8 Fears

 

I don’t fear the reaper, but I do fear that y’all will sing precious memories at my funeral.

Life is a highway, but I fear the lack of two-way traffic

I think we should come together, right now, but I fear that someone will bring pea salad.

There’s a bad moon rising, but I fear the scorching sun will make it all moot.

I love a rainy night, but I fear the swirling water.

Only women bleed, but I fear men are more often killed by falling pianos. 

I am Iron Man, but I fear that I will rust without some fresh oil.

I walk the line, but I fear tripping over the curved stones.

This Ain't Cat Food

This week’s prompt is Nine Loves.  This was much easier than last week’s Ten Secrets.  So, without further ado –

~ahem~

I LOVE:

1.  Drawing with ink.  It’s forgivably unforgivable.  It stretches my ability and makes me think.  I still love pencil and eraser and I do my best work in that medium, but drawing in ink has made me a better artist.  Ink forces me to incorporate my mistakes into the bigger picture.  With pencil I can just pretend the mistakes never happened. 

2.  Music without lyrics.   Especially while driving.  I do all my best writing while driving and listening sans words.  I could write the great American novel if I went out and got a job as a cross-country truck driver.

3.  Pork skins.  Especially the hot ones.  

4.  Scarves.  Well, love is a strong word, but I’m developing a definite like for them. 

5.  The fact that Britney Spear’s name is an anagram of Presbyterians. 

6.  My preacher’s kids.  As I sat in church one day and I observed one of my minister’s two teenage daughters do something very small and very nice for someone else.  She didn’t know anyone was watching.  It confirmed what I had suspected.  They are good, good kids.  I stalked them from two pews back and on Facebook as well as observing them from my couch as they stalked my house from the alley.  Then I did something – a tiny little experiment in being spooky, for lack of a better term.  They responded exactly as I would have when I was there age.  They are little Spookies in the making, I think!  I really, really, really like them. 

7.  Boots and peacock feathers.  Not necessarily together.  Not necessarily apart.  And that peacock green/blue color?  Love that too. 

8.  Fedoras.  I need some new ones.  I haven’t worn them in a long time, but I think I might start again.  I blame that Maria Bello ad for her new Prime Suspect show.  I might even take the one down from my office wall, dust it off and slap it up on my head. 

9.  Fiber.  I’m sucking down the nasty stuff twice a day, just like grandma used to do.  Donated blood last week and, according to the vampire’s testing, my cholesterol level has dropped to 195.  Fiber is slightly icky, but it beats the hell out of taking yet another liver-killing medicine.  (And yes, I know that being all excited over this makes me even older than the daily fiber-tang swilling ritual does.  Right now, I’m ok with that.)

The Truth Doesn't Always Set You Free

The Write. Eat, Post, Bathe group is starting a new series of weekly prompts. This is a good thing, because I still haven't snatched my writing mojo free from the gnarled talons of a vindictive and spiteful muse. I need all the prompting I can get. This week's topic is 10 Secrets.  

A writer should have this little voice inside of you saying 'tell the truth. Reveal a few secrets here.' - Quentin Tarantino

I thought this would be easy but, in reality, it sucks. I keep secrets. Always have, ever since I was a kid. When you live in a glass house, you need a deep basement. Secrets are not always a bad thing. But they get a bum rap in these days of hyper-connectedness. We'd be better off if we all had a few more secrets, I think. Take back some dignity, people!

That being said, here are 10 'secrets' for your perusal. They are not particularly earth shattering or revelatory. Maybe they are slightly entertaining. For starters, I'm stealing Cyn's number 10.

10. I love purses, bags, backpacks, etc. I have way more than I need. I also hate cleaning them out. Too time-consuming. So I have little bags of stuff that I can grab and put into the new bag. Presto chango.

9. I have a new mattress - one of those foamy things. I don't know that I sleep better, but I do know that I can't wait to lay down on it each night and I loathe, more than ever, leaving it in the mornings. Not sure that this is a selling point...

8. I am not entirely sure that babies are sentient.  Ever once in a while you see one with a spark of intelligence or personality in their eyes. I find that sort of fascinating. It makes me contemplate reincarnation. But most of the time - meh.

7. I am sucking it up and trying to learn how to photograph the aforementioned lumps of humanity. Babies and brides and their gawd-awful mothers. One of these days, when I retire at an obscenely young age, I am going into the photo business. If I'm going to make any money, I'm going to have to do babies and weddings. Them's the facts. I am, however holding fast with my prohibition against maternity photos. I'm seriously considering marketing myself as The Grouchy Photographer. The Grouchy Photographer doesn't like your mother and your baby is woefully average.

6. Women of America: pregnancy is not a disability. Neither is it some sort of noblesse oblige. It's just a fact. Of life. Get the hell over it. And stop showing me your belly. (Ok, this is more of a rant than a secret.  So sue me.)

5. Learned on Saturday that I can still make change. Thought I'd lost that skill. Good to know, in case I have to go with my fall-back position as Sonic car-hop.

4. Fog is sexy.

3. I have itchy scabs. (Won a fight with a rosebush and a chain link fence, although not decisively.)

2. Just bashed my hand on the side of the desk. Now my thumb is freakin' numb. (How many more do of these things do I have to come up with?)

1. Everyone had a Nellie Olsen when they were growing up. (Yeah, I read those books. Watched the TV show, too.) ((Wonder if there was ever a comic book incarnation?)) I recently came across the adult version of mine. Not the same person grown up, but someone just like her. And now, all these years later, I see the fear in her eyes. Maybe in another thirty years I'll learn to feel sorry for her because she can survive only by wounding the things/people she fears.


Well, that's it. Ten of the little buggers. Here's hoping that next week's prompt is easier.