The wind was blowing through the trees. Hard and brutal with the force of winter’s chill. I walked slowly along the path, remaining unfocused as to my eventual destination. My mind wandered recklessly with a multitude of fears, concerns, and other rambling thoughts. My body did not register the frigid temperatures or the rocky path upon which I stumbled.

When had it all be3gun? I did not know, but I did know I was not sure I could go on feeling like I did. I was ready for it all to end – no matter the cost. My heart beat rapidly inside my chest with each step I took, my face flushed and chapped by the wind - each seemingly symbolic of the turmoil that raged inside.

Danielle had been my closest friend – my ally and my confidant. She had stuck by me through thick and thin, through years of teenage angst, college and its learning curve, early adult years, and impending middle age, but now things were different. How had she changed in the blink of an eye? How had she betrayed me so unexpectedly and so viscuously? I would never be able to understand, never be able to quell the ache in my heart. If was as if she’d killed two birds with one stone when she chose to sleep with David.

David had never been much of a husband or father in the years I’d been with him, so his betrayal and lack of dedication didn’t actually surprise me. But Danielle? Well, that was another story. I’d thought no one could live up to her commitment or friendship, but I’d been so very wrong. She was a chameleon and worse than any traitor in an6y war. She’d not only betrayed me in each and every way, she had also broken my heart and ability to ever be able to trust another human being again. She did not deserve to continue her horrible antics. No, she did not deserve the gift of love……or worse yet, she did not deserve the gift of living.

The abrupt thought gave me pause and I stumbled on the rocky path. I stopped, my thoughts a whirlwind of anger, hurt, and possibilities. What the hell kind of thought had just entered my thought process? How could uI, an average and meek woman of forty-two years, even contemplate just a brutal thing as my best friend’s murder? I shook my head, aghast at my own train of thoughts, but then a smile, as cruel and as evil as Danielle took root and filled my visage.

Disclaimer: NOT based on actual fact or experiences. 15 minutes of pure fiction.

oh me what am i to write

15 minutes and i 've already corrected a typeo

oh fuck me

well, less see, i'm a sittin here in my chair

ain't quite sure but my butt aint bare

got mee a place in the middle o my lair

crotch seems to itch but i don't quite care

granny's in the ditch and i'm laughin at her hair

cuz she needs to get it colored hard to see it in the glare

blah blah blah

i fucking hate rhymes

truly uninspirational

but most of the times

it's what comes outa my brain

nothin but lemons and limes

cuz i ain't got nothin to say

aint' been said before

mind you

fuck you

oh yeah

the truth is i still can't figure it all out

i mean, i'm educated, god damn am i educated

i oughta be a fucking superstar with all the degrees i gots

but ever since i got laid off i said

"fuck you world, keepin it all to myself; my brains and my hots"

cuz i'm a misanthrope, always have been, even when they had me chained up in that fucking office cell, staring at that screen, tryin to analyze and design all that shit, making money for sure, thank god for that, but whew

where i really wanted to be was outdoors, working in a garden, digging holes and planting things, sweatin in the sun, slappin squiters off my back and diggin gnats outa my eyes; true work; man's work, not some sissy peckin at a keyboard, sissy coworkers peckin at every word and image i designed like relentless pricks

no wonder i didn't keep in tough with any of them assholes

but her i am

don't give a damn

lucky on the loose

crazy as a lamb

so that's my story, the reject who rejects, i was fakin it all along, but i got my virtues and treasures: i got a beautiful wife, i got two beautiful dogs, i got a big wooded lot where i can piss where i want, least my dogs can, but they prefer the little "business" area i trained them to use when we got em as pups, and i can plant all them plants now too, veggies, berries, trees, even radishes, specially radishes, those store bought radishes suck like mother fuckers, big they are but tastless, damn tasteless, and a god dam radish should not be tasteless.

3/13/2025

To take a rest or to suffer without one,

That's the question.

I wish it was easy to refill the bottle of soul that's inside us,

To keep writing,

To keep making memories,

To keep smiling,

And to keep dreaming.

But everything comes at a price in life.

To take some time away from all of it,

Dreams,

Art,

People,

Uncreated memories,

The outcome varies.

You might get what you want from it.

But you might also lose things when you're trying to shut your soul down to rest.

People might leave you.

Dreams will fade.

Skills might damage.

But there might also be a dim light once you refill that bottle,

Your change in perspective can help you create more and better things.

Your calm after surviving the inner storm will help you in your relationship with the people around you.

And that dream that is so, so far might just be reachable.

To take a rest or to suffer without one,

A gamble every human takes,

For the never-ending journey of a human

Until a new one begins,

When we shut our eyes forever in this life,

And wait for the memories to play.

I like to think that I'm not so self-depressing that I would be thankful for every thing I've ever had, and ever been given.

I want to be that person desperately, but sometimes my inner thoughts have a sort of way in which they eat at themselves.

Wait... Go back.

Eat at themselves?

I mean, I guess... The more poetic word for that would be to say that they 'eat at me' or 'nibble and gnaw' like a black cancerous fungus that consumes me, leaving me speckled and discouloured.

Ah, fuck it. If I'm going to be looking raggedy, I guess I ought to be the thing that represents my inner self most, right?

Right?

Huh... No one to answer me. Isn't that philosphical. Philosophical in the way that I'm answering to myself and everyone gets to hear me writing about my more inner insecurities, like I'm painting black streaks on white walls, intending to 'paint the room black' in a sort of sense as if to relieve myself from my stress.

I guess you could say I am, or maybe I'm not.

But let's get on with it now, shall we?

Here, I might lie away [awake*]. Like the ceiling is spinning above me, or I spin below it, wondering when I will ever find peace in my living moments.

Not waking, not sleeping... Because we all know that sleep is a place where the further things chase closest.

No, it is here where I go to mash up all the innate intricacies of lie [life*]. Of the madnesses... Where I can't get back the moments in time where I was tormented by people of lessor morals, but where their deeds form into nonsense where my power goes away.

I hate them.

As I hate the sense in which they feel emboldened, stronger in the places where they didn't catch me in reality, but merely tore at my clothes and flesh with their dirty nails like it might take a bite out of me.

Here, here is the conquest that they sought so hard for. In my sleeping moments.

Where waking only allows me to rationalize that they did not win, for I am no prisoner for it.

But that is fine. This is... fine. I am all fine.

I am not broken, because on some night... Some night I dream long dreams. Some nights, I curl in, and I sleep with nothing there to demean... me, or my family, or any other. Because the only horrors in my reality, is where people damn and curse me with their vileness on untruths.

It's when the truth is laid bear, I'll stand firm and take the blows. Take bullets, take criticism, but when they lie, it's torture. My mind only knows.

I'm saddened that I am found by the torture of people of no morality.

People who-for all intents and purposes-get off to the sound of depravity, of yanking down someone they hate with all their being, like it's a great sense of tyranny wrought true.

But here, they can continue to feel proud.

Feel like they are winning the battle of attrition, and we might all point knives at each other, ready to gut each other like the Thanksgiving 'chicken' and break bread over the corpse to our winnings.

No, I am tired... Tired of the hard sleeps,

Of the nightmares that I'll never speak,

And of villains long dead from my life who's imprints have left marks in my unwaking hours.

I want to be free of it, but it's all my mind conjures.

A personality of all flours [flowers*], and silly -isms, like the ridiculousness born from me might make me blossom into this wonderful (whatever rhymes with this). I want to be done, or maybe condensed. Less... compressed?

Where was I going with this?

Let's be frank. I'll live less. Less in the past,

In my turmoils.

In the place where I close my eye and seek smiles,

smiles of those with glittering white teeth.

Gross, sick... perversions of themselves.

When do I ever wake? Wake up!

God. If there is one...

Can he stop showing me these? These people...

Those people. The ones who mean to do me harm, because it makes them feel better about themselves on this sick animal farm.

That's what I think, when I close my eyes.

When I lay my tired head to bed,

with sickness in my mind.

Because I'm ill with all the things intended upon me,

by those who had no other rational reason.

At least one, I can't see.

Where we all live,

Where I might breathe.

Let it be away from these...

Monstrosities.

That's what I think, when I want to give thanks.

To will away the pain, of the things that just take.

So let me thank those, from their genuine place.

I'm sorry.

I believe you.

I'm just a little... damaged. I'll be frank.

Time starts now. What to write, what to say? Too little time to do what I need to be doing. Time is precious, yet I feel like I've wasted lots of mine. Procrastination, determination, endurance. Struggle to the end. I'm fighting a battle against time and I'm not sure if I can win. I've done this to myself, set the bar too high with not enough dedication to achieve. But the deadline steadfastly approaches, ready or not it comes. I want to take a break, but I can't do so in good conscience. I've already allowed myself too many breaks. I need to sit down and study. The MCAT is no joke and I switch between feeling confident in my ability to succeed and absolutely devastated at my lack of motivation and progress. I've set my own pace and it's time to follow through. I'm tired, it's too late and I don't want to. Excuses, reasons, it doesn't matter. The point is I'm avoiding responsibility and allocating it to something else. I don't want to spend time blaming myself for what I should've done, the past is the past and I can't let it impede the present and future time I have remaining. I have too much to fulfill on my plate. MCAT is just one thing, but I also need to find a new job, need to find a new apartment, need to plan for applying to med school. These things conflict, worried about too many things at the same time. All arguably equally valid, it's hard to set my priorities straight. Time is my enemy and I don't have much time left. I need to focus on what I can do now that so much time has passed, figure out a plan to make up for lost time. Before it's too late. I don't know what else to do, things have been like this for me since I can remember, a cycle of grinding and burning out. Tried to change, but it doesn't stick. I know this is unhealthy, unhelpful, detrimental to my physical and mental wellbeing. Yet it feels like I can't help but be addicted to the rush of adrenaline, the stress of it all. It's how I've lived my life for so long, it makes me feel worse when I'm not stressed. I don't know why I'm writing this when I should be sleeping, studying, doing a number of other tasks. But it's a welcome distraction from the other things I have going on.

I'm in a fucking rut and I hate it. I have so much that I feel like I could be doing. I could be finding a job or writing my screenplay or something but instead I just take depression naps. Even my dreams are starting to get stressful. Every other dream is about a test that I have to take that is daunting. I hate taking them. The latest was on King Kong Island and my friend, Fae, and I had to take on caring for children after taking Ernest and Son's Green Busses out into the ocean to try to get them to the next island before King Kong Island burned down. It was an amusement park island and the kids were all children of the staff. Before that, my partner had bestowed upon me a shadow necklace so I could have him there whenever I missed him. It was a really nice gift.

Let's see what other dreams did I have? I had the one with my cousin coming into a job agency I worked at. She's my older cousin and I haven't seen her since I was sixteen. She called me high once and I prefer to not remember it. I know she needed me but I was so upset she had th audacity to call me when high. I mean, I'm sure she wouldn;t have done so if she didn't need help. She didn't even ask me for money. I think she was just in a bad ordeal and needed help. I haven't talked to her since but she comes in my dreams every once in awhile.

What else happens up there? There's a school that's like a huge mall. I don't think I can keep going for another nine minutes honestly. I am getting tired as we speak. O did an interview today and except for having no idea what software they use, I think it went pretty well. I didn't do much dazzling though. You always know when someone is intrigued by you when you talk to them and they never shut up. At least that's what happens to me. People pick a few little things I say then I can pick up on what htey say and then we've got a conversation going. But, this time it was awkward. There were paises. I don't know what to make of it honestly. I;m about to go to the grocery store so I guess I'll fill out one of their applications. Kroger is always hiring.

I used to dream about getting a big break when this whole joblessness thing started. I would work from home. I would make more than I've ever seen before. A salary. Benefits. Pet insurance. I would get a pet turtle named Biff to celebrate. He would fart and shit out of his tail and stink up my room. It was the dream. I still have eggs in baskets. There's a speechwriting job that I had my hopes up for. I don't know why I don't tether those little bastards. Hopes and dreams are for losers, I'm starting to think. It makes me feel bad to be such a cynic but honestly, I really do feel that way. So long as I don't forget my pen, I'll make sure I sign up to work at Kroger. I could work in the deli. I could be the guy who keeps Rob from losing his finger when he slices it off after we're talking about my dreams and he gets so enamored with my brain that he loses his head... well, pinky, to the meat cutter.

What is that thing called. Will I be like the black lady in that meme where the woman hops over the counter and she's like unless your name is Salami, you shouldn't be back here and the woman's like I'm hiding from my ex, and the Black lady decides the woman can stay? I like that gif but I never was destined to be that woman. I mean, if people want to sit up straight and look both ways and cross their T's and dot their I's, that's fine by me but I'm a slouching writer who sleeps too much and dreams even more. I like to have my head in the clouds which is probably why I'm feeling the brunt of this hiring freeze. I think I'm doing okay but honestly I couldn't be sure either way. I have money, just a bit. Enough to enjoy the casino tomorrow with my mom and my grandmother and anyone else that comes. I just wish I was in a better position in life, you know?

It’s uncomfortably quiet,

Emptiness is creeping in,

Internal chaos,

making this silence so unsafe for my mind.

Relentless darkness fills me with the awareness of my abnormalities,

Leaving me critically cryptic,

that value of my worth,

Is just as empty as this tomb.

Time is going by too fast. I need to find a way to make (?) more time. Hmm

I guess I should make a list or some shit like that. Prioritize my time.

maybe i should check online for some ideas.

Noooo online is a bad place to try to “save time”. Somewhere in my brain, synapses weakly fire to remind me of this oft disregarded fun fact.

Okay, this article blurb says to set a timer for 25 minutes and do everything you can and then take a break. This one says do 2 hour blocks.

Naw. Fuck that.

I can't focus on anything for 2 whole hours.

This other person says to wake up earlier.

Nope.

And don’t take naps.

tf?

Well that’s kind of personal, isn’t it?

I realize these are big time-eaters (is that a word), but too bad. I like to wake up when I want. And sometimes I just need a nap around 2pm. So those lame ass bullshit ideas are out.

I'm wasting even more time looking for ways to save time. Oh, and writing about looking for ways to NOT waste time. That's a surefire time-suck (definitely a word). How much time can a time-suck suck if time-suck could suck time?

Copious amounts, apparently.

So I am insane and poor at time management. What kinds of career paths might I have left unexplored? I won't research that because did I mention that I am also quite lazy?

Hey, I know you wanted this with all the typos and organic crap, but my autocorrect is on point today, so I apologize, challenge host dude.

I think I still have some of my 15 minutes left on my timer so let's talk about if you could go back in time, who would you have a one night stand with? And why? Just to be a time traveling slut? Maybe. kinda.

But no. I was thinking I’d definitely have a threesome with Chronos, Aion, and Kairos. I think then I might come away with a better handle on this time management thing.

Oh look… I just wasted yet another 15 minutes babbling about wasting time. Toodles mfers xo

Twenty years ago I cried every day on the way to work. My husband finally said I needed to find something else to do and I did and it was good. Until it wasn't. And then I found something else but my husband was diagnosed with Parkinson's and we turned 50 that same year so we accepted there was far more life behind us than ahead and I retired from a six figure job with too much stress I couldn't and didn't want to handle with the new stresses at home and decided to pursue acting, writing and painting - life-long passions I hadn't pursued because of lack of faith in myself and a desire, a need, for more security than life in the arts could provide. And so, here I am, seven years later, happily pursuing my passions yet, again, crying every day on the way to work. Work is great. I love what I do as well as the time it gives me to write and read. But I feel the increasing weight of the world with the earthquake of changes shifting the very foundation of lives across the country and the world in its entirety, and as I drive I am overcome with a blinding terror of what may come given the bleak and long history of man's cruelty to man and a persistent inabilty to learn from past errors, indeed a tendency to repeat, repeat, repeat, to profess love of God yet spread hate. And I bawl as I fret over my son's future, my husband's daily suffering and increasing difficulties, my mother's slow goodbye...life...

And the Lord said: Let there be muck!

Before there was life, there was muck. If it wasn't for the serpent, Eve might have told Adam to keep his mucky hands off her apples. Noah took two of every kind of muck onto the ark. The dinosaurs missed the boat because they were stuck fast in muck. And people have always been mucking in, mucking around, and mucking it up. The ancient Greeks wrestled naked in muck. The Romans built an empire on muck. Serfs in the Middle Ages owned nothing but the clothes on their backs, and the muck on their clothes. Caravaggio could paint muck better than anyone. Shakespeare wrote several plays about muck. It was muck that lost Napolean the battle of Waterloo. Queen Victoria had her own private muck pit. WW1 saw miles of trenches dug out of the muck. Orville and Wilbur Wright were the first to fly over a bit of muck. The world told Hitler to muck off out of it. The 1960s were all about peace and free muck. We smoke muck. snort muck, inject muck into our veins. There are songs about muck. Movies that are full of muck. Books like The Idiot's Guide to Muck. We share our muck on social media and like other people's muck. Muck makes the world go round -- Where would we be without it?