What Is It You Are Avoiding At This Point In Time?

A fellow blogger, Reena Saxena, asked this question in her Exploration Challenge. This question stopped me dead in my tracks. Well, my reading, thinking, tracks.

It made me wonder – what am I avoiding at this point in time? How about a bunch. A passel. More than I could put into one post.

But really, this isn’t true. Saying there are too many things to count is just another way of avoiding. If there are too many, why bother? Let’s just toss the question aside and move on.

Which, in itself, is a cop-out. So is my life an endless circles of cop-outs?

I sincerely hope not, but what do I know? I can’t even list avoided ‘things.’

So, if I brave up and seriously think about the question, what do I find?

I find I am avoiding the world right now. But no, that’s quite true. I am avoiding myself. I am out of work and feeling like anybody else in the world can get a job except me. I am often told, so-and-so called this place and got a job.  She put in an application here and got a job. He interviewed here and got hired. And on and on.

I’m told, “With your skills, you will have no problem finding a job.” Truth is, I don’t have a job. Where are these ‘no problem’ jobs?

So what the hell is wrong with me?

Sorry, got carried away there.

But I hope you get the point. Which isn’t, by the way, me freaking out about the job, but that I’m avoiding the whys or hows or whens. I don’t want to face myself if I’m somebody who can no longer get a job. If a medical mistake had changed the entirety of who I am.

I don’t want to face myself as I stand on the threshold of financial failure. The Bi-Polar me doesn’t even know how to see myself anymore.

Who am I? This is what I am avoiding.

Am I better knowing this? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s safer to pretend.

So, then, the question is:

Am I willing to stop pretending?

I don’t know.

I do know I am thankful to Reena for asking the question in the first place.

What are you avoiding at this point in time?

 

Here is the link to Reena’s challenge

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction – January 8th 2017

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible.

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They sat quiet, button eyes staring, fur smooth beneath her stroking hand. They hadn’t been loved enough to show the caress of a child’s grubby hand. The tight hugs of comfort. The bare patches, the shifted stuffing, the lost eyes, hadn’t yet touched them in their casual yet honest lounge against the pillows.

She picked them up, kissing each lightly before settling them down, arranging teddy bear limbs just so. Her own bear lay in the bottom of a drawer, patches holding him together for one more day. Button eye lost but still smiling.

Mandy would never hug a bear, whisper secrets into cloth ears late into the night. Still, she liked to think that maybe, in her dreams, Mandy had whispered her hopes and fears. She needed to know something remained of her baby. Something in these three bears, some love, some hope, some unknowing happiness. Something tiny tucked deep inside.

The bears sat on the bed for the rest of her life, accepting the kisses she would never give her child.

 

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Fish

Fish

He threw the fish up on the bank with a puff of dust. It flopped for a moment then stilled. I remember daddy telling me fish can’t breathe air; out of the water they drown. I watched it flop and then lay still, gasping. Drowning in a people’s world.

Splashing out of the water, he looked at the fish, toed it with his boot, let out a curse. “Ain’t enough on this one to eat,” he growled, gathering up his gear and moving down the river to try again.

I stayed with the fish. Maybe it was playing dead? Maybe somehow it kept just enough water inside itself that, once our backs were turned, it would slither down to the water and swim off, a wiser fish for having been caught.

But it lay still, eyes blind, too small to eat, yet not too small to catch. Reaching out a hand, I touched its side. It’s scales felt smooth and damp, fins sharp along the edges and along it’s back. What kind of fish was it?  Had it had a family? Friends?

I didn’t know if fish has such things as families and friends, but I felt sure they must have. Had daddy looked like this when he was dead? My sister wouldn’t let me see him and so I imagined he had looked like this, sleek and beautiful, drowning in air.

Picking the fish up, I brought him to my nose, fishy smell taking me back to daddy’s boat, nets folded, desk cleaned for the next days fishing. He promised when I turned eleven, he would take me out to watch the fishing. I was fascinated with the nets and he let me play among them as long as I didn’t tangle them. Everything smelt of fish and sweat and daddy.

Somebody took the boat away the next day.

When he drowned in the air, my sister had him burnt. I couldn’t understand how my big daddy fit into such a little container. Where are his legs, I asked my sister. In the urn. Where are his arms which held me tight, swing me up into the air when he’d come home from a good day fishing? In the urn. His smile? In the urn.

A boat took us away from the coast. My sister clutched the urn, looking out over the sea. I stood beside her, holding to the stiff material of her shirt. When the boat stopped, she turned to me.

“This is where he wanted to be,” she told me. Knelt down. “Do you understand, Jonny? Father is dead and we are burying him at sea. This,” she held out the urn, “is all that remains except what we remember.  We will always remember him, Jonny, always.”

She hugged me.  “Don’t ever forget. Don’t ever forget.”

She poured some of him into my hands and stood, urn on the railing.

“Goodbye, Father,” she whispered as she turned the urn over. He floated out, tiny grey sparkles of him, catching the winds, tumbling down to the water and gone.

I looked at the handful of daddy in my hands. I wouldn’t let him go. If I never dropped the ash in my hand, he would never leave. I’d carry him in my pocket forever.

“Come on, Jonny, hurry up.”

As she turned to walk away, I dropped daddy into my pocket. Maybe when I was eleven, we could still go out and fish. I could hold his pole for him. I would be eleven, old enough to hold the pole.

Picking up the dead fish, I walked to the edge of the river, looked into its eyes one more time. “I don’t have anything to put you in,” I whispered and gave it a kiss. “Will you find my daddy for me? He’ll take care of you.”

And then I slid him into the water, watching his tiny body drift away on the current. I lifted my hand in farewell and he was gone.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Week 5-31 through 6-6-2016

photo-20160530071438626

photo-20160530071502073Barbara Taylor supplied the prompt photo this week.

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.

5. Pingback to the challenge post in your story’s post.

 

 

It was the view which drew him back to New York. As happy as he had been living in Colorado, nothing felt as much like home as this city. The city’s charms might not hold him forever, but for now, they would do. It was the fall of the Twin Towers that drove him away. He’d known people in the towers. His girlfriend had called to tell him she loved him and goodbye. And then, silence. The most god-awful silence he’d ever heard in his life.

“Mike?”

He turned, smiling at the redhead coming towards him.

“Tiff!”  He wrapped her in his arms. “I missed you.”

 

 

Quote For The Day 6-30-2015

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Today’s Quote is dedicated to the memory of Keith Bean.  His light has gone out, leaving darkness where he once was.  I shall miss you, my friend.