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I was around 8 years old in this picture. I lived in my bathing suit!

I was around 8 years old in this picture. I lived in my bathing suit! These were the YooHoo days =)

I just had a really great memory of Dad. I always welcome the good ones when they pop up because they’re so few and far between. Anyway, my husband let me have the YooHoo he had put in the fridge last night. ¬†I haven’t had one of these in so many years!! And with my first sip I was transported back to sitting in Dad’s truck after stopping to get bait and snacks at the bait shop by the lake. It was a regular thing for us. Every other weekend he would pick me up and we would go straight to the lake as soon as we got home and hitched up the boat. And every fishing trip meant a trip to Tom’s for our regular order. I always got a bag of Bugles, a peach soda, and a bottle of YooHoo. Dad got his usual six pack of Busch, a pack of Winstons, and whichever variety of bait we needed. The YooHoo didn’t make it out of the parking lot, which is why I got the peach soda. Dad would crack a beer and I would open the YooHoo and together we would chug. I can’t say for sure, but I feel like there were probably a few large belches after we were finished. Then we would head a mile down the road and get to it. We would spend hours on the lake. We would sing songs together while we drove to our fishing spot. Have you ever heard Rosemary Clooney’s song Where Will It Be? That was our usual song of choice. The little Mercury engine ran wide open and we sang loud enough to be heard above the noise. Eventually we would set up camp in a little cove and set to work. I had my own rod, and wouldn’t think of letting anyone bait my hook for me. We would fish, he would drink beer, we would laugh and talk and be silly. We did this for hours! After catching an acceptable amount of fish, and a respectable sunburn, we set out for a good place to swim. Dad knew Lake Lanier inside and out and always had an interesting new place to show me. Once he even took me to a sunken houseboat and took me diving to check it out. That was terrifying lol. Anyway, once we were good and cooled off we would load up and head home. That’s how we spent our weekends before the she-devil came into his life. And I had almost forgotten about it until I sipped that YooHoo ūüôā


I suppose I can spill my guts here about this issue. After all, this is my blog right? I’ve been nice about this particular incident purely because, well, I’m too nice. I’ve often been called a doormat by those who know me well. I get close to someone and throw myself right down there on the ground for them to walk all over. I’m too excited about having someone I can trust to realize what’s going on behind the scenes. I’ll give you an example. About five years ago I met a new friend, we’ll call her Heather. We were instantly BFFs and it was awesome. She was my rock when I struggled with other “friends” that weren’t treating me right, and was the first person in my life to point out that I apologize too much, and am too nice to the people who do me wrong. Over the course of our friendship I ate up this advice and turned it into confidence, and it was powerful. The only thing I gave in return was an entire floor in my house for her and her kids to live in, rent-free, for a year, free babysitting so she could work and run around sleeping with anyone and everyone that looked her way, our entire DVD collection because she couldn’t afford cable, my minivan–which I gave her for FREE because she couldn’t afford one to drive to and from work, a safe place to land every time her piece of shit “boyfriend” beat her and left her on the side of the road, and a cell phone on our Verizon account that she never once paid for. Seems like a fair trade right? LOL!

Back in April of this year, we took a trip to Disney World for our Spring Break with the kids. We had been planning it for months. The day before we were supposed to leave, Heather called me up in a hysterical fit. I was supposed to meet up with her that day to give her some medicine–antibiotics to treat an infection on her scalp that came from overusing some new drug she’d fallen in love with–because she couldn’t afford a trip to the doctor. She didn’t show that day, and I got a call from the “boyfriend” telling me he had brought her to the meeting place and kicked her out without her phone or wallet because she was being a bitch. I could hear him smiling sweetly as he told me what a psycho she is and that he didn’t have time for that, and that he’d see me after I tracked her down and brought her home. Apparently he went and found her after that, and the story is that he picked her up in the van, with her kids in the back seat, and when she was angry at him he grabbed her by her hair, choked her, punched her, and told her she needed to get out of his house ASAP. So she called me hysterical, having gotten her kids and an overnight bag, and was driving around Athens with nowhere to go. D and I decided she could crash at our place while we were in Florida. We needed someone to feed the rabbits anyway. So she arrived that night.

We sat on the back porch talking together for a while. I told her our ground rules for our home, the most important one being that if we come home and our stuff is missing, I’d hold her responsible. She agreed. She told me about the plan she had for herself which involved starting a small cleaning business¬†and expanding from the two houses she was already cleaning. She was going to crash on couches while she saved money over the summer, while her kids were shipped away to various family and friends. While we were gone, D and I got a couple bizarre calls and texts from her about our vacuum. She wanted to know if we had another one because the red one wasn’t working. It didn’t really occur to us at the time that it was an odd thing to assume someone has more than one vacuum. I told her I did have another one, it was in our bedroom, but was behind our locked bedroom door so she would have to live without it until we got back. After all, I had vacuumed the house the day before our trip anyway. The thing is, the one in our closet is a broken vacuum too. The only working vacuum we had was the Hoover that my mom had given to us.

So Spring Break ends, and we return. Once she left, we started noticing things that were missing or not quite right. She put a giant hole in the couch cushion, and threw a stack of blankets on top of it to hide it. She used our Netflix account to watch girl on girl porn, which shows up in your Recently Watched list for a while until you watch enough stuff to push the older stuff out. She had overnight guests at OUR house.. Someone named Karen, and her son. She had told me how she had invited her ex-boyfriend over and had sex with him in our driveway, and how she didn’t care that he’s engaged because she planned to break up that engagement by making him cheat. She did strange things like clean out our junk drawer in the kitchen. But it took a couple weeks to really get the whole picture as far as what impact Heather had on our house. First I noticed that the two brand new packs of Hefty paper plates I’d gotten on sale at Publix the week before our trip were suddenly gone. She likes to trade stuff like that on those Facebook yard sale pages. We bought the boys an Xbox for good grades and behavior at school, and when I went to find the two wireless controllers I’d had in storage in the living room from our previous Xbox, the entire basket full of assorted electronics was gone, including the two controllers. And then it came time to vacuum. My Hoover was nowhere to be seen. D and I checked every closet, every room, every spot in the garage, every porch, every car, we checked the barn, we checked the basement. Nothing. The Hoover that had been there the day before we left, the one I’d used to clean up the day before our trip, was nowhere.¬†¬†It became painfully clear that Heather had taken our one working vacuum, which wasn’t even ours at all. I was furious! But when I approached Heather about it, I was cool and calm. In fact, I gave her an out. I asked her if she had, by chance, borrowed our vacuum. She said no, and stuck to the story about having to use the broken red one. I told her the Hoover was my mom’s and I’d have to pay her back for it. I told her she had been the only person her before, during, and since our trip. She wrote back (this was all via text) and asked what about the blue one in my closet. At that moment I knew she was the thief. I never told her the thing was in my closet OR that it was blue. And what’s worse is that our bedroom door has a key lock on it, which she had to have picked and gotten through to even know about the blue vacuum in my closet. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. I felt like an idiot. I knew she had a regular habit of stealing, but I never dreamed she would steal from me. She was always bragging about going to Walmart or CVS and loading her purse with merchandise, then returning the items to another location and getting a store credit in return. She decorated her entire house with items she took from dumpsters, driveways, and garages that she said were hers to take because people should know better than to leave their things in the open like that.¬† I didn’t respond to any more of her messages after that. She tried posting little cutesy pictures about best friends on my Facebook wall, which I deleted. And after a few days I sent her a message letting her know that she owed me $380 for the cell phone that she’d never paid for. She started texting D asking why I’m mad at her, and he ignored her too. Finally she told me she would have my money on Friday and would bring it to me then. I told her to bring back a few of my other things while she was at it, and she agreed.

The night before she was to bring the money, we traded messages on Facebook about everything. In that conversation she apologized for being a shitty friend. She told me she was bringing every penny of the cell phone bill money because she knew she owed it to me. And then she told me she didn’t mean to do it, in reference to the vacuum. She knew she had been the only one there, and knew I was holding her responsible.¬†¬†The next day she turned it around on me and accused ME of being the shitty friend because I was accusing HER of stealing our vacuum. Even though 12 hours earlier she had admitted to it in a message and apologized for being a shitty friend. She had a box full of my stuff to return, and I was hoping she’d bring it to me at the house so we could talk face to face about the whole thing. But she wanted to just leave the box, with the $380 in it, by my mailbox. She didn’t want to face me. So instead, I told her to drop it off with D at his job, which she did. And on the outside of the envelope that the money was in, she wrote, “I’m sorry Lindsey.”

I let her keep the van. It has some pretty significant mechanical problems that I couldn’t afford to fix, and was really only worth it’s weight in scrap metal at the recycling place. I told her to keep it because her “boyfriend” will eventually hurt her bad enough that she’ll need a way to get to safety with her kids. In fact, I was pretty freaking nice overall about the whole thing. I didn’t expose her to our mutual friends on Facebook or call the police and report my items missing. I didn’t make a big deal about the rest of the stuff she had of ours (the DVDs and little things like that). But now that a few months have passed and I’ve started to gain some clarity, I can’t help but wonder just how much of her story was a con job. Was it a coincidence that she had that fight with her man the day before we left for a week? Or did she stage that just so she could come crash here? Did she really think I wouldn’t notice my things missing? Or that I wouldn’t hold her responsible for it? Am I just so much of a doormat that I put myself out there and let her walk right into our lives and steal from us? It does sort of seem that way.

So here I am now with all my clarity. I feel sorry for the people that are still in her life because they don’t see it coming either, like I didn’t see it coming. I don’t care anymore about outing her to our mutual friends because I don’t have any reason to be ashamed or feel guilty. I did what any good friend would do and let my BFF come here when she was homeless or hurt, loan her my things when she needed them, bought her a cell phone because her kids needed to be able to get in touch with her, and gave her a car just so she could get a job. And all I got in return was a thief in my house and a knife in my back. So rather than keeping this all to myself just to make it easier for her, I’m putting it out in the open for the world to see because that makes it easier for me. It is a mighty big shame that there are people out there who will take advantage of an honest and giving person like myself. But I know it isn’t my loss. In fact, my life has been much lighter and easier without Heather bogging me down. I’m going to keep being the good friend type of girl that I am, just not to her. And she’ll keep being the lying crook that she is, mooching off of whoever is blind enough to let her into their home. I get a good laugh when I think about how she must feel knowing that she stole from the one person who would have given her anything if she had asked for it, and then got busted and lost that person forever.

So there it is, the truth about the vacuum theft. What a trivial item to steal huh? I do hope that the vacuum is wonderful enough to replace the friendship we had. That stinky, hand-me-down vacuum full of moldy cat dander from Mom’s house must be one hell of a prize!

I had a conversation with D before bed about our chocolate dog, Gilmour, and his issues–and mine apparently. This lovely, perpetually puppy-brained, gentle giant of ours loses almost all brain functioning ability when a storm rolls in. And I as his one true love, and more importantly the SAHM/WAHM mom of the house, am here with him for every one of these braindead episodes. I hear D’s point about the poor dog, and I do understand that he’s just a dog and can’t help but become 100% dumbass at the slightest hint of raindrops falling. But I’m only human, ya know? This poor mama is about to snap over this dog and his fear of storms!

I saw a meme on FB the other day that said, “This summer has been great. It has only rained twice.. Once for 45 days and once for 35 days.” Right you are, Meme! Somewhere there is a god laughing at me as he adds more storms to our earthly abode, a place I’ve come to think of as the Land of Thunder and Pants. For every boom from the clouds, Gilmour’s panting increases by some ridiculous exponential amount. And with each uptick in the pants, so too escalates my frazzled nerve index. Every dog expert I’ve found says to avoid coddling him so as not to condone the behavior. His own vet thinks immersion therapy is his best hope for recovery, and my best hope for regaining my sanity. But where does that leave us in a summer like this? The dog was actually showing signs of improvement until the endless rain arrived. But he’s living in a trauma cycle now with no breaks to let him relax. Now it doesn’t even take thunder to send him into a fit of hyperventilating. Nope, just the gentle sound of rain sprinkling the ground is all it takes to set him off.

So I ended our conversation by saying that even though I feel completely justified in my state of annoyed frustration, I’ll just keep my mouth shut about it from now on. Obviously the frustration train has more cars than I realized, as far as this dog and his storm anxiety are concerned. We board the train in Thunderville, Gilmour and I. He heads up the train with the never ending panting. I follow in the second car with annoyance and short temper at my side. And D pulls up the rear with his pals Why Are You Always Mean to the Dog and He Can’t Help It. And together we ride around and around and around and around, never really going anywhere but mad.

Oh how I wanted to put that panting fool outside at 1:43am! I don’t know if it was even raining at that point. I didn’t hear anything. But chocolate dog and his huge ears probably heard rain over in the next county and set to work panting just to be safe. I laid there staring into the dark, trying hard to stick to my word and not yell at him. I gave it time and exerted every bit of patience one can muster while struggling to get some beauty rest. I listened to his heavy, endless, pointless panting and waited for it to end, knowing that it wouldn’t. And then I got to the angry place. I sat there hoping D would hear it too and would yell at him. After all, he sleeps right beside him. Why can’t he hear it too?! But he didn’t hear it, at least not that I could tell. I then decided to try reasoning with the heavens. I pleaded with the skies to knock this shit off and give us both a break. But my pleas were unanswered, as usual. Checked the clock again, it is now 2:27. I’ve now been laying there awake, trying to be patient, silently pleading with the skies to stop the madness, listening to the dog panting for nearly 45 minutes. Finally I broke down and hollered at him. Just one word, “Gilmour!” And he stopped. And I went back to sleep, satisfied with my outburst.

Then it began again. The clock said 2:48 this time and I didn’t wait for another 45 minutes to pass before yelling. I hollered his name again, a little more sternly this time, and he stopped. Back to sleep I go. I didn’t have the heart to look at the clock again after that, but three more times I had to do this before I got back to good sleeping. Either I was too exhausted to hear him, or the rain finally stopped. Who knows?

7:14 came with a start and woke me up for the day. I’ve got bags under my eyes. I feel like I’m coming down with something. I’m more tired now than when I went to bed. I feel the agony of defeat because I broke my promise not to be mean to the dog. And The Weather Channel tells me we have thunderstorms all day today and tomorrow. Now I’m pleading with the universe to send a little patience both to me and D. I’m tired and ill. My exercise in patience with the dog failed miserably and blew up in my face. So here I am, back at square one again. But this time I get to feel guilty about it too =/

Light Bulb Moment

Well today began with a clear message from Dad. A light bulb moment, as I’ve come to call it. This is a unexplained phenomenon that has happened several¬†times over the last couple years, but only after Dad passed. The first time it happened was startling. Terrifying actually. I was working in the kitchen when one of the lights suddenly turned bright white with an electric surge, and then exploded into tiny little pieces all over the floor. It had been on for hours with no problems that day, or ever before that day. Nothing else in the house surged at the same time though. It was just this one light in the kitchen. When this happened, I could only think of the time Dad was teaching me about electric currents. He had told me that a light bulb that has a steady current will stayed on until the power is turned off to it. Which means that it cannot just stop working in the middle of being on. He used a porch light as an example and said some people leave their porch light on all the time, and the bulb with stay lit for years without turning off or blowing out. Only when the power is switched off, or a storm knocks out power, will the light bulb then be able to cool down and become vulnerable to its weakness. Then when the power is restored, the bulb goes out. Think about that for a minute. How many times have you turned on a light only to have the bulb blow? It’s usually pretty annoying because then you have to go find a new bulb. Alright, so back to my kitchen bulb. When this happened, I thought immediately about Dad’s light bulb lesson, and I looked up toward the heavens and said, “Dad! You were wrong!”

It has been two years now since that first light bulb moment, and this same thing has happened again and again. Same light fixture in the kitchen, one that always stays on, the light above the stove. It makes a good nightlight, so we never turn it off. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, or there had to be some other explanation. But I have researched it, and even talked to a couple electricians. The answer is the same.. the light bulb can’t go out without a break in power. Slowly I began to embrace the idea that perhaps Dad is nearby trying to say hello, and the only way he can get through to me is through this bulb. I know, it sounds downright crazy. Trust me, I think it is crazy too! I wasn’t convinced until the night I talked to Uncle Dave on the phone though. Dave is Dad’s younger brother, and the one other person I know that knew Dad well. I like to talk to him about Dad because he’s always teaching me things I never knew about my father, and he is completely sympathetic to my emotions. So this one night in particular, we had been on the phone for a little while. He was telling me about feeling Dad’s presence there with him very strongly as he had been trying to teach himself to play the harmonica, one of Dad’s favorite instruments to play. I had long since told him about the light bulb moments and that I’d come to accept them as messages that Dad was near. It was during the evening when we were talking, so I was in and out of the kitchen tending to kids and dogs while we were talking. I walked out to the garage to have some quiet for a few minutes, we talked very intensely about our sanity when it comes to these moments of feeling him near us, and we both decided that even though these strange things were happening for us, that it didn’t mean we were crazy. We can only believe what we’re shown, and we’ve been shown so many times that something funny definitely goes on. I remember telling Dave how much I wish I could know for sure that Dad knows I’m getting his messages. A few minutes later I went back in the kitchen, and there it was… the light bulb had gone out while I was on the phone. I checked with my husband, asking if he’d turned it off. But it wasn’t off, the switch was still in the on position. And D said he hadn’t even gotten off the couch the entire time we were on the phone. Right there, while I was telling my Uncle how crazy it is that this light bulb thing keeps happening, and how much I’d love to be sure Dad knows I’m getting his message, his light bulb went out. From that moment forward I’ve believed with all of my heart that my father is responsible. You can laugh and think I’m crazy. But it is what it is. It happens about once a month now. These moments don’t always coincide with perfectly timed conversations like when I was talking to Dave.¬†¬† One of the more recent light bulb moments though was one of those powerful moments, and the one that absolutely sealed the deal for me.

D and I had traveled to Gainesville for his physical. While he was waiting, I decided I’d ride over to visit Dad’s grave. It was only the second time in two years that I’ve been, but it felt like a nice thing to do since I was 5 minutes away from his resting place and I’m rarely in Gainesville. While at his grave, I talked to him about various things. And then I remembered the light bulb. I told him I knew it was him sending me those messages, and to keep it up because I know it means he’s there with me, saying hello and sending his love. I said I’d look for his light to go out when I got back home and that I’d know for sure that he’d heard me talking to him that day. We got home a couple hours later, and sure enough, the bulb was out. I had told D about the conversation I’d had with Dad on the way home, and he was the first one in the house and found the light had gone out. We checked the switch. It was on. I sobbed. I understand that there are coincidences in life, and there may very well be a good explanation for this one. But nothing will make you believe the unbelievable faster than something like that happening to you.

So my last post here yesterday was called Message from Dad, which I posted yesterday. It was about a dream I had before my Pawpaw died, and I ended the title with a question mark because I obviously can’t be sure that it was actually a message from Dad. And then I woke up early this morning to find his light has gone out. I don’t know about you, but that seems pretty clear to me!

Losing my father has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to get through. I was 28 and it was very unexpected, which left me in a dark place for a long, long time. Coincidence or not, having these little light bulb moments gives me a little bit of hope every now and then, and something I can cling to when I’m missing him the most ūüôā

Taken two weeks before Dad died.

Taken two weeks before Dad died.

Message from Dad?

Earlier this year, my grandfather was in a battle with life. The last few years brought heartache and a ton of health problems, which left him bedridden and miserable. After 84 years alive, he was ready to go to his eternal resting place. We were set to spend the first week of April in Disney World. That week though his health took a major turn, and I was afraid I wouldn’t make it back to Georgia in time to say goodbye. I had this dream on April 7th, and on April 8th my Pawpaw left this world.

It began in a college auditorium/classroom. I was finishing a class and walking out with a few of my friends. I looked up and saw my Nanny standing at the back of the auditorium. She was motioning at me to come speak with her. Her normally smiley face was straight and grim. I held up my index finger to let her know I’d be right there, and continued talking with my friends. Apparently I forgot about¬†her though. Next thing I know I’m in a creek swimming with friends. I say friends, but you know how it goes in your dreams. They were total strangers in real life, but I was familiar with them in the dream. Anyway, I’m splashing and swimming with the other people when I see my dad standing beside the water. His face is stern and he says to me, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Just then I remembered my Nanny and rushed to find a way out of the water. I told my friends I had to go do something. While I was making my way to the side to climb out, one of the girls fell down in front of me and I caught her in my arms. She was throwing up while I held her, and then she died. Right there in my arms. I looked up again at my dad and he says, “See, that’s¬†what I was trying to tell you!” And with that I was awake again. I got in touch with a family member right after I woke up and found that Pawpaw was still with us, but I couldn’t shake that creepy feeling that Dad was trying to let me know about something important. The next afternoon, on April 8th, I got the news that Pawpaw had taken his last breath.

I recognize the anxiety in the dream as the same anxiety I felt when I knew he might go while I was out of state. The dream made me hysterical for several hours before I finally calmed down. After all, Pawpaw wanted to go. He was hurting and tired of it. We had all said goodbye quite a few times. But nothing will shake you to your core like a message from your dead father about someone dying, and then it happening the very next day. Was that stranger in the water supposed to be Pawpaw? I don’t know. Will I pay attention to dreams like this in the future? You better believe it!

I should know by now that if a dream begins with a peaceful, sunny afternoon, there will be trouble on the horizon. In this case, the trouble on the horizon was something we could all see and couldn’t ignore. It started out in a small village setting surrounded by a small mountain range. The people were all out and about, having a lovely day. I was visiting with a group of friends. Now just like most of my dreams, these people and this town were all familiar to me as if I’d been there before many times. But in reality, it was all things I’d created in my mind. The only person I recognized from real life was the guy I was hanging out with. He was actor Eric Dane, who plays Dr. Mark Sloan on Grey’s Anatomy. I was busy trying to talk him up to a girl when the strange incident began.

Night fell and the sky was clear, cloudless, and filled with stars. Something got my attention in the sky, so I looked up. There among the stars was something I’d never seen. A bright white light was drawing shapes in the sky. It looked as if someone had a very powerful laser pointer pointing to the stars, playing Connect the Dots. But once the images were traced, they stayed there. When it was done, there was a grid with various different shapes, all the same size, in a 6×6 square. Some shapes were hearts with a circle around them, some where stars, some suns, moons, and astrological symbols. The other symbols were math related, like the symbol for pi, and other algebraic functions. I stood staring in awe, wondering if I was just imagining this. I felt so small and fragile suddenly. And lost. At that point, I began to lose the sense of familiarity I had felt only moments before, and this town filled with people was no longer a place of warm embrace. I retreated to the house where I’d left Sloan and the girl. I was fighting against the crowd as I returned though, as everyone had come out of their houses to see this sky. It wasn’t until I received a text message from my uncle Dave that I realized how big of an occurrence this was. He sent a picture of the news report he was watching on TV, telling about people around the world witnessing a disturbance among the stars. I thought to myself, “So it’s not just me.”

I didn’t make it back to the safety of the house before the next thing happened. All along the horizon were these large things. They looked like the Epcot ball, but darker gray. They were completely surrounding the planet on all sides, and were clearly much larger–each one individually–than our little Earth. If you had been observing this from space, it would have looked like a circle of those large shooter marbles, sides touching, surrounding a small, regular sized marble in the center. That center marble would be earth, and the larger marbles would be the shooter marbles. From where I stood, these large round things were visible in every direction I looked. They made the once huge mountain range look like little ant hills in their shadow. They glowed from the bottom up with a subtle pink light, and seemed to be surrounded by fog. I grabbed my cell phone and tried to call my husband, but my phone contents had been affected by the occurrence. The numbers that once made up the dial pad were now the same symbols as those drawn in the stars, and the words on the screen were the same. I couldn’t read it so I gave up. I hoped that wherever he was that he was safe with our kids.

Suddenly a voice came booming from above. It was the voice of Patrick Stewart. He spoke clearly as if he was standing there in front of me talking in a normal tone. But he wasn’t there, it was coming from the round machines surrounding the planet. He spoke of our planet as the jewel of the universe, a paradise planet that all other races throughout the universe had long regarded as one of the few remaining treasures. And they were here to protect it. He urged us to understand that his purpose was not to destroy us or our planet, unless we chose to ignore their help. Somewhere in the distance, a helicopter appeared, filled with armed forces of some variety. They had come to fire against these round things–which I now knew were ships. When they fired against the ships, a beam of green plasma-like like came from the top of the ship and surrounded the helicopters. They were gently returned to the ground, but remained within a bubble of the green plasma light. Patrick Stewart spoke again, telling us that he regretted this action but that none of the humans in the helicopter had been harmed, and wouldn’t be harmed. But they would be held within the plasma bubble indefinitely. He spoke at length explaining what they were here to do, and how we could all work together to keep the earth healthy and happy. I don’t remember much about his speech. I only remember that feeling of being small and fragile.

This is where my dream ended and I woke up.

I met a guy and became friends with he and his friends. He wasn’t a “good” guy, as my mom would describe him. He was obviously a shady kind of person who hung out with questionable people. But I didn’t care. In fact, I recall getting a sort of satisfaction out of having friends that the rest of my family and friends wouldn’t approve of. He lived in a two story house located in one of those neighborhoods that seemed to be houses stacked one on top of another, like Nanny used to take me to see.

The dream consisted mostly of short video clip-like images of me and the gang hanging out in and around this house, having fun and not worried about any other care in the world. The guy had a sister that suddenly appeared in the dream, and she and I wanted to hang out. When we did, it made the guy really mad at me. I tried to reason with him and tell him I thought he and his sister were both really cool, and I didn’t realize he would be bothered by her and I spending time together too. He yelled at us both and left the house. The next thing I remember is walking out of the house, down the front stairs into the front yard. There was a white work van parked at the curb. The guy was there with three of his friends. What happened next is something that happens often in my dreams. I could hear the thoughts of those people in my head. I’m not sure if this is supposed to be my imagination’s way of hearing what they say, or if I was just thinking to myself, in the dream, what I thought was about to happen. Either way, I could “hear” the guy “saying” to his friends that he’s going to kill me.

I stood there, about 20 feet from the four of them, waiting for what came next. The guy was leaning toward the front of the van, with his right arm hidden behind the van so I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hand. I stood and waited for what came next. The guy stepped away from the van, revealing a small revolver in his right hand. He raised it and pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger. He shot at me four times. I felt the first shot in my right knee, and the next shot hit my stomach. I crumpled to the ground in a heap as the other two shots hit me. I remember having one of those semi-conscious thoughts about how strange it is that I can actually feel the pain and paralysis even though I’m dreaming. The pain was real, and the paralysis was immediate. I laid there for a brief second in the dark, and then I died.

What came next was even more strange. It was like an out-of-body experience. I was still watching myself laying on the ground, but no one could see me. My best guess is that I was now a ghost. I watched as the ambulance came, and the EMTs put my body in a black body bag and carried me away on a stretcher. My mom was there, and Daniel was by her side. They were horrified and sad, screaming in anguish as my body was carried away. I, my ghost form, moved close to them trying to yell out to tell them who had killed me. But no one heard me. I was completely alone, watching everything happen in front of me without being able to change any of it.

Suddenly I’m climbing a tree like a cat. I was able to walk right up the trunk, and maneuver through the limbs with no problem, as if gravity was not a factor for me. I found myself racing through the treetops chasing the guy who shot me. I could still recall seeing Mom and Daniel crying as the ambulance drove away, begging anyone around to tell them who had done this crime. But no one was chasing the man who killed me, except for me. I found him in a neighbor’s pool having some sort of pool party. He was laughing and swimming, drinking a beer and wearing his swim trunks. I stood staring at him and I was filled with fury and anger and frustration. We shared one of those unspoken thoughts again and he told me, in my mind, that no one will come looking for him because no one cares about losing me. I tried to yell out in my mind to anyone who could hear me, but no one did. I was alone, and dead, and no one seemed to care.

Then I woke up.

December 26, 2012

*This is a dream I had about my friend Cheryl, as told to her in an email.

You were coming to Georgia to visit, so D and I drove up there to pick you up and bring you here. Luckily in my dream it was only a 10 minute round trip lol. So he and I drive up, pick you up, then he goes to work. I bring you back to the house to drop your stuff off. But it wasn’t my house–I mean, it was my house in the dream, but not the house I live in. It was a little single-wide trailer in a really crowded trailer park. So we walk in, break out some vodka to start partying, and we hear this noise outside. I go out on the porch and there’s this little boy out there picking up my clay pots and smashing them. The boy’s name is Derrick, and he’s actually a kid I used to know in real life–he and his mom lived in an apartment complex I used to run. He was 11 and a total freaking nightmare. Because of him I ended up evicting their family, and his mom sued me for discrimination in Fair Housing court. I won, they were out on their ass. Anyway, back to the dream. So I’m watching little Derrick bust up my pots and laugh the whole time, so I run out there and chase him off the porch. I told him his mama was going to hear about it. Just then his mom came out on her porch, which was 30 feet away from my porch, and said she was watching him do it and had told him to go do it. She wasn’t Marge from real life though, she was Nedra from the latest season of Hell’s Kitchen lol. She got all sassy in my face about her son doing whatever he wants and I’m not going to do shit about it–and THAT part was absolutely the same as in real life. So I come back in and am apologizing to you for my rude neighbors. I was mortified because I lived in a trailer park and was being ruled by these misfits. You said fuck them, let me try something, and out you go to go talk to Nedra. You came back with her TV in your arms and said she wouldn’t be messing with us anymore. So that was the end of that lol. We loaded up and went to a bar to celebrate. The bar was actually six flags, and to get a drink we had to sit in a coaster car and be taken to the alcohol. I don’t know why but coasters appear in my dreams pretty often as conduit between one destination and another. I’m not afraid of them so who knows what the meaning is there lol. The whole evening out at the bar was like that though.. Our drink would be empty, so we’d go hop on the Scream Machine and ride to the next bar. Empty drink, hop on the Ninja for a beer. Empty drink, let’s hit the Georgia Cyclone and get some shots. Every ride had a different beverage. By the time we were done we were so trashed we couldn’t even see straight lol. I said it sucks because I can’t drive you back to north carolina drunk. You said oh dont worry, I think the Dahlonega Mine Train stops in Raleigh, I can get home from there. So we were on our way back to the park to get your stuff so we could send you home on the Mine Train but when we got there, Nedra and Derrick were on the porch again, about to throw more clay pots on the ground. When they saw us, they stopped and put them down. I was like dude, wtf did you say to that woman?! You just laughed and told me “Cheerios are a powerful weapon, my dear.” We went inside, sat for a while, waited for them to return but they didn’t. You asked why I even live there, and I told you I honestly didn’t know, that it felt like I had a better house somewhere else, but couldn’t remember it. And then I woke up.

I’ll be posting dreams here from now on. Sometimes they’re vivid and crazy, sometimes I remember just a few details. Anyway, here come a few!

I’ve been gone for so long lol. I’m not even going to try and apologize for it this time. I read through my previous posts and apparently that is a common theme among posts.. I disappear for a while, then resurface here, post once–apologizing for my absence, and then disappear again. Whatev. It is what it is.¬†

A friend of mine told me I should keep a dream journal. I’m prone to bizarre, apocalyptic, rollercoaster filled dreams. And a few of these lately have been pretty hilarious. Anyway, that’s what brought me back here today. Cheryl motivated me to get going in this direction. I had forgotten about my many previous attempts at blogging though. How funny are THOSE posts to read now? I deleted more than half of them, and left just six. The ones that made the cut are purely there for humor now. I was a different person when I posted those. So much has changed in these three years. In fact, those last posts were around 2010 before Dad died. That is the event that changed my life and pushed me in the direction I’m in now.¬†

When I did this before, I had planned for it to be a secret blog, just for me. Just a place to go type out these thoughts in my mind, and then be done with them. I never had a single follower, and even though I planned it that way, it bums me out. So I’m going to try and be better. I want to tell stories about my wicked awesome–sarcasm–childhood, and some of the monumental events in my life that brought me to being the brilliantly charming lady I am now. ¬†¬†¬†And I’m going to post this to Facebook¬†for everyone to see. Not yet though. I’ve got to do some catching up here so there is some good content available for folks to read.

So for now, I’ll bid this blog adieu and take my leave. There are boy-children to feed before I can commit to a long typing session. ¬†