A Great Instance


There’s one thing that I love, and I think all women love it although they might not care to admit it: the notion of family. Yes, we may say we have no interest in making a family, that marriage is overrated (all of which I’ve said repeatedly), but somewhere deep inside of us there is nothing that warms our hearts more than the loving interactions between parent and child.

I was watching a video, (I don’t know why I was watching it because it was much too long) and what was weird was that I was so oddly touched by it, although, when contemplating the moment, I knew there was no real reason why I should’ve been. But, because of this unknown reason, a particular part just warmed my heart:

The kids were playing on the roof of a car while the dad stood watching, egging them on.
“Aww, Mom’s back!” he told them. “Time to get off!”
The children looked around the car for means to exit.
“No! You guys have to jump!” the dad said, excited for them. He stood at the end of the car, stretching out his arms toward them eagerly, waiting. So one by one they jumped happily, trustingly, straight into his loving embrace, but the third child hesitated.
“But I’ll fall!” She reasoned.
“No, I’m right here to catch you!” He replied. “You can’t. See?” He extended his arms out further, reassuringly.
“You have to catch me then…” She said, still obviously hesitant, but slowly inching forward.
“Of course…” He replied with a smile. And she sprang out, reaching her arms out to him, ready to grab a hold if he should fail. But he didn’t. And before he put her down to set her with her siblings, he pulled her close into him. Looking down and smiling, he finished, straight into her ear,
“Don’t I always?”

And that was my favorite part.

I read somewhere (or maybe someone explained to me) that life is really a collection of great instances and that it’s just us, as people, who tend to view them as a whole. Whomever, said we live for the small instantaneous moments of grandeur, waiting for one to come along like people do at the end of every paycheck. It’s how we react to each great instance, that fills up all the extra space, and what makes for every other instance. I like the thought. That each great emotion, each great idea is something new; a great compilation of differences. I think love is one of those Great Instances that we wait for. When it comes, we swarm to it like flies to flame. That’s why the Great Notion of Family is so appealing, so seductive. We’ve risen out of our last Great Instance and are now waiting for a new one, not bothering to notice and admire the simplicity of the ones in between. We crave the grandeur. This is where we fail. We wait so long for our Great Instance that we lose sight of all others. We imagine what it will be like. We plan it out in our minds so when it finally happens, it has lost all appeal. We have contemplated it for so long that it has lost its original, instantaneous feeling, which is exactly what we’ve been waiting for.

I suppose that’s the problem with society. Though, I don’t pretend to know. You should never claim to know anything completely, not even your own heart, because it will never be true… But surely it must have a Great Something to do with it.




It’s an odd thought…

In one way we believe that everyone has the right to live, that we’re all unique and valuable, and yet at the same time we celebrate and thrive on the fact that every person is just as expendable as the next.

Think about it.

The Constitution states that we have a right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness and as Americans we feed on this. We tell our children that they could be whatever they want. Live your dreams! Reach for the skies! Subliminally preaching to every child of every American generation that the point of life is to live and love. We say that they’re important. That everyone is equal. And that no one person will ever be above or below another.

But then we grow up.

We coin phrases such as YOLO! and paste it on every social networking site, hinting to the public that the point of life is not to live and love, but to live because we will one day die. Our government sends patriotic men off to war like pawns in a chess game, knowing that, just like in chess, the pawns, our frontline, aren’t vital to our country’s welfare as a whole. We “sacrifice the lives of a few to save the lives of many” in more than just war, but in everyday life with our words and with our actions, sacrificing one another at work and in life for our own greater good. A person lies in the workplace, we fire them so our business can thrive. A person steals, we send them to jail so our lives can be easier. A person kills, we kill them so we don’t have to live in fear. With every action, with everyone law, we show each other how expendable each one of us is. How unimportant our lives are compared to the collective magnitude of the world, all the while somehow backing the whole ordeal on the absurdly hypocritical notion that we are all equal and none of us worth more than the other. And it’s an odd thought to think that those lies telling us we are all equal, the lies that we still somehow believe and uphold, the lies our government was based upon; that we are all equal in life and in death…Are actually keeping us from crumbling into chaos. Because without these lies holding us together, the lies that we were born into, the ones that somehow tell us that everything is fair and equal or at least should be, and that we firmly back every action against, we’d all realize what madness we live in and destroy each other from the inside. The world would break apart and we would break with it. We are all expendable after all.

So maybe… In the midst of all this potential chaos we can learn one thing: Lying to children. Yeah, that’s a good thing 😉

The Relic


She said she was a relic, worn by age, time, and childbearing, along with the occasional man. She used to be great. She used to be wonderful, and a part of something wonderful as well, but now… She was old. Her body was wrinkled, her feet ached constantly, and all her thoughts were senile. In the house, every mirror was covered, hidden by the first thing she saw; dressers, blankets, and (when she could find nothing else) makeup. Mirrors were evil, she reasoned. They made you think of nothing but the past you lost by showing you your present. She walked through her rooms barefoot, not being able to feel nor see the cold marble floor. Windows covered to the best of her ability, she hobbled through her hallway stumbling across each light-patch. Light was also no good, she had told herself. It reminded her of beauty, she said, beauty she could never hold on to, and so she roamed her hallways like ghost, pale from the sunlight she refused to let in. Her feet, calloused as a dancer’s, tapped the marble with a slight stutter, and the sudden memory it brought finally killed her. The accident took her family, the fall took the rest of her life. Happiness she remembered and the despair she felt daily, doubled up in her stomach and she fell to the side. Her heart hurt and she couldn’t stop herself from falling, but fortunately the wall caught hold of her. Imagining it was her husband, she turned to thank him, however this slight movement made her unsteady and she began to slide down the wall. Falling, she attempted to grab a blanket hung before her in order to keep upright, but the blanket only pulled down its hidden mirror with them both. The thud of her body and the crash of broken glass echoed throughout the empty house. She lay face upward, sprawled out against the floor. The tapping had stopped and bits of light surrounded her helpless figure. The moment before her heart failed and the dancing spirits lifted her away, she saw a single glimpse of once lost beauty glimmering across a relic; one surviving shard of an old mirror.



She was falling. Falling into a darkness that was, although frightening, in its own way peaceful and serene. Her hair brushed her face and she closed her eyes. Even though her body was twisted and turned by gravity, she realized that this was the most comfortable she had been in a long time. How could she have  feared this, this freedom? It was the air that freed her and she relaxed her face against it. As she relaxed and started to drift to sleep in helpless serenity, she smacked the concrete with so much force that it awoke her.

Televised Fantasies


I’ve had a thought…

They say that television shows allow you to live out your fantasies. Who said it? Don’t know, but it was said at one point and I’m sure it’s true. The point being, that they prey on the dreams of children, teenagers, adults, and even the elderly. The writers are programmed to tell you what you want to hear. Visual artists are made to give you what you want to see. How else would the television industry be growing so rapidly? The main goal of a television show is to entice you, to keep you coming back for more. And what better way to do that then to help you realize your fantasies? Allow you to see things that you could only otherwise vaguely imagine in 3D and High-Def.

But, that’s not the thought that my mind kept coming back to.

As I sat watching some of my favorite popular shows like Teen Wolf, Vampire Diaries, and one of my absolute favorites, Dexter, I thought to myself, if these shows are designed to target our fantasies, to prey on our interests, and tug on our desires, does this really reflect upon the deepest wants of human nature?

In Dexter, we celebrate the unfeeling protagonist who kills for fun. We delight in the fact that he seems unable to be caught and that every horror he’s faced he has successfully wrapped in plastic and thrown into the river, chopped into pieces. We let ourselves drown in glee when he captures his prey and straps them to their doom. But worst of all we allow ourselves to justify his actions with the oh, so popular “Finally, he got him! That guy deserved it,” and feel every feeling and mourn every loss he receives. These feelings beg the question, what is it that television is showing us that we want? Is it true that in our deepest, darkest dreams we long to brutally kill and get away with it? That we honestly believe that people deserve to die at our hands, warm blood at our fingertips? That we truly wish to be void of feeling and be able to maim those we think “deserve it” beyond recognition?

Teen Wolf and Vampire Diaries draw out similar emotions albeit less dramatic. Here we root for heroes with deadly qualities that threaten the world we supposedly are a part of instead of siding with the “villains” who see them as a threat to the human race. In our minds, we fight for the ones least like us, wanting them to succeed in all their endeavors. We root for the strong. We root for the mighty. We root for those who, if we encountered in real life, would happily break our bones and suck out our blood. Here the underlying questions are simple. Do we as humans truly wish to be made unrecognizable from one another? Do we wish for the seclusion? Do we beg for the secrets?

The odd thing about these questions is that they can all be met with a resounding “Yes”. In the deepest part of our beings I believe we wish for every one. And if not wish… Then fear surely. So the last question of the night would be; is the television then bringing all of our deepest desires or fears to light so we can enjoy them in fantasy or simply giving them to us all to mull over and consequently poisoning both ours and our children’s thoughts with them?

Haha Think about it 😉

Therapy Sessions


She was nervous and it showed in everything that she did. From her pink face to her twitchy fingers, it was extremely apparent that something was on her mind.
“You are in a safe place, Rebecca. No one will judge you here. It’s just you and I.” His voice flowed like honey, soothing, sweet, yet thick. Rebecca didn’t seem relieved in the slightest. In fact, she had become so fidgety with the coming of this new information that the usually over confident therapist began to doubt his vocal technique. However, he thought, in her defense, the irony behind that sentence was uncanny.
For a few moments he just sat watching her. She seemed to become more anxious as he watched, opening and closing her mouth periodically as if wanting to say something, but not quite knowing how to go about it. He wondered what sort of information was taking a hold of her like that. It had definitely taken control of her nervous system and need he even mention her appearance? When words actually found their way through to her vocal cords, the therapist actually raised his eyebrow in surprise.
“He…” she started. What was it? Rape? Beatings? Verbal abuse? Life threats? Surely he had heard it all… “He’s leaving me.” Hmmm… Shocked still. He heard this and was momentarily disappointed.
“And how do you feel about that?” What a therapist-like response. He needed to say something to guise his boredom, but it’s not like he didn’t already know. The disappointment settled. He would never admit it, but he was actually hoping for a rape victim. He hadn’t had one in a while.
“I feel… I feel a bit shaken up.”
And there it was. As if by queue, her feet, her hands, and all the rest of her body stopped their incessant movements.
“Mmmmhmmm,” he replied pretending to write down notes with his pen while really secretly using the ballpoint to mimic the unflattering shape of her head.

Frozen Toes


It was cold outside. The ice had started to creep up on the window panes and the wind could be heard whistling its sweet winter melodies. She was staring out the window in a sort of daze. It was quite warm in the house where she was. The stove lie flickering in the corner giving off more heat than she had originally thought possible for such a small contraption. In the back of her mind she noted it as a smart investment. But no matter how much warmth the fire gave off, the icy yearning in her heart refused to melt away. She felt the cold was calling her. She could hear it beckoning her out across the white winter landscapes and somewhere deep into her lover’s arms. The request, she longed to oblige. Who knew how long she’d be waiting at that window? She had waited so long already… All she needed was to walk across the hallway and straight through the door. She needn’t socks, or shoes, or even guidance. Her love would warm and guide her and his love would find her searching. In her heart, the cold grew restless. As storm was raging inside her. Her bare toes twitched in anxiety, but her daze remained constant, straight at the gate he was bound to open…
The phone rang. At first she didn’t hear it, but reality was soon becoming less distant. A second ring. She was lost in thought, but her trance had become much fainter. By the third, she had already stood to cross the icy, wooden floor. Upon leaving the window and touching her feet to the ground, a realization had risen. How silly it was of her before to think that she could walk outside in the snow without any shoes. This floor was bad enough. Outside… Her feet would freeze.

Repetitive Thought


I guess it was a reminder of conditional love
I guess it hurt her pride
I guess it made her realize that love does often die
She never should have heard it
She should have closed her ears
She should have kept the silence as proof against her fears
The truth’s wreckage was phenomenal
The truth, it hurt her soul
The truth, it left her broken and never again would she be whole
If only he had kept it
If only he hadn’t told
If only he had lied somewhat and hadn’t been so bold
She prayed for forgetfulness
She prayed her heart away
She prayed someone would take her heart and mend it up one day
But for now it would stay broken
For now she’ll lie restless in the night
For now she’ll lie there hoping that all soon will be set right

Right words


She was crying again. The girl in the passenger seat was confused. Why did this woman cry over everything? She was obviously overly emotional. The girl couldn’t even have a six minute conversation without the woman bursting into tears. She could sense the tears coming, the silence reeked of them. She could feel that the woman was holding them back, catching them on the brims of her eyelids. Maybe she was ashamed of them herself. The girl did not understand this woman, a realization that made her feel even guiltier. She flashed back to the last few minutes, reviewed the exchanged words over slowy in her mind. What she said, in retrospect, wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t even elevated her voice… but she had rolled her eyes… She supposed it was a bit rude, but not blatantly, just slightly, so why did it upset her so? The girl stared at the woman awestruck. She had so many feelings! Unprecedented feelings! Or so she thought… Then why did she feel so immensely guilty? She attempted to apologize, but words were not her strong suit… The words came out wrong… Always wrong… She had meant to sound sincere.The words never came so instead of apologizing she chose to ignore the moment. Move on. Pretend she had accepted it and kill the awkwardness with pointless conversation.



There was silence in the halls. No children shouting. No stomping of feet echoing through them. Just silence. And it was unnerving. Ana wasn’t used to all this quiet. It was true, she had asked for it more times than she could count. She had begged her husband to take them fishing, or camping, or on any other time consuming trip that she herself would find nauseating, just so she could have that one moment of silence, a silence unbroken by the wails of children and a peace unencumbered by the painful agony of barefoot trodden Legos scattered across the floor. She had asked her husband for a day. One day where the sounds of “Mom”, “Mama”, or “Mommy” weren’t immediately followed by the phrase “can you…?”
“But, Ana, sweetheart, Mother’s Day is in a couple of weeks and summer soon after. Can’t you….” She stopped him there. No. She could not… she would not wait that long. She needed her silence, her solitude, her silent appreciation, now. He must’ve sensed the impatience in her voice. He gave her a week.
But what to do? She sat down on the couch to contemplate. She had been waiting for this day a very long time and had made a list of all the possible activities. She could have a spa day, go shopping, talk to the friends she hadn’t spoken to in a while… See a movie, go to the beach, get her hair styled… All possible and yet… all so far away. There was so much fun she could have later, but now? Now, she could only imagine herself quietly sitting on the couch. She unconsciously began reclining, stretching her body out ever so slightly in order for her body to form fit completely.
“Form fitting” was why she had bought this couch and made it her personal luxury. Since her bedroom was so far away and couches so convenient, it was this ability that had really sold her, but that’s not what this couch was doing. It was not “adjusting to every curve” like the ad had mentioned. It was not “slowly fitting to perfection” like she had once experienced. No. This couch was just lumpy and there was a very specific bump piercing her side.
She got up from her position, reached underneath the cushion, and sure enough there was something lodged beneath her personal seat cushion. From what she could tell, it was hard and plastic. How odd… there wasn’t a television in there so a remote was out of the question… but it also had… hands? She yanked the intruder out unmercifully. Of course, it was Jonah’s favorite action figure. She scowled at it. How dare it impose on her comfort! It scowled back. The more she stared at this intruder the more angry she became and by the end of their stare-down she was bursting inside.
“Ahah!” she exclaimed as she flung it across the room. Bang! It had hit the wall across from her. She had seen a foot unceremoniously fly in the other direction and hoped to high heaven the blow hadn’t scratched her paint. She had just gotten it done. But, oh, she couldn’t worry about that now. Now, she was tired. She curled back into her original place on her wonderfully, form fitting couch, sighed, and closed her eyes.
“Mmmmm…” she mumbled with a smile, “…take that, Aqua man…”