25 Jan 2012
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
I’ve been taking Cymbalta for a couple of years now. When I was going thru the break up with Mark, it helped immensely to pull me out of the horrible depression I was in at the time. I’ve been pretty religious about taking it because I know if I don’t, I want to scoop my brains out with a rusty spoon and that’s just messy.
Lately, though, I’ve felt so much better. I started taking vitamins B & D as well as a fish oil supplement. I’ve pretty much eliminated processed food from my diet and I don’t eat white food – no bread, pasta, potatoes, rice, that sort of thing. And it’s helped. A lot. To the point that I was considering asking my doctor if I could step down to a lower dose of medication, since I’m starting to feel muffled and somewhat zombie-ish.
But last Thursday and Friday, I forgot to take my medication. I took it on Saturday and Sunday but then forgot again on Monday and Tuesday and man, I feel like shit. I just want to go home and crawl into bed and cry, but of course, I can’t. I have things like work and kids to deal with and that doesn’t allow for the luxury of just falling apart.
How I want to, though. Just take a day or two to just wallow in it. I hate getting like that but sometimes, I feel like I need it. Actually, what it really makes me feel like doing is running away. Anywhere, by myself, for a couple of days, to just be. Be alone, somewhere in a city, where I can wander around with no kids, no computer, no work, no nothing to do and just decompress.
I think this may be something I need to start scheduling for myself. Not often, because I can’t really afford it, but once in a while, just escape to a city somewhere and explore it, on my own. It might help me get out of my own head for a while. It might make this go away. Even if it’s only temporary, it would be something to look forward to, something to hang on to when the dog rears its ugly head again.
10 Jan 2012
by Major Bedheadin Fiction
The gravel kicked up in waves behind her as Diamond swerved her ancient, blue pick-up truck down the unpaved road. Her iced-coffee threatened to tip over in its cardboard holder, so she grabbed it with one hand while her other one spun the wheel. The dust swirled thru the windows and floated in the air as she came to an abrupt stop by the river. She held the sweating plastic cup to her forehead in a vain attempt to cool her face. She wasn’t sure what was making her more hot, the fight with her mama or this insufferable Georgia summer.
She jumped out of the cab of the truck and stomped over to the river. She skipped some rocks and kicked some others, her worn cowboy boots making divots in the dirt. She swatted at a horsefly and cursed under her breath.
“Just who does she think she is?” she muttered. “She can’t tell me who I can and cannot see. And she’s a one to talk, always yammering to that God-awful Lurlene. That woman would sell out her own mama if it meant she could get some whiskey and cigarettes.” Diamond waved her arms as she went further and further down stream. Her anger cooled as she walked.
The grass along the river was higher here, where the water bended into an oxbow. She bent and removed her boots, setting them on a rock, and waded into the water. It was cooler, but not by much. She shucked off her dress, tossed it on the shore and dove under.
She felt the water flowing over her scalp and she scrubbed her head roughly. All the riding she did meant she kept her hair short so her helmet fit better. It was only when she dove into water that she felt the urge to let it grow long, so it could float behind her. Breaking the surface, she floated on her back, eyes closed against the sun. She drifted in the water, the faint current moving her gently, half-dozing in the heat.
Suddenly, faintly, she heard a guitar being played. Dropping her feet and shading her eyes, she saw a man sitting on the rock where she’d tossed her dress earlier, strumming and singing softly. She swam closer to listen. Bird on a Wire. Willie Nelson. Lovely, she thought, treading water, smiling.
The man played another song, then just got up and left. Diamond frowned for a moment but at least this would let her get out of the water with some dignity.
Reaching the shore, she leaned back against the warm rock. The sun played across her freckled nose – she knew her mama would give her hell for that, too. “A lady doesn’t have freckles, Diamond,” her mother said to her, nearly ever day. As if her mother would know a lady from an inch worm. Roughly yanking her dress back over her head, Diamond was irritated all over again with her mother. She blew a stray lock of hair from her face as she turned for her boots. She nearly tripped over…what was that? A gold-fish bowl?
Completely puzzled, Diamond picked it up. Yes. It was a gold-fish bowl. With a gold-fish in it. Tightly sealed in plastic wrap, with meticulous holes punched in the top. Whoever had left it certainly was considerate, but who abandons a gold-fish?
That’s when she noticed the note. In blue ink, in block letters, it read “Meet me here at midnight. It’s been too long. xoxo James.”
“James,” she sighed. And then she raced back to her truck, clutching the gold-fish bowl.
09 Jan 2012
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
I don’t have a real desk at work. I have a work surface. Since I work for a place that’s big into reusing stuff, this means I’ve been scrounging for a couple of drawers since I started here back in August. I was going to use the file cabinets but then they put a sink in and used those as a base. I was going to take Steve’s desk when he left, but now he’s not leaving. So I’m back to scrounging. Today, I talked to the owner and while I was talking, this came into my head. Just a glimpse into the workings of my odd little brain.
All I want is a drawer somewhere
Far away from the pries and stares
So my crap isn’t everywhere
Oh, wouldn’t that be loverly?
Room for the chocolate I shouldn’t eat
Room for the stuff I don’t need to see
Clean desk, tidy space, how neat
Oh, wouldn’t that be loverly?
Oh, so loverly, my desk abso-bloomin’-lutely clean
I would never lose a thing til
Someone left papers on my desk again
All I want is a drawer somewhere
Far away from the pries and stares
So my crap isn’t everywhere
Oh, wouldn’t that be loverly?
09 Dec 2011
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
I’m an atheist. This is something I’ve spent years thinking about and coming to a decision about. It’s not an off-hand thing. I don’t knock people who have faith; I just don’t have it. I don’t care what kind of religion you practice. Worship God, Buddha, Allah, the tree in your back yard – I don’t care. As long as you don’t push your religious beliefs on me, I won’t push my lack of them on you.
But today a release came across the wire and even I find it blasphemous and offensive. A site called Beautiful People is auctioning off dates with two of its members. The thing that really appalled me was the picture on the home page. It’s a Nativity scene, with some of the scantily clad, surgically enhanced Beautiful People that, I assume, are members of this dating site.
The two being auctioned off are portraying Mary and Jesus. The title of the release was Win A Date With The Virgin Mary and the proceeds are going to Christian Aid, a charity dedicated to eradicating poverty. (I’m not linking to the site because I don’t want to give them any more hits than they’ve already had – if you’re curious, Google.)
Everything about this offends me. Auctioning off dates with people, the premise of the site, which claims to have rejected 5.6 million potential applicants because they were too ugly, and the near-nakedness of the people in the scene. I have no issues with near-nakedness in the appropriate context. The Nativity? Not appropriate. Not even remotely.
Fortunately, eBay had the good sense to suspend the auction. I hope that Christian Aid weighs in on this. I wonder if they even know about it.
Pretty sure this isn’t what’s meant by goodwill towards men.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Diane challenged me with “Years from now, perhaps we’ll see the day of glory, when men of goodwill live in peace again.” and I challenged Brad MacDonald with “`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away”. – Percy Bysshe Shelly”
29 Nov 2011
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
Boo turned seven on Friday.
It’s been an eventful year with her. She was diagnosed with ADHD over the summer (which came as NO surprise to me) and may be on the Aspberger’s spectrum. There are a few other things going on with her, too, which makes living with her sometimes challenging. She’s insanely smart and is already reading chapter books, as well as every. sign. we. drive. by. She can do simple math problems easily and has a wicked sense of humour. This makes up for the times that she decides to walk the dog at 2 a.m. or feels like all her clothing should have holes cut in them.
She’s got a definite sense of style, that girl. Witness her newest hair cut and outfit she wore to school today:
A Paul Frank shirt and grey skinny jeans. (Please to be ignoring the messy staircase behind her.)
She has more style than I’ve ever had in my life and definitive opinions about how her hair should look. I like it. I think it’s cute and fun and if she hates it in a week, well, it will grow out.
And that’s Boo, age seven. And three days.
27 Nov 2011
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
I decided to take down my dating profile today.
I don’t like how online dating makes me feel. Or, rather, dating in general. It undermines my already shaky self-confidence and I don’t really need any external influences on that. I manage to fuck myself up enough on my own without inviting even more ways to make my head screwed up. So, down it comes. The last straw was a guy I saw on Friday who seemed nice enough. He texted me (!!) yesterday to say he didn’t think we were a match. Which, ok, fine, but all I can do is pick myself apart and wonder what’s wrong with me that I can’t seem to get more than one date with a guy. I don’t even want to discuss the guy who kissed me in the parking lot after our date was done, made plans to get together with me again and then never contacted me or answered my email.
I’ve been having a pretty shitty weekend in general. A neighbour yelled at my 17 year old, claiming she doesn’t pick up after the dog. I know she does because I see her going into the garage to put the bag in the bin. He’s totally intimidated her, though, and when my sister, who witnessed the yelling, went to talk to him, he told her to get off his property.
Then today, I ran into a local friend at the supermarket and she invited me over to watch the football game. I said sure, but that I’d have to bring the girls. She said that was fine but then called me 20 minutes later to uninvite me. She gave me an excuse but I know it was because of the kids having to come along too. She’d kind of made a face when I said I’d have to bring them. I know my kids, well, Boo, in particular, are difficult sometimes but they generally behave pretty well when they’re over at C’s house.
And finally, this little girl who lives down the road came over to holler at me. She informed me that she was going to call the dog officer on me because my dog was too fat and that Border Collies need five hours of exercise a day and I was abusing her because I didn’t do that. I know she’s just mouthing off and being a wise-ass 11 year old – she may possibly have Aspberger’s, but it was sort of the final straw to an already-shitty weekend.
Boo’s really been giving me trouble, too, and I’m feeling overwhelmed. Utterly overwhelmed. I don’t know why I can’t cope sometimes. I mean, things are going well otherwise. I have a job I really love, I have a nice apartment, but a string of things like this will just send me spiraling downward, thus my little pity party.
18 Nov 2011
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
People would see her out and about in town. She always had a furtive look about her and never met anyone’s eyes. She often talked to herself. The children in town would tease her and call her Mad Mary. She’d heard them often enough and sometimes felt like shouting that her name was Alice, not Mary, but she never did. She didn’t want to let anyone find out her secret.
The mayor’s wife hollered at her when she caught her picking bits of flowers for a bouquet but she wanted to have one. They were so pretty and they brought such joy. It was worth being chased out of the garden to imagine the smile she would get when she came home with flowers.
She was tempted to bring her out with her. She’d have to hide her under her coat, to keep those prying eyes away, but she thought she could manage that. Her coat was too big for her anyway. No one would notice if she had something underneath it. She decided that she’d chance it on the next clear day. The poor thing could use some fresh air.
She arrived home with her flowers and placed them in a vase. She set them on the small table in her kitchen and stood back to admire them. A petal drifted to the scuffed surface and she quickly whisked it away before the poor thing noticed.
She carried the poor thing into the kitchen to admire the bouquet and was rewarded with a small smile. She lived for those small smiles. They made all the other things better. She decided that she would definitely take the poor thing outdoors tomorrow. She went to the cupboards and started preparing the tea. Later on, when it was dark, she sang the poor thing to sleep with some lullabies. Wrapping herself up in a tattered old quilt, she curled up on the sofa that doubled as her bed and fell asleep herself.
She woke early the next day. She bundled herself into her coat and tucked the poor thing into a sling she fashioned from a couple of tea towels. She was pretty sure no one would notice anything was different.
The boys did, though. They often followed her around town, mocking her but making sure to stay far enough away that they wouldn’t get in trouble.
“Wot’s in yer coat then, Mary,” one hollered.
“Is it mad medicine then, Mary?”
The boys laughed and shoved one another, getting closer and closer to her. She tried to hunch over and scuttle away but her movements were hampered by the poor thing in her sling. She backed up against the brick wall of one of the shops, hoping the rough boys would pass her by. At this point, though, their shoving had turned into a real barney and one boy threw a punch that propelled another boy right into her, knocking her to the ground.
The shopkeeper, seeing the scuffle on the street, came out of her store to chase the boys away. She spotted Alice on the sidewalk and tried to help her to her feet. Alice batted the woman’s hands away and struggled up. As she stood, her coat fell open and the sling, not the sturdiest thing to begin with, fell apart and the poor thing tumbled to the pavement.
The shopkeeper looked down and then looked again and then started screaming.
Alice got on her hands and knees and started gathering up the now-broken, mummified remains of her baby daughter, hardly hearing the screams of the woman or the wail of the sirens.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Carrie challenged me with “Grab your favorite book, flip to page 38, go down 22 lines. Whatever that sentence is, incorporate it somehow into your piece. It can be a direct quote or used in reference. In the footer (where you put all the Indie Ink jargon), make sure you include the book you pulled the quote from.” and I challenged Grace O’Malley with “I don’t want the world, I just want your half. – Ana Ng, They Might Be Giants”
The quote I chose was from Little Women – “She brought it bits of bouquets; she read to it, took it out to breathe the air, hidden under her coat; she sang it lullabies.”
10 Nov 2011
by Major Bedheadin Indie Ink Challenge
Quick and dirty.
I want to live somewhere that’s quiet. Not outside; I actually prefer cities to the country. I just want there to be no noise in my house.
Why?
Because my kids are so fucking loud and never stop talking and I think my ears are going to start bleeding ANY SECOND NOW!!!
*twitch* *pant* *wibble*
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Spaniola challenged me with “what country would you relocate to if you could?” and I challenged K. Syrah with “What’s a horse doing on a spaceship?”.
04 Nov 2011
by Major Bedheadin Fiction, Indie Ink Challenge
“Anytime you’re ready,” she said.
She drummed her fingers on the keyboard impatiently but it did nothing. No blips, no bleeps, no nothing.
Annoyed, she got up and flipped the light switches a few times. Nothing. Again. Jesus.
She stalked into the kitchen and glared at the silent fridge, the non-lit-up clock on the non-working stove. She half-hoped that her Glare Of Doom, which put so much fear into her children, would cause the power to come back on. Alas, no.
She could hear the children squabbling in the living room as they waited for her to come back in. She knew they were cold and hungry but there wasn’t much she could do about it except throw apples and chips and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at them as she waited out this damned freak fall snow storm. They wanted a hot meal. She’d love to give them one.
She sighed. Went back to the living room and sat down at the desk again. Her kids, believing that she could accomplish anything, including righting a power outage that had the entire state, near enough, in the dark, crowded around her.
“Mama, show us a video on the computer!” one of them whined.
She flipped open the computer again, stared at the blank screen. Nothing.
She was more terrified than any of them could tell.
For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, femmefauxpas challenged me with “Any time you’re ready,” she said. She was more terrified than any of them could tell.” and I challenged supermaren with “Don’t tempt the wrath of the whatever, high atop the thing”.
And if it wasn’t for Dara, basically giving me a snippet to get me started, this never would have been written.
24 Oct 2011
by Major Bedheadin Uncategorized
I woke up this morning reluctantly. It was cold and all I wanted to do was burrow under my quilts for a little while longer but I had to get up and get ready for school. My mother hadn’t turned on the heat yet, so my bedroom was chilly. I grabbed my school uniform out of the closet and raced to the bathroom, which was always warmer, since it was roughly the size of a coat closet. I got dressed as quickly as possible and went downstairs for breakfast. It was warmer in the kitchen, but not by much.
It was my father’s turn to drive the carpool, so we picked up Debbie and Donna, then Phillip, who, as usual, had powdered sugar all over his face and a chocolate milk container clutched in one hand. He sat in the front seat, spraying crumbs as he incessantly talked and unconsciously plucked his eyelashes out of his eyes. It was inevitable that Phillip would get in trouble with Sister Lucia today. He was always getting in trouble with Sister Lucia. To be fair, the boy would try the patience of a saint.
At some point during math class, I started smelling smoke. Shortly thereafter, the alarm went off and all the kids piled out. Orderly filing was forgotten in a mad scramble to get away from the smoke. Somehow I got separated from my classmates and found myself in a part of the school I’d never been to before. I thought I might be in the nuns’ quarters but I wasn’t sure. I just knew there was a lot of smoke and I wanted desperately to get away from it. I ran down a hallway and around a corner and found a door. Hoping it was a door to the outside, I opened it, but it was a set of stairs. I tried to turn back but I saw flames and panicked. Quickly shutting the door, I started climbing the stairs.
They seemed to go on forever, these stairs. I didn’t remember there being a tower in the school but perhaps the nuns were able to keep things from being visible on the outside. My knowledge of Catholicism was sketchy, even with several years of their schooling under my belt. I was a Quaker; Catholicism was exotic and foreign to me.
I climbed and climbed and finally reached another door, which I yanked open. It led out to a small balcony, high above the road. I could see firefighters and fire trucks and children being herded to safety. I tried screaming, but couldn’t. I tried waving my arms but no one seemed able to see me through the smoke that was pouring from the roofs below me.
A firefighter finally spotted me and called to his co-workers. They ran to a truck and got one of those catch-you trampoline-looking things. I’d really thought those were only in Loony Tune cartoons until that point. They set it up and called to me to jump but before I could, a huge, cardboard bust of Shakespeare appeared between me and the firefighters.
That was when I realized that I’d had this dream, many, many times. It always terrified me and I’d invariably wake up with my blankets wrapped tightly around my neck and my nightgown twisted around my waist.
But there was no getting around it – Shakespeare was there and he was menacing and he was standing between me and the relative safety of jumping several stories onto a glorified blanket. I didn’t know what to do. Behind me was fire and smoke and, most likely, death. In front of me was abject terror and jumping from a great height.
Not wanting to burn alive, I closed my eyes and jumped.
When I opened my eyes, Shakespeare was gone.
So was my school.
This really was a recurring dream I had as a kid. And there really was a Debbie and Donna and a Phillip who pulled out his eyelashes and was always in trouble with Sister Lucia. Thankfully, this particular dream never came true. Although I do still have issues with Shakespeare.
For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Mare challenged me with “Around mid-morning one day, you realize that everything that is happening seems really familiar. After much thought you discover that you are reliving a day from your past; OR a dream/nightmare that you have had is now happening for real,” and I challenged Indie Adams with “Incorporate these words into a story: rickshaw, peacock, schadenfreude, salon, morose and chocolate.”
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