Fuck you. I would have ended the letter there but that would indicate I’m a lady with few words. Perhaps I’m a lady with few wholesome ones but I can assure you that I am never short of vile ones. The thought of you squirming while reading fuck you brought a tiny splash of delight to my day. I would have left you with those two fine words -words I cherish, words you despise but then that would give you a reason to reply and frankly I could give a shit for lack of a better word. You’d prefer “care less” but I could give a shit about your haughty uptight appreciation for clean words or your mundane use of them. And while you take a gander in your safe cluster of words I will go ahead and pick pocket any insidious, undesirably yummy word I can think of just to ignite the ball of fury within what you consider a skeleton with vital organs- one being a heart. Do you have one? How do you feel? I prefer soulless, blah blah boring empty carcass. It has a better ring to it. You may not think so. You’re dead inside and so are your words. They don’t have passion or an appetite. They’re not voluptuous or sensual, nor do they drive one to sink their teeth in them. They’re not filled with lust. They’re not thirsty. They haven’t got balls or an urge. They don’t chase you until you’re out of breath. They don’t ache, desire, or tempt. They don’t penetrate the mind with emotion. They haven’t got vitality nor do they bounce about with pizazz. In fact, your words shrivel up the moment they leave your mouth because they lack life. I suppose the only way to save your words from dying is to pop your bubble wrap containing them. I will free them. I will expose them to a tongue, which isn’t afraid to lather itself in shock and disdain- a tongue which pleasures itself in getting dirty.
The girl who plays with fire
Remember when someone said this to you and it was only a figure of speech? Let’s hope tomorrow’s events turn out the way we’re hoping they will and the above remains as a figure of speech. In case the world does end tomorrow, I’m posting this today. In case it’s my last, I just want to thank ya’ll for reading. If we live to see December 22nd, then ignore what I’ve just said.
(Photo Credit: http://www.oddstuffmagazine.com)
We’ve all been there. Don’t you lie to yourself or to me. You’ve all gone above and beyond or done something useless to get something useful out of it at some point in your life. I decided to formulate a list of some of those things. I’m a writer. I make lists. It’s in my blood.
1. Leave a note under your pillow which says: win the lottery
2. Wearing your lucky underwear on exam day. They don’t get you lucky but they get you an A.
3. Owning a lucky pen. It wasn’t always your lucky pen but ever since you started getting straight A’s it’s all of a sudden earned the name. I can relate to this one. In my second year of university I had this pen. In that year I scored straight A’s on everything. It had nothing to do with my intense studying or devotion. No. It was the pen. This pen was so ratty and old that it was on its last leg. I couldn’t let it fail me. I still had one more month of the semester left. Then I lost it. The pen. I lost the pen, not my mind. Well, maybe a little of that too. Either I lost the pen or someone conspired against me and stole it. I still don’t know what happened to it. Whoever that thief is, they’re one lucky son of a gun.
4. I make a wish at 11:11. Sometimes my wishes come true, sometimes they don’t but I usually blame it on the fact that I didn’t wish hard enough or I was distracted by a squirrel.
5. Leave unusually early to get somewhere afraid that a meteor may hit and conveniently crash into the lane of traffic I’m driving in.
6. I sometimes wish that something won’t happen, so that it happens. For example, when I applied for school, I was all like naaa I’m not getting in and then I got in! Or after a date I’ll be like, naa he won’t call and ask me out again. And then he does. And then I make a wish at 11:11 to cover my tracks.
7. Go out of your way to assist your jerk boss so that maybe one day instead of giving you chocolates, he’ll give you a raise just so that questions like this: “How do I copy and paste this?” will become more bearable. And really? I’ve showed you that a million times Mr. Boss and even wrote you instructions. My grandmother knows how to do that and she doesn’t even own a computer.
8. Smile and laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. Why? Because you want people to think you like them so that they will like you back. But in reality you should really tell them that they should keep their day job and refrain from dabbling into a career which is even remotely close to being a comedian. It’s a waste of time because eventually their jokes make you hate them.
9. Listen to a song which reminds you of the boy you fell in love with or the snack you fell in love with. Lately, having a thang for snacks has worked its way into the equation. Red Hot Chili Peppers…mmm McDonalds. Who cares about Jack. He’s old news.
10. You’re sad but you can’t cry. All you want to do is get a good cry out of the sad situation that’s just occurred, but it doesn’t happen. Now you have to start planning your cry. You put on a sad song, something like Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley and you make your way over to the mirror. You look at yourself square in the eye. The weirdo that you are needs proof of your hard work. And no one likes a heaver. Leave the heaver to beaver. Just look yourself square in the eye, in the mirror, and tell yourself you’ve got this. You’re such a strong weakling.
11. Hang out at a coffee shop. Next, creep and do not creep out the quirky handsome dude in the corner who is soooo mysterious and artsy. And you like that. Make a trip to the book store and buy said quirky books. Sit in plain view of him. If someone is sitting in the seat you had zoned for your creeping needs, execute plan B. Nonchalantly shove innocent sitter out of the seat. Position your lap top so that he sees that you’re not only a reader but also into Indie music and you loveee art. You could just go talk to him and save yourself the strategic creepy planning and pain, or pain of innocent coffee shop patrons and talk to him. No- Do.Not.Speak.To.Him. You must do unnecessary things to get the necessary thing.
12. Post some rather obvious to you and not-so-obvious to him things in your Facebook status. Oh he likes dogs. You do too, now. He’s an activist? You’ve conveniently volunteered for Save the Children.
13. You’re a woman and you have to prove that you’re strong and independent. Yeah, I’ve been guilty of this. Don’t open the door for me, ever. I hate that shit. And don’t offer to carry those heavy boxes for me. I’ve got it. And just when I think I do, the kind man who just wanted to help me is now a witness to a feminist tumbling down the stairs.
14.You read tons of advice things like: 10 signs he’s into you, 5 signs he wants to hump you, 100 signs he wants sprinkle fairy dust on you and make you his. You’re a sucker for these articles in those magazines. You’ll even spend your lunch money on them because inside those shiny pages lies the answer to all of your problems. They are after all freakin’ mind readers. Now you won’t look like a fool if you start winking at him or staring at him awkwardly because he wants you. Hormone exploiters!
15. You avoid parts of the neighbourhood on your morning or evening jogs, fearful your crush might see you. Just your luck- he decides to take his dog for a walk just as your sweaty, boob-flopping, self is jogging by. Lovely.
16. You get a head start on an assignment and miss the class it’s due in, to finish it, only to find out on the day it’s due that your generous professor announced a week extension during the class that you missed. Should have gone, should have gone.
17. You get all ready and dolled up, and even bought a new outfit for your date. An hour before you’re supposed to meet up, he cancels. Apparently he was too sick. Two days later a mutual friend posts a picture on Facebook. Lo and behold, there he is gleaming, looking healthy, and club rattin’ it up.
18. You read your horoscope. You’re all like “Oh my god that’s so me” and conveniently enough, all of the other Taurus’ seem to have had the same predicament, same kind of day, and also in store for something special in the future. That something special never happens. Stop doing this to us!
Another far-fetched post, by me, M.T.
Do you have anything to add to this list?
(Photo Credit: http://www.123rf.com)
Today, a certain nosey someone at the coffee shop poked his nose around my table to sniff out what I was doing. He decided that his question was important enough to interrupt my writing flow. I lied. It wasn’t important at all but apparently it was to him. He asked: “Why are you always here?” I replied, “Because I’m stalking you.” Well, I didn’t but I wanted to. Sometimes, well most of the time, my smart mouth doesn’t always work in my favor so I’ve learned to lock it up. Anyway, I politely answered, “I’m writing.” A few questions that followed were a little annoying, so I won’t bore you with those but the question, which stood out to me as funny and a little thoughtless, if you will, was this: “Why write?” He almost suffocated me with his arrogance, almost, but I managed to gasp for air and wave that stinky sticky question out of my face. I simply replied: “I write because I must.” I was short and to the point and he didn’t have much to say. Mission accomplished. With that, he filled up with air and deflated like a helium balloon. In my head, in my head he deflated like a helium balloon. Sometimes my imagination does what it must to add humor to some trying times.
After my annoying stranger-friend found something better to do, something dawned on me. I’m addicted to writing. At least I think I am. I write because I must echoed in the foreground of my mind, venomously. I repeated it over and over in my head. From the depth of writer’s land a flounder of words emerged. I exclaimed, “Damn you coffee shop stranger, damn you.” As I drowned out the relentless echo, I settled my fists of fury and collected myself. Alright, maybe this didn’t exactly happen. Perhaps I should save the theatrics for a game of charades, you say? Okay, deal.
I don’t remember why my addiction started or when it started, but I have an inkling that Stephen King may have something to do with it. Upon researching how to be the best you can be at your craft one day, I came across this quote by him, which read: “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut.” This system has worked, for the most part. It’s become the method to my madness. There’s just one tiny problem. I can’t stop writing. Someone please help! I don’t want to be one of those people sitting across from a group leader who says with a confident grin, “Welcome to Writer’s Anonymous” and I don’t want to be one of those people who replies: “Hi, my name is M.T. and I’m here because I’m addicted to writing.” Is there even such a thing? Geez, what if there is? Should I check myself into rehab, into W.W.A? How much is too much? I suppose the first step to getting clean is admitting you have a problem. Here are some of the dreadful things I’m guilty of…
1.Five minutes before 5:00 p.m. I get all jittery and excited. Am I excited to see my drop-dead handsome dream man for our fancy shmancy date? Nope. I’m all jittery and excited to leave work to go write (cue in wah, wah, wah).
2. If I’m inspired, I have to write. There’s no doubt about it. Thank goodness for memo-pads on cell phones. It’s saved this crazy addict from diving off the deep end for a piece of paper and a pen.
3. When I’m on a roll I’m sure as hell and ready to annihilate anyone that interrupts me or even sneezes in my presence.
4. I won’t rest until I write.
5. Sometimes I write like the end of the world is approaching and the only thing left to do is write. Although, if the end of the world happened, my writing definitely wouldn’t survive it. Well, you know what I mean- it’s a figure of speech people!
6. Is it bad to admit that I’ve cancelled plans once or twice when I’ve felt a good idea brewing? Pathetic, I know.
7. My notebook looks like a crack head went AWOL.
8. I often, well more than often, find time during the day at work to write. Shh, my boss doesn’t know. Well maybe he does, but he won’t say anything because of #3. He knows.
9. My mood swings and irritability are a result of not being productive enough or not completing my writing goal for the day.
10. It gets my heart-a-racin’, especially after I’ve completed a perfectly formed sentence, found the right words to match my ideas, or when I’ve managed to pull it together after an all-nighter. Nothing makes me happier than seeing a coherent chef-d’oeuvre of words. I get a rush that surges through my body. It’s an exhilarating feeling most would compare to sex. Did I just compare writing to sex? Oh. My. God. Maybe this is worse than I thought.
Alright, so maybe I am addicted to writing, just maybe. The list above could be a pretty clear indication, I suppose. Most of this post is far-fetched. I’m sure you could sense that. Maybe that too is a characteristic of an addict. Anyway, some people have used writing as their means for recovering from drug or alcohol addiction, but what happens when writing becomes your addiction? Is there another outlet you can plug into to wean you off of writing? Is it safe to say that writing is a healthy addiction? I suppose I’ll leave the questions to the experts. Excuse me while I end this post. I need to get another fix.
Question for you: What is something that you would hate to go without for a day? For a lifetime?
I saw this posted somewhere and it made me giggle. After I finished giggling the lady within me with her hands on her hips said “Wait a minute, something’s missing from this picture.” What about the ladies who meet and then marry their
prince in shining armour only to discover that once they’re married their husband is anything but charming, neat and ummm marriage material. Some men might have to give up some of the above but what about our lady friends? It gave me the idea to write my own (sorry boys, I had to).
Listening to music while writing is a simple pleasure, as long as it’s not corny 80’s music or Ke$ha- then it’s dreadful.
You heard her. Writing gets done a lot quicker when there’s coffee involved. When I’m writing on empty everyone knows to steer clear of me. I need coffee. My writing needs coffee.
It’s that golden moment when an ingenious idea pops up in your head and you’re half in the bag. Waking up the next morning with your face on the floor and a ridiculous story saved on your computer may be a sign that you’ve seen better days. Not so clever after all. Don’t drink and write. On second thought, why not? You might have a good laugh and it may be the one thing you don’t regret.
We’ve all been there. We’ve all been maddened by an ice cream craving. There are those that crave ice cream when they’re on a diet and then there are those that crave ice cream when they’re writing. I’ve been both. Writing and ice cream don’t mix. Unless you have a drool guard. I don’t. My paper always ends up soggy.
Looks refreshing doesn’t it? Your lap top doesn’t think so. Neither did mine a year ago. Writing and water don’t mix, especially when you’re clumsy like me.
Blowing bubbles. This one gets me every time. Ever end up with gum stuck to your paper? It’s not fun to peel off. But it’s fun to blow bubbles
No one likes a crier. No one likes witnessing a crier while writing. Shit is weird.
Windy days and writing…two words: stay inside. It only took one time for me to learn my lesson. Let me tell you, it’s not fun to chase your work after it’s taken flight. As you can see, it wasn’t a good day for this guy <-
Seriously? Writing next to a fire? You’re just asking for it. Next.
Riding a bike while writing sounds like fun…until someone gets hurt.
Writing in a moving car = car sickness. It’s a recipe for disaster. No one likes the backseat of their car decorated in your vomit.
She may be smiling but you won’t be. Talking on the phone and writing don’t mix. Take it from me. This one time I tried to do both at once and ended up with bits and pieces of the conversation I just had in an essay I was writing.
Writing near loud talkers is like hearing nails on a chalkboard. Ughh get them away from me!
And of course when all else fails…