Weight of My World

I am mentally exhausted and yet I can not sleep.

It's amazing how quickly life can change. I once heard it said that life is what happens when something else is planned. Boy, is that ever true.

I've seen changes in many directions since the spring of 2009, but never in my life has it had such an impact on my mental state or emotions. I find myself drained - lacking all motivation or drive, wondering what's going to happen, knowing that my entire life hangs in the balance, resting comfortably in the hands of someone other than me.

I have nobody to blame but myself. I put myself in this situation. But I can't hang in the balance too much longer. I MUST do something about this, and I will.

I've always been a strong person, even when I didn't know it. It took a precious friend to point that out to me recently, and I can't thank her enough for that. I always find that I have that fire in my belly when I need it most ,and I know when the time comes it will return full force. I've done and seen enough in this life to know how to survive with nothing but the clothes on my back, and though I really wouldn't want to ever be there again, I know I would pull through it just fine as I always have before.

I often wonder if I was ever really meant to be happy. While I often screw things up for myself and I have a long history of poor choices, I've also been known to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've had it all, only to have it pulled out from under me like a Persian rug. I've given up so very, very much, only to get very little in return. I've been promised the world and denied everything but food and shelter in the same breath.

I've been too trusting, too patient, too loving and too generous. Well, I just don't seem to learn. Time and time again I find myself wondering what I've done wrong and what I've done so bad in my life to end up feeling like this, feeling like my whole world is crumbling around me, crushing me under the weight of the world. It's not the first time I've found myself wondering what's going to happen to me.

I have an enormous weight on my shoulders right now and I can NOT lift it on my own - YET. I can feel that strength bubbling up, but right now it hasn't even gotten past my calf muscles. I know, without a doubt, that by the time the fire bubbles to my finger tips, I will have all the strength I need to hurl that weight off my shoulders and straight to the moon.

It's not here yet, but it's not long in coming. When it gets here - look out world - THE REDHEAD WILL BE BACK IN ACTION.

October 1 2009

Simple flashback - I wrote this on October 1st of last year. I won't likely forget this day anytime soon.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I wasn't feeling well the other day (not sick, just internal issues) and y boss told me to go home, he would pay me anyway. I didn't want them to rack up overtime for someone else because of me so I stuck it out. I guess that spoke volumes of my work ethic and now they are more determined than ever to keep me around. It's a great feeling. Finally, a job and boss that believes in me. Yay!

Well, I ended up getting worse during the day. By the time I got home I was walking around the house like Quasimodo. I went to the Emergency Room last night... turned out it was my kidneys. I have such a severe infection that it's spread throughout my body making it hard to swallow and, at times, even breathe. They said I should be in EXCRUTIATING pain, unable to walk, much less drive myself to the ER. They said there was no way I had worked the past two days on my feet like this and the Doc said I had to be lying about it. I guess I've got a high tolerance for pain. The guy was blown away when he asked what I had been taking for the pain and I said nothing. "Not even Aspirin?" Obviously he hadn't read my file... I'm allergic to aspirin. But I hadn't even taken Tylenol. I'm practically choking on the stuff now, forcing it down my throat as quickly as I can because it just got so intense I couldn't take it anymore. If I have a high tolerance for pain and feel like this NOW, I don't ever want to know what it's like to be someone else and be at this stage. For that matter, I don't ever want to revisit this pain in my own skin.

I took 800 mg of Ibuprofen last night and it made me nearly delirious. I said something to a friend of mine over the phone about wanting a body pillow with a face on it so I wouldn't be so lonely while I was sick. I'm wondering where that came from, though I clearly remember saying it and thinking it was a perfectly normal thing to say. I was most adamant about it having a face.

I guess it goes without saying that I took the day off work today... but I plan on going back tomorrow. The ER doc gave me some Sulfur based antibiotics... I'm also allergic to penicillin. I truly hope that does the trick, because my roommate is moving his wife in and I have to be out by then. I'm screwed and can't save up money for rent. I also think that there's been some sort of confusion about rent. I paid $500 last WEEK and was told by him that it was for last MONTH. So that means I owe another $500 THIS week. Sounds to me like I'm getting screwed over - especially if they need me to save up so that I can move out soon. I can't even find a place I can afford, much less save up for a deposit.

The doctor said I need to see a specialist and get some blood work done. I don't know how much that's going to cost for a girl without medical insurance yet. Another 23 days and I will have insurance, but if there IS something seriously wrong with me, it will be seen as a pre-existing condition if I go in now. When I do get it, my insurance wont take care of a pre-existing problem. I can't afford to screw up my credit again the way I did for a life-and-death cyst many years ago. I'm still recovering from the credit issues there.

So, I'm in bed for the day, searching for any comfortable position I can get, and finding that to be an unreasonable and unrealistic mission.

The moral of the story here - it doesn't matter how much water and cranberry juice you drink (those are my two favorite drinks in the whole world) you can still develop MAJOR kidney problems. The kidneys and other internal organs are things ya really don't want to mess around with. If you've got pains and you know it's not just a sore muscle - GO TO THE DOCTOR....

Wired Shut

While I was White Water Rafting down the middle of the Colorado River, my mother was getting surgery on her jaw. I wasn't there for the surgery so I don't know what the rest of the family was going through - only what happened once I got back. It's a memory I had forgotten long ago until my memory was jogged while writing my story about the White Water Weggie.

Dad had to do all the cooking in the house for a while. Mom was on some incredibly strong pain killers. Her jaw had been broken in two places and moved forward a quarter of an inch on both sides. The doctors said her lower jaw had stopped growing when she was about 7 years old. The surgery was necessary.

She was on a liquid diet while the wires held her jaws clamped together. She could barely mumble out the words she wanted to say, and for the first few days upon my return she had to write everything down on a notebook and have us read it. This was more than unpleasant for her. She was miserable. Even her liquid diet had to be taken with a syringe. I won't go into details about how it operated, but everything had to somehow end up behind her wired teeth.

Laughing, or even smiling, was incredibly painful for her. She smiled quite often when I was young. She still loves to laugh. This was one of the hardest tasks bestowed upon the family, not to say or do anything funny around her for a total of 6 weeks. When a family is as strange and funny as mine is, I'm sure you can imagine how often we had to walk away from her in order to stop from causing her pain at something we had thought of or wanted to say.

We all pitched in around the house. My brother and I did the laundry (except the unmentionables they hid in the bedroom until Dad had a chance to take care of them), we would cook on the occasion Dad was gone and it was just us taking care of her, but most of the time he did the cooking while she was laid up. We would get her books from the book shelf, fetch the TV remote, grab fresh pillows and blankets and just take care of her the best we could. After all, she had always done that for us when we were sick.

Mom was in the living room one day when I started to hear this gurgling scream coming from the back of her throat. I was standing in the kitchen at the time getting her a drink. I had no idea what was going on, but I went charging into the living room, full steam ahead. She sat there with tears rolling down her face holding her jaw on both sides.

"TRN IT UFF!" She screamed at me behind clenched jaws. "Trn it uff! Trn it uff!" She screamed over and over, trying to kick the TV remote over to me. She was sobbing!

Without even noticing what it was she had been watching, I switched the TV off as quickly as possible and sat down at her feet, wanting more than anything to make her feel better. She was obviously in agony.

Suddenly her eyes lit up and she giggled. That made her scream again and the tears once more rolled down her cheeks. Then she giggled again, which made her cry again. It was a wicked cycle she went through for a good ten minutes. It wasn't funny, and I hated seeing my mother in pain, but her occasional giggles made me want to giggle, which I knew would be even worse because everyone knows giggles are infectious. Finally I had to excuse myself and walk back into the other room. There, I burried my face in a hand towel and giggled to my hearts content. By the time I went back into the room, she was doing much better. She looked up at me and whimpered "I'm sorry," as best she could through the mesh in her teeth.

"What happened?" I asked innocently enough. I shouldn't have. At the mere thought of whatever it was, she giggled again and the whole viscious cycle repeated once more.

Weeks after the brutal mess was taken out of her mouth, she told me what had made her laugh so hard that day.

"Manda, you know how I don't like vulgar comedians?"

"Yeah," I said, knowing even the "S" word or using the word Hell too often would drive her insane.

"What I was watching that day was by accident. I was flipping through the channels and I came across this comedian talking about how he once knew a guy who had all of his fingers on both hands cut off in a saw mill accident."

"Well that doesn't sound funny at all!"

"He said that the guy took up being a thief because he couldn't find a job since all he had were two thumbs. He said the guy would steal donuts all the time." She mimicked the action he would have needed to use by holding her thumb up in the air, stabbing through the center hole of an imaginary donut and holding it proudly over her head." Finally he stole donuts from a shop that all the cops ate at all the time, and it made them all mad so they arrested him.

"Well, he decided later on that he was going to clean up his act and go straight. The problem was that he still couldn't find work with only two thumbs. He couldn't dig ditches or type or do anything for anyone without fingers. Frustrated, he decided he'd start over in another town. Without fingers though, he couldn't grab a steering wheel and so he couldn't drive. Instead, he decided to take up hitchiking."

At this point I was already grinning ear to ear over her hand movements describing the donut thief. While continuing the story, she had carefully folded all of her fingers inward, making sure to poke ther thumbs out as far as possible. She looked like Fonzy from Happy Days. Suddenly she started laughing hysterically.

"Hitchiking?" I asked.

"Yeah - he was great at flagging down the cars with that thumb sticking out" she waved her hand through the air again mimicking the actions needed, including stabbing at an imaginary door handle with her thumb, "but once they got pulled over he couldn't get the car doors open! Finally he got frustrated and yelled at them 'Oh Hell, just go on!'"

My mother roared, and her laughter made me light up as bright as a Christmas tree. I laughed right along beside her. I always loved to hear her laugh.

She swore that day she would find out who that comedian was so she could watch the show again, but try as I might I can't seem to find it anywhere on the internet, to purchase or watch on Youtube. I can't help but think that would have been a great birthday gift for her this year.

If anyone out there has any
information on the comedian
I'm talking about, please
contact me with a link - either
on facebook or by leaving a
comment below. Any and all
help is greatly appreciated.

The Bronson File

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and enrolled in the school for "troubled" kids because of my running away as a teenager. I was in the second semester of the 11th grade when this took place. My attendance was terrible, my grades were even worse. I had given up on school, friends, grades and everything in general other than taking care of myself. Some would say I was depressed - but in a secret reality, I was going through withdrawals.



I was put on ritalin against the Doctors orders at the age of four and a half. By the time I was fifteen, I knew that I didn't like how it made me feel. I stopped taking them all together. Mom started counting the pills every day, so I started flushing them down the toilet. I didn't know what withdrawals were, but I felt like wearing black every day. I went through terrible mood swings where I would lash out for no apparent reason. I would often get angry and scream at my parents for the smallest things. I never got away with that, though.



Convinced I was on drugs (when really I had taken myself off of drugs) my parents started taking me to shrinks on the military base. They prescribed Klonopin, Paxil, Prozac and a myriad of other mind and emotion numbing drugs. I refused to take those, too. I flushed them down the toilet every day, right along side the Ritalin.



One night I got into trouble for something. I don't even remember what it was. I was told to go down to my room while my parents discussed the punishment. Wanting desperately to show them exactly what the drugs would do to me if I ever actually took them, I took only one tablet of Klonopin. Even I didn't know what the effects would be. By the time I was to report upstairs for the punishment, my eyes were fully dialated. The suspicions only grew. They had me pegged as being a dope fiend and searched my bedroom that night for any illegal narcotics. The only things they found were the things they were trying to force me into taking. It worked just as I had wanted to. They got off of my case about drugs. They still wanted me to take my prescriptions just before bedtime so nobody saw my dialated eyes, but I still refused. I continued to flush them down each day, or grind them into dust and sprinkle them in the yard. There were a few happy birds flitting around for a while when I did that.



At the alternative school I started to run into people I hadn't seen in a few years. I had gone to school with some kids in Jr High that suddenly disappeared, much the way I did in the 11th grade. Of course I had few friends the entire time I lived in Utah, so I was used to spending my time alone. That suddenly changed at my new school. All of the Social Outcast kids banned together. We didn't pick on one another no matter what our ailments were. The kid with Coke Bottle glasses was treated with equal dignity as the girl with head gear (me) and the former Football player, kicked out of his school for trying Steroids. We were all equals, standing on equal turf. Nobody was better than anyone else. I was in heaven.



At Washington High, I was voted "Sweetest Girl" in the school, and my dear friend Trent Heckman was voted "Sweetest Guy" so our photo was taken for the year book. I had friends who talked to me in each class. I had teachers that would treat me like an equal instead of like a plague. I didn't realize for a long time what the core difference was between Washington and Bonneville, but when it dawned on me, it hit like a ton of bricks. We weren't Mormon.



We came from all walks of life. We were a collection of Catholics, Methodist, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim and a variety of other religions. The teachers were as well. We were Military kids, mostly - brought together in the middle of Ogden, Utah because of the simple reason that we were of a different religion.



I've always been a part of the Majority. To have suddenly been thrust into a Minority group because of the church my family went to (or rather, didn't go to) didn't make sense to me. I learned how to cope with it quickly enough though. I made friends all over my school and became one of the most popular kids there. Nobody made fun of me anymore, people asked me for help on English assignments, teachers praised me and my attendance became legendary.



I ended up making friends with a Bronson Babbit after a couple of months. I had known Bronson for a little while in the 7th grade, but like so many I knew, he suddenly disappeared. It turned out that they had moved, and later on was forced to go to Washington like all the rest. He had been a bit of a nerd boy when I knew him before, but I didn't even know who he was when he called out my name in the hallway one day.



"Amanda," he said, "is that you?"



"Yeah, do I know you?"



"It's me. Bronson."



"Bronson who?"



"Bronson Babbit. 7th grade."



He brushed his long hair out of his face, curled his upper lip into a snarling smile, and squinted slightly. Instantly I knew who he was, even with the eye liner and sweat band bracelets.



The very next time I ran away from home after being violently attacked by my mother in the parking lot of the school, I went to Bronson's house. That time I had decided to take my dog Cookie with me. She was such a lovely dog, I couldn't just leave her behind. My parents had threatened to get rid of her if I ran away again. I refused to let anything happen to her. I smuggled her on the city bus by sticking her inside a duffle bag and carrying her like I would a suitcase full of clothes. She never made a sound.



Bronson's family were kind to me. They lived in a small trailer in a Mobile Home court and were fine with me bringing Cookie with me. She got along with Bronson's mother very well and becamse a member of the family very quickly.



The family lived off of Hamburger Helper at almost every meal. They were all fairly heavy set, including Bronson, but their hearts were good and they took care of me. I was free to come and go as I pleased and continued going to school each day. My attendance remained steady, never missing a class.



Finally, and quite suddenly, Bronson's family had to move and I was forced to move on alone. Without anywhere else to go, I finally made the long trek home to my mother and father. I hated no having options.



Cookie was happy to see my mother, but I certainly wasn't. They had cleaned out my room, getting rid of everything I owned except for a mattress on the floor and the clothes I was wearing. I didn't even have a door on my bedroom anymore.



That started another jouney for me - one that would take me over a state border and over 600 miles from home... but that's another story. That's the story of Byron Miller, a story I've never told to another living soul. I'm not proud of it and I did a terrible thing, but I'm ready to tell the truth.



Stay tuned.

Living Italian

The second time I was considered to be a teen run away, I was actually placed in another home for two weeks by the Police for suspected child abuse.

My father had gotten very angry at me for not taking out the trash one day and found me sitting in the family room with my feet up on the coffee table watching the Simpson's, much as I'm doing right this very second. He tucked the toe of his boot under my knee and shoved hard. Some would say he had kicked me. At the time, I said he had kicked me. He honestly didn't. Then he picked me up off of the couch by my ponytail. He then threw me to the floor by it, not intending for me to land on the rock mantle of the fireplace, but indeed that is where I collapsed.

My knee was swollen the following day. I sat in my English class massaging it during the teachers lecture. The girl that sat next to me in class asked me what was wrong. I'd never talked to her before other than asking her once what the teacher had said about hyperbolas for my notes. For some odd reason I decided to tell her everything. I even embellished a bit to make the story more interesting. The next thing I knew, I was being rushed to Tirzah Tolman's house that day after school and the Police had taken a full report on everything.

It was only a week before my 17th birthday when all of this happened. Without planning, without warning, I was suddenly thrust into another home, all because I told the Police that I didn't want to leave home. They took it as a sign that I was afraid of my parents. When I told them my Father didn't hurt me, that I had been stupid and kicked a post the day before trying to show off my martial arts training, they didn't believe me. My leg had been fully extended before I made contact with the post and I felt a pain screaming through my leg, radiating out from my knee like thousands of needles covered in acid and fire. That night when my father pushed my legs off of the coffee table with the toe of his boot, he had no idea that I was already in severe pain. I had done it to myself. The Police thought I was singing the familiar tune of a tumble down the stairs when I told them all about it. I was looked at by them like a kid that had told a story of walking into a door handle with his eye.

Tirzah's family was amazing. She had two sisters that just adored me right off the bat. Both of her parents were teachers and were under the same impression as the Police. I decided just to not talk about what had happened. I was tired of people looking at me with sympathy like I was a pathetic child afraid of the world and all it had to offer. I finally just shut up about it all together and stopped trying to defend my family.

I was given a list of chores. The bathroom downstairs was my responsibility to clean twice a week from top to bottom and spot clean every day. I would sweep the floor in the kitchen on the even days, and on the odd days I would vacuum the living room. Tirzah and I traded off for these chores, while her two little sisters, still in grade school, had the simple chores of cleaning their rooms, clearing off the dinner table, and sweeping the front porch daily. Everyone in the family pitched in. We even gathered each night to read a passage of the Bible. For the first time in two years, I felt like I was a part of something, like I was a part of a family.

When my birthday came, every member in the family had gifts for me. Tirzah gave me a beautiful purse / backpack in black faux leather. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. Her sister Rebecca gave me a candle. It was a Cinnamon Apple candle to be more precise. To this day a Cinnamon Apple candle reminds me of that birthday and of Tirzah's family. I was there such a short time and truly grew to love every one of them.

The Police came by only a few days later and told me that they were sending me home. Their investigation had turned up no results. They told the Tolman family that I had "made everything up" and I needed to go home. They actually apologized to the Tolman's, telling them that it was a shame they had to put up with me for so long over something that I had clearly made up. Tirzah never spoke to me again - but for two weeks, I didn't just have a sister, but three sisters and a real family.

I often think about Tirzah and wonder where she is. I hope her sisters lived up to their brilliant potential. I wish Tirzah all the good things life has to offer. She was such a kind girl to take in a relative stranger when she thought I was in trouble. May she never loose that divine spark and the desire to help others. She, and her entire family, were wonderful.

First Date

I was a teen run away.

I started at 16 years old and never really stopped until a few years ago. Finally, after spending almost half of my life running from the monster under the bed, I got tired of it. I ended the pattern with a new approach to life in general. It was a gradual change, I suppose. Though to me it seems to have happened almost over night, almost like I simply... woke up.

The first time I ran away, I was only 15 years old. My parents were coming down on me really hard and accusing me of things I had never even thought of doing. I had been accused of being on drugs since I was 13 years old and didn't even know what marijuana looked like. By the time I was 15 all of my parents friends thought I was sleeping around with anyone and everyone. In reality, I was still a virgin. More than once my mother threatened to take me to the doctors to verify that fact, but my parents never followed through with that threat. I wish they had.

I stayed with a male friend of mine the first time I ran away. He lived just down the street and his mom was out of town for a couple of weeks. I stayed in his room and he slept on the couch during that time. I always thought that was very kind of him. I had a huge crush on him at the time, but that never became an issue. We never so much as held hands. I knew what people would say and think if it became common knowledge, so we did what we had to in order to prevent people from finding out. That was the moment I knew I could trust Steve with my life.

I was working at Wendy's in Roy, Utah at the time. It was easily 3 miles from Steve's house, and I walked to work every single day while I stayed with him. I would work my entire shift, then turn around and walk back down the hill toward my temporary home. For the first time in my life, I felt a taste of freedom and I loved it. I couldn't imagine life any other way, and from that moment on, that was all I wanted. I wanted to have a chance to go to work and go home, to take care of myself, come and go as I pleased and know that I never once had to sacrifice my morals in order to accomplish my day to day life.

One night while working the change window at the Wendy's drive thru, a guy from school came in to the restaurant. He knew that I looked familiar and asked which school I went to. Right off the bat I knew who he was. I was amazed he even looked my direction. The Libby's were popular kids in school, and I was scum in the bottom of the tank of small fish in the big school. When he asked for my phone number and invited me to go play miniature golf, I thought it must be a joke!

We had a glorious time that night. We played miniature golf for the first time in my life. We stayed out until around 9:30 at night and then went over to his cousins house, where we sat in a group of 5, watching a favorite Disney movie. I was tired from work though and ended up falling asleep on the couch, my head leaned back against a very soft pillow. When Andrew woke me up later on to drive me home, I was incredibly embarrassed that I had fallen asleep in the first place.

I kissed Andrew on the cheek and for some reason I expected a call from him the next day. The call didn't come that day or the next. Nor did it come the next week, and by the time I had gone back home to my parents, I had all but forgotten about Andrew. I could only think that perhaps he didn't have fun with me, or he simply didn't like me.

When school started back up, I passed Andrew in the hallway one day. I said hello, he looked in my direction and simply nodded. He didn't say hello, he didn't smile. He didn't even really seem to recognize me at all! I was crushed. I had actually had a lot of fun, and Andrew Libby was my first date.

There's a strange unspoken rule still very much alive in the small town in which I lived. I wasn't a part of the religion, and I wasn't willing to convert. To many people (not all, but many) that was like having a swastika tattooed on my forehead. Andrew Libby found out somehow that I wasn't a member of the same religion, and because of that simple fact, was told not to speak to me again.

Steve remained my best friend for many years. When the world turned its back on me, he was my brother. When things went well for me, he was there to pat me on the back. There were times that Steve was more of a family to me than my own family was. I'll always love Steve for that.

Steve's little brother was another story though... Dan and I were involved in Breaking and Entering a private property. But that's another story.

Mine for Tonight

Hold on to me
Lead me on all you like
I’ll smile for you now,
But you’ll leave me later tonight.

Keep reaching for my hand.
It’s here for you to hold
I can feel myself falling for you
But I shouldn’t be so bold.

Tell me I’m the only one.
Leave me with a smile.
Later I’ll have time for doubts.
I want to be happy a while.

Spend all the time you can
Taking me out with you.
It’s not until we’re really apart
That I’m ever feeling blue.

I know I’m not the only one.
You’ve told me that yourself.
I’ll mourn the day I loose you
And you place me upon that shelf.

But for now you’re mine each day
I’ll never take that for granted
I’ll smile at you and kiss your neck
And hope to God you're enchanted.

You’re mine for tonight.
I’ll hold you as long as you allow.
I’ll run my fingers through your hair
And live for here and now...



Amanda Martin
08/07/06

C-L-A-S-S

Something I've learned in all of my travels is that everyone has a story. From the little girl down the way that got exited over finding a penny on the floor in the milk aisle to the homeless man sitting on the bench outside. Sometimes all they need is a chance to be heard.

Colton sits outside every day of his life. He brings his wheelchair everywhere he goes. Every possession he owns often sits in the seat of that wheelchair when he isn't in it himself. His thick red beard shines in the sun over his rawhide, leathery skin. I don't think Colton owns shoes. Instead he dons dark blue corduroy slippers every time I see him. His smile is filled with rotting shards of teeth, but he lights up everything around him when he does smile. His blue green eyes are full of pain and misery, but also life, joy and adventures past.

"You wanna know the definition of class," he asked me today as I shared my standard greeting with him. His eyes instantly turned bloodshot and began to water. Fearful of what he would tell me, I couldn't help but be curious about his story. I've long been a believer that everyone had a story. Being a story teller myself, I was curious about his.

"Sure," I responded, almost reluctantly. The conversation we had before this was about suicide 1-800 callers. It had been a rather serious talk. Was the definition of class actually a touch of sarcasm?

"I'll tell you about class," he said, and smiled weakly. "If I can keep myself from crying." He wiped at his eyes as they were beginning to trickle down his face a bit like dew streaming from tall blades of grass. As they mingled with his beard, the color of the hair darkened to resemble that of a western sunset.

"My wife was an amazing woman," he said, as he wiped his eyes again. "I came home from work one day to find her waiting for me. She told me to get changed because we were going out. Let me tell you, Honey. Don't ever tell a man that you're going out and not tell him where you're going. It'll drive a man crazy. If you want to drive a man crazy, just do that to him, it works every time." He smiled, the shattered picket fence teeth glowing the color of a ripe papaya. I smiled back.

"Anyway, I told her that I needed to know where we were goin' because I didn't know what to wear. She told me to dress nice 'cause she was takin' me some place nice. I got dressed and we left. She still wouldn't tell me where we were goin'.

"She took me to a really nice restaurant. From our table we could see the cliffs and the ocean and the waves crashing. It was really nice. I'll never forget it. We both ordered Strawberry Margaritas. We sat there for a long time just talkin'. God, I loved her. She was so beautiful.

"You know how Margaritas separate when they've been sitting for a while? The ice starts to float at the top and the liquid all goes to the bottom? Everyone stirs their Margarita with the straws, right? So I started to stir my Margarita. I heard something in the glass go 'clink' and I asked what the Hell it was. She looked just as surprised as I did.

"I cussed a bit under my breath and told her to flag down the waiter if she could. I tried to fish out the piece of glass from my drink by working at it with the straw I had. I thought it must be a piece of a beer bottle, because whatever it was, it was a darker color and I couldn't see much of it. The Margarita was really thick.

"Do you know what it was," he paused, looking up at me. His eyes glistened with fresh tears. My heart could only guess, but I allowed him to tell me.

"What was it," I asked.

"A wedding ring." His face crinkled into a painful grimace. "It was a damned wedding ring." He sobbed once. "That's class for you. C-L-A-S-S." He spelled the individual letters out, his voice breaking on the second S. My heart went out to him. Against my better judgement, I asked the question I was dying to know.

"What happened to her, Colton?"

"She killed herself."

It's the first time in many years I was so moved by the story of a homeless man that I did something for him. When I went inside to purchase my case of bottled water, I bought him some soup and gave him one of the bottles from my case. As I walked back outside and handed him the gifts, he smiled at me once more. His eyes were dry, his heart had healed and he was the same Colton I had known from before.

"You're a sweetheart," he said to me, his picket fence teeth showing broadly. "Thanks, Honey." I said goodbye and walked back to my car. As I drove away, I waved to Colton. He shouted after me, "I love you Honey," and laughed.

Everyone out there has a story to tell.... all we need to do is listen. Sometimes it can change the whole world for someone else.

Blind Mans Bluff

Mike and Travis were twins that had my heart from the day we met. I was in the 5th grade and the brothers had different classes. Mike was in my class while Travis was in the rival 5th grade room. It goes without saying that Mike had my undivided attention. When Mike asked me to 'go out' with him, it was still at the youthful age when kids didn't hold hands. We just called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

I doted on Mike. He was a bit chunky and short while Travis was tall and lean, but they had identical faces and I adored them both. They were sweet and handsome, kind and genuine. They were also rather popular in class. Both were considered to be the class clowns.

When Valentines Day rolled around, Mike and I had been 'going out' for about two months. He didn't want anyone to know, including his own brother, because I wasn't one of the popular girls. He was afraid it would damage his reputation. I found out on Valentines Day that he also had a crush on another girl in our class.

When the class got done handing out all of the Valentines cards to each of the other students, we all got back in our seats for a fun activity. Mike stayed a little long at Summer Sparks desk, though - and my curiosity got the better of me. I watched as Mike pulled a little black velvet box out of his pocket and set it on her desk before walking away. The teacher asked all of us to take our seats, looking directly at Mike as he did.

Summer opened the little velvet box and her jaw fell open. I had to wait until recess to find out what was inside, but when I found out I was furious. Mike had given her a small silver ring made entirely of entwined hearts. I wanted to slap him across the face!

Patience took hold of me though. I knew I would get my revenge. I just had to wait and be patient.

The following week as we were walking to lunch, I asked Mike if he wanted to play Blind Man's Bluff. He asked what that was and I explained the game.

"You have to walk with your eyes closed and I will guide you by putting my hands on your shoulders and tell you what's coming up. Then you do the same to me. You go first."

"Ok," he said, blindly trusting me. He still didn't know I was aware of the ring he had left on Summer Sparks' desk. He closed his eyes and I stood beside him, my hands on his shoulders.

As we walked slowly to the lunch room, I guided him over rocks and pavement, grass and tree roots. Just as I could tell he was starting to relax and truly trust me, I did something despicable. I walked him straight into a brick wall, nose first.

Mike fell backward, landing like a lead weight, heaped on the ground. He fell with a thud, right on his bottom. His eyes popped open, flooded with tears. He reached both hands up to his face and held his now bleeding nose. For a split second, I felt badly about what I had done. Then the image of the velvet box entered my mind and suddenly remorse didn't exist. I felt justified.

"Oh," I exclaimed with false worry, "are you ok, Mike?" I clasped my hands over my mouth to cover the smile I felt working its way onto my face.

"Whadya do that for?" he asked, stunned. Suddenly I exploded. What good was my revenge if he didn't understand why I had sought it in the first place?

"Why'd you give Summer Sparks a silver ring with hearts all over it?"

Mike's jaw fell slack. He stared up at me, incredulous.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I saw the ring. Why did you give Summer a ring and just gave me the same paper Valentine you gave all the other girls in class?"

"My brother won that in a quarter machine. He's going out with Summer. I didn't give it to her, Travis asked me to drop it off at her desk! Travis gave it to her!"

Shame and remorse kicked in full force - and I never sought revenge against anyone ever again.

Night Thoughts

The Beep beep beep as a truck backs up somewhere in the distance...
The rumble of the motor when it finally stops, purring somewhere in the darkness...
The sounds of the passing cars on the street...
A truck revs its motor at a stop light, ready to roar off into the night...

I hear it all from my bedroom on the third floor.
I see it all clearly from the window.
These things that would annoy or pester most everyone I know are the things that lull me to sleep at night when I'm laying here alone.

It's nights like this I miss having someone there with me the most. He's out there, and I can only pray he's thinking of me right now, too... waiting for me, wishing for me... wanting me...

I close my eyes and let the slight dizziness from complete exhaustion take over me for a moment. When I open my eyes again, dawn will have broken and the world will be waking up again. I will have made it through another lonely night.

Someday ...
Someday it wont be like this.
When that someday comes, it will never be like this again.

Sleep, take me now. Guide me into sweet thoughts and dreams. Let me see, if only for a few hours with my eyes closed, exactly the way I imagine life should be.

The Wreck

"... and here we are, going round in circles, wondering if the lie will be discovered. I’ve told some big ones, but never really on this grand of a scale. And to what end? Actually, strangely enough, it covers her tail end in several different directions. She’s a crazy one. Perhaps someday she’ll let more people in on the secret, but for now it’s only me. For now she won’t even tell her own family. For now, nobody knows. Nobody but herself, me, and the driver of the small pick up truck that crashed into us..."

Exerpt from my book three days before Heathers death.

Old Injury

I missed my blog post today and knew that I had to put something up for you guys before midnight. Briefly I'll tell you why I missed out today and have about 15 minutes to make up for it...

About 10 years ago when I was pregnant, I was climbing up into a very high pickup truck in order to head to the Doctors for an appointment. As I braced with my left hand in order to climb up, I eased myself onto the running board. I lost my balance. I felt and heard a distinctive "snap" in my wrist - I had snapped a ligament.

I didn't go to the doctors for my wrist. I ignored it and just took it easy for a while. The pain wasn't much and didn't think it warranted a visit. Today, and in fact for the past week, I've been wishing that I hadn't been so stubborn about it back then.

I've worn an ace bandage around my wrist for the past week. It began to hurt around my thumb and eventually I started to loose my strength in that hand. It elevated to intense pain anytime my wrist bent in even the slightest degree.

This morning I bought a wrist brace and now I'm having a very hard time typing at all. Still, here I am telling you my stories each day because I know you're out there waiting, listening, reading and wondering where I am.

I'm here - but I'm hurting. Please be patient with me. I'll make up for it with an incredible story tomorrow about a Ren Faire Romance, complete with photos.

Until tomorrow -

Friends and Heros Have Birthdays Too

When I got the text message, it took a few minutes for my mind to make sense of it. I had been working long, hard hours lately and things weren't clicking into place like they should have.

"Hi Manda Lynn. Today is my Birthday. I am with my mother at my apartment. Doesn't have to [be] today [or] even next week.. But I am very ill. I was close to death..."

His text message cut off there. My mind reeled, my heart raced, and I grabbed for my keys before remembering I knew the town but not the address for where my friend lived. Immediately I sent a text back.

"What is your address. I will come over RIGHT NOW."

His text continued just then.

"... not long ago. But if you were so kind... a Black and White movie night even if at my own [place] in my bedroom with a chaperon would be nice. I miss you."

It took a few minutes to get any other response. I called a mutual friend of ours to let him know what was going on. Instinctively I knew that he would be worried, but for him to do exactly what I had planned on doing myself meant a lot to me AND to my old friend. He told me "get his address, I'll meet you there."

His next text was his address and I made a mad dash for my car. As a bit of an after thought, I tossed my uniform into the passenger seat. Unfolded and thrown violently, it ended in a spread mess from the back of the seat to the floor, dangling like a loose thread from a jacket. I squealed tires out of there.

On my way I made a few calls. I managed to get the night off work through a little effort, and I haphazardly laughed at the condition of my uniform. It didn't matter anyway. I cried my eyes out and swerved through traffic before realizing I was almost out of gas. I had to fill up or I wouldn't make it there!

Still making calls to get the shifts covered at work, I stood outside of his apartment for a few minutes gaining my composure. Our mutual friend arrived with his wife, and the three of us went up.

Here was my dear old friend, laying face down on the couch. His cheek bones protruded, his temples were sunken, his eyes were hollowed out, but he still had those beautiful blue eyes. He looked up at me weakly and smiled. Me being me, I ran to his side and held him for a long time, kneeling on the floor beside him. I kissed his cheek and held him close, telling him that I was glad to see him. He was thin, but he was still very dignified and wise.

At first his concentration was almost gone. He couldn't pay attention to one thought for very long. He had been very ill. Friends and family gathered around, and yet all he could do was talk to his most recently arrived guests. Struggling at first, he sat up tall.

It didn't take long and my dear friend was talking as he normally would. His family noticed a slight change already. He had a spark back to his eyes they hadn't seen in a while.

"I nearly asked her to marry me," he said to our mutual friends about me. He patted me on the knee, kissed my cheek, and smiled a genuine, heart felt, loving smile. I knew in my heart he was joking. Everyone smiled. "She was always so bouncy and fun, she brightened up my day each time I saw her. She made things better," he said, smiling a little more. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his cheek back.

When I first met this man, he was my boss. He was what my old company called the Post Commander for the Security Operation where I worked. It was my first day and he seemed almost frightened of me. Still, right off the bat we got along.

I worked with a crew of all guys back then. I knew that I wanted to be treated like one of the Guys, I didn't want special treatment from anyone just because I had hips. In order to make a good impression, I did something I hadn't done since childhood...

In the corner of the office in a small glass case sat a very large, very hairy red spider. It was a tarantula to be exact, a Chilean Fire Spider. Instantly I knew how to win Kudo's points with all the guys I was going to be working with. I didn't want them to think me prissy or girly.

"Oooh! Can I hold it?!"

My boss looked up from his paperwork and laughed. "Really?" He sat there, stunned. "Most of the guys scream like little girls and run from the room when she comes out of her terrarium." He laughed to himself.

We had many things in common, this friend and I. We often spent hours after work just talking about old movies and fine cigars. We had moments over the next few months where he and I were able to help one another. We had philosophical and religious conversations and debates. He was the one who made me open my eyes to the thought of being married to my ex for the rest of my life. He made me rethink my decisions and future. He was right. He was and remains a wise man.

He taught me almost everything I know about Security, about being a boss, a leader and a friend all at the same time. He trained me to do the job I'm doing now without my ever knowing it. He told me as we sat there that I had been his greatest success.

"You know," he addressed our friend as he put an arm on my cheek, "I wanted to marry her if she would have me."

Thinking he was either joking or feeling his illness, I chuckled. Our friends smiled. We all moved on.

Evenutally our friends left and I stayed there. I ate with the family, I helped sing Happy Birthday to him, and I cheered him as best I could. Hours later, he repeated those words that rang so clearly in my head, when I told myself he had been joking
around with me.

"Mom, do you remember about a year ago when I told you there was a girl I wanted to ask to marry me?"

"Yes, Honey" she said to him, smiling at me.

"This is her."

Suddenly it dawned on me. I meant so much to this man that he had wanted to marry me. He knew that he wouldn't be around forever and that there really wasn't anything we could do about it, but he wanted to spend what remaining days he had in my company. I cried again, unabashedly, on his shoulder.

He's a fighter. He's not done yet. He even says himself that he's not fulfilled his destiny and he has so much left to do in this world. I'll do everything I can to help him accomplish those goals. I would risk life and limb for this man, as I know he would do for me.

There are certain people in our lives we call friends. Others we call family. There are even some friends that are as close to us as family. This one person, this friend, is so much more than any of those categories. I have loved and cared for this man since the day I met him. He is a true kindred spirit. He would never judge me or "disagree" with how I live my life. I can't imagine this world or this life without him in it.

He is my Friend.
He's been my guide.
He'll always be my hero.




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