4.29

He had been camping with his friends. He loved it--men and nature, cohabitating. His wife, however, hated it. Annie was dead set against the idea of the woods--too many bugs, trees, and dirt stains. So he went out with his friends for a week in the middle of October, just when the morning was gaining a nip and the days were fiery. He came back a mountain man, grizzled and rugged.

He pulled in at the door and rang the doorbell, arms full of bags. Annie came up and the door swung open. He smiled.

Annie's face was cold as ice.

"You're not coming in this house until you shave that thing off." Her words were curt and cutting. All of his friends just kind of stood there, awkward, while the couple stared at each other. He dropped his bags and Annie made a move to shut the door. He closed the distance in a single step and grabbed her by the arm. His face was full of rage, and he pulled her close to him so he could whisper. His voice broke with anger and his breath tickled her ear.

"Annie, I will cut off my beard because I love you and you don't like it. But you do not get to tell me what to do. This marriage is a team. We're equal partners. And I will never be ordered again." He let go of her arm and Annie stumbled back. He pulled himself up to his full height and took a deep breath.

Annie screamed. "Get out of my house!"

He stepped backward calmly onto the mat and whispered.

"It's my house too."

4.27

I'm done.

I'll blog soon.

The three times I stood on the edge, I didn't jump. The one time I jumped off the edge, I didn't pause to appreciate it. So I tried stumbling.

3.22

[Haven't posted in a while. Education classes ate my soul. Will post soon.]

SALE

Batch date, rrn avs response.

Base.

Tip.

Total.

Thank you, Customer Copy.

4.18

fountain perp

requiremerp

little girp

sun shirp

can of werp

slow sterp

big wherp

herp derp

4.17

Tragedy strikes when you least expect it. This isn't because it has skill, or some innate ability to hit you at just the right time. No, tragedy isn't that good. The reason why tragedy hits you when your pants are down is because that's the moment when you're actively closing your eyes to the possibility of tragedy.

Take Hubert, for example. He's not stupid. He could see that Sarah was pulling away from him. First, he tried chasing her. It didn't work, and it was disheartening, so he stopped trying and he closed his eyes. Everything was fine. He didn't see anything coming. When she left, he was crushed because he didn't expect it.

Take Sarah, for example. She's not stupid. She could see that Hubert took their relationship more seriously than she. First, she tried backing off. It didn't work, and it was frightening, so she stopped caring and closed her eyes. Everything was fine. She didn't see how she could hurt him. When he cried, it shocked her because she didn't expect it.

Take Matt, for example. He watched the entire thing from the sidelines. He casually knew both parties and didn't do a thing because why bother? Besides, he liked Sarah before Hubert, and now that she was free, he could date her. He asked her out and closed his eyes. Everything was fine. There is no action indicative of a larger pattern here.

Tragedy strikes when you least expect it, not because it's perfectly timed, but because you actively expect the wrong thing.

4.16

I was having a very pleasant day with very pleasant dreams. I was laughing and having a generally great time with family and friends. A knock comes at the door, and I go to answer it. It is uncle Brook. He hands me my accordion and walks away. The once-gorgeous instrument is crumpled, misshapen, and covered with mildew. I collapsed crying.

And I was having such good dreams.

4.15

I line my pockets with holes to let the money fall out.

I run with scissors on the off chance I'll trip.

I spit in the wind.

I'm a rebel.

4.13

[I am sucking at keeping up this month yaaaay]

I saw her yesterday. She was walking past where I was sitting, but she didn't see me.

I saw her parking space was empty. No doubt she was at work.

I looked at her window as I was walking past, and the light was on. She was probably studying.

Guess what? I didn't feel anything.
I can't say I didn't care, because I still looked.

But I didn't feel anything. Not hate, not fear, not love, not sadness. Nothing. Apathy.

It makes my skin crawl.

4.11

Oh, you have to say goodnight?

I will imagine a continued conversation.

So, what's your favorite color?

Haha, silly. They don't make the color "Daniel," but I'm flattered.

Why thank you, I have never been called charming and witty before, but if you say so I'm sure it must be true.

You don't say! A whole pie, just for me? That's fantastic. And you put it in a box with money? You're too kind.

You didn't have to call my father and tell him how you feel about me just to validate me to him because he seems to think that playing football is the only way to meet women. Gosh, that was awful kind of you.

Oh, well. If you insist, I suppose I will try out to be an underwear model just so you can tell all your friends. It's fine. I mean, I'm sure I have the body for it.

What's that you say; you like me?

I need to scale back on this imaginary conversation. That last one was probably beyond the realms of believability.

4.10b

The duck gave himself a shake and threw himself into the air.

The dog perked up his ears and stiffened to bark.

The deer froze to listen to the approaching rumble.

It was another cliche scene and then the same normal thing happened, just like you would expect.

4.10

I stood, facing the villain. My revolver felt good in my hand, like a heavy feeling of security. "I wouldn't try that if I were you." He stopped reaching for his own gun. "You see, even if you think you can draw faster than I can fire, I have two friends standing behind you and they're trained on your head. We'd rather take you alive, but it's not necessary. And don't worry about your little friends. They probably won't make it either." I felt like winking at him, but thought better of it. It would probably be unprofessional to gloat.

I could see the wheels in the man's head revolving around the idea of fighting or running. I could feel the gun in my hand screaming with all its force. I could see my friends behind the bugger just waiting for an excuse to open fire.

It was the best case I had ever led.

I might get a promotion.

I might get a raise.

I would win.

And yet, I had a sinking feeling that my backup were double agents. So I woke up.

Best dream ever.

4.9

I promised myself I would sit on the porch in the rocker next to mama. I promised myself I would hoe the corn with pop. I promised myself I would saddle the horse and ride to town and the horse wouldn't get to wear the blinders because I would need them because I promised myself I wouldn't look at the devil women in town who are up to no good.

I promised myself I would stay on the farm where I belonged, but the problem with wearing blinders is that when she got directly in front of me, she was all I could see.

Sorry mama. I can't snap peas with you anymore; I found what I was looking for.

4.7c

I think you've seen the real me. But that's like seeing a bear through a window. You've seen the bear, and you can hear him and probably you're shocked and amazed. But! It's nothing like running your hands through the bear's fur and feeling his warmth. Not everybody gets there. It's special and unique.

But then, most people are at the Seeing Through a Window stage. Almost everybody is. But the reason why it makes me angry that you're at the Window stage is that I want you to be in the woods with me.

[good night, everybody]

4.7b

Disclaimer: I am all for the sexual abuse/harassment awareness week. There is a pressing need for people to stop giving each other the bad touch and calling each other naughty names. Seriously, the depravity of human beings is astonishing. Stop it.

On the other hand, I want to discuss the women on the promenade. I have been told many times that "Men are abused too." this statement commonly comes immediately after my statement "Oh, I'm trying to protect myself and I'm doing a good job. I'm tall and male." Response: men are abused too.

I have to wonder why they tell me, again and again. I suppose that the obvious reason would be that they don't know if I am aware of the possibility that a man can be abused, and they're covering their bases. This vague possibility has flitted across my mind.

Additionally, it could be that they're trying to make men feel like the week isn't just about how "women = angels and men = demonspawn." It's true, the entire Rape Prevention theme has a very heavy Avoid Men feel to it, but I think we deserve it a bit. Men have kind of acted like dillholes and dickweeds for ages upon ages. If there is a demographic that women can be wary around and just cut their risk in half or more, then more power to them.

Finally, I can't help feeling that the women who tell this to me desperately want to believe it. I mean, that's like saying that somebody wants to believe in the moon. It's right there, just go ahead. But it's deeper than that. They want a man to validate their fear. They feel that if a guy is afraid of being harassed or abused, then it is not cowardly or shameful for them to be afraid. They want life to return to being roughly equal and for women to not be seen as the weaker sex. I can get that. I can understand that. Nobody wants to be less.

But I think that if this is the case, the women should take a moment to see the thing from a male perspective. It's only fair; they're trying to get men to see harassment from a female perspective. I just want them to understand that there is a "female perspective;" that there's more than one way to look at abuse and harassment.

The way I, as a man, look at rape, abuse, and harassment:

If I am taken advantage of, my only feeling will be of inadequacy. Not violation, not dirtiness necessarily, not anger or doubt or fear or loathing. Not even a feeling of hurt. Not at first. Just inadequacy. From what I've heard and read, this is not common among women. See, I have this deep-set, overwhelming desire to provide for the people I love, to protect them, and to be a firm rock in their stormy lives. I want to be a pillar upon which a house is built. If another man takes advantage of me so thoroughly that I cannot act back, then the first real emotion I would feel would be inadequacy. Shame, right to my very core. I would feel like not enough. I would feel like I had no power. I would feel . . . unworthy.
There's a reason why men don't think about rape, abuse, and harassment. There's a reason why we walk blindly into possibly horrible situations. There's a reason why we don't prepare. To prepare or to avoid or to think about these would be tantamount to admitting that we had already lost. It would be like saying "Alright world, I'm not good enough to take what you throw at me. Allow me to cry like a child now."

No.

Just no.

Real men don't do that. Real men stand up with their chests out and walk into the volcano because it's the only way to save their woman. Real men pull other people out of collapsing buildings. Real men move trains out of the way with their bare hands. Real men don't run from anything. And inside every man is a Real man waiting to get out and be validated by the universe.

So, no. I do not and will not think about or prepare for or avoid my possible rape. I'm sorry, women of the world. Sometimes, men are just too stupid for you to trick.

4.7a

In German, ,,ein Rock" is a skirt. Sadly, ,,ein Rockband" is not a skirtband.

He lifted himself over the wall and plopped down on the other side. He hoped he was safe.

Safe? Really? That's a ludicrous idea. But maybe he was. He wanted to be; for the first time in ages, it seemed preferable to the alternative.

So he tossed his knife to one side, stood, and started walking away:

from the only group he ever called "family."

from the only place he belonged.

from the buildings that loomed overhead.

from the streets that were lined with garbage.

from the alleys filled with blood.

from the struggle that he couldn't avoid.

from the gangs.

from the drugs.

from the fear.

from the body he left on the other side of the wall.

He heard sirens.

4.5b

[If I haven't gone to bed yet, the day hasn't changed.]

He felt Lucky. It was a rare feeling, and worth holding on to. Normally, the only feeling related to Luck that he could feel was Unluckiness. To have good Luck trailing you was . . . well, Lucky. Stupid way of saying it, but true nonetheless.

I've never really taken advantage of this feeling before. Is now the right time? It felt sacrilegious, to exploit the feeling of Luckiness for personal gain, like beating a machine just to make it spit out free food. There was something wrong with it. But I run from bad Luck. I react, just like everyone else. Why is reacting to good Luck a bad thing, and reacting to bad Luck a good thing? He was sure he didn't know. So, he decided to test it out, just this once.

He turned back to the hulking brute in front of him. The man's sneer was aided in its journey across his face by a terrific scar. When he said "Yes, I think I shall," the giant man's meaty lips split open in a genuine smile. The thug handed him a gun. Spinning open the gun, he could see five empty holes and one very happy primer staring back at him. He spun the cylinder freely, snapped it back into the gun, pulled the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Lucky.

The air around him heated to an unbearable degree, so he handed the gun back to the thug. The thug's sneer was nearly wide enough to bisect his head now. Slowly, the other man rolled out the cylinder, spun it, and snapped it back into the gun. Neither man could possibly know where the bullet was. But I think I know. Cold sweat broke out on his back and rolled down to his belt. He felt so unlucky that he needed to throw up. The air around him heated to a temperature fit to light matches, and then--nothing. The air cooled immediately, the sweat stopped, and he felt fine. His hand flashed forth blue again, and he threw a ball of energy directly into the other man's face. The thug fell over to the ground and his gun went off. The shot was so loud that the thug couldn't hear anything ever again.

I felt Luck. I did. So the hand can't stop all of it. It can only react slowly to new. I can be Lucky again. I can chance things. I just have to risk my life to do it. He strolled out of the cantina with his head held high. A life is an easy thing to waste for a few moments of folly, right?

Right.

4.5

[I can't write anything right now because I'm too sad. I just watched a Korean film called OldBoy and oh was it ever so twisted and inside out and sad and just the right amounts of all of it.]

I'm letting go

are you ready?

I want to fall

I want to land

why are you

still holding on?

I don't think

the fall

will

hurt.

4.2

[This was not written on the second, but it happened on the second.]

I was having the simplest dream in existence. I was walking into the vaguest building that I have ever not seen--more the idea of a building--and I see my ex standing outside. I pause. I am just cogent enough that I can think "Maybe she'll forgive me in my dream, and I'll get the closure I've been seeking in life." I wasn't yet awake enough to remember that I never get anything I want in my dreams. So I approach her and say "Kayla, will you forg-" and she runs away over sand dunes that suddenly appear.

I run after her, but as soon as I crest a dune, she's on the top of the next one. I don't get any closer. So I keep running. Finally, I end up on top of a dune, and she on top of an adjacent pyramid.

"Why do you think you need it?" she yelled.

"I don't think! I know!"

"As far as I'm concerned, you don't!"

I bring all of my anger, fear and hurt to my chest and bellow "I would have my bond!"

My phone vibrates on the bed near my head and I roll over. Curtis is calling to wake me up five minutes before my alarm. Thanks, Curtis. Whatever, I wasn't going to get closure anyway. DreamKayla is more enigmatic than RealityKayla, if that's possible. So I roll out of bed, murmuring Shakespeare to myself.

"If every ducat in five thousand was in five parts, and every part a ducat, I would have my bond."

4.1

[This was not written on the first, but it happened on the first.]

I'm sick, two hours from school, and staying in a Jamaican couple's lavishly furnished house. The house feels like the walls have been shrunk two feet, so the furniture is just a little too large. I rub vick's on my chest and go to bed. Ten minutes later, a knock comes on the door, and the wife comes in. "You have vick's?" I nod my head. The pleasant stinging covers my chest. "Yes, but here?" She pats the top of her head. I crane my neck forward to see what she's talking about and she reaches down and rubs vick's vapo-rub into my hair.

I'm not sure what it was supposed to accomplish, but I feel better. I'll just assume it was the vick's on top of my head.