Tag Archive: adult


I don’t feel 35.

I don’t live in my own house. I’m not married. I don’t have any kids. I’m none of the things my mother was at 35.

I still wear my nerdy T-shirts, and I like dying my hair vivid colors. I hold down a full time job with benefits. I pay taxes. I have bought and sold a house. I’m currently paying down my last credit card and a mountain of student loans… which feels adult as fuck.

I don’t think anyone could question my adult status, but some how I still feel like an imposter. Could I be called out for not succeeding at life because I haven’t met my mother’s milestones… but what if my mom hadn’t felt obligated to start a family at 22? Would she have gone to school? Would she have worn concert tees instead of sensible shoes, or splurged on decadent brunch?

Perhaps it’s not that I am in suspended animation, as is often said of millennials. Instead, maybe this deliberate stroll into adulthood makes sense. It could be that stretching the milestone out rather than compressing them into the first 5 years after high school is a good thing. I’m not ashamed to say I have learned from the journeys of my mother and grandmothers, which I will not call mistakes.

I’m not sure if it’s the lines around my eyes or the exhaustion in my bones that make me an adult now. I am, however, pretty sure it’s not the years. Experience and maturity seem better markers than the calendar. This is my life, I am making my choices without kowtowing to the conventions of past generations, and I’m perfectly happy to be a 35-year old non-adult.


How much longer?

I’m dying.

That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Hell, it’s the only thought my chaotic mind seems to be able to latch hold of. If I’m dying then the crushing defeat seems right. The helplessness. The desperate resignation. The hollowness just south of my heart and north of my navel.

Is it bad to want this, to smile through the tears in an attempt at grim humor? Will that smile remain once I finally give up, or slide away like so many other things I’ve lost? How long till nothing’s left?

How many drinks till none of this matters? Till the whiskey burn is all I feel. Finally warm where the nerves are shot and the dull ache throbs.

How much longer till I give in?

The spinning stops. The silence is everywhere. The cold seeps back in just as the color leeches out.

As seen on https://www.aubreymarcus.com/blogs/aubrey-marcus/depression

Janie’s Darkness


As seen on pixgood.com - All rights to owner

His arm was draped carelessly across her shoulder, his thumb making smooth circles at the notch of her clavicle.  The smile upon his full lips was nothing if not sin itself, but hers was worse.  The look in her hooded eyes dripped with satisfaction and something more perhaps a bit harder to define.  Janie hadn’t felt this good in a while.  Though she was sure that the numb feeling would come back it was always worth trying to force it back and away.  Any time away from the numbness was good even if she knew that whats-his-name’s whispered promises of forever were false.  She would take the bright flashes she could grab even if when they vanished the darkness would deepen.

Sensation slowly began to creep back into Janie’s extremities giving rise to a pleasant warmth except for the chafing of his thumb drilling into her shoulder.  Two options, bark or bite.  She considered both with equal interest curious if she could get another round of romp-and-release regardless.  She teased the edge her lower lip with her teeth itching for bite. 

“The fuck you doing,” she demanded shrugging off his arm, deciding on bark.  The look of surprise whats-his-name responded with was priceless, and the solid smack reverberating through the heavily perfumed air sent a thrill down her spine.  She smiled slyly when he grabbed her wrist stopping the next blow.  “If I’m going to lose a little skin I’d rather it wasn’t from your thumb,” she teased.

“What the…”

Janie just laughed with wild abandon as she grabbed for whats-his-name, nails first, dragging herself on top of him one hand still caught by his callused grip.  In his surprise she managed to nip his lip causing his mouth to shoot open, and then they started back up in earnest. 

He tasted salty and sour like stale beer, but it didn’t stop Janie from taking the kiss deeper.  When his rough hand tangled in Janie’s hair forcing her to expose her tender throat every inch of skin tightened with goosebumps.  The moan that slipped past her teeth was breathless and encouraging as he released his grip on her wrist to trace a curvilinear path from her right breast to her navel.  Janie’s back arched as he parted her legs and thrust deep into her.  Ignoring the searing pain as she wrenched away from whats-his-name’s hold on her mussed braid she threw him on to his back and worked at her own pace.  His hands supported her till his rapid breathing matched her own then he grasped her hips and rose to meet her thrust for thrust.  They didn’t stop until every part of Janie trembled and even her scalp felt flushed.

As her heart rate slowed, his footsteps receded, and the rumpled sheets cooled Janie wasn’t sure if she was pleased with herself or not.  She had gotten more than what she had bargained for, her ears hadn’t stopped tingling yet, but still… the numbness threatened.

“Oh my God!  Sanchez… Shit!”

I turned torch and gun aimed toward Marins.  “Waddya got…” I stopped mid sentence thinking that shit wasn’t quite expletive enough to cover it.

“You kiddin’ me?  What the fu…they said BnE right?”

I could tell from his wide eyes and panicked voice that Marins needed reassurance, but I was running low.

“Rent-a-cop called in a break in right?  Right?”

“Yah 594.” It wouldn’t take a crack detective to figure the how out, based on her scorched hands and the ozone smell of burnt out wiring, but the why would be a different story. I mean what makes a person get out in the rain to trespass in an abandoned textile mill with about 50 pounds of yarn anyway?  “Better call it in Marins.”

“Oh okay just give me a sec I need to look up the code for a yarn bombing gone south.”

A bubble of hysterical laughter built in my chest till I couldn’t contain myself any longer.  “Just cut the shit and hurry up Marins if this ends up on the nightly news the kiddies are going to have Technicolor nightmares.”


All rights to owner


Sooo I have been crafting Christmas gifts for call my relatives this year which means I have been remiss in the WordPress posting department. I hope you can all forgive me, for the lack of posts and possible lack of holiday spirit in my Christmas eve post 🙂

You got to love the kind of bored/crazy that makes a person knit or crochet a giant squid suit for a tree or a bench monster.


Yarn bombers your confuse and intrigue me!

Happy Holidays y’all!


“Doesn’t that just torque your jaw?”

“I’m warning you…I’m not one of those people you can just threaten idly.  If your trying to say something, say it.”

“That the problem, isn’t it?  I said it, clear as day, and you still didn’t hear it.  I’m not taunting you, not in the conventional sense anyway, I’m goading you into paying attention.”

“Oh, is that it?  Your so smart and beyond my comprehension that I require your assistance in order to understand.  Well…bullshit!  I don’t need you, your shitty attitude, or your generous hand outs of information.”


“You like that?  Then your gonna love this sweetheart…I’m gone!”

“Good, go make something of yourself, I would love to see that!  That would fucking make my day!”

The screen door slams shut with a loud crack.  She holds her breath waiting for the angry sound of wheels crunching and spraying gravel as the beat up Chevy peels out of the driveway.  She walks to the door and watches the taillights disappear.  “Thank you,” she whispers into the night, “that’s all I wanted, and won’t it just torque your jaw when you realise it.”


As seen on shutterstock all right to owner

Becoming one of my little secrets


I don’t exist, well…technically I don’t exist.  What I mean to say is that no one who has ever met me would admit to it.  Which is basically the same thing.

It is an interesting state of being, namelessness.  It offers amazing amounts of opportunity to those creative enough to make use of it.

Let me explain.  People notice things, but not a lack of the same thing.  For instance…your car being repossessed surprises and upsets you, but its lack of repossession elicits no response.  Now more specifically dead bodies, when found, cause quite a stir.  Question after question. Was it natural, murder, suicide?  Who was this person, and how did this happen?  Who could have done this, and why?  These questions can echo out into unforeseeable situations.  However, if no body is found then no one reacts.  Of course there are exceptions, but the number of people who make as many waves by being missing as they do by being dead is relatively small.

I make the latter happen.

Do you regrettably, have a little problem that needs disposed of?  I just might know of an open grave that could be of service, a foundation ready for concrete, or a half full barrel of sulfuric acid.  And for the right price your little problem can become one of my little secrets.

So if you find yourself in a sticky situation you better wish upon a star that I find you and your bank account worthy…because Jiminy Cricket ain’t got nothing on me.

It’s never like how they show it in the movies, when things feel like they are slowing down its rarely so we can gain some clarity usually it’s because the complexity level just ratcheted up a notch.  Too much is happening and the human brain cannot sort it all out so everything slows down, not usually a good thing as it slows reaction time.  For instance, move head to avoid speeding object goes from ‘priority one’ to ‘take a number please’, really really not good, when your mind is also dealing with let’s say a bleeding arm and ringing ears.  However, there are exceptions to the rule though they are far and few between, whatever Hollywood tells you.  This…is mine. 

I am Jamie Sanger.  I grew up in a typical childhood, dad worked too much while mom took care of us kids, you know normal stuff.  I suffered through the usual young adulthood, filled with broken hearts and curfews, and now I am the quintessential 20 something adult.  My parents have divorced, I have lost between one and five friends I graduated high school with, and I work a job that grants me maybe one week’s worth of vacation time, counting sick days.  Since I suffer from that unique brand of guilt only those who have left home to purse a dream can know, I spend my meager vacation time back at my old stomping grounds.  Where I am obliged to see every family member possible while tiptoeing around my past as a form of relaxation.  However, only a small fraction of this information will be useful to you in understanding my moment of clarity A) when I travel I come home and B) I have lost friends.  Moving on.

I am taking a four day weekend to come home and see my newest batch of cousins, a housewarming at my aunt’s new modern home, and see my sister who I have missed the last two times I have visited.  As I close my eyes on my packed bags and list of “do not forgets” which I must remember to do before I leave I feel anxious about all the relaxation I will soon be dealing with, and so I dream. 

I dream of missing friends, deserted cars, and his eyes, his creepy now red now yellow burning eyes.  I wake myself up trying to articulate the words, “I hate you, I fucking hate you,” through my tears.  I thought that I was past Kelly’s murder, turns out I was wrong.  See two years back I came home with one purpose, friend time with Kelly.  However, plans often go awry.  When she neglected to show up at the airport I was pissed, when she refused to answer my calls I got worried.  They found her car, empty and deserted, and her boyfriend Trent, but not even one of Kelly’s hairs.  I can still feel the hate pouring off of Trent and his red eyes as I publicly accused him of hurting Kelly, but with no evidence Trent didn’t even see jail time.  Her murder simply dismissed as a runaway.

I have made it past the obstacle course they call an airport and now reside in seat 23B near the engine. All the loud angry burning of jet fuel creates a form of white noise which lulls me to sleep. Straight into the outstretched arms of my dreams, my twisted poignant dreams. Again I see his eyes, yellow this time, watching me from the dark as I search in vain for any scrap of Kelly in that terribly beat up old Toyota she still drove from high school. The car just sits there useless and empty clean except for the burning yellow eyes I catch marring every inch of reflective surface. I wake up thrashing as a stewardess jumps back from having leaned in to whisper ma’am at me with that itchy feeling that someone is watching. Not to far off the mark apparently as I was mumbling in my fitful sleep and disturbing the other passengers. She just wanted to make sure I was alright I’m sure that and to wake me up so I stopped whatever I was doing.

So I sit blurry eyed and drink my caffeine silently waiting for the tarmac to rush up and meet the plane signaling that I am home.

Tonight is the house warming I am expected to attend. I have slept maybe four restless hours out of the last 24, but still I pile into the car with my sister and mother. We ride in the quiet you would expect of people who knew each other well but don’t want to discuss anything meaningful. Comfortable. We walk in the dark to the door of this new modern house and I think I see a cat’s yellow stare measuring our progress. I shake my head to clear it, after all I’m tired. Through the door we meet a foyer which is unnecessarily walled off with a wall which doesn’t even reach the ceiling. Inside door number two family mingles loud and aimless. I take a seat facing the silly second door and zone out.

I could not tell you how much time passes but suddenly Trent is rushing the second door. He is shouting obscenities and threatening myself and my family. I run for the door begging for help from my nearest cousin. And then it happens. While I’m frantic with fear for my family, am physically trying to force Trent back out the door, and my mind is attempting to make sense of his verbal assault, everything slows down. I am face to face with my nightmare his vermilion eyes locked on to my amber ones, and its like I’m falling through the shards of mirrored glass I call my memory.

“I’ve seen this before.”

“What have you seen Jamie,” a disembodied male voice asks.

“Eyes look like that.”

“When, Jamie? Where have you seen this before?”

“I can’t…”

“Let yourself remember Jamie.”

The lights are the gross brightness of high wattage electric bulbs, the floor is aged broken tile, and walls are some version of faded yellow. All I can hear is the buzz of the bulbs till a faucet opens. Then harsh scrubbing and pouring water fills my ears. I force myself to open my eyes and take in the scene. I see a girl standing at the sink scrubbing her hands so hard they must have started to bleed because red water splashes over the porcelain edge. I look up and into the mirror and see the now red now yellow eyes staring back at me. The color changes keep time with the flickering harsh electric light.

“Its a reflection.”

“What is? Jamie what are you seeing?”

“It must be the blood. The blood reflecting in the eyes.”

“Whose eyes Jamie? Whose eyes do you see?”

“Red blood in amber eyes…dead eyes. Mine…my eyes…my amber eyes.”

“Jamie on the count of three I want you to wake up. Do you here me? One…two…three.”

Jamie Sanger blinked as she sat up from her reclined position on the couch and faced both Detective Halloway and Dr. Bernside. “Did the hypnosis help,” she asked excitedly, “will it be able to help find Kelly?”


As seen on DeviantART Amber Eyes by JuLyFriDay

It was nearly time.

The sun was setting in that beautiful way it could, where one gorgeous color melts into the next.  Not a sudden change from blue to black, like when the storms roll through, but rather like a ripening fruit.  The blue sky holds a yellow orb, which matures throughout the day, its skin turning orange and casting the sky pink, and then finally so ripe and red it falls from the sky bruising it in purples that tend toward midnight blue.  He couldn’t have asked for a better backdrop, Lawrence thought to himself.  He took a moment and closed his eyes letting the warmth of the sun hit his face, the light sear red even through his eyelids, and the gentle winds brush against his neck.  He sighed contentedly, sometimes things just felt right.

Opening his eyes and shading them with his right hand Lawrence watched a small pond glitter in the fading light.  An empty boat rocked against a bank of cattails just begging for a picnic, but alas today no one had headed that call.  He turned slightly to his right where a weather beaten clapboard house sagged as if it too carried the weight of being a holdout farmer.  The rows of corn waved young and green behind the structure, but no happy hardworking couple populated the covered porch or ancient rocking chairs.  One final quarter turn to his right brought Lawrence to the park. 

Cedar-Rose was no Central Park boasting exotic animals or boathouse diners.  It was just a park.  It had a few baseball diamonds, empty on this weekday evening, numerous swing sets dotting it’s rolling fields, and a fishing pond complete with wooden foot bridge.  From his hill Lawrence could see most of the park.  A man dozed at the edge of the pond waiting for a fish to bite, a family complete with laughing children and yapping dog made their way from a playground, already in covered in long shadows, toward a minivan, and a woman sat on a bench beneath a majestic oak tree. 

The slanting light of the sun at his back seemed to highlight her every feature.  She sat watching the sunset with a pair of the bluest eyes Lawrence had ever seen trying desperately to ignore the lose strands of amber colored hair which had escaped her ponytail.  Her posture suggested that she was tense, perhaps from a long day at work.  He smiled to himself as he contemplated her sitting at some interior windowless cubical counting the minutes till she could escape to the park where she would bask in the simple joy of nature. 

He loved her instantly.

Just then a strong wind blew the whole mess of her hair into her face, and once she readjusted herself Lawrence knew she had caught him staring.  It was like she were right before him then.  As if with each breath more distance fell away.  She leaned in closing the final gap.  He felt the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t dare to brush them aside.  Her eyes were wide and thoughtful, her shoulders strong, her heart open, and in that sliver of a moment she knew him.


His hands, which had been searching while his mind wandered, hit pay dirt.  The cold sting of bare metal touched him to the core.  He had found what he had come for, and now it was time.  Lawrence never paused, in case his resolve failed him. 

The motion was swift. 

The metal, cold, where it had touched his skin quickly turned into a line of molten heat.

The knife might have flashed silver in the light but he would never know, because he wanted nothing more than to hold on to that moment to her.  Because in her eyes Lawrence had found truth…an honest giving of one’s own self to another.

His eyes never left hers, not even when he hit his knees, or when the multihued evening went black…when everything else was gone Lawrence still had his sliver of a moment and that was enough.


These stories were my interpretation of a moment shared between to strangers.  Specifically because the man, Lawrence was looking for someone to share this moment with.  They never knew each other, but they will be forever connected now.  The idea was what if someone wanted you to see something, to show you something, share some event with you without your consent.  I hope you enjoyed it!

Part 1 link.


Her nerve endings burned with the need to be two places at once as she both found it impossible to look away and desperately wanted to run screaming for help…


The afternoon was as comfortable and easy as her favorite song on repeat.  Yet again Nora sat on her favorite bench watching the last hour or so of the day slip away.  She loved to sit here more than anywhere else in the park because it meant she would have to walk by the rose garden twice, because it rested beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, and because it was the only bench at a look out point, meaning she could pretty much watch anything happen anywhere in the park.  Nora took a deep breath and just sorta…soaked it all in rolling the tension out of her shoulders as she scanned the horizon.  A soft breeze wafted up from the roses tangling her honey colored hair across her face, momentarily blinding Nora.  As she shifted to keep the wind at her back something caught her attention. There was a man standing at the crest of the hill which lay due west from the park, making it the best setting for watching the sun set.  Nora could remember many evenings where she had watched the cosmic battles between the blue day sky and the waring orange and purple night sky from this vantage point, but somehow this felt different.

This man was not looking west at the gorgeous painted sky he was looking east, toward Nora. Even at such a great distance she would have bet good money that it wasn’t the tree which had caught his attention. With the sun behind him it was impossible to see the direction of his gaze, but the crawling sensation on her skin left little doubt, in Nora’s mind, that she was his focus. Immediately an internal struggle erupted within her; should she wave, walk away, or ignore the man completely. Her uncertainty froze Nora in place so completely that she nearly choked on her breath, which she seemed unable to either pull in or release. Leaning forward she scrutinized the silhouette wondering; what the man might want, why he wanted her attention, what was he doing?

The last thought sent alarms ringing through Nora’s already befuddled mind, what was he doing? The man had broken his pose, his hands searching for something, but his head never moved an inch. There was an uncomfortable feeling to the expectant silence, as if Nora had, somehow, agreed to participate in this inexplicable event but still he refused to look away, lest she break her unspoken word and bolt. So she watched, mesmerized by his need for her to watch, which was a tangible thing filling the distance between the two strangers. There was no way for her to have seen any emotion on his shadow of a face, but Nora knew when he had found what he was looking for.

There was no telltale sign or signal, no perceivable nod or motion of any kind. In a distortion of time and space it became as if the man was close enough to reach out and touch. Still shrouded by the fiery orb of the setting sun he was distinctionless, but she could feel his pain and sadness, his person nameless, but she felt a kinship as she rose to meet his need, alone in this moment Nora would be there for him. Her perspective shifted back to normal just as his arm jerked suddenly bent in an upturned angle. She watched helpless as he fell to his knees. Her left hand shot to her mouth stifling a scream the other reached for him across the acrers. Her nerve endings burned with the need to be two places at once as she both found it impossible to look away and desperately wanted to run screaming for help.

His eyes never left her’s.


Please let me know what you thought of this short story. I wanted it to be brief, but I need to know if it made sense 🙂 I am contemplating continuing the story so please please please comment. Feedback, even negative, is helpful. Thank you in advance for stopping by.


“We are looking for your answers, are we not?  You have chosen at every fork in the road, have you not?  So we would only be here if we needed to be, right?” Odella had asked questions but expected no answers as such she had never once paused.  “Now do as I said and watch with open eyes and mouth closed we will talk later.”

Llana looked out of their booth with unfocused eyes.  She told herself it was like dipping her toe in a tub to avoid plunging into either scalding or icy waters, but really she was stalling.  Everything made so much more sense now.  Of course there were people about their business in the dead of night at a place like Candlelight, by the light of day someone might recognize them or call them on their various appetites.  The thought of all the people who refused to meet her eyes earlier became as frightening as those who had stared.  Without meaning to Llana shivered with a chill which ran from the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck down her spine.  Her eyes immediately refocused.

The room they were in at the surface was like any other tavern with darkness lending privacy to the booths and candles on the small round tables throwing the patrons faces into eery relief.  However, that was where her frame of reference stopped.  The men and women who moved between the tables where dressed, a term she was using rather loosely in this instance, in various non-clothing items.  A deep blush stole across her cheeks as a woman clad only in shear scarves and tiny bells walked past blowing Llana a kiss and winking her kohl lined eye in the girl’s direction.  Stranger still was the scene unfolding upon the stage which was built to resemble an elevated three ring circus.  Contortionists undulated in rhythm to the pulsating music sliding from one suggestive pose to the next, but it was dead center that held most everyone’s attention.  There a blindfolded woman was tethered to a hoop suspended from the ceiling. 

She waited with her head hanging down her body absolutely still.

Llana turned and looked at Odella, “Are we…” but she was cut off by the sound of a gong ringing through the grimy dimness effectively ending all other sound.  Odella gestured impatiently toward the stage.  Again Llana looked at the center ring which now contained a man dressed all in crimson and the woman who now held her head tilted up, awaiting something, her body straining toward the man.  He ran his finger down her jaw line cupping her chin in the palm of his left hand.  She quivered at his touch drawn up taunt against her restraints.  As the man in red lifted his right arm Llana noticed with a gasp that he held, what appeared to be, a short riding crop. 

Wishing she was a stronger person Llana found herself watching with unblinking eyes just like the rest of the room.  The man made quite a show of tracing the braided leather over every inch of exposed skin till the poor blindfolded girl vibrated with anticipation.  Then in such a swift measured motion, that Llana nearly missed, the red man struck the woman across her curvaceous backside. 

Llana’s hands moved of their own accord to her mouth in an attempt to contain her fear for the tethered woman, but to her surprise the girl with the blindfold did not scream in anguish.  She moaned with pleasure.  A sound which flooded Llana with heat. 

Odella touched Llana’s arm nodding over to the same man covered in leather straps with sly eyes she had spoken to earlier, “It’s time to continue on, I hope you learned something.”

Llana’s only response was open mouthed silence, but she followed Odella all the same.  The three of them passed within inches of the stage, so close that she could see the fiery passion in the red man’s eyes.  Worried questions ran through Llana’s mind so quickly she could not even attempt any answers, but there was one circling her like a vulture which she could not shake.  What deeply secret part of her required answers from Candlelight?

For additional parts of this story click here.

%d bloggers like this: