writing

Exercising my brain to vent a pressure cooker

/ autumncircles / 1 Comment

Discovered an interesting writer and website today thanks to A Room of Her Own Foundation post: Spiritual Memoir. The author, Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew, posts weekly writing exercises designed to engage writers in their craft and its connection to their spiritual growth.

Very cool if you ask me.

This week’s exercise is “overwhelm.” Considering that I “coincidentally” feel exactly that way right now – thought I’d give it a go.

———————————————————

I am 43 years old and the granddaughter of a life-long seamstress. The fact that I do not know how to sew a hem randomly boomerangs tears of grief while walking around in extra long pants. I miss her and mourn the time I did not spend with her learning.

I wear my responsibility girdle on top of my big girl panties hidden beneath my emperor-wolf’s clothing all day, most days. It only takes a moment of self-induced authoritative direction in a time of multi-directional conflict to make my hands tremble and my voice quaver. Extricating the acceptance for the need of more girl friend time again emphatically strikes unexpectedly.

The car behind me honks. I begin screaming at the rear view mirror, “What?! What do you want? The light just turned green and my foot is on the accelerator! Give me a chance to go! I was about to go! Give me a chance! What more do you want from me?!” The familiar salt sting grinds around the edge of my glasses.

“I have decided to dissolve the Quorum of 12 and as of this moment have declared martial law.” ~ Colonel Saul Tigh. Even though he really did frak things up when he did that, all of it had happened before and all of it would happen again. I allow myself to be mesmerized. Anon.

Remaining open to messaging from the Universe in a kaleidoscope of signals is most difficult when I believe myself overwhelmed.

Like when in a vegetative state of status scanning, I see a link to a website about spiritual journey writing and click through…

Peace.

says the monkey to the flying reindeer

/ autumncircles / Leave a comment

“Painful as it might be, tryptophan detox requires steadfast adherence to a philosophical double reverse immediately followed by mint leaves to soothe the rare geographic tongue.”

“Walking a straight line demands precision giraffe roping under the spell of brightly lit fairy dust mites and altruistic space travel in a vacuum.”

“Tears generate cracks befitting mountains created from nothingness derided into marsupials parading as Romulans shaken but not stirring from the truth.”

“My mama done tol’ me,
when I was a good girl
I might get what I want,
but it won’t really matta’
les’n I get what I need.”

“The quality of today’s air level is blackened crayfish with a side of paradoxical antelope.”

“For when one doth attempt to lie amidst
a broken hearted slayer’s deep crevasse,
one must unbreak that which by some untold
impossibly believed once breakable.”

“What you need, see, is one part gilded carousel grease, two parts Mercury saltwater and just a smidge of pterodactyl dung and you got yerself one helluva hangover cure. Or a spontaneously self-combustible poison – I always get those mixed up.”

“Silly Old Bear. He’s bound to get that fat head of his stuck in that God-forsaken honey pot again then beg me to get him out without ripping his bloody stuffing apart.”

“Live. Laugh. Love. Now shut the frack up.”

Peace.

ain’t someone misbehaving now

/ autumncircles / Leave a comment

I don’t know what bothers me more – the fact that someone is misbehaving or that it bothers me so.

I have everything I need within my reach and know I am in no danger from above mentioned misbehavior.

And yet, much like escaping scraggly nails screeching across a dusty blackboard, I want to grab my chair, throw it against the glass to break free and fly upward away from all that is offensive to my ears and heart.

But before I do, I logically gage the weight of the chair versus the depth of the glass calculated against the strength of my tired muscles and realistic flight aspirations.

Hence, I remain seated, the screeching continues and I seek another way to listen without hearing.

Peace.