This is gonna hurt you / more than it’s gonna hurt me / and I wouldn’t have it any other way

Once upon a time

a nice girl sat

in front of her computer

and tried desperately

to think

of something witty, 

charming 

and bold

to write.

Nothing came.

So, the girl wrote

music lyrics

to really great, 

angry, 

dagger-filled songs

all over

the desk

of the person deserving 

a poison

apple

today.

And she smiled.

This one goes out to Mr Knowitall

Write a nice little love story

just like this

in 55 words or less

on any given Friday.

Do it or I might leave you a present on YOUR desk.

Fwd:

A growl erupts from the corner. The beast turns vicious fangs to me, moments before he lunges for my throat... to give me a big, sloppy kiss. Stupid dog.

This Sunday 160 is brought to you by the letter E (for Ezmund) and the number 38, Stanford's score as I write this. Oh, and it's dedicated to Monkey Man, who writes stuff. And is watching the Stanford game while the pizza cools. Hi, MM.

Months and months and months

Life is what happens
while you're busy making
other plans
so I'm told.

Did you know
that peanut butter
on a spoon
cures hiccups?

And the sound of
coyotes at night
outside your hotel room window
can cure a major
case of the blues?

Only if
you married a Monkey
and he knows your secrets.

--------
This Friday 55 is for G-Man
who makes me want to write on Friday
and Monkey Man
who made me laugh on Monday
just like most every day.

I want to thank
Kramers, and Old Mills, and ghost stories
wishing for Sasquatch
coyotes outside my door
peaceful quiet
and men who tip
their hats at me
and wave as they pass.

Happy 19th, MM
and many more -
(with coyotes).

She reads aloud.

“North Star,
Star of the sea

I wish for a ship
Named after me

To sail for a day
Alone and free

With someone nice
For company.”

With her little brother giggling,

she launches the paper boats

across the pond,

fire blooming from their center

until they disappear

around the willow branches.

--------------------------

Growing up, there were many oriental traditional that came to be my own. I always give a new bride a bell to hang in her kitchen (so she can ring it when she's lonely and know that her family hears her, still). I always eat the fortune from my cookie so it will come true. And, I used to always launch wish boats on the Willamette River on the eve of Chinese New Year.

The poem that's quoted here is from The Maggie B by Irene Haas. 

I first read this as a small girl, when reading was my escape from a rough and tumble world. I often long for the simplicity of those times, the long hours spent alone with only my thoughts and Moby Dick or Watership Down for company.

This Flash Fiction, as most of the good ones, leans heavily on my own story. G-Man would love it if you'd play along by writing a story in exactly 55 words. The Noir, the merrier...

Continued

Stop the bus, I want to get off.

Fear is the wind that snuffs the candle in the mind. I steal that from Enchanted Oak, who also quotes a philosopher or two. Her words hit home this morning, as I water the plants, walk the dog, go through the mental list of all the things I am uniquely responsible for in the world. All 6,532 of them.

Two jobs to not make a person happy. One of them must go. Or I must go. The two of us can no longer live peacefully under the same roof.

I've been blaming strange things for my unhappiness, of late. Well, being afraid has caused me to miss one too many good things in my life, it's time to beat a hasty retreat from that silliness. Who cares where the unhappiness comes from - it must go. NOW.

Yep. Staring fear straight in the face, today, and telling it to go take a flying leap.

You with me? (Now, where's I put those wings?)

Timeless moments

Have you ever picked a fight?

I know I have, more often than I'd care to admit. Like last night. I'm the queen of fight picking, it seems.

But when a storm is brewing, have you ever stopped to really think about the why? What's underneath your anger and frustration?

For me, it's almost always fear.

I'm angry because I'm afraid, and I don't like to be afraid.

Not "I'm being hunted by a lion and must run or die" afraid, just unsure, uncomfortable, unhappy.

What happens if I accept and embrace fear? Well, we'll find out. Because, at the end of the day, avoiding fear, conflict and conversations gets me exactly nowhere. The same goes for bringing things up when I'm angry. I've got to quit that.

What kind of world would I live in if I could have an open and honest (and difficult) conversation without fear of retribution, without distress - and without raised voices?

Stay tuned...

And counting...

Softly whispered,

“You’re the most handsome man here.”

And he smiles.

Falling asleep, he doesn’t’ even think

about the fact

that his attitude

is only that of someone

admired, adored and slightly stalked.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school,”

repeated over. AND over.

She feels ill.

All hail high school reunions…

------------------------------------------------

This Friday 55 is semi-factual. Who loves high school reunions?

Not I - and especially not when it turns out to be so - I don't know - ODD.

My ten year was normal - we'd seen each other too recently.

(The first person to pick out a fellow blogger in this photo wins a very cool prize, by the way).

Why does everyone fall back into their old persona?

The jocks hang together, only the popular ones at that table...

The saving grace was being adored - still - by my husband's best buddies from Jr High,
that we see frequently. Thank the goddess...

Otherwise, there would have been blood.

G-Man, you'd bail me out... RIGHT?

(Visit him, leave a trail of breadcrumbs.... and he'll visit you back. Promise.)