come to hell with me."
Damn was I scared. It had my mom's voice. But I managed to say, "There are no children here. Go back to hell where you came from," and I broke it's desiccated arm. Then I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.
My mother's voice was the scariest freakiest part.
I have finally gotten my Betty back. I didn't think it would ever happen, but I finally got my 1981 Chevy Camaro that I affectionately call Betty back. It happened new years eve. So I have start the new year of 2011 with my beloved Betty. Plus, tax season has begun and I'm back in business at least for the tax season preparing taxes. Still not much else available on the job front at the moment, but I'm hopeful. I think there is a light at the end of the tunnel and perhaps God hasn't forgotten me after all.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Bus Blues
Somedays I reeally feel like I'm loosing my mind. And I probably am. No car and no job make Renetta go crazy. I'm not getting dressed today like I didn't get dressed yesterday. Got no place to go anyway and no car to get there if I did. I will get dressed tomorrow because I need to go into Ogden which means I will spend most of the day on the bus to accomplish one errand. I hate that. If I had a car, this drive would take me twenty minutes tops tomorrow for my errand. Instead it will take me two buses to get there and two buses to get back where I will spend more than 2 hours (nearly 3) on bus to complete an errand that will take me less than 30 minutes.
But that's not the most complicated or longest amount of time I've spent on the bus to accomplish something. It recently took me four buses, catching the first one at 6:30 am, to make it to a 10 am job interview. And the last bus still had to drop me a couple of miles from my final destination. There wasn't a bus that could get me any closer. I spent 3 hours and still had to to walk another 30 minutes to get to that job interview. Then I had to get home.
I was really hopeful because they had me come back for a second interview. Both interviews went very well. I wasn't a second late for either interview. And you can't tell me that I didn't want that job. I've been accused of not trying hard enough to find a job, that I'm lazy. Does that really sound like I'm not trying? Does it really sound like I'm lazy? I don't get it. I'm punctual, even without my own ride. I am a hard worker. I learn new skills quickly. I come with lot of valuable skills from my previous work experience and I have a Bachelor's Degree. I don't know what else to do to get someone to hire me. But it will be me and the bus again tomorrow.
But that's not the most complicated or longest amount of time I've spent on the bus to accomplish something. It recently took me four buses, catching the first one at 6:30 am, to make it to a 10 am job interview. And the last bus still had to drop me a couple of miles from my final destination. There wasn't a bus that could get me any closer. I spent 3 hours and still had to to walk another 30 minutes to get to that job interview. Then I had to get home.
I was really hopeful because they had me come back for a second interview. Both interviews went very well. I wasn't a second late for either interview. And you can't tell me that I didn't want that job. I've been accused of not trying hard enough to find a job, that I'm lazy. Does that really sound like I'm not trying? Does it really sound like I'm lazy? I don't get it. I'm punctual, even without my own ride. I am a hard worker. I learn new skills quickly. I come with lot of valuable skills from my previous work experience and I have a Bachelor's Degree. I don't know what else to do to get someone to hire me. But it will be me and the bus again tomorrow.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Nothing's Ever Right
If it's not one thing, it's another. It's March and I haven't found anything to replace H & R yet.
I found myself in the emergency room recently. I couldn't breathe. I was having alot of pain, in my upper back which was making it very difficult to breathe. On top of that, I was nauseaous and vomiting. And there comes a point when you're suffering so badly, part of you wants to die and be done with it. Don't get me wrong here, I don't want to die. I often complain about breathing, but I actually like to do it. But not when it hurts.
So, they take xays, take blood and give me an IV because I'm dehydrated from vomiting. My xrays come back clear, nothing wrong there. My blood work comes back normal, which isn't normal for me because I have a hereditary condition from my father. I'm almost always look like I'm suffering from iron defeciency anemia. Anyway, they can't find what's wrong, which is frustrating for me because this has happened before and no one can tell me why it's happening or how to keep it from happening again.
Finally, they bring in this chalky liquid for me to drink that taste like sewage. I had to fight my own gag reflex to get the whole ounce drank. But I had almost instantanious relief. Doctor comes in and tells me I have an acid reflux problem. That the attack I was suffering from was brouht on by acid reflux. It could be triggered by certain foods and stress. The food stuff I had already figured out on my own and I hadn't eaten anything I know would make me sick.
So, them he ask me about my stress. Do I have a normal stress level? And the answer is: HELLL NOO!!! I mean, come on, I'm a single mother of two special needs children. I spent the last year without work and I'm a workaholic. Do you know what happens to a workaholic when they don't have work to do? Look at some of my first blogs, it aint pretty.
So basically this doctor, who by the way was a nice guy, tells me I need to reduce my stress. I still have yet to figure out how I'm supposed to do this. I live with my number one stressor, my daughter, who is currently a teenager and she's not a pleasant one. She's been suspended twice so far this school year. Anybody got a magic wand that will fix my kids? Anybody got a way to get me my Betty back? Anybody got a way to keep me employed? My Bachelor's Degree sure aint doing it, and honest work, nothing illegal. Anybody know where I can find a good husband? I hate sleeping alone. And don't tell me to go to church, I go every Sunday and all the good men there are already married.
So, I guess what it boils down to is somedays I just feel like: Life's a Bitch, so why can't I die? And that's not an invitation for any nutjobs out there. Nutjobs stay away. I have enough loopy relatives to deal with. I guess I just wish my life was a little more pleasant. Less stressful would definitely be good.
I found myself in the emergency room recently. I couldn't breathe. I was having alot of pain, in my upper back which was making it very difficult to breathe. On top of that, I was nauseaous and vomiting. And there comes a point when you're suffering so badly, part of you wants to die and be done with it. Don't get me wrong here, I don't want to die. I often complain about breathing, but I actually like to do it. But not when it hurts.
So, they take xays, take blood and give me an IV because I'm dehydrated from vomiting. My xrays come back clear, nothing wrong there. My blood work comes back normal, which isn't normal for me because I have a hereditary condition from my father. I'm almost always look like I'm suffering from iron defeciency anemia. Anyway, they can't find what's wrong, which is frustrating for me because this has happened before and no one can tell me why it's happening or how to keep it from happening again.
Finally, they bring in this chalky liquid for me to drink that taste like sewage. I had to fight my own gag reflex to get the whole ounce drank. But I had almost instantanious relief. Doctor comes in and tells me I have an acid reflux problem. That the attack I was suffering from was brouht on by acid reflux. It could be triggered by certain foods and stress. The food stuff I had already figured out on my own and I hadn't eaten anything I know would make me sick.
So, them he ask me about my stress. Do I have a normal stress level? And the answer is: HELLL NOO!!! I mean, come on, I'm a single mother of two special needs children. I spent the last year without work and I'm a workaholic. Do you know what happens to a workaholic when they don't have work to do? Look at some of my first blogs, it aint pretty.
So basically this doctor, who by the way was a nice guy, tells me I need to reduce my stress. I still have yet to figure out how I'm supposed to do this. I live with my number one stressor, my daughter, who is currently a teenager and she's not a pleasant one. She's been suspended twice so far this school year. Anybody got a magic wand that will fix my kids? Anybody got a way to get me my Betty back? Anybody got a way to keep me employed? My Bachelor's Degree sure aint doing it, and honest work, nothing illegal. Anybody know where I can find a good husband? I hate sleeping alone. And don't tell me to go to church, I go every Sunday and all the good men there are already married.
So, I guess what it boils down to is somedays I just feel like: Life's a Bitch, so why can't I die? And that's not an invitation for any nutjobs out there. Nutjobs stay away. I have enough loopy relatives to deal with. I guess I just wish my life was a little more pleasant. Less stressful would definitely be good.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Things Are Getting Better
Wow, we're still alive. We, me and my kids, made it through 2009.
I've had to accept that I'm never getting my Betty back. I was able to get a bus pass and that helped alot. Still had to bother somebody when we needed groceries. Bought a pretty decent POS for $500 just before Christmas, a little Subaru station wagon. It's wonderful to be driving again. And I've been hired on by H & R Block for the tax season. It great to be productive again.
Everyone in my office is so nice. Wish I could work for them all year long. Hopefully, I will have found the next thing by April 15th when tax season ends. But a temporary job is better than no job, and part-time is better than no time.
Things are looking up and I'm feeling better about myself. Now, if I could just loose some ofthe wieght I've put on while I've been depressed and half out of my mind for the past year.
Good luck! :)
I've had to accept that I'm never getting my Betty back. I was able to get a bus pass and that helped alot. Still had to bother somebody when we needed groceries. Bought a pretty decent POS for $500 just before Christmas, a little Subaru station wagon. It's wonderful to be driving again. And I've been hired on by H & R Block for the tax season. It great to be productive again.
Everyone in my office is so nice. Wish I could work for them all year long. Hopefully, I will have found the next thing by April 15th when tax season ends. But a temporary job is better than no job, and part-time is better than no time.
Things are looking up and I'm feeling better about myself. Now, if I could just loose some ofthe wieght I've put on while I've been depressed and half out of my mind for the past year.
Good luck! :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)