The Hardest Day (x-posted from my Mommy blog)

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Author’s Note: OK, so not THE hardest day but a hard one nonetheless. I have to start this out by saying that what I am posting is deeply, intensely personal for me, and therefore very hard to share with people at large. Only one person saw this before I put it up here, and that took me almost a week to write and three days to share. So, please, keep that in mind. I am sharing this because I want other mothers (and women in general) to know that they are not alone, that their feelings are valid, and that their head space is shared by others. You are not the only one. We all feel this way.

What I am posting is only part of what I wrote. The rest is too personal for me to put out there. Ever. But I hope that reading this may help someone, encourage them (somehow, if possible), let them know that they are not alone.

=

I never thought that it would come to this, that I would ever feel this way. I never thought that the day would come when I put on my favorite top or dress, looked in the mirror and said, “I look horrible in this. I’m too big for it.” And I don’t just mean breasts-too-big, I mean TOO BIG too big. I’m sure it’s happened, honestly, but I don’t remember it being so dramatic or so devastating. Clothes that were a nice fit (maybe not a perfect one but at least a nice one) just last year are now too snug. My waistline has gone into hiding, my bust blooming through necklines that were perfectly suitable before, and my hips and lower belly create unsightly bumps where the waist of my jeans sits too high for my short torso because low-rise jeans don’t fit well either anymore. I am sitting here almost crying as I remember looking into the mirror, sighing, and taking off my top to change into something else. And then changing again.

I stared down at my dresser drawer, which I have cleaned out of some old, worn out favorites lately and considered cleaning it out even more, getting rid of those tops that I really like but that I’m just not suited for anymore. Not that they don’t suit me. I don’t suit them. I don’t make the tops look good anymore. My bust makes old favorite sundresses look downright indecent. I wonder more and more when I should just buy my polo tops, clam-digger khakis, and sensible Keds and “act my age”. That’s probably offensive or something to 30-year-olds out there somewhere so sorry if I did but the statement stands. I am 30 years old (which still baffles me). I know that our bodies change with age and with life but…I guess this is one of those cases of my having stupidly high expectations of myself. I never wanted to be a woman who looks in the mirror and wonders where the years and her body have gone. Who looks at pictures of herself from only a few years ago and desperately wants to turn back the clock.

It took so long for me to get a point where I was happy with how I looked, where I felt pretty, and actually was in shape. As much as I love my daughter, and I do – immeasurably – it doesn’t change the fact that pregnancy and then being mommy ruined years of work and struggle. I’m working really hard now to get back into shape, get my energy up, and lose those extra pounds that I put on again after my first few months postpartum.  I walk at least a mile every day, I track my food to make myself aware of my eating habits, I am drinking more water, and getting to bed earlier. I know that some people would tell me that I’m being silly or that I look better now than I did before or something, but that is not how I feel. Neither is that the way that my closet feels. I have all these lovely dresses and skirts and tops that I really like and would like to wear but, right now, I can’t even zip them up.

I know that I’m probably being incredibly vain and whiny but…that’s how I feel.  I’m trying to be better, to see myself better, but it’s hard, I find. It’s hard to hear someone say “you look good” when I don’t believe it myself. Really hard. And I feel even worse when it’s hard.

=

Postscript: That’s it. There is no happy ending to this piece of writing. It just a bald, painful statement of my body image and self-view, something that I have been struggling with my entire life. I AM working hard at getting back into shape, eating better, etc. It’s the first time that I have made such a concentrated effort and focused on the weight/size loss itself and not have it be a byproduct of something else I was doing. I am starting to see some results but it doesn’t stop the bad days. I just…have to push through it, like when I’m on the last leg of the first half of my power walk in the mornings. Sometimes I have to tell myself, “Push! Push! You’re almost there.” And the hard days are like that, I guess. I just need to keep walking, keep pushing. We all do. I know it’s hard, so very agonizingly hard. But I’ll get through it. You’ll get through it and we’ll keep on figuring out how to be happy with ourselves.

Intro vs Extro

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Yes, I am an introvert. Why else do you think that I’m comfortable blogging? I don’t have to look strangers in the face and talk them. It is easier to be anonymous (for the most part) in baring my feelings and hopes and dreams and failures. If I had to sit down and tell all this to a complete stranger…well, I wouldn’t. Plain and simple. But here…here I can do that.

When I was a child, I was shy, retiring, except with my family. Because they were my family. They knew me. Strangers, I wouldn’t speak. If I was put in the spotlight, I froze up. I was happier in my room with my books and dolls, making up stories of my own, than in huge crowds of kids. I was a bookworm, I was a good student in school. In 2nd grade, my teacher actually placed my desk behind hers because of space issues in the classroom, and because she knew that I didn’t mind if I wasn’t sitting next to my friends, I would concentrate on my work and get it done without a teacher looking over my shoulder. Of course, the flip side to that was that sometimes she forgot I was there but that’s OK. She made up for it by making me a junior bridesmaid in her wedding. ^_^ Hah, magenta feet! But that’s a whole other story.

I am an introvert, truly and really. I may be pleasant and some even say charming when I’m in public but, honestly, I am most comfortable on my own or with a small group of friends. Large groups of people en masse make me uncomfortable, especially since I am shorter than most people I know. I enjoy being at home, reading, writing, watching movies, or doing the same with a select group of friends. I get my energy from being alone, my batteries recharged by silence and reflection and losing myself in a good story. I plan things out and dislike surprises that disrupt those plans. I don’t like confrontation and keep my feelings and thoughts mostly to myself. Unless I know you or have a connection with you, I don’t like to be touched, excepting the case when it’s in the course of acting or live action roleplay. Yep, I am an introvert.

My daughter, however, is not. At least not right now. At just a few days shy of 8 months, she is already displaying a very extroverted personality. She intensely dislikes being alone, loves to be talked to, played with, and, essentially, to be the center of your attention. She is a good-natured baby with lots to say, though it all comes out in the form of “dada” or some variation currently. Her father, when he was a child, was very “Look at me! Mommy, Daddy, watch me!” Elizabeth is already that way. Look at me, watch me do it. And I don’t mind that. I suppose what I worry about is when she gets older, if that extroverted personality progresses, how she and I will get along. There are times when I need quiet time to be by myself; I think it benefits everyone. How will I teach her to be independent and create her fun on her own? How will I teach her to respect Mommy’s quiet time and help her know that it’s not because I don’t want to be with her? I know that when she has grown more, I will be able to sit down and talk with her about it; what concerns me is before that, as in toddler to five years old.

The other thing that’s been on my mind is how can I, an introvert, raise an extroverted child? I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that and, yes, I know that people do it all the time. It’s not something that I have ever considered, really. I cannot imagine Elizabeth being as introverted as I am but, then again, I couldn’t imagine her personality being anything like it is now when I was pregnant. This little coconut will keep on surprising me, I’m sure, and all I can do is my best.

Not looking forward to those pre-dawn, extroverted, jumping on top of me in bed, “GET UP, MOMMY” mornings, though. Don’t enjoy them now even.  All that’s missing right now is the jumping on top of me and articulation of “get up, Mommy”.  Ah, well. She’s great besides all that, I assure you. ^_~

Me and My Body: A Love/Hate Story

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As I have read back through my musings over the years, I find that I go in spurts in this love/hate thing called me and my body image. Not too long ago, I loved my body. I loved the way I looked and felt, and I think that I was finally content with my figure, my muscle tone, my strength, and my weight.

And then I got pregnant.

Now, understand this: I AM NOT saying that I regret being pregnant or having my child or any other absolutely insane, ridiculous context you wish to infer upon what I am writing. I AM NOT saying that.

But I am saying that 9 months of pregnancy undid and ruined years of work and mental and physical struggle. It was ridiculously difficult to watch myself getting larger and larger, all my working coming apart at the seams, and not feel like a failure in some way. I wasn’t one of those moms who did yoga and pilates all the way through; certain health concerns just didn’t allow for it. So I lost my strength, my stamina, my muscle tone, all of it.

I want to feel like me, again. I want to look in the mirror and like what I see. I want to be stronger, more energetic, for me as well as for Elizabeth and Ben. So I am currently working to lose 16 lbs. by early September and tone up my body. While I lost my pregnancy weight fairly quickly (which made me happy), I also put on an extra 10 lbs. rather quickly again (which appalled me), being home with Elizabeth all day long. Admittedly, I drank way too many sodas and snacked on anything that was quickly at hand when I could. Not the best habits. So I did some research, figured out an appropriate weight for my 5’1 height, and set to work a week ago. I have never dieted before and I kind of refuse to, for personal reasons. So I am NOT dieting. What I AM doing, however, is trying to eat smarter and exercise more. I walk daily with Elizabeth, at least a half-mile round trip, and have been adding more blocks to that walk every few days. We’ll be walking the length of our little town before you know it. And I also try to work out after she has gone to bed for the evening, which, thankfully, is fairly early right now.

So far, so good. I have lost 4 lbs., I feel better about myself and my food choices, and I am starting to feel a difference in my body. Now don’t get me wrong; I still want to scarf down half of a cherry creme cake from Marsh, but I won’t, because I want this more. I want to fit into the beautiful dress that my mom bought me for Christmas two years ago that I have never worn yet. I want to make all of my fit-and-flare and pencil-line dresses look fabulous. I want to feel and look as strong and sleek as I was and did when I bellydanced on a regular basis.

I will admit, though, that my self-esteem is still fragile. For example, right now, I am struggling with whether or not to go to a bellydance hafla being held fifteen minutes away from my house by my first bellydance teacher and all the girls that I started dancing with.  It would be fun to see everyone but I’m a little scared about what it will do to my self-esteem. Yes, I’ve lost 4 lbs. this past week, but I no longer have the strength, fluidity, grace, skill, etc. that I did when I danced regularly. I’m a little afraid of watching other ladies who started dancing when I did and have kept up with it do exceptionally well (which they will) and how that will make me feel about myself. I know, it sounds silly but…that’s how I feel in this moment. We’ll see what happens.

So it’s a constant back and forth, love and hate, and, hopefully, I will get back to that nice place where I was content with myself. But, for now, it’s work, work, work.

Body Image Posts:

My Skin

Morning Body

I Love My Legs

Unpretty

“Man of Steel” Review

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I am about to disagree with probably half the world; no worries, I have my flack jacket and helmet on. No spoilers, I promise.

I saw “Man of Steel” the weekend it released. I will say that I really liked it; however, I, for some reason, feel a need to defend why I like it as I read people’s posts/review about it. I will say that this was the first time I have looked forward to a Superman movie (let’s admit it, as cute as Brandon Routh is, “Superman Returns” was just God-awful.). Superman has never been my favorite. Not ever. Too much of a boy scout, always black and white with his morality, so perfectly good, etc. I could go on (that damn curl!) but I won’t. THIS movie made me feel and root for the Man of Steel. I thought that Henry Cavill played a young man in conflict very well. I have never before wanted to give Superman a big old hug and I certainly did with Cavill’s portrayal. I have watched Cavill as an actor ever since he played Albert in “The Count of Monte Cristo”, including his roles in “Tristan and Isolde”, “Stardust”, “The Tudors”, and “The Cold Light of Day”. I have always enjoyed him but I knew that this would be his greatest challenge yet. I think he met it.

We usually only get snapshots of Clark raised by a loving family, always knowing that he has a place with them. But your family isn’t the world and we must still face it some day. I appreciated Snyder’s glimpse into what growing up could have been like for someone like Clark, so unexplainable and frightening. I love the views of his humanity, as well as that of his parents. Their own fallibility as well as great courage and love in raising him, just as he shows Clark’s. Kryptonian or not, loving family with great morals or not, he grew up on earth with all of its baggage, judgement, and fears. That HAS to affect a young person and battling through it is no easy feat, not even for the man who would be Super. Thank you for that.

I honestly enjoyed most of the characters in this movie and the actors who portrayed them. The only ones that I probably wasn’t the most behind were Lois Lane and Perry White. Now, I’ve PLAYED Lois Lane, well I was told, and I felt that while Amy Adams did an admirable job, there was still more backbone, more fierceness to be had for Lois. At least in my mind. The other character I was just sort of meh about was Laurence Fishbourne’s Perry White, but you know I’ll watch him in almost anything. LOL He wasn’t bad at all, really, just peripheral.

I enjoyed the scenes from Krypton very much and found myself rather fascinated by them.

I do not have a canon history with Superman, so, while I’ve watched a lot of the cartoons, I haven’t read very many of the comics or seen really anything of the previous movies. Like I said, this was the first time I have ever looked forward to Superman. This is the story of a hero becoming. A man just starting out on his path. He is young, he is new, and he isn’t there yet. This is an ORIGIN STORY. He isn’t the icon that we all know. Yet. But I say: good start, “Man of Steel”. A very good start. 

6-1-13: By Hand

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They had to be put to bed by hand. No one did that any more. In a world of magic and tech, why would you?

If you were a techie family, there were Cradle Rockers, automatons whose midsection was jointed like the legs of a gliding rocking chair. They could rock a fussy baby tirelessly, soothing them into sleep in soft, pillow-fluffed arms. When baby was finally asleep, the CR’s gliding joints would seamlessly lift, extend, and lower them into the crib with the oiled smoothness of a brand-new forklift, its arms flattening beneath baby as they sink into the softness of their own ergonomic Smart Mattress. SIDS was a thing of the past with a mattress that read each movement of the child and adjusted silently and softly to keep them in the safest position possible.

Or, if you were a magic family, all it took was a simple levitation spell to move baby effortlessly from your arms to their crib. You never had to leave the rocking chair.

But not the Pari twins. Nope. They simply had to be put down to bed by hand. The apple-cheeked infants relished the warmth and shift of human arms, the burr of Mommy’s humming in her chest. They needed the shift in equilibrium as she moved to stand from the rocking chair and the firm tightness of her hold on them. They were comforted by that feeling of weightlessness as they were held out into the air above their cribs, only to be lowered down gently (feet first, then back, and, finally, head). Their final soother was the gentle removal of Mommy’s hands, her fingers brushing them one last time, the lingering sensation of her hand on their heads and her kiss on their chubby cheeks as they drifted off to Dreamland.

In a world of magic and tech, why would you not want to be put to bed by hand?

6-1-13: Deserted Dreams

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There was once a little girl who did not like to sleep. She hated closing her eyes on the world, missing all the exciting colors and activities, the games to be played, the books to be read. She did not like to sleep.

But, this little girl did love to dream. She loved the worlds that blossomed from her imagination, given space and life. She loved the adventures that her dreams left her with to exclaim about to her mother. So her mother told her that her dreams required sleep.

“If you don’t sleep, my love, you cannot dream. Then you’re dreams get lonely. They need you, you see. Without you, there is no one to give them life, no on to help them be alive. If you don’t sleep and visit them and have your adventures with them, your dreams will grow weak and, eventually, they will disappear altogether.”

The girl did not believe her mother and staunchly refused to nap, would put off bedtime for longer and longer until she finally collapsed from exhaustion into a sleep so weary that she did not dream. This was the habit for more than a week.

Finally, one night, Mother placed the little girl in her bed and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she would be in a great deal of trouble if she left her bed. “I will hear you if you do,” Mother warned, and the little girl knew this to be true. Her mother’s hearing was unparalleled by anything in her world.

So there she sat in bed, her eyes opened as wide as saucers, refusing to give in to sleep. But the room was dark and shadowed softly by the glow of her nightlight, her nightgown was fresh and smelled of lavender, and her little bed so comfy and soft with her favorite blanket. She cuddled down onto her pillow, holding Vela, her velveteen rabbit, on her tummy. She would talk to Vela, that’s what she would do. But what about?

As the little girl thought about topics for conversation, her eyes began to grow heavy and a little yawn escaped her and then an even bigger one. Before the little miss knew it, she had fallen asleep in her little bed.

And, tonight, she dreamed; but it was not like her other dreams.

This place was different. It was bare and broken, dry like a desert and empty of life. The sand made sounds like broken things as she walked on it.

“Where am I?” she asked, hoping to sound brave despite the tremor in her voice.

A little head poked out from behind a ruined tree next to a dry spring. “You. You left us behind,” it says, scooting out into the light. The deer was small, its coat matted and its brown eyes sad. “You abandoned us.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m here!” the little girl insisted.

“You haven’t been. We grew lonely and didn’t know what to do. The world grew dark and dry and scary. My friends disappeared. You didn’t dream, didn’t play with us or visit us. You left us.” The little deer’s ears drooped and it stretched its nose towards the ground that was devoid of green, and, for the first time, she could see how gaunt and skinny the poor thing was.

Beset by grief and sadness, the little girl threw her arms around the deer’s neck and hugged it, tears filling her big brown eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she cried, hot tears coursing down her cheeks and splattering onto the deer’s coat. “I’m sorry! I’ll be good!”

Suddenly, the deer disappeared from her arms and the world melted away. The little girl found herself in her room, in her own little bed, though the tears on her cheeks were real.

“Sweetheart…” came her Mommy’s voice above her, her warm hand on the girl’s face, “Sweetheart, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”

The little girl threw herself, sobbing, into her Mommy’s arms and, on her shoulder, poured out the story of the last few minutes.

Mommy just hugged her baby girl and comforted her, cooing, “Oh, darling, it’s OK. It’s OK.”

“I’ll be good, Mommy. I’ll go to sleep. I don’t want to hurt my dreams.”

“Oh, my precious, you won’t hurt them. They will get better and be hale and whole and everything will be fine. I promise,” Mommy said softly, reaching out for the velveteen rabbit. “Here. Hug up Vela and close your eyes and think about your happiest dream. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Scared though she was, the little girl crushed her velveteen rabbit to her and nodded quietly that she’d do what her Mommy wanted. Lying back, she took a deep breath as Mommy pulled her blanket up to her chin and tucked her in with a kiss.

Mommy then leaned over to the nightlight on the table next to the bed, cupping her hand next to her mouth, and whispered softly, “Little light with your golden glow, protect my girl where’ere she’ll go. Give her dreams that are soft and sweet and may she smile when next we meet.”

Amazingly, the little girl felt lots better and her sighs turned into even breathing as Mommy’s weight sat on the bed next to her until she drifted off.

And you know what? Mommy was right.

Fanfiction: Phoenix Burns: The Zion Files (The Matrix)

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Author’s Note: This is the beginning of an idea born out of a thrown-together roleplay of my husband’s and mine when we were dating. 🙂 It’s not done and I don’t know if it ever will be.

Phoenix Burns

~From the Zion Files~

Panel 1

Bleak, dank, cold. The world as it really was. The Nebuchadnezzar whirred and hummed its way through the entrails of the Desert.

Deep within its bowels, a glow of hope resided as Morpheus piloted the ship. Home. “Zion, this is the Nebuchadnezzar requesting shield disablement and docking placement.”

Within the last human city, engineers worked expertly, a short redhead responding to the request. “Nebuchadnezzar, this is Zion. You are cleared for docking at the north gate. Shield and battlements disabled. Bay 20. Door’s open. Beds are made. Welcome home!”

The captain smiled. Home.

“Come on, people! Move it!” Tank hurried his crewmates, leaping the last few steps, his footfalls ringing on the metal floor as he descended from the upper deck into the core.

Trinity chuckled as she hefted an old, burnt-out EMP pack onto her back. “Calm down, Tank. We’ll be out of here soon. Zion’s not going anywhere.”

But Tank would not be subdued. He was, after all, “good, old-fashioned, homegrown human”, born right here in warm old Zion.

Neo helped Morpheus load up some equipment to be repaired while they were docked. Morpheus could tell that the young man was nervous; it was obvious in his frame, carriage, even speech.

‘It’s only natural,’ the older man thought. Neo had never been to Zion before, it would be his first time seeing the city, and the city’s first time seeing him…the One. Reports were already flooding all over Zion; some believed whole-heartedly, others did not. Some just did not know, those who had lived long enough to see many try and fail, try and fail. They just did not know.

Neo was still adjusting to his new self, learning what he was and was not capable of. It had only been three months since his resurrection and he was discovering that, emotionally, he was still fully human. And so he felt fear.

Morpheus plunked a strong hand on Neo’s shoulder as he moved to lift his bag. “It will be alright, Neo. There is nothing to fear. This is home.”

Neo gave a sort of weak smile, the pale skin at the corners of his mouth barely crinkling, as though even his muscles weren’t sure what to feel or do.

Gears clunked and clanked as the ramp of the Neb lowered, allowing her crew to disembark. Morpheus was at the head of the troop but was soon overtaken by Tank, who could not contain his excitement and ran on ahead to greet his family. Neo and Trinity trailed behind somewhat; there was no rush. They had time.

As they exited the docking level and came out into the open of the city, Neo glanced around, in utter amazement of the metal structure that was Zion. The floors of dwellings went up and down forever, the warm glow of light flooding even to the corners. Feet could be heard above and below, children running along the skyramps, playing tag and greeting family and friends. Neo also heard something that made his heart stop: laughter. It echoed over, under, and around him. It was beautiful!

Trinity smiled as she watched Neo survey their home, the last one—the only one—humans had left. Morpheus walked head of them, down the sky-bridge of the 102nd level. Suddenly, Neo found himself very confused for Morpheus’ arms were suddenly full of a young lady. After a hearty hug, they began to walk off arm-in-arm.

Trinity stopped when Neo didn’t move to follow her. “What is it?”

He pointed vaguely. “I didn’t know Morpheus had a wife.”

“She’s not his wife,” Trinity replied gently, “She’s his daughter.”

“Daughter?”

“Ensulieka is the child of two friends Morpheus had when he was still plugged into the Matrix; he’s kept an eye on those friends all these years. Ensulieka showed extreme promise and so, with the consent of the Council, he freed her and adopted her when she was brought here.”

Just then, Neo saw another individual approach the two. “Captain Morpheus, the Council requests your presence immediately.”

“Of course,” Morpheus turned, casting an apologetic glance at Ensulieka.

“It’s all right, Morpheus. We have time,” she smiled and made her way over to Trinity and Neo as he left with Captain Rahim. “Can I help you two with anything?”

Trinity smiled quietly, shifting her weight. “No, I think we’re good, Ensulieka.”

“So this is Neo,” Ensulieka held a hand out to him. “It’s a pleasure and honor to finally meet the man to whom my father has dedicated his life.”

Neo simply nodded, not sure what to say as he shook her small hand. There was a strength to her grip that reminded him of his mentor.

She was a girl no older than Mouse had been before he died, with long, jet black hair that was straight as a pin, skin like caramel and chocolate, and hazel eyes with more green than anything else. She was dressed simply in a soft, flowing shift that ended about midriff with long sleeves, a sort of silverish color, and a long skirt of wine, much like Morpheus’ shirt. Perhaps she had made his clothes for him; one never knew. Her hair was bound back by scraps of cord and yet looked attractive. The length of her hair and clothes effectively hid the plugs in her arms and head. She possessed a grace and countenance that much belied her years; just like Morpheus. One could tell that he had raised her.

Just then, a loud voice called. “Neo! Neo! Wait up!”

Both Neo and Trinity grimaced. “How did he know we were coming?” she muttered.

The young man running towards them was Neo’s first save, a boy they had all come to call Cable, but whom the crew of the Neb still called “Kid”. He was energetic, eager, and worshiped the earth Neo walked upon. They had had to get another ship to bring him back to Zion, just so they could have some peace and quiet. He was worse than Mouse on his most annoying day.

Ensulieka smiled. “I’ll take care of this.” She quickly brushed past them. “Cable, I am so glad I found you. Look, I have something that I need you to look at…” With that, she grabbed his arm, leading him away from Neo and Trinity.

“Yeah, Ensulieka, but…”

“It’s just a little thing and I could probably fix it myself but I would really like you to take a look at it for me; I’d like an expert’s opinion.” she quickly babbled on.

“Expert? Me?”

“Of course, silly boy. Who’d you think I was talking about?” Behind her back, Ensulieka gave Neo and Trinity a thumbs-up before she led Cable around the corner.

Neo smiled. “She is definitely Morpheus’ daughter.”

“That’s what everyone says.” Trinity agreed before leading him on to what would become their home.

Continue reading →

Music Review: Michael Buble – “To Be Loved”

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I don’t usually do music reviews but this album was just undeniable.

A little background first. I turned 30 years old today. I was woken up by my 4-month-old daughter at 6:30am to eat, half an hour before I HAD to be up to get her underway to getting ready for her 8:30am wellness check appointment. As we were finishing her cross-eyed feeding, my husband (who was himself getting ready for work), came to me, kissed my forehead, wished me a happy birthday, handed me two cards and two parcels, and took the baby, telling her, “Come with Daddy-monster so Mommy can open her cards and presents.” I followed them into the living room and opened up a card “from” Elizabeth (with Daddy’s help) and one from my husband (it was quite perfect; he’s getting good at this card-picking thing). Then I looked at my presents. The first one was this album.

On my way to the doctor’s office with Elizabeth, I listened to the first half of the album and found myself smiling all the way there. It starts out with one of my favorite light-hearted pieces, “You Make Me Feel So Young”, and it sets the tone for the whole album, which, to me, feels like a giant cache of love letters. There are letters of everlasting love, love to one’s self in doing what’s best for your heart (“It’s a Beautiful Day”), letters of unrequited love, letters of regret for a love let go (“Who’s Lovin’ You”), letters of shy love (“Stupid Things”, a duet with Reese Witherspoon)…and each and every one of them beautiful. I felt deeply and undeniably loved from many corners and I cannot say this enough:

Thank you, Ben. I love you! ^_^ And I know that I am loved.

 

RPG Fiction: “Beastly Dreams”

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Author’s Note: This piece is from an online X-men role-playing game that I participate in. My character is a feral girl with a Wolverine-esque power set (claws, heightened senses, feral nature) who is struggling with the dichotomy of her feral and human natures.

The woods are dark and the moon is full, the branches reaching their clawed fingers up to embrace the glowing orb. Or are they trying to catch it? She prowls the woods silently, eyes shining in the moonlight nose lifted to the wind. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for but she is looking for it, driven toward it, obsessed by it.

Her steps through the woods are silent, calculated. She can smell it more clearly now: another predator. But unlike any she has ever smelled before. Animal but…not. Picking up the pace, Betsy hurries through the darkened woods towards the scent that grows stronger and stronger until her head spins, intoxicated. It’s like inhaled wine and goes straight to her head. Finally, she’s on top of it. But…where is it?

“Good work, daughter. Your senses are keen and sharp,” comes a voice and the scent washes headily over her again. There’s the flick of a bright tail and, between the trees, Betsy spies something she has never seen before.

A lion. A white lion.

She lowers herself in a crouch, lips starting to pull back in a snarl. A bid to show who’s alpha. But, suddenly, it all seems…unnecessary. There is no bid to be won here, no need to proclaim who’s alpha. He is.

“Come. Sit.” The lion grooms its forepaws complacently before raising great golden eyes to the feral girl. It is larger than any creature she has ever seen and only seems larger as she approaches. It doesn’t move, just watches Betsy as she nears it inch by inch, finally coming to rest just before it.

“Are you frightened?” the beast asks, its maw moving gracefully with the words. There is a great sense of trepidation that surrounds him, as well great peace, as if he were the ultimate balance between the two.

“A little,” Betsy admits, kneeling before the great beast.

“Good. We are always afraid of the other. But it doesn’t take us away from it. Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not afraid!” the feral girl retorts, though she had just said she was.

“Yes. You are,” the beast replies, “It is what makes you frail and weak and omega. Elizabeth…”

Her own name strikes her heart like an arrow.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing to correct. Nothing to atone for. Nothing to “be better”. You are living in fear. Wasting away in it,” the beast tells her patiently, “You have put yourself in a cage. You are putting yourself right back into that closet again.”

The girl falls silent before the great lion, chewing on her bottom lip as she always does, trembling slightly as dark eyelids hide golden eyes of her own. “I…”

“Why are you so afraid?” it asks. Again.

“I…I’m supposed to be “normal”. I’m a mutant, yes. But I’m supposed to just be a girl. Everyone thinks so. I’m supposed to just fall to, toe the line, and accept the mate that everyone thinks I should have.”

“And you don’t want to?” the beast queries in its quiet way.

“I…no. Sometimes it’s like warmth all over, delicious and sweet and thick. Other times, every part of me screams against it, and I don’t know which is right!” Betsy’s voice cracks slightly as the words come tumbling out in an avalanche.

“Why must one be wrong?”

Betsy eyes the lion. “Because! Because…”

“You lost your first mate, child. And your bosom companion. It doesn’t mean that you must tie yourself to another, just to “be right”.” The beast then breathes, great golden light spilling from its mouth to wrap around her form. It’s musky, strong, and Betsy feels it sinking into her skin and infusing into her very bones.

“You are girl. You are beast. You are both in one. Your path is unique. The wolf mates for life. The jaguar does not. Humans may or may not. Your path is not like others’. So why do you try to force it to be straight when it curves and whorls, just like you?” the beast looks at her with eyes even more golden than her own.

“I don’t know.”

“Then stop. Don’t waste away. Live as you. And only you, Elizabeth. That is all you can do. You cannot live and walk the path designed or expected by others, only the one forged by your own soul at the moment of your creation.”

Betsy bites her bottom lip, seeming as though she is about to protest, but, suddenly, a giant paw wraps around her, drawing her against the great beast’s chest. He holds her close, so close that she can hear his heart pounding. Wild and strong and free. The scent overtakes her, mingling with all the happy pinpoints of her mind and memory, the thundering purr rumbling through her form.

‘Live as you and only you.’

= = =

In the darkness of the room that she shares with Anna, Betsy awakens, reaching out as though to sink her fingers into that softest of furs again. Finding only air, the feral girl breathes in deeply, the scent wafting away from her memory quickly. But, for a moment, it’s still there.

She is silent as she sits in the bed. Finally, a small smile curls her lips and she lies back on her bed quietly, reaching up a hand to touch something on the wall over her bed head before falling asleep once more.

She can only live as herself. Now she actually needs to do it.

The End of A Decade Draws Nigh

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When I was in college, my girlfriends and I (lovingly known by the upperclassmen as “The Gaggle”) would sometimes sit together and talk about what we expected or hoped to do during our “decade”: the ten years between age 20 and 30. Now, I am 42 days out from my 30th birthday and I find myself thinking back over my decade.

During my decade I have:

  • Traveled to Russia on missions for 9 weeks
  • Completed undergraduate work and graduated magna cum laude with a Bachelors of Science in Education
  • Completed graduate school and earned my Masters of Arts in Literature, cum laude
  • Had two papers on J.R.R. Tolkien’s literature and archetypes published,
  • Presented a paper about John Fowles at a local literature conference,
  • Dated for the first time,
  • Lost three family members to cancer,
  • Bought my first car, a white Plymouth Voyager
  • Lived in my own apartment, by myself, for three months
  • Got married,
  • Started teaching full-time,
  • Began bellydancing,
  • Bought my first house with my husband,
  • Traveled to New Orleans (I had never been there before),
  • Began blogging,
  • Learned to be more honest, with myself and others,
  • Earned my Library/Media Specialist addition to my teaching license,

and, last but not least,

  • Had my first child.

When I look back on it, I have, honestly, accomplished a great deal, even though it may not feel that way a lot of the time. In fact, I have accomplished everything that we discussed “should” happen in your decade: get married, start a career, buy your first house, start having children…I was rather surprised when I realized that. And, yet, I feel now – with Elizabeth – that my life is only beginning, that is, with a new decade, a brand-new chapter, nay, a brand new book is beginning.

Right now, I plan on going back to work as a teacher in August. However, at the moment, I am thoroughly enjoying being home with Elizabeth and I wouldn’t give up this time for anything in the world. Needless to say, I’m very much looking forward to the summer: sun and warmth and nature with my wonderful husband and my little girl. Now I get to share all those wonderful summer experiences with a new life and continue creating a whole new cache of memories. Can anything be more wonderful than that?