Monday, April 29, 2013

(Prompt 52)

David's Bridal Wedding Gown size 14. Beautiful. No need to spend hundreds. I have your dress. Come try it on!

Minus five minutes ago, I have never seen a woman read an Uncle Henry's ad.  I'm going to be judgmental and go on saying I think nothing shouts creepy like an ad for a wedding dress in a magazine I see male relatives keep in the bathroom for what they consider "down time."  
Most women have a different way with words compared to men.  In this case personally I would have tried to sell it more.  It is a wedding dress after all.  That one day that women claim to be THEIR day when in reality it's just as much their soon-to-be husband's.  Everything has to be perfect.  Not a single hair out of place.  So, as I said, a woman would sell it more.  Yes it can be argued that one can only afford so many words for an ad that requires payment by each character, but the shortness of it just spells out creepy.  
After feeling a sketchy vibe from the whole idea of this ad, my main problem lies with the, "Come try it on!"  My mind has already started to be suspicious, but this last sentence screams, "you'll never make it home."  Okay I admit that I'm sounding paranoid, I just wouldn't dream of going to this dude's house and eventually show up in a short documentary on one of those channels my grandmother likes to watch.
But hey, if in these five short sentences your attention is grasped and you feel that venturing out to this person's house is a good idea, by all means do it.  I'm just saying, I warned you.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A Second Chance: (Prompt 45)

My alarm clock reads 5:45 p.m.  Why I'm feeling upbeat and ready to pull an all-nighter, I don't know.  Too much homework, too little time.  Starting hard to hopefully end easy, I dive into trig.

The Beatles clock on the wall tells me it's 12:05 a.m.  A cliche thought crosses my mind, sleep's for the dead.  Reality wise this is only justification to my decision that by this time I know was a mistake.  Fighting my calculator, I grit my teeth and count remaining problems.  One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Only fourteen more to go.

A glance at my wrist indicates it's just past 3 a.m.  Broken pencil numero tres tells me I've been dealing with math eight hours too many.  Four pages back to front of math problems lets me know my teacher isn't going to enjoy grading my exam.

4:10 p.m.: I sleep, I mean sit, in class with a poorly finished product.  Class started 10 minutes ago; 15 students remain MIA.  "Any questions on the exam before we move on to the next chapter?"  Only everyone raises their hands.  Twenty minutes later I walk out of room 117 wondering, why me?  The test isn't due for another week.

May round two begin.



Monday, April 22, 2013

Third Time's the Charm: (Prompt 43)

First attempt.  I hate dentists.  Being referred, I know this can't be good.  "Here's a prescription for some medicine that should calm the nerves.  It'll make this procedure easier."  Somewhere on Union Street I take a sip of water carrying a pill through my digestive labyrinth.  I tear up before seeing Doc.  "Now this here is Novocain.  After that goo you shouldn't feel a thing."  Lie number one.  Sitting as still as possible, I beg my mind to wander but it refuses.  "Raise your hand if you are in pain and I promise I'll stop."  Lie number two.  "I was in that room the entire time.  You told her to raise her hand if she was feeling what you were doing and you would immediately stop.  As a mother, it's my job to protect her and you wanting to get your 'job done' at the expense of my daughter's pain is not alright.  Fill the hole with paste.  We're leaving."

Second attempt.  Dentists still suck.  Doctor Pain did anything but help me overcome my phobia.  Here comes round two.  "This will numb you up before we give you Novocain." Half an hour later I claim it didn't work.  Was this true?  Probably not.  "Alright Lindsey, I put an extra packet on twenty minutes ago... It's time to open up.  It shouldn't hurt much.  You'll just feel a little pressure."  I wonder why that initiated a tear.  I blame the last doc who told me a giant needle filled with an injection that will be slowly shoved into a tiny slot surrounding my problem tooth won't bring upon suffering.  "We're going to have to use nitric oxide to calm her down.  See you the eleventh."

Third attempt.  I won't ever like dentists.  I won't ever like root canals.  Who in their sane mind would? Falling asleep in the dentist's chair, no way.  Except...This last time involved a mask.  "Are you feeling dizzy yet?"  I snap back a harsh no.  I tell myself it's not going to work.  They aren't sticking me with a needle.  They aren't drilling a hole in my tooth and straightening its roots.  As long as I have a voice, I have the upper hand.  My eyes start to roll backwards.  Can't. Keep. Them. Open.  "There we go Lindsey, all done."

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Road Kill: (Prompt 51)

Hitting an animal is an experience I wish I had the ability to answer, "never have I ever," if questioned. My record was clean until a spring day last year.  Trees were budding, the sky was Caribbean Sea blue, and the sun was high up in the sky for all to see.  To say the least, it was beautiful...outside that is.

I didn't take notice of the weather.  Wasn't one of the students to complain about being stuck in class when all I wanted to do was take advantage of the beauty outside.  I was getting out of class. Actually, three classes to be exact.  There's even documentation on my transcript.  Three whopping W's where an A would have preferably resided.

I had no choice.  It was two weeks since the last time I attended class.  There was no way I was going to be able to catch up.  I secretly admit I should have listened when I was told by four different people, don't you think five classes is a little much?  You should really think about reconsidering.  Seriously, it's me I'm talking about.  I just saw that as an attack at my capability to succeed.  Bring it on, I thought to myself when I signed up for classes in the fall.

With two classes left, I hung my head as I exited Maine Hall heading to my white Chevy.  At this point I was angry. More at myself than anything else.  I had been proved wrong.  Defeated by my own thick-headedness.  My phone began to buzz and I hit "ignore" when her name popped up.  Sitting in the car tears scraped down my face.  No I would rather not gossip about OUR close friend while she's in critical condition at the hospital.  More anger surfaced.

I can't recall what took place the moment I shut my phone off and drove away to the time I walked through the front door.  That is...except for a streak of gray & orange under tire one then immediately tire number two.  A darting of colors into the woods.  A squealing of tires too late. 

A beautiful day for most, was a not so beautiful day for me.


Saturday, April 20, 2013

Alienation... Literally: (Theme 10)

A mixture of sorrow and anger flooded his eyes as he pleaded her to rethink her newly accepted fate.  His persuasion went something to the likes of:  You know they're going to lock you up.  You'll be dressed in a straightjacket surrounded by padded walls.  An infinite number of thoughts swam through her mind making her perception of the present distorted.  It wasn't until true growth occurred that she allowed herself to piece together a detailed recollection of memories that belonged to the halls of a prison that wore the mask of a house.  These suppressed memories like her father's emotion-hiding humor, rest in a bin on her closet shelf.
230 days:
fill pages of journals,
splatter paint across a previously blank canvas,
read clever stories upon scraps of paper,
weave through bracelets,
smile on stress balls,
write letters in cards,
camouflage secret feelings these 'coping skills' were suppose to destroy.

On a night she just wants to remember... Needs to remember, she walks to her closet, pulls apart the doors, stands as tall as she can reaching skyward, and pulls down her past.  She sits with her legs crossed as she shuffles aimlessly through her own documentary.

Opening with a laugh: "My roommate is thirteen.  She claims to be homicidal but promises me I'm safe for she has adopted me as her new big sister.  I think dad's assumptions sound more appealing at the moment."
Cracks her thumb squeezing a smiley-faced stress ball and smiles as she remembers all of its uses: playing pass with a wall, clenching that supposedly would help her through this, target practice on fellow patients, one of three juggling balls.
Followed with an admired stare as she sets three painted pictures side by side.  A newly discovered talent from the oddest of places.  Her art assignment reads: "Just paint something and send it in.  I'll give you credit for whatever we're doing."  She staring back at her are very accurate portraits of Simba & Nala, the Little Mermaid, and Yoda.
Emotions abruptly change to fear on day 14 of her third visit: "ECT is going to help.  Doc's sure of it.  I've never really had a problem with getting my blood taken, so an IV shouldn't be a problem.  Unless it's like a shot.  Which will be a BIG problem.  I'll go three times a week for nine weeks.  I might be sleepy a lot, but I'll do anything to get better."  Let's just say opting to permanently losing memories was one mistake that will haunt her for life.
Tears of laughter escape: "Sebastian wrote me another letter today.  The staff said they've intervened because he isn't allowed to be sending me love letters.  But they showed to me anyway.  I don't remember what it said, but it was an attempt at poetry and to get my phone number.  He also danced for me... Again.  This time I got two performances.  One to, I like to move it, move it and another to Apple Bottom Jeans."

She has read and observed 230 days over the course of three hours...
Admissions.  Counselors.  Visitors.  Medicine.  New roommate.  Seance.  "Do you have any of the five: suicidal, homicidal, hearing/seeing anything, self-harm, nightmares?" Field trip outdoors.  Code gray.  Hacky Sack with a hippie.  New Roommate.  Discharged.  Writing.  Admissions.  Tears.  One of the five.  Sensory room.  Weighted blanket.  Fist against face.  Broken window.  Visitors.  No roommate.  One to one psych-tech.  Medicine change.  Three of the five.  Close patient-staff relationship.  Stuck on unit.  New Roommate.  New friend.  Sleep.  Swear words.  Injection.  Infatuated patient dancing.  Sarcasm.  Reading.  Visitors. Bandaids.  Laughing.  Non-edible food.  Basketball.  Medicine.  Piano.  Homework.  Fight.  Fight.  Fight.  Superbowl.  "Why do you feel upset?" Anger.  Moved upstairs.  New Roommate.  Pedophile. Home-sick.  Medicine.  Movies.  Cribbage.  Change.  Smiles.  Discharged.
...and she's thankful for all she has learned.  She would never change a moment, but

I will never go back.






Sunday, April 14, 2013

My Totals: (Prompt 42:A)

Number of songs on current computer, rock: 332; pop: 312; Beatles: 226; alternative: 130; total: 1393.  Number of computers I've owned, PC: 2; Mac: 1.  Number of siblings, brother: 1; sister: 1.  Number of towns lived in: 3.  Numbers of schools attended: 5.  Number of times suspended: 1.  Number of detentions as a result of, misbehaving: 35; tardiness: 10.  Number of states traveled to: 13.  Number of best friends, Elementary: 2; High School/College: 3.  Number of years on Varsity, soccer: 4; softball: 1; basketball: 0.  Number of A's, high school: 13; college: 10.  Number of cats: 3.  Number of times I have punched someone: 1.  Number of blood draws: 47  Number of IV's: 15.  Number of books I own: 360.  Number of math classes, taken: 12; enjoyed: 2.  Numbers of balls I can juggle: 3.  Number of piano pieces I can play, with sheet music: 21; by memory 9.  Number of rooms lived in: 18.  Number of seconds I can hold my breath: 55.  Number of times I've been hit in the face by a, soccer ball: 313; basketball: 12; softball: 5.  Number of prayers, prayed: 5,111; answered: 12,333.  Number of crushes, physical attraction: 641; that and more: 188.  Number of times I've dragged trash to the end of the driveway: 260.  Number of all nighters: 37.  Number of dreams: 6,213.  Number of nightmares: 3,049.  Number of night terrors: 22.  Number of family members in the household, immediate: 5; other: 2.  Number of universities, applied to: 5; accepted to: 4.  Number of languages, fluent: 1; moderate: 1; beginner: 1; how to count to ten & swears: 1.  Number of countries I want to visit, North America: 4; South America: 8; Europe: 21; Africa: 11; Asia: 13; Oceania: 2.  Number of celebrities met: 3.  Number of tears, happy: 56,984; sad: 98,983.  Number of movies seen, in the theater: 517; at home: 1,984.  Number of journals kept: 24.  Number of pillows on bed: 2.  Number of "boyfriends," short-term: 4; long-term: 1.  Number of churches attended: 3.  Number of baptisms: 1.  Number of doubts: 109,812.  Number of feet sped in adrenaline pumping activities, bungee-jumped: 200; sling-shotted: 345.  Number of times sent to my room: 281.  Number of lies, received: 10,823; given: 11,281.  Number of shooting stars I've wished on: 28.  Number of constellations found: 3.  Number of animals ridden, elephant: 1; camel: 1; horse: 7.  Number of nights spent in a hospital: 241.  Number of uncomfortable moments: 16,909.  Number of turf burns: 33.  Number on my jersey: 21.  Number of words I can type a minute: 100.  Number of people I think are hypocritical: 7,000,000,000.  Number of events in history I wish I could travel back to: 3,333.  Number of children I plan on having: 4.  Number of years survived: 20.


Three Pairs of Glasses Later: (Prompt 40)

"Are you alright?!?" Ten players simultaneously bombard me.
"Yeah, it's nothing. I'm fine."  The glasses come off.  "Awesome," I exhale as I put them back on.
Dribble, pass, steal, pass, kick, GOAL. 
"Lindsey where were you?"
I wipe my face. This will be cute in pictures.

***

"Still haven't learned to wear your contacts, huh?" Sarcasm ignored I swear under my breath.  Not this time.  Place the frames on the bench behind my water bottle, good idea.  He has the worst toe-ball ever.  I follow the ball with my eyes as it speeds straight at the wall.  There goes my water bottle.

***

"Liiiinds.  I have to be at my game in ten minutes.  Just get those ones." Giggling she continues, "everything else you've tried on looks funny."
Placing the red frames in the trust of the Lenscrafters employee I make a lame joke.  Pay.  Run to the car.

***

I hit the steering wheel compulsively with anger.  "I don't like those.  I'm not going to wear for them for two friggen years.  No.  I need to go back.  Amanda.  I know you have your game.  I have to go back.  Ugh.  Please."
Three rings then an explanation of why her big sister will be arriving in less than fifteen minutes.  An exchange do to unsatisfactory assumptions.  
Speeding like a madwoman, we make it there in under five minutes.  A quick goodbye and five minutes back.
"You may pick these up anytime tomorrow after 11:00 in the morning."

***

After a day of mixed feelings, from the judgement of myself and my peers, I am undecided.  They are too big for my face.  I love the style.  Seth Rogan has an identical pair.  They're unisex lenses.  Constant justification battles continue well into the night.
A picture sent to close friends with the caption, "I'm not sure of the size, but I think I like them. What do you think?"
"Uhm... They're too big for your face..."
"I love them Linds!"
Minutes later I have managed to forget my contemplation by distracting myself with social media. 

***

My mouth hangs wide open having resolved my full-day contemplation in less than three seconds.  I must now decide whether or not it's appropriate to laugh this one off, or if I should crawl in a hole and remain there for eternity after my monumental blunder.