Well. I got my new car on Thursday, and by Saturday…I KNEW that I had to take it on an extended trip.
So we (Saunya and I) went to the coast. Specifically, Fort Stevens. Mainly for the clean beaches and the oddly sad Battery Russell. For some reason, I’m drawn to that place. It’s very melancholy. Very hollow. Very photogenic.
Here they are:
(This would be Saunya.)
Yeah, we had loads of fun at the beach. I like going to Fort Stevens because it is so beautiful and not so much of a tourist trap as Seaside or Cannon Beach. 🙂
Ah! That’s how the beach is supposed to look. Pristine. Natural. Unpolluted.
I hate to say it, but the golden days of opportunity in America are over. We’re struggling to keep our jobs while corporations hoping to save a buck are shipping them overseas. I wish the dunderheads would realize they are costing themselves money by taking jobs out of our economy.
Too many people. Not enough resources. Corporations taking advantage of people and lining their coffers with others hard earned money, making the economic situation worse for everyone. But hey! They’re making profits, so who the f@#$ cares. Right?
Except those tiny little increases in prices add up. They make life harder. They make people have to choose how to invest their life and money–whether it be to try to save a nest egg for a retirement, or to feed their hatchlings that need to be fed and clothed in the present.
Life is just hard, and it will run you down if you let it. Yeah, I’m in a funk right now, but I’m trying to find some beauty in everything. That will usually do the trick for me. Usually. If not, then I kick myself in the ass and realize that there are many other people who have it worse off than I do, and stop being whiny.
I was a person, once. A wife, a mother, a daughter. I had dreams of a peaceful life, sharing it with the family I loved. I had hopes! I had bad times. Now I’m nothing but a memory, haunting the man whom I was glad to share my life–and even last moments–with. It is only my memory saving him from completely losing himself in the life that seems to have been chosen for him.
I am the thin barrier that prevents him from becoming the very monster that he has vowed to kill. Not that Frank is crazy, or in danger of going crazy. It is just too easy to lose yourself in the violence that is a remnant of our more animalistic days.
My name is Maria Castle, and this is my story. The only one that is in me to tell. It is the last echo of me that is still in Frank. I hope it saves him, one of these days.
April 21, 1976
Frank hadn’t slept well in weeks, and therefore, I suffered alongside him. Most nights were full of nightmares and muffled screams. I heard mumblings about the killing fields, and the blood that he waded through. I lay awake and cringed at the horrors he must have seen, and the pain he endured. His body shuddered and he lashed out, involuntarily.
The doctors nowadays would label him with having a bad case of post traumatic stress disorder, but there wasn’t much known about it back in 1976. People who came back from ‘Nam were treated like a dirty secret. Most had a hard time finding a job. Some committed suicide. Frank was one of the lucky ones who was hired as a Special Forces Instructor–which meant the USMC found him too valuable to let go, but not so valuable as to pay him what he deserved.
“Frank,” I said, in the quiet of the morning. We lay in bed with the cold light on our bodies. His eyes were black morasses of guilt, anger and a memory that he couldn’t forget or truly remember. I touched his arm and he shuddered. “I was thinking that perhaps that we should have fun as a family. I’ve noticed you’ve been so …distant lately, and you haven’t slept well.”
The children were the only bright spot in his life that gave him joy. Sometimes, when we made love, he would let his guard down and he’d smile…but even that, made him hurt deep in his soul. Like he thought that this life was too good to be true, and that it would all be ripped from him. How true that intuition was, so I would soon find out.
(TBC. I promised people I’d finish this soon, so I will.)
I have been so apathetic lately. Troubles at home, but mostly abroad, have just sapped every ounce of creativity out of me. I rise, only to work, exercise, laze about on WoW, hope people get on YIM to talk, hope there are messages in Marvel Uncensored (my sole RPG) to respond to, then wander off to sleep.
It’s a sad, pathetic little life with not much in the way of mental or social stimulation. Or inspiration. I’ve even neglected my little Punisher website that could. But now that I’ve found that some people are responding to it, it makes me feel better. Makes me feel like there is something good to be found.
What has happened in Japan is just too much for me to take in because if I did, I’d probably cry for a day. I feel numb. I’ll process the tradegy soon, but later. After the shock has worn off. It is just too horrible for me to spend too much time on. Too much suffering for me to imagine. Not only from the earthquake itself, but by the subsequent horrors of the tsunami and the nuclear plants being damaged.
Just. Too. Much.
I pray in my own way that as many people as possible are safe and united with their families, and that help brings them food and warmth. I pray that the people of Japan know that the hearts of good people are thinking about them.
It’s my Birthday!
And I have been blogging since about 2002, so no wonder it seems that I have run out of energy. I’m trying. Lord knows that I am. Eleven years of almost non stop creativity and bitching. Huh.
Going to TRY to post something more tomorrow…..
But I had a good birthday. I didn’t get presents–I don’t need them—but I got the best wishes from those people who mean the most to me and that’s what matters to me. I don’t want money spent on gifts that I’ll forget, I just want good times and comaderie.
A – Age of your first kiss: 16
B – Band you are listening to right now: Etta James
C – Crush: Bruce Campbell. I love his sense of humor.
D – Dad’s name: Ronald Leroy
E – Easiest person to talk to: Real life: Saunya. Online: My man
F – Favorite ice cream: Chocolate Chip Mint
G – Gummy worms or gummy bears: Gummy sharks
H – Hometown: St.Helens, OR–not to be confused with Mt. St. Helens which is in Washington.
I – Instruments: Flute
J – Junior High: St. Helens Junior High
K – Kids: If it happens, it happens.
L – Longest car ride: 2 and a half weeks
M – Mom’s name: Real mom–Lynnette Lain. Step mom–Rosemary Helen
N – Nicknames: Bratinator, Braticon, Boobzilla
O – One wish: To get the service people back from the Middle East safely.
P – Phobia: I am scared to death of heights. Slugs too.
Q – Quote: “When politics and religion are intermingled, a people is suffused with a sense of invulnerability, and gathering speed in their forward charge, they fail to see the cliff ahead of them” –Frank Herbert.
R – Reasons to smile: Because it makes people wonder what I’m up to.
S – Scent: Lavender–the real stuff.
T – Time you woke up today: 7:30
U – Unknown fact about me: I have a sword in my closet.
V – Values: Treat others as you wish to be treated
W – Worst luck with: Men
X-rays you’ve had: Head, leg, hips.
Y – Years since you’ve been to church: 6.
Z–Zoo animal: Wolf
I vaguely remember my high school years..well, I remember them pretty well actually. I have an excellent memory when it suits me. And as of this moment, it suits me like a wetsuit, which, if I actually wore one, would show off my walrus-like physicque.
Anyone that knows me, KNOWS how painfully shy I am. A good part of it is due to high school. I was shy for a damned good reason; to keep myself off the radar of bullies. Again, anyone who was my friend in high school knows that I was a popular target. I could never conform to people’s expectations. Nor did I want to. And to be honest, I had a dur face going on. So I kept to myself and to a loyal table of misfits. Dustin, Dave Connor–who helped me open my ketchup packets because I was a wuss–and a few others. We were the misfits of high school, the ones that weren’t smart or pretty enough to fit in a particular cliche. Pretty much, the lunch version of the Breakfast Club.
Only I was the fat, socially maladjusted one. The person who made a pitiful attempt at fitting in every once in awhile..to fall flat on my fanny.
Then there was Band. The one area I did ok in, other than English and Literature, although I could not read music worth a lick. I had a good ear for it, and had nearly perfect pitch—but I had a peculiar inabilty to read the notes. Still, I skipped out on the final exams where I had to play a solo in front of Mr. Band Teacher–I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to find the courage to reveal just how bad at interpreting . But he passed me. I got A’s throughout my time there. Talk about getting a good grade that I really didn’t merit getting. Maybe the teacher felt sorry for me.
I’ve got more stories to tell about band, but that will have to keep. The Tylenol PM that I took is starting to do its thang and I am drifting off to slumber…
Aunt Val is my cranky alter ego who just happens to be a valkryie! Been a long time since I’ve felt the mood for this. Enjoy!
Dear Aunt Val,
I’m a single, fun lovin’ party girl doing the club scene. Currently, I’m not searching for Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now—but I do get drinks and dinners bought for me by guys all the time. Then I meld into the crowd. I don’t talk to them and never give out my number, and my friends say that I am a tease and that it’s wrong to accept those gifts. I believe it’s ok to take advantage…I mean they are offering, aren’t they?
—Party Girl Looking For Fun Only
Here’s what I hear from you: I’m so hot…blah, blah, blah… Just looking for handouts, blah, blah blah. Don’t want to get to know anyone, just use their generosity and get wasted on someone else’s dime.
It’s a good thing that there are thousands of miles between broiling-in-my-metal-brassiere me and self entitled whiny you. I just might toss you over the saddle of my pegasus, Pokey, and drop you off somewhere…say…in Rwanda. Or in the Congo.
Accepting a drink from a man indicates a willingness to open up a discussion. That’s what alcohol should be used for. Just to loosen up a little, not get toasted, mind you, but to relax a smidge. Taking a drink and cutting is a fine example of bad manners. If you are not interested in talking, DON’T accept. Be sincere and genuine and not be classified as a “user”.