She threw in her whole world when she asked for a miracle... 25 wishes to be exact.

She took a "penny for your thoughts" and ran with it. As in she threw it down here.

I look up many times a day and usually only see hands from where I live down here. Living in a wishing well has not always been the plan... I definitely remember wishing to be set free and somehow, someway found my soul bound to this damn place.

I see her face peaking down at me. No one usually sees me... her eyes widen and her face goes away.

"Well, goddamn" I thought, " Did she just see me?"

I see her again, coiled black ringlets on pale skin and pink lips.

All of sudden, I taste it... I haven't tasted anything in 100 years, but I cannot mistake the metallic clang on my touch. Yes, a quarter but with it is the inexplicable taste of a human emotion I haven't tasted since I made an unwanted home down here,

hope.

The woman, or girl I cannot tell from all the way down here begins to yell, "Hello there, are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Oh honey," I thought. "If only you knew."

She waits a beat and then yells down again, "Hello can you hear me?"

No human has seen me, so it feels a bit incredible to me that I get to actual use my voice after all this time. My voice is a scratchy baritone as it floats upward.

"Well hello darlin;, can you actually see me? Did you throw in the quarter just now?"

Her eyes widen even more, I imagine she looks like a frightened doll at this point with her eyes bugging out from shock.

"Um, well yes, but I mean I don't think that is something to worry about right now, do you? You are obviously stuck, are you hurt?"

I had never had anyone ask after my wellbeing in quite sometime. I take a breath. I guess this is round 2 for trying to get the hell out of this wishing well prison.

"Oh little one... you have no idea..."

I shoot upwards finally free and stand before her. I know how I must look in short brown hair under a cap and a 3 piece suit.

Her gasp lets me know she is as confused as she has ever been, "But you, you," she looks from me to the well, eyes a steady green searching my own for answers.

I can definitely provide that and then some. "Well darlin', you asked for a miracle and by golly I think you got one."

Her second intake of breath has her gasping for air as she takes a step back, her black hair seeming to shine even in the moonlight.

"This is going to be fun," I think to myself with a smirk. "Now, let's begin shall we?"

_______________________________________________

To be continued...

If I found an idiomatic quarter, I’d pick it up, I wouldn’t flinch.

With such newfound wealth, twelve people could hear my opinion on a subject.

And I’d still have something left over to pinch.

I could choose to offer this remaining cent in exchange for your thoughts though.

Another alternative would be to just save it, consider it earned.

Or maybe I’ll travel to that copper coin’s namesake Lane to find a barber showing photographs of every head he’s had the pleasure to know.

There’s the possibility I expand my options by getting change at one of the nearby figure of speech banks.

That would give me freedom to haggle with any vendor, convincing him to lower the price of his wares.

Then politely complete my victorious, discounted purchase with a heartfelt “Thanks.”

Even with that transaction completed, I’d still be able to turn on the leftover silver piece without brakes.

Although, I should take a self-serving approach by deflecting responsibility.

And use it to buy a dozen excuses to justify my mistakes.

I’ll probably just hold on to my imaginary quarter in hopes I happen upon one more.

Because there’s always the possibility to double my monetary find.

Then I would have the same name as that rapper the Gen Z kids use to adore.

I have this idea for a book but I am unsure exactly where to start. Do I keep it pg-13 or do I dive into my want for some pretty dark romance? Do I use the book as an outlet for my current relationship questions? Writing pretty much is my therapy and I haven't picked it up in about 4 years now because I sit in front of an empty page with so much to say and no idea where to start. For the first time in my life I can honestly say I am struggling to stay sober and its never been an issue for me. Maybe it's because now with antidepressants I can't drink so I want to? who genuinely knows. I thought I might start writing again after my divorce, initiated by yours truly, but I just didn't. I thought maybe if I found more time outside of my kids but I just don't. And now I browse the challenge section looking for a little bit of spark to want to write. Congrats! This is my first post since I was a teenager. I've been rereading a lot of my old posts, and I realize that I was always a glaring red flag. I've had a hell of a year, officially being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and major depression was like an oh that's what happened that actually really makes sense and the sinking feeling that I won't ever be as close to normal as I want to be. Not that bpd can't be treated, but I will always be so so sensitive and overemotional and overdramatic, I will always feel the emotion attempt to consume me it feels so pointless at times. Anyways, back to original idea here, the book. I've had this idea for years, and it definitely requires more research into cults and structuring one to write about. I have this idea of a young woman who joined this cult to leave a tumultuous life behind with her young son, but the cult separates parents from children so that they are more moldable. The book will bounce back and forth between the son's perspective, mom's perspective, and the father's perspective. I plan to have it wrap around and say the life she left wasn't even tumultuous at all, the girl is just struggling mentally and yeah that is a reflection of me. Not that I regret leaving my marriage no, but I do often wonder if, with a lot of situations I've left, was I just overreacting or was it in fact that bad? One thing you'll learn is I just don't give up easily on anything, especially people, and that makes me a magnet for people who have no real desire to change. I tend to like my friends and significant others to be just as damaged as I am in a sense, probably because I do not know how to love me but I like to give the love I wish I could have. It tears me up every single time I do so, but I live in a constant state of crisis anyways why not? Why not turn this negativity in my head into something positive for someone else? I don't regret giving out that love because obviously they needed it, but I do regret letting it consume me to such an extent. I don't know if I should make it a one off novel or sequels. I should probably plan it but I also don't write well with a plan. It's gotta be the moment or nothing at all. I think I'll just publish it online because who reads hard copies anymore? I think I'll start on that book shortly after I am done with this challenge. Should I start it in the middle of action or should I build up the setting first? I don't like a heavy build up on setting, but I think it's important to grasp the cult vibes before it's ever called a cult. I think it would be a great movie/tv show too, but I don't know how to write screen plays. I could animate it, that would be quite fun, but I'd have to pay for animation software and learn it all over again. Animation on the computer was something I learned in high school that I actually liked it wasn't half bad. Maybe I'm just the creative type who knows? I've been talking with a friend who makes music, beats and lyrics, and I am so impressed because -

I know I was told never to play in that enormous pile of dirt at the end of our street, but that’s where I found this filthy old quarter. So what shall I do with it?

I know my Dad would be thrilled to have his very own Chicago Daily Newspaper today -- June 11, 1952. There goes five cents. Mom deserves a whole roll of those assorted flavors of life savers. Another five cents. Little brother Bobby will jump for joy if I give him a shiny new rubber ball. But that will cost a dime. I can’t forget Grandma. I know she loves the little root beer barrels at the Penny Candy Store. I think I’ll get her four of those. That will leave me with one penny, and I know what I’ll do with that.

Dad promised that on the 4th of July, he will take us all to see the Buckingham Fountain in downtown Chicago. He said if you toss a coin into the fountain, you get to make a wish. Please don’t tell anyone. My wish will be to find another quarter.

I know now, as perhaps I startlingly have always known,

that I shall never be happy with my body until I no longer have it.

It is morbid, the idea of the same soul looking down on a body so healthy, so good to its heart, with nothing but contempt. I know when I am old, and sat with joints and bone protruding the wrong way that I will be sorry for how I have treated it. Scarred it. Starved it.

Today I weighed myself, and I clutched at the sides of fat that weren't there when I was seventeen. But of course, I didn't have clarity or stability then. Would I exchange the body I had when I was so mentally ill I did little more then pass through my days, for the community and creation I now have?

No. And even with exercise and eating right, I will never be that weight again. Because I am not sick like that now. I refuse to be. And while half of my mind objects, that skinny seventeen year old that loiters somewhere within my chest rattles at the bars of my ribs like a cage, begging I do not become such a thing again.

I notice her. I cry. I cry some more for the state I am seven years later.

And I eat. I drink. I live.

Sally seems nice. Maybe I should see if she wants to hang out sometime? She might say yes, and wouldn’t it be cool to have someone nice to sit with at the park; someone to feed the squirrels with, and to watch the mallards bob?

Of course she might say no, which would sting. Could be she’s not so nice. Could be that she’s simply being polite and doesn’t like me at all? Rejection sucks. She might even laugh, or call me a creep. Then she would tell Anne I’m a creep, and Anne would tell Cindy, and Cindy would post it on the internet. Soon everyone would think I’m a creep and I’d be cancelled, so that no one would want to hang out.

But she might like the park; listening to the kids play, and laughing as the lucky dogs run past, tugging their humans with their leads? And there’s that one bench by the water that’s just perfect when the sun is setting, when the geese decide to cackle off towards it, their sprinting feet rippling it’s reflection across the still water. Who wouldn’t like that?

She’d probably just think I’m cheap though, that I’m asking her to the park because I can’t afford to take her out to dinner or something?

And maybe I am cheap. I mean, who wants to spend a hundred bucks to find out if someone is cool to hang around with?

But then, what if she really is nice? What if it’s worth a hundred bucks to get to know her? Wouldn’t that be awesome?

But then again, what if she wants to hang out again tomorrow, and expects another dinner? Another hundred bucks? I’d quickly go broke!

”Sigh.”

Maybe I should ask her if she wants to hang out, and then let her decide on dinner or the park? That would leave us the other activity for the next time, if there was to be a next time?

But then she might think I’m weak and indecisive, that I’m not putting in enough effort. A guy should at least be capable of planning a date, shouldn’t he?

But does it have to be a date? Can’t it be just hanging out?

“Sigh,” again.

Sally seems nice, but I think I’ll pass.

It’s easier and cheaper to hook up with some nameless chick on Tinder while enjoying the park alone.

What if someday never arrives? I have been thinking a lot about control. The illusion of it and the safety in it as well. The helplessness that ensues when you finally realize you cannot control everything or everyone.

My friends lost their baby this week. They are the nicest people and this was their first baby. Delivery was for this week... then my friends and I get a text. They lost their baby. A girl. They had decided to not find out the gender until the due date arrives.

What do you say to that? I pray, I know not everyone does but all I can think of is, I will pray for you. I don't know what else to say. Maybe that is okay. Maybe sometimes there are no words. there is only the action of being there and sitting with your loved ones in their grief. I cannot begin to understand and I can seek to understand but only when they are ready and wanting to share.

But I still sit with this feeling of helplessness. I think because of past experiences/traumas in my own life having control is became the source of safety. If I can control my relationships, if my romantic relationship do not progress, or if I don't date at all, I am safe from harm. But what a way to live huh?

I hope one day I can give up on this illusion and sit with the helplessness that ensues. Would that mean I finally embrace what being human really is? Is that what being a human is?

So I sit here on my couch, going between crying and numbness. I wish I could do something, I wish for a lot of things.

So if someday never arrives, what will I do to make sure my life has meaning?

I will write,

I will show up for my loved ones,

I will accept the unacceptable fact that you cannot heal the world with a broken heart... or even a whole one for that matter.

--- Poem time---

Poem for your thoughts?

coins down a well with no ending

if there is no ending where do we even begin?

Come to the wishing well darlin'

throw in your hopes and dreams

and I will throw in mine,

maybe our bound forevers

will become bound together

maybe we can finally find the "more"

that was always present but never seen.

Maybe, maybe maybe,

I guess that is the whole point of a wishing well now isn't it?

------- food for thought---

If food was a time machine

I would eat my Nonna's pasta until the day I die

which would be prolonged by the fact that I will travel back in time

see the eyes of my young Nonna, hard and determined

a nurse with broad shoulders and a stubbornness to boot.

Who stood toe to toe to doctors, protected her older sister fiercely

doesn't matter she was older, my Nonna would never let anyone trample over her.

As I get older I wish I had that sort of toughness that grit. I think in some respect we all wish that we could different from our current selves. Sometimes i think it is such a fickle feeling. I wish I could just enjoy the me in this current moment.

I suppose wishing is a good place to start.

So many thoughts, if I were ever to become a poet, my book would be 3,000 pages long hahaha... but really it would be more long winded than having a conversation with me. I like to turn the attention on the person talking, sharing a little about myself but mostly hearing another the other person, mostly letting them speak. Usually this is pretty easy to do, other times its as if they know what I am doing. I am not saying I am not an interesting person I just don't like talking about myself all that much.

Oh well would you look at that perfect timing as I write about myself... my time is up hehe ;)

I asked the CEO of a very successful, growing company if she would trade her life with anyone else. Without hesitation, she talked about the poor coffee farmer she observed while on a mission trip to Guatemala last week. “I would love to experience the joy that man expressed when talking about his life.” He was surrounded by his six kids and wife who needed daily care for her medical situation which is worsening. He invited me to come for a glass of water to his house, which was mainly built of sticks and cardboard and could not withstand the gentlest storm.

So what did he say that would make a billionaire want to trade places with him? Something about the love that consumes him from morning ’til night and the belief that eternal bliss is waiting for all of them.

Awaiting ambulance to transport assailant (victim?) from Albertsons parking lot to county morgue.

According to witnesses, Subject A was walking from the store, carrying a bag of groceries, when Subject B approached him. The situation quickly escalated when both subjects began trading barbs.

According to Subject A, Subject B claimed to have a concealed weapon and demanded money.

Witnesses did not corroborate Subject A's statement.

According to witnesses, Subject A set his bag of groceries on the ground. When he rose, he grabbed from the bag a head of celery by the stalks and swung it at subject B's head. The force of the blow knocked Subject B to the ground. After Subject B fell, Subject A continued to beat Subject B's head with the celery.

Subject A corroborates the witness statements.

When we arrived on the scene, Subject A was still standing above Subject B with the bloodied remains of a head of celery in his right hand. Subject B's head was beaten beyond recognition. We confirmed that Subject B is deceased. No weapons were found on Subject B, but he had a carrot in each front pocket of his jacket.

We are taking Subject A into custody and charging him with battery, murder, and illicit and disproportional use of a head of celery as a weapon of defense (offense?). Subject A does not have a concealed celery license.

3/18/2025

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