No Dear, This Wont Text You (Ignore This Title, It Sucks)

The Ring has been destroyed. As I knew it would, based off the movies. I still want to read through the appendices, but I'm not subjecting Ace to them. He's not so interested.

And I'm trying not to obsessively listen to Welcome to Night Vale. Because I think I could do that, but that wouldn't be healthy. The podcast scares me and makes me laugh and makes me love it in equal measure.

I'd like to meet Carlos and his perfect hair. I'd love to meet Cecil and his dulcet tones.

Don't send help. I'm happy over here.

Christmas Songs

"Why are there some songs that are sung as Christmas songs every year when they have nothing to do with Christmas? I can think of one that barely has to do with winter!" Susan said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked.

"My Favorite Things is a song that barely references winter, but it is played every year like it's a Christmas song. Baby, It's Cold Outside is obviously about winter, but it's not about Christmas specifically. Winter Wonderland is another song about winter, but not about Christmas. And yet, the only times we hear these songs is at Christmas. Why?" Susan asked.

"Because we don't usually have winter songs?" Arthur said questioningly. "I don't know. What brought this up?"

"I was just thinking about Christmas songs, since Christmas is coming up. And I realized that I like these songs, but they aren't specifically Christmas songs. I gave Frosty the Snowman a pass because his show includes a bit about him being made of Christmas snow, but his song doesn't mention anything Christmas-y either," Susan said.

"You think way too much," Arthur said.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Susan's question is bugging me. Why do we have Christmas songs that aren't really Christmas songs?

I definitely think too much sometimes.

I'd like to thank Ace for giving me character names today. He is currently interested in The Tick apparently. (When I first asked for a guy's name, he said The Tick, so I'm not basing it just off of the names Arthur and Susan.) I love my sweet, silly husband.

You Need to Eat

"You need to eat. It's been 13 hours since you last ate, so you need to eat."

"I ate two hours ago."

"You had an apple slice. That doesn't count as eating. You barely noticed you put food in your mouth. You've been living on coffee and sugar too much lately. You need to eat a meal and then you need to go to bed."

"But I'm almost done with this."

"One, you will do whatever you are doing better with food and rest. Two, I know you will find something else to work on when you've almost finished that if I let you just continue on. And three, you look like you are about to collapse into a pile on the floor while you are just sitting there."

"Seriously, 5 more minutes and I'll be done."

"You say 5 minutes, but we both know if I go I'll find you here in 5 hours still working."

"But-"

"I am not above dragging you out of here."

"But-"

"I'm glad your chair has wheels. Here we go, off to find food and a bed."

"But-"

"You asked me to help you stay healthy. This is for your own good."

"Fine. But I don't have to like it."

"I never said you did."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd like to thank writeworld.tumblr.com for the prompt "You need to eat." I have found that I seem to like characters (that other people have written) that are sarcastic and need someone to make sure they actually eat and sleep from time to time. I'm not quite sure why, other than I'm a bit sarcastic (less so than I used to be) and occasionally need someone to make sure I eat and sleep.

Oh my word, I'm Sherlock Homes and Tony Stark without the contributions to society.

No one tell Ace he deserves someone better (given that he usually is the one to feed me and tell me to go to sleep). I know he does, but if we don't tell him maybe he'll let me keep him. I'm kind of selfish that way.

Poetry

The words pour out of the pen and onto the paper almost effortlessly. It's like they had been waiting to be written. And the poem is half finished before the author fully realized why they were writing it.

Later, when the words couldn't be forced out, the author wondered why it had been so easy earlier. Was it the circumstances? Was it boredom? Was it random inspiration? Why had those words been so clear then and now they hid away? And the most important question of all: would it happen again?

Of course, it happened again. With the same questions popping up afterwards. And again. And again. With no fully discernible pattern. But that didn't stop the author from loving the times the words came and the emptying of feelings being poured out with the words. It was healing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I am not a huge fan of poetry in general (somehow, it's just not my favorite thing to read), but sometimes I seem to have some poem that flows out of me. And each line comes right after the last, with only a minor effort occasionally to fix something that doesn't seem to be working. And when I finish writing it, I feel better.

I guess most of my writing is somewhat cathartic. At least the writing that seems to flow the easiest. And that's probably the best thing for me.

Different Mistakes

She had hope that she wouldn't make the same mistakes her mother had made when raising her own children. She had no illusions that she wouldn't make mistakes. She had wanted to laugh when her own beloved husband had proclaimed how they would raise their children when they were in public, because she knew that things were not always that simple.

But she wanted to make different choices than her own mother made. She didn't want her children to ever feel like they weren't good enough, if she could help it. She didn't want them to feel like they were broken. Because she knew how much that could haunt a person.

But she wondered if her best intentions would overcome how she was raised.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Is there a way to not mess up with your kids? Somehow, I doubt there is. Guess that is part of being human.

Leaving

He closed the door to the house behind him. He had sold, given away, or packed everything that had made up his life there. It was time to move on to somewhere he felt the changes he wanted to make would be accepted.

He knew that the people here loved him and he loved them, but he also knew they wouldn't be able to understand how he wanted to live his life. He would come back to visit, but it was time to follow his dreams.

He glanced back at the house in his rear view mirror as he pulled away. He was sad to leave, but he knew he would be happier in the long run.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Today's story was inspired by the song "I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts. I don't have words to explain how much that song has struck home with me at various times. And given that I'm about to move and then I'll be joining Ace in the truck, it's less surprising that I'd be writing about moving so much this month.

The Cake Is a Pie

"The cake is a pie," Shelly said. "I know it's called cheesecake, but it's obviously a pie. It has a crust. Cakes do not have crusts."

"The word cake is in the name. It's a cake," Jack argued. "If they called it cheesecake, it must be a cake of cheese. You don't name something cheesecake and make a sour cream pie."

"You are both wrong," Hank said as he stood in the doorway observing the pair. "It's really more of a custard. Alton Brown proved it. The pie is a lie."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was inspired by the line in Portal "The cake is a lie." My brain decided that the line suddenly needed to be the cake is a pie. Maybe I just need to lay off desserts for a while?

Soon

Dear Mark,
Do you know how much I love you? How can you when I've never been able to tell you? It almost hurts sometimes, because I'm just bursting with love for you. I can't contain it all. And it brings a smile to my face.

I miss you terribly when we are apart. I don't feel whole. I feel like I'm missing half of myself. And being apart hurts. You can't just split yourself in half without feeling pain. But what you are doing is important. I could never ask you to do something different just because I don't like being apart right now. Especially when I know it's for such a short time in the bigger picture of life. But I do miss you. Terribly.

There are times I almost forget that you aren't here. I want to show you something on my computer or tell you some stupid story that, if you were here, you would have been there for. I want to share these things, and then remember that I can't. Not right now. And I remind myself that soon we will be creating new stories together. Soon.

I'm beginning to dislike the word soon. But I know that I won't be saying it much longer.

I love you, my dear sweetheart. I love you so much. Words cannot express it. I love you with every beat of my heart and every breath that I take.

See you soon,
Sally

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I miss Ace. But I'll get to see him again soon.

A Cheerful Heart

He tried to be cheerful. He tried hard to continually be cheerful, because he knew that it would help him stay healthier. He tried to not be bitter or hateful. He tried to let go of his anger and focus on the good things in his life.

But there were times when that seemed impossible. Times when he would cry and hurt. Times when he felt like his heart was breaking. Times when he was just so tired. He was ready for a vacation during times like that.

Sometimes, he wondered if people could see through his cheerfulness, when it was a facade. He wondered if they could see how tired he was, how much he hurt. He wondered if anyone bothered to look past the surface. He tried to not dwell on all the things he had lost, instead he tried to focus on all the things he had.

Sometimes, he felt lost inside his own skin and inside his own head. And he just wanted to find someone who understood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I think I've just about written myself back into depression. That was so not my intention. I was trying to do something upbeat and positive, based on Proverbs 17:22 ("A cheerful heart is a good medicine; but a broken spirit drieth up the bones." - American Standard Version). So, yeah.

Loki's Problems

"Loki always wanted to be Thor's equal, or at least that's what he said," John said. "Why doesn't he notice that Thor always thought of him as an equal?"

"Because sometimes it's hard to see what is right in front of your face," Mary said. "And just because someone sees you as their equal doesn't mean everyone else does."

"Did he even notice how much Thor loves him? How much fighting Loki seems to hurt Thor?" Sally asked.

"People don't always see what is right in front of their eyes. Sometimes they are too close to a situation," Mary said. "Sometimes someone needs to tell them in order for them to see it."

"I wish Loki had someone to tell him these things. Maybe then he'd hurt less," John said.

"Me too," Mary said.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, I have a been wondering about Loki not seeing what is kind of clear in Thor (the stuff about how much Thor loves him and sees him as an equal), so this is me trying to answer my own questions. And I think a lot of the movie (and from what I can tell, a lot of The Avengers) would have been changed if Odin had been more honest and a better parent. I take my superhero movies way too seriously sometimes.

Nightmare

The nightmare slowly scared her awake. She'd have liked it if she had woken earlier, before the dream had gotten scary, while it had just been weird. But she had apparently been too tired for that to happen. As it was, when she did wake up she was still so tired that she wanted to just go back to sleep.

Even as she was falling back to sleep, part of her mind protested. She had just had a bad dream. How did she know she wouldn't fall back into it. But exhaustion was tugging hard.

She turned the TV on for background noise and allowed herself to be pulled back into sleep. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. And she slept, deeply and peacefully.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Nightmares suck. And that's really all I have to say about that.

Ballet

As she watched the ballet dancers performing, she pulled out her paper and pencil so she could sketch. She wanted to capture the curved lines of the dancers' bodies. She wanted to show the gracefulness and beauty. She looked back and forth between the dancers and the pictures forming on her paper. She figured she would make a larger, more coherent picture after she was back home.

And while she did eventually make that picture, she liked her quick little sketches because of the fluidity. And she was glad she hadn't stifled her urge to draw.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The idea of someone wanting to draw a ballet dancer wouldn't leave my head. So, here's a quick story about it.

Good Enough

"The hardest part is figuring out how to let go of the parts that tell you that you aren't good enough. Because everyone always feels like they aren't good enough. That feeling, the one that holds you back, that is how all the people around you feel too. Cut that feeling out and stop letting it hold you back."

Noah rolled his eyes at the self-help non-sense that was playing throughout the shop. It's not that he thought the advice was completely wrong, but he doubted that everyone always feels like that. In fact, he knew there were times he had felt good enough.

"The hardest part is to ignore the part that says I'm not good enough and act," Noah said to himself. "I bet Captain America never feels like he's not good enough."

"I'll bet Cap felt like he let people down and that he wasn't good enough plenty of times," said a stranger with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile. "He lost men, good men, and that means he felt like he messed up too. But he got up and focused on what he could do to keep from losing more men. Because that's what you do, when you feel like you aren't good enough. You do the best you can."

"Steve, are you coming?" a dark haired man asked.

"I'll be there in a minute," Steve said. "Tell Tony that his project can wait an extra five minutes, Bruce."

Bruce rolled his eyes but turned and left to go relay the message.

Steve turned back to Noah and asked, "Does that help you any?"

Noah replied, "Yeah, thanks. Hey, how did you know all that about Captain America?"

Steve just smiled and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, kid."

---------------------------------------------------------------

I've been spending a bit too much time reading Avengers fan fiction, I think.

I don't know that we all feel like we aren't good enough all the time, but I know we all feel that at least part of the time. And we need to do better teaching our kids that even if they make mistakes, they are still good enough.

Packing Up

As he packed up the various bits and sundry that made up his life, he wondered what the future held in store. He had plenty of time to pack before he was leaving, but he didn't want to leave things to the last minute. And it gave him time to figure out what to do with one or two things that he wasn't sure about yet.

As his space became emptier, except for the boxes, he wondered how he had accumulated so much stuff in such a short time frame. At least he knew that he could take all the important stuff with him. The books were paramount. The paperwork that filled his desk was important. The other bits and pieces made life more enjoyable, but weren't necessary.

When it was all packed up, he let out a sigh. That was one thing done. And now to move it into storage until he was settled again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I've been packing up stuff lately. Does it show? I've got pretty much everything packed, except what I need for the next couple of weeks until it goes into storage. Moving day will likely include a couple of last minute additions to the packed stuff (things I need now, but won't then).

The Couple

From the outside, it didn't look like they had much to keep the marriage together. They were struggling financially and their personalities seemed either too opposite or similar depending on the day. Neither liked the other's family. Everything seemed stacked against them.

But what people didn't realize is that those things that looked like they would rip the relationship apart just brought them closer together. They worked together on a budget to pay all their bills. They talked about the things that they disagreed on until they found points of compromise. They enjoyed the things they had in common. They didn't spend a lot of time with extended family. They stacked their deck to make themselves the winners.

They struggled. All people have some struggles, and all marriages have problems. They disagreed and made mistakes. They talked and talked and talked until it was natural to just talk about everything. They forgave each other. They fixed what they could and made adjustments for what they couldn't.

And when they'd survived things that would have broken other marriages, they knew it was because they had so much respect for their relationship and each other. And they smiled at each other as other people wondered how it was done.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is a bit less fictional that a lot of my stuff has been this month. I think I'm okay with that though.

The Kiss

He had barely done more than just press his lips against hers. There was nothing about that kiss that suggested that it would be special or important. And yet, 5 minutes after it happened, she could swear she could still feel his lips.

She pressed her fingers to her lips and smiled. She could hardly wait for the next kiss to see if it would feel the same.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I think I've spent a bit too long without my husband around.

Dear Jean

Dear Jean,
I'll never understand how things got like this. One day, we were a close, loving family and it seems like the next we were so far from each other. Where did all the anger and hurt come from?

My biggest concern is the children. I don't want them to think that any relationship they get in will be like this. I don't want them to fear loving people. And I don't know how to fix this.

I know I came to this relationship a bit broken. I was honest with you from the start about how I felt and when things bothered me. I tried to mend my broken pieces and leave my past in the past. I tried my hardest to keep working on our relationship, even when it seemed like you were giving up.

I don't blame you for this ending. It was a combination of factors, and one of the biggest was my inability to get past some of my hang ups. I don't blame you for not wanting to drag this on. It's not been fair to you or the children, the things I've put you through.

Please, do me a favor. Learn to love someone else. Don't let our children be as broken as I am. I'll do my best to explain to them why I'm broken and that they shouldn't look to me for how a successful relationship should go. Please be a good example for them.

I'll always love you.

Sincerely,
Dave

------------------------------------------------------
Not quite 100% sure where this came from. But here it is.

Gentle

To look at him, with his big muscles, you would hardly think that the best word to describe him was gentle. But he was. His hands may be large, but he was careful when cupping them around things. It was almost like he was so afraid to accidentally hurt something that he went overboard with his gentleness.

Which is not to say that he never used those muscles. He was protective and willing to stop someone from hurting people, especially those he loved. And he used them to move furniture around as favors to family, friends, neighbors, and occasionally little old ladies.

It was always more obvious how gentle he was when he cupped his hands around babies, to carefully lift them up and coo at them. He almost looked like a big kid, his grin so big. He would carefully tuck them into the crook of his elbow and gently, tenderly, stroke their faces as if the touch would help him learn their delicate features.

And everyone who ever saw him cradling a baby had the same statement; "I never expected him to be so gentle."

She always just smiled at them and said, "No one ever does."

------------------------------------------------------------------

I was reading something about someone being unexpectedly gentle (in an entirely different way, oddly enough) and inspiration struck.

The Artist

The urge to sketch, to fill a page with pictures, to draw what she sees is almost irresistible. However, she never feels comfortable with what she sees when she draws. It never looks quite right, quite like it does in her head. But that doesn't stop the urge.

Instead, she writes. Words are easier. They are easier to control. She writes and she likes writing. It makes her happy. It comforts her in ways that she didn't realize she needed comforting.

But it doesn't stop the urge to draw.

She knows that with practice she might be able to draw what's in her head. She might be able to be satisfied with her art. That just because it doesn't start the way she wants it to doesn't mean that it won't become that if she practices. But every time she's tried, she suddenly can't think of what to draw. Or she can't find a reference for what she wants to draw.

Eventually, she decides that it doesn't matter if she can't find a reference. She should just start and draw what is in her head. Keep practicing until she gets it right. Keep adding detail and staying patient.

The day she showed off her art and got accolades, she is glad she never gave up.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

So, yeah. Cathartic fiction seems to be where I'm at.

Young

As he held his daughter, their daughter, for the first time, he was in awe. He counted and re-counted her fingers and toes. He stared at her face, trying to memorize the details.

As he looked, he wondered, 'Was I ever this young?'

---------------------------------------------------------------

I based this off the word young. The question at the end came first, and then I knew exactly how the rest would go.