Reblog: Solitary Confinement

Funny, I had a totally different idea of what I’d post tonight.  I even typed an entire post, but then delved through my archives, and found this, which seven years to the day, accurately describes my mood today.  The last week has been a tough, emotional one.

 

https://reflectionsofamisfit.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/solitary-confinement/

 

 

 

Reblog: The Beauty Within

August is Women’s Month and out of the blue at work something stirred in my soul today, telling me to reblog this post I wrote last year; that someone needs to be reminded that she is a Beautiful Warrior.  I don’t know who you are, but I hope you know that you’re special!

https://reflectionsofamisfit.wordpress.com/2018/06/08/the-beauty-within/

 

Reflective Misfit Ramblings

I’ve been a bit “unbalanced” today, not sure why, but I think it may have something to do with a hypnopompic episode I experienced last night. I went to bed early and at some stage during the night found myself in the lounge obsessed with wanting to know what the time was. I kept saying to myself It’s dark, it’s still time to sleeeeeeppp, but my brain was having none of it until I found the time. Seventeen minutes to midnight… Hallelujah, I could go back to the snugness of my bed and get at least another six hours in. I did, but I tossed and turned the whole night. When my third alarm of the morning rang, I set another. Fortunately work wasn’t demanding today, so my lack of brain-power stealthily remained under the radar.

Now, I’m sitting at my favourite writing spot, double-shot cappuccino for company, loungy-kinda music in the background being drowned out by a table of patrons clearly celebrating something and a crackling fire for warmth. I’ve blogged about fire before because flames are mesmerizing. The way they dance across the wood, creating glowing embers is almost hypnotic.

Today I finalized arrangements for a part of my upcoming-40th birthday celebrations: A vintage-style ladies’ high-tea for some of my closest girlfriends and of course, The Bean. The blokes will be included at a separate celebration (which I’ve planned as a picnic in the park, but that idea may change given the limited numbers of positive RSVP’s received). Every year I try and do something “different” from a hobo-themed party to an as Nathan jokingly refers to it “a boring meet and greet”. Last year I had a movie-themed trivia-chill night which was a great success. For those of you wondering what I looked like, here is a photo of me as The Joker. Charlie did my make-up.

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I was telling Charlie afterwards that I almost always feel “deflated” after my birthday because the actual event, while always fabulous and fun, seems to be anticlimactic, because I have so much fun planning. Today when I confirmed the number of attendees and menu options with the owner of the venue, I told her “I’m starting to get excited now.” Her reply was “You should be excited. The Germans don’t say ‘Die vorfreude ist die schonste freude’ for nothing.” Given that my German is about as good as every other European language I know, I called in my trusty friend, Google. Turns out that what the Germans say is true: The anticipation is the most beautiful joy. I love the excitement that comes with a celebration of some sort.

On the subject of celebration and mounting anticipation, I have had a dream ever since I can remember and that is to visit Victoria Falls. Shalya-Rae says it must be because of a history lesson we had in fifth grade about Livingstone and Stanley. I don’t remember it (does the memory start going at 40?!), but whether it is the reason or not for my obsession with The Smoke that Thunders, I can’t say. All I know is that I am going! In November… and I’m over the moon about it!

I had actually saved for another holiday, but things didn’t go according to plan. Initially I was disappointed, but then the opportunity to visit one of my bucket-list destinations came along. I’m not big on signs from The Universe, but this was a cosmic confirmation to realize my dream. I didn’t really waste time in making a decision. I armchair travelled with Eliza and Nathan one evening, saw the lodge and booked my spot the next day. Everything lined up perfectly. I’ve gone all out – an all inclusive package, accommodation at a five star tented lodge on the banks of the Zambezi. To say I can’t wait is an understatement.

I have told everyone that if they want to get me a birthday gift, I’d like money for my holiday, because I’d love to do the Flight of the Angels and if possible, visit the Devil’s Pool. Harriet gave me my first US Dollar and subsequently The Bean found three more which she gave to me. I’m crossing my fingers and my not-yet-sagging-boobs that it will improve.

Anyway, my dinner’s just arrived, so I’ll catch y’all on the flipside.

‘Til next time…

I See Trees of Green, and a Mystery too…

I was chatting with Yasmin and her friend, Bella a couple of days ago about a writing workshop they attended. One of the exercises they had to do was write an entire story without using the letter “E”. It sounded easy enough, but turns out, I need my “E”. I managed to string three sentences together:

I am going to Bali to drink martinis, tan and find a hot man; a man with brown hair, a round bottom and strong hands. I will kiss him on his full mouth.

When I think about it, the Fifty Shades books made millions, despite EL James’s writing style, so maybe the few lines above are the key to hitting it big on the NY Bestseller’s List. Probably not, but hey, a Misfit can dream, right? Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked there; I was imagining that hot man’s strong hands… massaging my… back…and his warm panting…and let’s leave it there, shall we?

Back to the task at hand. The no- “E” challenge shifted my brain into an inventive space. I got to thinking How can I challenge myself and my blog followers with a creative exercise? I decided to compose a story using snippet lyrics from various songs, quite a few in fact.

I’ll post the answers in a separate post sometime next week. Drop me a comment with only the number of lyrics you recognized, not the song titles. And don’t use Google! I’ll know. Trust me. I have some wicked mind-reading powers. Like right now, I’ll bet at least one of you is thinking yeah, right! And not a single on one of you is thinking Maybe she’s the Last Jedi. I’m right, aren’t I? Of course I am.

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BLACK MAGIC WOMEN

In the last moments of the dawn all that was left to eat was jambaylaya, crawfish pie, fillet gumbo, so the triplets, Susan, Jack and Diane continued their search on empty stomachs.

At the edge of the Quarter, they saw a stranger strutting into town like he(was) slinging a gun. The man was unfamiliar to them, but somehow reminded them Pete, who was known for making love to his tonic and gin. The threesome approached the man, immediately mesmerized by his gaze, like the deep blue sea, on a blue, blue day.

“Sit,” he told them gently. “Let me tell you something important. Something you must never forget. Life is bigger, bigger than you.” He continued his story while brewing a pot of tea on a portable stove, surveying the world over the rim of his teacup. “Children, be careful, she’s gonna get you from behind! Keep your eyes open all the time.” Moments later he was gone; vanished without a trace.

They’d been born in Palm Beach but had grown up in The Big Easy. They knew all about Voodoo and respected those that practiced the religion, but Mother forbade them to dabble. She was a God-fearing woman, “You don’t need that, Jesus loves you more than you will know.” And they were Mom-fearing kids. They’d seen what happened to their Papa; he was a gambling man.

The well-known town-car stopped next them. “Get in,” she told them. “Quickly! Before anyone sees you.” She was brushing her cat in (the) black limousine. Jack had had a bad feeling about this adventure, but his sisters had convinced him that Darius would find which side his future lies if Jack remained at their side. He’d reluctantly agreed, despite feeling nothing good would come of this.

“My insides are shaking,” Jack whispered to Diane. “You know me, when I know the time is right for me, I’ll cross the street, but right now, I really wish I’d stayed on the sidewalk.”

“Stop being such a baby, Bro. It’s not like we’re going to put a gun against his head. Jasaria is just going to help us; convince him that he better get that drug dealer on speed dial to cough up the truth about the E. What if we hadn’t found Susan lying on the floor where you left (her)? She could have died!” Looking at Jasaria she said, “It’s time, it’s a quarter after one.”

“Indeed, it is,” the mysterious Jasaria replied. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Remember what I told you, you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave.

And that dear readers is all for now… I’ve gotta a feeling that this story is going somewhere, and it’s not the end of Lonely Street.

I’m looking forward to reading the comments. Hope you had fun reading (and playing!)

Creative Writing: It was a Dark and Stormy Night

As I cranked up my 1988 Compaq SLT/286 laptop to write a piece for this week’s writing theme, “It was a dark and stormy night…” I gave a wide, lazy yawn. “Really! A dark and stormy night? How original!”  I’m 39 years old.  I’ve seen enough B-Grade horror movies to know that the only time anything happens to some horny teenagers is during a dark and stormy night – as if their hormones are only supercharged during such climatic weather occurrences.  Watching Jason Voorhees pick off teenagers at Camp Crystal Lake for the umpteenth time wasn’t doing much for my mood either, but it was way better than having to listen to Bella cruelly drone on and on about her pending nuptials, as if James leaving me two months ago wasn’t pain enough.

Getting up to make myself a cup of soothing Earl Grey, my routine when writing, I was reminded whilst filling the kettle that I really needed to get the kitchen tap fixed; the constant drip-drip-ddrrriiippp was driving me crazy.  My life was arduous to say the least, without still having to deal with Chinese water torture on top of it. I also needed to get myself a brand new Apple Mac when I got the refund on the honeymoon flight tickets.  I didn’t care how hard James had hunted to find that vintage laptop; it had to go!  I was keeping the Louboutins though.  My ancient feline companion, Gerry (short for Geriatric) purred in agreement as if reading my thoughts.

Teenage screams bounced off the walls as Friday the 13th continued to play to nobody in particular while I washed my hands repeatedly under ice-cold water; rubbing, no, scrubbing between my fingers, under my nails, rinsing and repeating the process until the kettle finally whistled.  I’d never had any kind of obsessive compulsion before, but ever since James left me standing in a church full of witnesses, I needed to wash my hands. Damn him! And damn her!  That hourglass shaped redhead with the emerald green eyes.  Jessica I think he said her name was. Or was it Janice?  Or Juliet? No!  It was Julietta – “like the car, just spelt differently”.  I supposed it was apt considering the first place he’d decided to have sex with her was in the backseat of a car – the very Lincoln Continental that had taken me to the church that fateful afternoon.

At last the laptop had booted up, and I opened the internal word-processor to type my tale of stereotypical mayhem when I heard thunder in the distance.  Odd for this time of the year, but still a welcome sign of much needed rain.  The wind also started to howl round the corners.  Clearly the Universe was trying to get me in the mood. Clicking on the keyboard, I began my story: It was a dark and stormy night…

Another clap of thunder hit, and the antique telephone rang at the same time.  Sighing, I rose to pick it up.

“Hello,” I said, trying not to sound exasperated, given the lateness of the hour, “Kim speaking.” The connection was crackly, no doubt a result of the looming storm. “Hello, I can’t hear you, the line is bad. Hello?  Hellooo?” Click. Silence. Shrugging my shoulders and giving Gerry an ear-scratching before I returned to the couch, the phone jangled again. “Hello, Kim speaking.  I hope you can hear me now,“ I said less-than-friendly.

“You shouldn’t be watching horror movies on dark, stormy nights, MISS Winters.” The voice on the other side was raspy, breathless and mechanical, almost like someone was using a device to alter their speech, or like Jason’s underneath his hockey mask just before he slashed another oversexed adolescent.

“Who is this?” I asked, failing abysmally to hide the terror in my voice. “Answer me, damnit!” Click. Silence again.

The phone chimed a third time, and as I picked up with “Listen here, you creep…” lighting struck and the house was plunged into velvet darkness, save for the few green words on my aged laptop’s screen:  It was a dark and stormy night.

Blood pumping through my veins, heartbeat audible in my ears, I picked up the phone receiver and listened; the alien voice was gone, but I could hear the wind in the background.  The caller was obviously mobile.  Could he be close? I needed to call for help, but I didn’t want to hang up.  The landline was my only way of knowing where, to some extent, the caller was.  I reached for my handbag, worse than a witch’s wardrobe at the best of times and located my cellphone.  The battery was dead. Sugar!  Ever since James had chosen her above me, I tore myself apart wondering what I could have done differently.  Losing the sailor’s mouth seemed like a good start, although in this situation, four letter words would be more appropriate.

Glass shattered, but with the inclement weather, and disorientating darkness, I couldn’t be sure where.  My adrenalin was in overdrive, my fight response stronger than my flight one, but granted, I didn’t know who I was up against.

Thankfully the Glock I’d inherited from my dad was in its trusty hiding place.  I opened the bread box as quietly as I could, locating the cold weapon, “I’ve got a gun, and I’m not scared to use it!” I shouted, hoping that my mock-bravado would do something to give my assailant second thoughts.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t bring a weapon of my own?” I heard a familiar voice call out.  I spun round in the eerie blackness, stepping on Gerry’s tail.  He screeched and disappeared with a hiss.  “Miss Winters, come out, come out wherever you are…”

If I could just get to the basement cellar, I could lock the door from the inside and climb through the window and get help.  I had to, or I quite possibly would end up dead. And I didn’t want to die on the eve of a new decade.

Trying not to breathe heavily for fear of being caught, I crawled towards the cellar door.  Yanking it open, I rushed inside, but the lock jammed as I turned the key.  “Oh, Miss Winters…Kimmy…I just want to play…”

“Leave me alone,” I screamed, “I will shoot you if I must!”

My nostrils filled with the smell of mildew as I took the rickety wooden steps with trepidation.  One gave way and I tumbled to the bottom, hitting my head on the concrete floor. “So this is how I die, I thought to myself, “in a dark basement, a lonely unpublished wannabe author with unworn Louboutins.” I blacked out, swallowed by the cold darkness.

The next time I saw the light, I was being strapped to a stretcher by Basil and Adrian, two paramedics I worked with.

“Trust Kimberley Winters to make an entrance that would wreck her own surprise party and bash her head in,” laughed my best friend and colleague, Susan. “Do you have any idea how much planning went into getting everyone down here?  Good think I swapped out your gun, or you’d have shot our dear old amateur drama student (and Pastor), Harold. Well, it’s past midnight, so Happy Birthday, Hun.  We’ll have you blow out your candles at the hospital.”

And that is how my forties started, not a word of a lie – with a concussion and the fanfare of ambulance sirens and flashing red lights.

 

 

 

 

 

I Need YOUR Help! Yes, You!

I should write more. That’s the consensus among the close friends I have that read my blog.  It’s not that I don’t want to write, it’s more a case of The Muse being a bigger hibernator than I am.  But, they’re right *sssshhhh don’t tell them I said that*; I’m not doing what I love on a daily basis.

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In an attempt to write more, an in so doing, pursue my passion – whether poetry, prose or anecdotes – I’m going to need help. Please would every one of you that reads this particular entry, leave a comment of what you’d like me to write about – it can be anything – I will do my utmost best to do right by you.

So, who’s first?

Solitary Confinement

(Image from:  indybay.org)

Alone with my Thoughts

I’m not my worst enemy

I’m a prisoner, an unwilling hostage

Confined by thoughts of despair and solitude

Incarcerated in the darkness of my regressive mind

Images cloud my tired mind

Some strikingly clear, others somewhat hazy

Slivered light – Dawn signals a new day

Not enough to fend off my mind’s tricks

The mildew of indescribable sadness

Fills my nostrils, making me gag

My heart aches, but no tears fall

No-one hears the silent screams of my misery

Dampness clings to my cheeks

Tears have escaped, during my sleep

I’m alone. No Love to cover me

My vivid imagination my only hope of freedom

Seated on the slimy mattress

I contemplate jumping into the chasm

At least there I will be free

Thoughts…they won’t be able to harm me

There is no prison warden

With an evil grin, nor the keys

Only I have the means to leave

I need strength to fight the loneliness

Movie of my Life

A lot of heartbreak has happened in the last few weeks.  G.T and I have apologised to one another, but what there was between us is something of the past.  In my heart I know that we may bump into each other again, but the possibility of reconciliation – romantically, or even as friends, is nil.  As hard as it is, I’m okay with it.  I am slowly getting my focus back, which feels so good!

I asked Carmen what the first word was that popped into her head and she said, “Cinema”.  My initial reaction was, “Oh-Kay?!”…but turns out that it is exactly what my Muse wanted to hear…

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Movie of my Life

 

The room is dark

Its bouquet dank

I’m alone with my thoughts

The ghosts of my life fill the other seats

 

A familiar click of the eight millimetre reel

Shifts my mind’s focus

A quick flicker of light hushes the formless voices

To concentrate on the story being told

 

Dressed in a pink baby grow and swaddled in fleece

A tiny little mite sleeps peacefully in her crib

Her Mother beams with joy, hope and pride

Little Mite’s life lies ahead, a journey, hopefully one helluva ride

 

Little Baby Bunting sitting on a bright bunnied bedspread

Squealing with delight as she plays with a cute kitten

Her laughter echoes off the walls, Her Mother smiles

Neither one of them is aware of the awaiting life-trials

 

Uniformed in red and white, smiling bright, school begins

This six year old serious child isn’t scared

She runs ahead without looking back – excited, challenged

Her Mother’s weeping so, her eyes are redly flared

 

She stares out of the bus window into the black night

The sounds and lights of the city fade into the distance

She knows in her soul this is necessary, but her heart still aches

Her Mother knows best – life can change in an instant

 

Dressed in gold and black for a final year school event

She’s transformed from petulant teen into a young woman

Her Mother smiles wishing her the best, knowing by experience

So much still lies ahead for her child in Life’s tests

 

I shut my eyes to the images on the screen

As a solitary tears escapes down my cheek

My Mother has made so many sacrifices for me

She has always been strong, even though she’s felt weak…