I am alone

my bedroom is not familiar

The door is closed

on the history

of my past.

I am alone

waiting for your knock

Halfway stuck

in my past

I know

you must be there

somewhere

I am alone

bewildered

by new surroundings

I am waiting

for you

where are you?

I am alone

wanting

to unveil

my sheets

in my memories.

I am alone

I touch the paint

on the walls

witness to so much

happiness with you

I am alone

watching

birth of silence

blowing dust

of my life

into hereafter

where you reside.

“The End.” The words kept flashing in strident neon in my face. But it wasn’t the ending. My life was just beginning after living so many years with such a miserable man. He was out of my periphery and had been for several months. I tried not to think about him at all as I felt sunshine and hope cascading in a protective aura around me.

I decided to call in sick to work this day because it was such a lovely Friday and I wanted to lie in the sun at the beach, eat whatever I wanted, and to feel beholden to no one. I felt so free and energized.

As I was closing my apartment windows in case it rained, a solitary robin flew in through the opening, flitted around the room and then flew out. I remembered my mother telling me that if a robin flew into a room, death would follow. What a silly superstition! I packed my beach bag with bathing essentials and at the last moment, threw in a mirror which fell out of the bag onto the tile floor, shattering into many shards. I disregarded the ill portent of the broken mirror and went on my way to the ocean which always drew me to its peace and beauty.

As I got out of my car at the beach, a stray black cat ran in front of me. “Here, kitty, kitty,” I coaxed as I took crackers out of my purse and scattered them on the ground. I noticed that I stepped on a crack on the sidewalk but disregarded it because I didn’t have to worry about breaking my mother’s back because she had passed long ago. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that today was not only Friday, but Friday the 13th. “Nothing will go wrong today,” I reassured myself, “in fact, everything will go according to plan!”

When I heard my cell phone ringing insistently, I dug it out of my beach bag and answered. It was the police department telling me that my ex-husband had lost his brakes, crashed into a bridge abutment and was dead. Well, it positively was “The End” for him, I laughed as I pretended that it was karma for all his evil deeds. But in the back of my mind, I knew that it had nothing at all to do with the superstitions that had befallen me today.

Oh no! I smiled as I remember my father teaching me how to take care of an automobile, a lesson that had come in handy. On the way to the beach, I had stopped at my ex’s place of work and cut his brake lines. Oh yes, it certainly was unlucky for him! I rolled over and applied more suntan lotion, pondering the certainty of his fate.

But what about me? I had to do what was best for me after all those years of misery. Sometimes, you just have to make your own luck!

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Although I didn’t realize what it was, throughout senior year of high school I went in and out of depression. I distinctly remember once when, alone, I nearly impaled my right lung in front of my puppy (who stared at me transfixed) as a stormy ambience lightly played in the background. The cut would have been clean, as I had sucked in so much that I could make out the pale impression of my ribs against my skin. When my puppy whimpered, I decided to stay alive a little longer. As I made this decision, the knife slipped from my hands and my mind observed it fall in slow motion. As it lie firmly embedded in the kitchen’s wooden floor, I regret not trying to have intervened as it fell. To this day the disconcerting scar remains, ruining the cheery lavender countertops and richly lit space.

Four years later, my senior year of college: I felt alone and overwhelmed in a school of 18,000 students. I couldn’t figure out where I would fit after I graduated, so I consumed as many 500 mg blue gel Ibuprofens as I could before falling asleep. I hadn’t even gotten under my covers--I had lay myself lightly on top--peaceful as reclining into a coffin.

My last act of compassion--my suicide letter to my parents, saved my life. Medics woke me up and hurried me to Beth Israel where I was immediately given fluids and underwent testing. My family from around the region came to comfort me. The fluid from the IV nearly drained itself entirely into me and I uncomfortably bloated. When I removed it, the flood of blood was as dark as office ink. It was so hypoxic that even exposed to air, it dried as dark as it had bled out. I had always been great at holding my breath--but no one could believe it. A Marvel-made hero, from then on, I never grew tired--For the next two years I would run every morning and only muscle fatigue or boredom could stop me--I never had a cramp, sweat, or was reduced to gasping ever again. A new definition for “blue-blood”?

I know I’m far from ordinary, but am I unique enough for you?

I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be more mysterious and not say everything I think or feel, leaving you to wonder.

I, without effort give you the very best of me and all the good I have to give, but I wonder if you’re really longing to see my dark side.

It’s not that I’ve hidden that part of me from you, it’s just that you’re the light that illuminates my darkest shadows revealing only the best of me.

I guess you’re a part of what makes me anything but ordinary.

March 27, 2021

National Cheer Up The Lonely Day

All American Pet Photo Day

World Population Day

Oh my—another three-banger. I’m starting to feel like this is a vacation. Okay, let me get started.

All American Pet Photo Day

Pets are celebrated today by having their pictures taken. Over half of American households have pets, making it easy for the day to be celebrated. Dogs and cats are the most popular pets, but those who have fish, hamsters, guinea pigs, turtles, lizards, and other pets can also participate. After pictures of pets are taken, they are often shared online.

Celebrate the day by taking pictures of your pet(s). The photos could be candid—of them playing or sleeping—or could be planned out in advance. Since it is "All American" Pet Photo Day and the 4th of July just took place, you could dress your pet up in a patriotic costume. There are many things you could do with the photos, but perhaps the best thing to do would be to share them online. If you don't have a pet, make sure to remind your friends who have pets what the day is, and keep a lookout for pictures of pets.

So dress them up, give them some flair, this is after all, their day to smile for the camera—or slobber all over the place.

World Population Day

Stand up and be counted, as today is World Population Day. This special United Nations day evolved from Five Billion Day. That's the day the world's population was estimated to reach five billion people.

How many people does the planet hold?

The population of the world has increased steadily since the Medieval times. With an ever growing world population, people became interested in "Five Billion Day" on July 11, 1987. This is the approximate date when the world's population reached five billion people. This sparked the creation of World Population Day. But the population growth story does not peak there. According to the United Nations Population Fund, there was an estimated 7.75 billion people in December, 2019. The World Population Clock shows there are over 330 million people in the United States. The U.S. is the third most populous country in the world, behind China ( 1.436 billions) and India (1.372 billion).

It is estimated that the world's population could reach 9.7 billion people by 2050, and over 11 billion by 2100. With that many of us, one wonders if this population level is sustainable? The answer quite frankly—no one know.

With all the issues related to these billions upon billions of people, World Population Day was established to raise awareness of global population issues. The United Nations seeks to promote awareness of issues related to population growth, including the importance of family planning, gender equality, poverty, maternal health, and human rights.

Population Day is sponsored by the United Nations World Population Fund (UNFPA). According to the UNFPA website, the focus of this day is upon people under 25 and those at reproductive age. This day seeks to provide education and awareness to reproductive health, reproductive choice, family planning, and to provide a better future for young people.

This is a link to the United States and The World when it comes to population growth, and you will see numbers moving to indicate new births.

https://www.census.gov/popclock/

This is where things were at when I put this together, and haven't looked since. What changes do you see?

United States: 332, 505, 359

The World: 7, 774, 840, 750 and still counting.

"Work is accomplished by those employees

who have not yet reached their level of incompetence."—Laurence J. Peter

National Cheer Up The Lonely Day

This an opportunity to make a lonely person happy. Any time you can make someone happy, you've done a good thing, and should be proud of yourself.

Lonely people have few friends and loved ones. They may have lost loved ones over the years. They may be elderly. They see people on an infrequent basis.

Spend some time today cheering up lonely people. It's easy to do; just spend some time with them. When you visit, bring happy things to talk about. Keep the conversation upbeat, and lively. When you leave, give a big hug, and let them know you enjoyed the stay. Sending cards or making a phone call is okay, only if they live too far away to visit.

What a lonely person really needs is: face to face time with other people.

According to L.J. Pesek, Cheer Up the Lonely Day was created by her father, Francis Pesek from Detroit, Michigan. She told us that he "was a quiet, kind, wonderful man who had a heart of gold. He got the idea as a way of promoting kindness toward others who were lonely or forgotten as shut-ins or in nursing homes with no relatives or friends to look in on them." Francis Pesek chose this day because it was his birthday.

"The ability to speak in several languages is an asset,

but the ability to keep your mouth shut in any language is priceless."—Author Unknown

More Strange Holidays Coming!

Sea salt and missing girls

They won’t miss us, she promised hurriedly

While we climbed the highest rocks and played as gods

We declared the ocean our playground and the beach our domain

She said we’d fly far away from here

We’d fly so high, she told me, the immortals on Olympus would envy us

But we failed to learn from Icarus

His sacrifice was in vain

Her toes on the edge as I clamored to keep up

Her chin tilted upwards in blatant defiance as if daring Zeus to strike her down

My eyes averted toward the water for just a moment too long

Lavender gossamer clung to olive skin and chocolate tresses covered her face

I was glad for that; I couldn’t bear to see her then, in her last moments

I like to imagine her as she was the night before

She never looked so beautiful

I imagine nobody else thought her much to look at

And as the daughter of a viscount, she wasn’t even a lady, my cousins sneered

Without a dowry, she would have been unremarkable

But a girl like her would never settle for a word like that

So she danced with whomever she pleased but at first, that list didn’t include me

We sat across from each other during dinner

And I could make her smile by sticking my tongue out and crossing my eyes whenever the man sitting next to her turned away

Eventually, we sought each other out in crowded rooms

In three weeks, we were never apart

My grandmother saw us one night in the library when we should’ve been asleep

But she didn’t tell anyone

She told me she used to have a friend like Josephine was to me

But I wanted to tell her that we weren’t friends

Friends didn’t sneak into the other’s room for a moment of repreive from boasts about wealth and status veiled behind almost compliments and offhanded comments

We weren’t friends

But I didn’t know the word for daring, brave girl who didn’t care if our love was unlawful or amoral

Didn’t care about the suitors- not to mention her family- she was letting down by choosing me

Setting her hands on my waist where everyone could see

And maybe if I had been brave like her

I would have found a way to save her

I didn’t know how to say she put the sun in the sky and taught me about the stars

I didn’t know how to say I loved her

We didn’t talk about the love letters

We didn’t think about forever

We thought we were entitled to a lifetime together

She didn’t know how to keep a secret, not like me

So by the time luncheon concluded on the first day of our final week together

Her maid had found the letters strewn across her quilt that she had been reading and forgot to put away

The library was silent as she and I sat on opposite sides of the room

My father yelled and so did hers

Our mothers had been left in the dark because as they insisted, “The women should not have to witness the shame of their daughters.”

Of course, my mother found out, and she wasn’t angry

At me, but she blamed my father for inviting “that family” to vacation with us for the summer

To her, a decent status and an overflowing trust fund meant you could do no wrong, but clearly I was proof to the contrary

I didn’t look at Josephine for a long time

I couldn’t bear to see what I had done to the only person who mattered to me

I remembered all those hours of hiding and vacant stares during dances because all we could think of was what the other was doing

I can’t imagine how many toes I stepped on to get closer to her

The time we shared would never be replaced

“We’ll dance like real people do,” she whispered one night when the ballroom was empty

More daring than we’d ever been, we started slowly and quietly

Hesitantly taking a step closer and awkwardly arranging our limbs that didn’t seem to fit anywhere

But it was like magic to waltz in her arms

Never had I danced with anyone without feeling insecure and unworthy, but she made me feel brilliant and confident

Her skirts swirled around mine until we painted the world in pearlescent periwinkle and peach blossom

Before I could whisper I love you

A maid’s stern cough brought us out of our daydream and suddenly, we just schoolchildren, bashful and guilty

Caught in the act of something sinful and wrong

She promised me we were innocent, that we weren’t sick like they said and we didn’t belong in an asylum either

When the roses had begun to shrivel up like unwanted fruit, our parents started making plans to leave

We found ourselves in a place we’d been so many times before

A long dinner of solemn faces had made us anxious

Our “misstep,” as her father called it, had made everyone grim

And everyone knew it was us

Even the servants didn’t look at us the same anymore

They put us at opposite ends of the table, put uncles and cousins and family friends in between us like prison guards

We managed to escape their careful watch outside the drawing room while everyone headed to bed

So beside the wilting rose bushes, outside my parents’ bedroom window, we made a plan

In the garden close to midnight, I panned for gold in the flecks in her hazel eyes

And she promised we’d run away and no one needed to know where

My lace gloves recalled how it felt to caress her cheek a final time at the crest of the cliff

The seafoam unevenly swept across the coastline

And I felt like crying

Because inside I was dying

If we couldn’t be together, I didn’t know how to go on without her

I was naïve enough not to consider that as a possibility

And maybe her father was right and we got what we deserved

Our wings were made of wax and glass, leftover love letters and whispered promises

The sea breeze would only carry us so far

It was foolish to say otherwise

Crumpled like a passed over Valentine, two steps from being washed away with the tide, broken and defeated, was not how I wanted to remember her

We’re not heroes

Or angels or gods or monsters or mermaids or sirens

We’re not dryads or sea nymphs

We’re mortals and we break when we fall

And we all fall eventually

The first time I hurt myself, I was seventeen. It was an accident, really—I didn't mean to wander into that room. Like most seventeen-year-olds, I'd been feeling misunderstood and forlorn, anxious and angry. That night was particularly dark, no moon shone in the sky, no stars managed to pry their way through the thick cover of clouds. I'd gone to the library, sneaking in through an unlocked door in the back, making my way through shelves of dimly-illuminated books. Ahead of me, I could see a light creeping out from under a door. I didn't remember that door. Curious, I'd opened it slowly, softly, pushing myself inside. Before I fully entered the space, I felt a strong sensation of hesitation. I felt that someone, somewhere, was trying to tell me to leave. I didn't leave. Curiosity killed the cat, and I was undoubtedly a cat person.

It was morning when they found me, when the librarian pushed open the door to the tiny supply closet and saw my crumpled form sitting motionless between the brooms. My parents asked what happened. I said I didn't remember. I lied. My first scar appeared soon after, an inch-long line right on my chest, right above my heart. It hurt, a lot.

The second time I hurt myself, I was twenty. It wasn't an accident, not quite. I'd been visiting home from college, spending my winter break with family and memories alike. An argument had broken out between my father and I one night, and I'd left the house in a fuming blaze to go on a walk. I was in the wrong, and I knew it, and after a while my rage was replaced with guilt. The guilt stung, it hurt, and I embraced the pain—I felt I deserved it, being such an awful daughter.

I hadn't intended to visit the library, but as I was lost in thought, my feet brought me to that building, that large brick building, and around the back to the door that used to be unlocked. I checked. Unlocked. I went in.

I couldn't tell you why I went in, I really couldn't. I think I was still curious, still dumb and curious, and I felt like I deserved more pain, so I walked in the direction of the door I'd gone through three years earlier. Sure enough, like magic, like dark magic, I soon saw the light creeping out from underneath the door. I paused before entering, asking myself, steeling myself.

I pushed inside, and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying on the floor of the old supply closet, empty aside from a bucket and a mop. Funding wasn't very good for the library, back then. I left the library at dawn, before most people were up, and made my way back home for reconciliation and a mug of hot coffee. My second scar appeared soon after, another inch-long line that ran across the first one, forming an 'X' over my heart. It hurt, a lot.

The third time I hurt myself, I was twenty-seven. I hadn't visited home for years, graduate school and marriage had kept me busy. It was the holidays again, and I'd brought my husband to see my hometown. We were staying with my parents, in my old bedroom, and I felt happy, happy. I felt happy, until suddenly I didn't.

I've always had issues with emotional swings, but I'd hoped the worst days were behind me. That night, I left the house in frustration with myself. I left the house and marched to the library, marched through the unlocked door, marched to the light. I was getting an advanced degree in biochemistry, and I justified my rather reckless behavior by telling myself I was merely conducting another experiment to verify and replicate the results of my previous two.

I pushed the door open. That time, I didn't lose consciousness. I could see everything with blinding clarity, except I wasn't sure what everything really was. Colors were distorted, shapes seemed magnified in peculiar manners, and hazy forms floated past me. I felt as though I'd stumbled into a surreal, absurd, messed-up painting, some demonic world designed to ensnare the curious, designed to kill cats, and I was undoubtedly a cat person. The lights were far too bright, and my eyes began to grow uncomfortable. I wondered why I didn't black out, wondered whether I'd built up some sort of tolerance to the weirdness.

I hadn't. One of the forms floated in my direction, staring without eyes, unblinking, and I felt my legs begin to crumple beneath me. I saw a knife blade flashing, I felt a sharp pain on my chest, right above my heart, right in the location of my first two scars. Something made a horrible noise, almost like a drill, and my chest began to hurt even more. There was blood, there was so much blood.

I didn't recognize my heart when they pulled it out of me. It was far too fleshy and disgusting, far too fatty. I blacked out then.

I think I woke up after that, though I'm still not quite sure. The world doesn't seem quite so real as it used to, and there are subtle differences that I can't quite describe. Maybe I'm dead, maybe I'm not quite me anymore.

There are three scars on my chest now. They hurt, a lot.

Well, my friend, I guess I should say that you shouldn’t have done this and that life is the most precious gift, if I were someone who consideres that one’s opinion should match the majority’s. But I am not that kind of person and have no retention to admit that existence can often be unbearable and excruciatingly painful, and so we have the right to put an end to it in an unusual and seemingly against nature way, by which I do not mean that we should take such desperate action whenever something petty or hurting affects us, yet the truth is that it happens, meaning that it is another cause of death, although rare and banished by religions as contradicting the universal laws, which isn’t true, for we, humans, have the ability to forestall potential threats, which has become a hindrance more than an asset, being the source of fictionalized, psychological suffering and anxiety. That also grants us a permanent, unfaillable mod to escape torment, and it is relieving to believe that we have it at our disposal, ready to use at any time, regardless of the fact that it is viewed as a cowardly decision.

I won’t mourn you, because it is meaningless; nothing can bring you back to this absurd dream called life. Unfortunately, all the rationalizing done before fails to console me completely. And I regret that you could not manage to understand that the beauty of existence lies in its apparent glacial coldness in which only you can insert joy by treating it as an illusory game in which a lot more things are permitted than we feel at first glance. Yet I cannot help but notice the fact that your reaction is the product of all the events preceding you and me, so...

I'm not afraid of my own death. The emptiness, the absence of being, the incomprehensible nothingness—it's all a frightening matter, but I can't say I'm terribly bothered by it. Perhaps I don't fully understand my own mortality, but I'd wager that none of us truly do. One day, I will die, and that will be it.

No, I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of losing the people I love. I'm afraid of existing in a world without those close to me. It's a seeping fear, one that finds its way into every crevice of my consciousness, one that infuses my mind with general nervousness and my heart with general sorrow. I'm constantly reminded of the fragility of existence, I'm always afraid that a loved one will die in some tragic accident, that they'll be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wrong place, wrong time. I couldn't prevent that sort of death, which scares me, which terrifies me. I don't want to be alone.

I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of dying in an avalanche. Dying inside a mine is a close second, but nothing tangible can outweigh the horror of snow like concrete, of snow like boulders. Even worse would be to die from asphyxiation; once the snow settles, it settles like cement, and the warm air you exhale melts a little bubble around your head, and then it freezes again, and then you die, you die just like that. Horrible. Horrifying. In middle school science, we spent some time discussing avalanche safety. It's funny, maybe, a part of the quirky and unique small mountain town educational experience, but the truth is that every single person knew at least two others who died in an avalanche. Often more.

I'm afraid of losing the people I love and I'm afraid of dying in an avalanche. These fears don't define me, I don't let them define me, but they do haunt me nonetheless. They shadow my footsteps nonetheless. I wish I could turn on a light to drive them out.

1/5/17: 7:48 PM:

Hey do you have a ps4?

Of course, i play everyday!

I finally got one, add me.

I did, but with time differences

and children we could just never

find the right time to connect.

but I can still tell you what time it is

in Guam.

2/15/17 1:35 AM:

Hey girly! Happy birthday!

Thank you!

Always the first for birthdays.

The only one who never forgets.

I still look at those messages.

When i’m sad they make me ugly cry.

3/10/17 10:45 PM:

Hey brother what’s good?

...

3/11/17 3:28 PM:

Can you send me those DBZ pics again?

...

3/12/17 6:11 AM:

Hey are you okay it’s been a minute??

...

3/12/17 6:15 AM:

has it just been busy?

...

3/12/17 6:20 AM:

Ryan’s been doing 24 hour posts.

Love you and I miss you!

...

I’m glad I got to tell you I loved you.

and every year on my birthday for

at least the last 3 years,

I look at those messages.

My birthday messages.

I cry my heart out,

until I feel a little lighter.