Comfort

Blogtember 20th- "React to this term: comfort"

source

 I guess I think about how a little comfort can go a long way. Comfort is a way to ease pain (physically or mentally). It is way to remove stress and frustration for just a little while. I work with very special children who struggle and face challenges on a daily basis. Some have autism, some have cerebral palsy, some have Usher's syndrome, some have CHARGE syndrome, some are intellectually disabled, some have to be fed through tubes, some are legally blind and all of them are deaf.

Some times, they struggle with communicating their basic wants and needs. This can be very frustrating, scary, and dangerous at times.

 Imagine you have a splinter in your big toe and it is hurting like heck but your arms are paralyzed and you speak a totally different language than those around you. You try and try to explain about your splinter. All you want to do is have someone remove it for you so the pain will stop. Instead of helping, people get mad at you or they assume you are talking about something else. They might say, "Oh, you want something to drink?" You cant move your arms or hands so the "helper" brings the water to your mouth and tries to make you drink. You jerk your head back and stare at your foot, hoping they will follow your eye gaze.
But they don't.
They try the water thing again.

This happens over and over and you eventually can't take it any more. You get so frustrated you start banging your legs against the ground. Someone comes over to you and tries to stop your kicking.  they grab your foot,  and unknowingly press down on the toe with the splinter. You scream in pain. They jump back in surprise. Then they get upset. Their brow furrows and their face turns red. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" They scream. You don't understand their words but you understand the tone of their voice. Now you are scared.

Someone else comes over, sees that you are frustrated, scared and possibly in pain. They don't know what is wrong, but they can see how upset you are. They sit next to you and gently put their arm around you. You lay your head on their shoulder and cry for a little while.
You start to feel a little better because the person next to you is comforting you. Comforting you from your mental anguish. They don't know about the splinter but they are not trying to force water down your throat either.

After you relax a bit, the comforter looks you in the eyes and waits for you to communicate. You slowly move your eyes to look at your foot. They follow your gaze and point to your shoe. You nod your head yes. They untie the laces and remove your shoe. You continue to stare at your foot until they remove the sock. Now they can see the splinter and they remove it. The relief is immediate. Comfort from physical pain.

Situations very close to this scenerio happen on a daily basis at my job. Some people naturally know how to be kind, patient, and comfort and others are ignorant and act like prison guards. The second type of person does not last long at my work place.

: )

Red

Blogtember 19th - Creative writing day: Write a (very short) story fictional story that starts with the sentence "to say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."


To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.  I mean, it would be weird if I were anticipating murdering someone at the dinner party. Normal people dread having to do something as awful as taking a life, right?  They put people away who enjoy murder. Lock them up and call them psychotic.  I guess they put people away for murder even if they did not enjoy the act of killing...but only if those people get caught. I do not plan on getting caught. I don't plan on enjoying the murder either (though deep inside I am scared I might).

As I put on my black a-line dress, the one I bought to wear at my best friend's funeral a year prior, I went trough the plan in my head for the 100th time. I would be sure and make small talk with everyone at the party. While asking about this person's children and that person's promotion, I would mention how I was "doing much better now" and that "therapy really has been a great help." It is what they all wanted to hear, even if it were untrue.

 Including myself and the hosts, there were twelve guests set to attend the party. My best friend's husband and I were the only two single people attending so the hostess planned to seat the two of  us across from each other. I reminded myself that I would have to keep the look of hate out of my eyes while talking with him. Meditation did not help heal the wounds caused by finding my best friend moments after she had been hit by a car, but it had helped me to keep my facial expressions neutral in moments of extreme stress and rage. My best friend's husband and I  had known each other for 15 years and if he even saw a flicker of disdain across my face, the slightest tightening of my mouth, or even a quick furrow of my brow he would know that I knew his awful secret.

And then it would be over.

I pulled the zipper up the back of my dress I thought about how I wished I found out that he was responsible for her death immediately after it happened. Maybe then I could have gone to the police and perhaps they would even believe me (even with my past). But I was slow to pick up on the clues and it is too late for law and order now. The "accident" went down on the books as a hit-and-run. Public opinion was that it was a drunk driver who hit my friend as she walked home from the mailbox on that sunny September morning. Moments after she had been hit, I pulled up to her house and found her crumpled up like a broken doll in the middle of the road. The first thing I noticed when I ran up to her body was that she was missing a shoe. Not the blood nor the impossible angle her head had come to rest, but her one shoeless foot. The police later found the shoe about 15 yards away in someone's begonias.
I wanted to keep it, but they wouldn't let me. 

I rotated my lipstick up out of the tube and began to smooth it across my lips. It was the same shade I had picked out for my friend to wear in her casket. Even with a broken neck and a massive head wound the mortician was able to patch her up and make her presentable. He asked her husband what to dress her in (he chose a simple white dress) and I insisted that she wear her favorite red lipstick. It was the only shade she ever wore so when I found the tube of peony pink in her husband's car a week after her death my curiosity was peaked. One thing led to another and I eventually found out he had been cheating on her. I was crushed. "how could anybody cheat on her?" I thought? "She was so good...so nice to me."
When I found out he was cheating with a married woman who had claimed to be a "friend", I was furious! My best friend never knew she had been betrayed. She never knew her husband and her "friend" had paid someone to kill her and make it look like an accident. She died thinking everything was ok. She died wearing one shoe.
And now I was going to the house of the woman who had been cheating with my best friend's husband. Her husband was clueless about the affair and clueless about the murder. Lucky bastard.
I picked up the knife and placed it in my clutch. Only one thing was left uncertain; would I kill that bitch before she served dessert or after?

My Day in Photos

Blogtember 18th- "Photos Only"

Rendezvous

Blogtember 17th, "a memory you would love to relive" 

I was 21. A group of us had gone to the Easter Bash in Lubbock, Texas. Easter Bash, at the time, was a big party thrown on some dude's property. Bands would play, people would burn couches, and everybody drank way too much.

Dale and I had recently started dating but had not told any of our friends yet. I can't exactly remember why. Doesn't really matter now anyhow.

We, along with our group of friends, established a spot amongst the field full of party goers. We set up chairs, tapped our keg, and began to settled in. Before we even got to the party, Dale and I had planned on getting away from the group to be alone. We planned on each leaving the group at different times and then meeting behind the stage (where the bands were playing). I got up and said I was going to the bathroom. I made my way through the crowd. I remember the weather was nice. Not too windy but certainly breezy. The sun was out and the grass on the fella's property was green and needed mowing. I went behind the stage and waited.

I was so anxious. My heart was beating faster than normal and I swear I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. Then, I saw Dale walking towards me. I smiled. He smiled.

He came up to me and put his arms around me. I probably looked down because I was still shy around him. I remember looking at his forearm right before he slipped it behind the small of my back.
And then, we kissed. And kissed.

We walked around in the field behind the stage, just he and I...holding hands. Talking and laughing. We only had  a short amount of time together before we had to go back to the group.

It was perfect...that time alone with each other. That afternoon. That Dale.

I don't have pictures from that particular Easter Bash, but I do have pictures from around that time (with a few blurred faces of those I am no longer in contact with):



Our group of friends. This was a year before Dale and I began dating. 



Dale and I weeks before we began dating


Dale and I with out group of friends


The night of my 21st birthday. Dale and I began dating a month later.

Self with Sushi

Blogtember 13th- "self portrait"

It's Friday, people. I don't have the energy to take a fantastic self portrait. Instead, I will use these I took with my computer (yesterday) as I was eating a sushi snack:

And a creepy full length mirror shot (complete with flash) 

That's an old school type selfie right there.