Haunted

Some people are haunted by ghosts.

I am haunted by words. Words from my past. Words from my present.

Words that won't go away.

"I think it's about that time. I may regret this tomorrow...but right now, I'm just not happy." "I'm not sure who your father is." "I love you more than you'll ever know. I just wish I had told you sooner." "At this age, it's important that you learn self control."

I don't know what it is about the last couple of days but there they are...running through my head on repeat. Different voices, different memories...stealing any moments of silence that I have.

Here's to hoping they'll get bored and wander away...

Relationship Junkyard

As Pat Benetar so eloquently once stated, "Love is a battlefield."

That being the case, what happens to the relationship wreckage? Where does all the love you had for that person go and what happens to the broken hearts? I know that there are still a few out there ticking away, precariously held together with bits of tape and Elmer's glue but what about the ones that are broken beyond repair?

Could it be that all of our old feelings and broken bits are taken to a relationship junkyard...sorted out to see what can be used for parts and what gets thrown into the scrap heap?

I'd like to think that someone would wander in and stumble across my little, wounded heart and say, "I can't believe someone would have thrown this away. All it needs is a little work and it'll be like new again."

What?

Is it normal for someone to have such a crappy memory? Seriously.

I know you're all thinking...oh on the contrary Ms. Linny. We have read many a post about your childhood and twirling in the backyard like a make believe tornado. Yes, yes. I can remember all of those things and I can probably tell you just about everything my exboyfriend ever said during an argument or a sweet moment (though I think that's just more of a woman thing). But if someone asks me to do something...it is almost guaranteed that I will forget what they requested of me within five minutes.

Fortunately, the girls I work with have all become quite accustomed to my little disability. Any and all requests are not only given verbally but written as well....multiple times. If I tell them they can be out a day the following week, they remind me every day leading up to their off day. Sometimes they'll even call me the night before and say, "Linny, just remember that I'm not going to be there tomorrow okay. I don't want you to freak out when I don't show up." The sad thing is that I have them write this all on my calendar so I can remember...then I inevitably forget to look at the calendar and I'll start pacing the floor wondering why they haven't showed up yet.

And before anyone gets all worry warty..."It's not a tuma...." *Said in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice*

My mother and my sister both have miserable memories, so at least I come by it honest.

All Eyes On Her

Picture an old western town.

Tumble weeds blowing down the dirt road as a lone stranger swaggers into town.

*Cue cheesy old western movie whistle....wha wha wha*

Everyone rushes inside, locking their doors and closing their shutters as they eye the newcomer apprehensively.

This is what I deal with on a regular basis...minus the tumbleweeds...and the old town...oh and spurs.

One of the things about me being so independent is that I don't have a problem with doing things on my own. Like today...I wanted to eat lunch at a restaurant that no one else wanted to go to, so I grabbed a book and went and ate there by myself. I see no problem with this but when I told the other girls that I was going...they stared at me wide eyed and said almost disbelieving..."By yourself?"

The pity looks also come out in force when I go to the movies alone. You have to understand that most of my friends still work in bars and restaurants so they're working nights and weekends when I'm off. So, if there is a movie I want to see and no one else has time off...I'll go see it by myself. Why should I have to sit at home and miss out just because it's not socially acceptable to be alone?

Look, this lone stranger is confident and secure and having a good time. As far as I'm concerned...the people who think, "it's just not normal" can go inside and close their shutters. I've got more road to travel.

The Singles Stand Alone

For many of us, one of the downsides to getting older is the loss of fellow 'singles.' You reach a certain age and suddenly it's like you're one of those mechanical ducks people shoot at fairs. At first there's a whole row of you dancing along without a care in the world, then suddenly....bam! bam! bam! You look back and all of the damn ducks are dropping like flies.

Then, with the loss of 'singles' comes the inevitable addition of babies. Suddenly everyone is getting pregnant. And I do mean everyone. I'm inclined to make an inquiry to our water processing plants to find out what exactly they are putting in the water because no fewer than 6 of my friends has either recently given birth or announced a pregnancy.

I will not lie, it has been difficult to come to terms with the fact that instead of spending my weekends chatting over cocktails with my friends, I'm now sipping fruit punch and eating cupcakes during baby showers.

Don't get me wrong. I love my friends and I'm incredibly happy for them.

It's just that...now, there's another empty chair at the table.

What Are You Trying To Say?

My heart is about to beat out of my chest.

I am so freaked out right now.

I was sorting through the books on my coffee table when I picked up a notebook that was occupying one of the corners. I was holding it upside down when I noticed a small word scrawled across the bottom of the page.

Suddenly I could feel the blood draining from my face as the black letters stared up at me...letters that appeared foriegn...letters that didn't seem as if they had been born from my hand.

I couldn't move.

Instead, I tried to wrap my brain around what I was looking at and come to some sort of rational conclusion as to how it had come to be there. I know it wasn't there when I bought the book, I'm certain of that. So that led to my initial and most frightening thought, which was that someone had been in my apartment and this was a mind game.

After some serious thinking and an even more serious examination of the 3 locks on my door, I am choosing to rule out the first theory.

The only other possibility was that I had written it some time in the night. I am notorious for having strange dreams and occassionally I'll wake in the middle of the night and hastily scribble notes so that I can recall the dream the next morning. If that's the case, it could explain the unfamilar handwriting. The only bump in this theory is that in all the years that I have been waking up to scrawl notes...I have never written only a single word. Ever.

Yet here it is. One little word.

Carrying so much weight.

The Last of a Kind

I am a member of an ever dwindling Order. Passion courses through our veins, travels in our tears, and dances in our laughter.

We are...true romantics.

There are no robes, no beads, no bald heads.

No. We daydream. Eyes staring off into the distance, a silly smile curving the corner of our lips....completely oblivious to the outside world.

It's like having a film playing in my head. I buy a ticket and snuggle down in my chair as the soft hum of the projector, fills the theater.

The lights dim and here, my movie begins to play...

A beautiful night. The sky is clear and the moon casts a warm glow on the dirt road ahead. He pulls the car off to the side of the road, squeezing my hand reassuringly as I raise my eyebrows in question. Without a word he walks around and opens my door. I take his oustretched hand...entwining our fingers as he leads me back to the road. Our only company is the humming of the car engine and the warmth of the lights.

A strong arm slips around my waist as music begins to play....Mel Carter's rich voice croons "Hug Me, Kiss Me, Thrill Me."

They say be sensible with your new love
Don't be fooled thinking this is the last you'll find
But they've never stood in the dark with you love
When you take me in your arms
And drive me slowly out of my mind...

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might, Have the Wish I Wished Tonight

I had planned to boycott today.

I had planned to hide.

Instead, I closed my eyes and made a heart felt wish upon a star.

Here is to wishing that I find passion. Passion in a kind, romantic man.

Here is to wishing for strong arms wrapped around me, secret smiles shared across a crowded room and quiet nights snuggled beneath a blanket.

Here is to wishing for "I Love You's" whispered in my ear, an arm around my waist and finger tips brushing against my cheek.

Here is to wishing that I had a Valentine...

Break Out the Hoses

Just recently, I began to notice that I have developed a 'not so innocent' attraction to firemen. I'm not sure if it's the broad shoulders, the blue shirts or the fact that they run into burning buildings to save people's lives.

I think it's safe to say that dating a fireman has long been a fantasy for many women...I just joined the party a little late. For the most part, I think women like the idea of having a strong, courageous man around. A man that is ready, able and willing to protect her should the need arise. Let me tell you...that is very sexy.

It is my good fortune that one of our patients just so happens to be a very tall, broad shouldered, dark haired and exceptionally good looking fireman that happened to come in for an appointment last week. Unfortunately, I didn't see him until the end of his visit when he came to check out but my heart still did a little tap dance.

As we were trying to schedule his follow up appointment he vetoed a couple of dates, citing that he would be 'at the station.' I feigned surprise, "Oh that's right. You're a fireman aren't you?"

Lie Lie Lie Lie Lie. Of course I already KNEW he was a fireman but I couldn't let him know that I remembered him that well. However, I did take the time to engage him in chit chat by innocently asking him if he had a pole.

His cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson. "Pardon?"

"At the firehouse. Do you guys have one of those poles that you slide down?" I have to admit, the fact that he was blushing made him even cuter.

He smiled almost shyly and explained that most of the firestations around here don't have them because the buildings are built 'out' not 'up.' I was quite disappointed to hear this bit of news and apparently I wore the disappointment plain on my face.

He smiled and said, "I tell you what. Maybe we'll just have to bring you down to the station and give you a ride on one of the trucks instead." I laughed and bid him a good afternoon, silently thinking that it wasn't his truck I wanted a ride on.

Alas...as is typical with my luck, I have recently discovered that he is a married man. Doesn't it just figure?

His Jaw...My Fist

I knew today was going to be a bad day. I really should have just stayed in bed.

I woke up foggy headed and tired and the entire left side of my face was swollen and throbbing with intense pain.

I went back to the Oral Surgeon only to discover that despite my best efforts...a nasty little infection had made a home in my jaw.

*Warning---Gross Out Alert!*

It was bad enough that I could feel the drainage coming out when he irrigated the incision sight...but then something even worse happened. It's so horrible that I'm not even sure I can say it.

Let me just take a moment to gather my thoughts.........

Okay... allow me to preface this by saying that anyone who has had an infected wound or anything knows how inflamed and tender the area is. Well, apparently everyone BUT my doctor. Dr. Evil proceeded to stick his hand in my mouth and squeeze the infected area...HARD. He did this not once, but twice (apparently to squeeze out whatever gunk was left.) It was so painful that I lifted myself out of the chair and yelped. I could see his technician standing in the corner with her hand over her mouth, cringing.

He is quite fortunate to have escaped with his life. I very nearly clocked his ass.

All seems to be doing well now but I think I'll crawl back into bed just to be on the safe side.

Fight Night

We circle one another slowly. Both watching, listening...waiting for an opening. A weakness.

Just me and her.

With every circle the walls close in, forcing us face to face.

She's smirking.

My palms are sweating and each beat of my heart echos in my ears like thunder.

I hate that it's come to this. But there is no other way. I've tried talking...I've pleaded. "I just need more time! "

She smiles..."Not tonight baby duck. Tonight you are all mine."

And so it goes. A war has been declared between me and writer's block. To the victor go the spoils.

The 'Left Over' Friends

For those of you who are as of yet unfamiliar with the term, a 'Left Over' friend is most commonly a particular guy amongst a group of men that is notorious for preying on his friend's ex-girlfriends.

Be warned. These men are like bloodhounds...noses to the floor and on the hunt at all times. At the first scent of trouble in a relationship, the girlfriend in question suddenly begins to receive 'friendly' phone calls. "Just checking in to see how you were doing....you hangin' in there?"

Oh you sneaky, sneaky boys.

When the relationships ends, the phone calls escalate to invitations to dinner and movies.

There is no mourning period observed. No grace period for a fallen comrade.

"Keep your eye on the prize." Isn't that the saying?

They are steadfastly focused on that light at the end of the tunnel...that glorious light, that in their mind leads to the ultimate salvation...a piece of tail.

*Sigh*

There Is A Lesson You Must Learn...

I don't like the taste of coffee in any way, shape or form. Therefore, I have never had any reason to visit those nifty little coffee shops like Starbucks. The only problem with this is that I've begun to feel a little left out. While I don't care for coffee, part of me still desires the feeling of being that 'trendy' woman that glides around with her big sunglasses and her Starbucks coffee cup.

So, I decided that today was the day that I was going to be trendy...swollen cheeks and all. Since I don't like coffee, I figured that I would try my hand at green tea since everyone is boasting about that so often.

As I anxiously awaited my turn in line, I listened to the people ahead of me ordering like pros. "Tall, short, low fat, decaf, latte, no foam, double shot"....and I realized that I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to order mine. Do I order it plain? Do people put sugar in it? Is there a special phrase for that? My heart began to beat faster as I neared the front of the line...what do I say? WHAT DO I SAY???

"Can I take your order?"

"Green tea. Short." I bit my lower lip and scanned the people around me, wondering if it was glaringly obvious that I had no idea what I was doing.

Either no one noticed or no one cared. Either way was fine with me...I just grabbed my tea and ran.

Outside I held my paper cup up like a trophy. It was my way of saying, "Look at me world...I can be trendy too."

With that, I took a sip of my glorious tea...and nearly gagged.

It tasted like crap.

Within minutes I had gone from feeling like a superstar...to feeling like a complete ass.

And the Girl Pulls Through

I've never had surgery before. So when the nurse inserted my IV and then put the mask flowing with laughing gas over my face, I thought..."Okay...this is it. Remember how you feel at this moment."

But then I realized...I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. I was waiting for something to strike me as completely hilarious...but it didn't. I glanced over at the nurse as she said, "How's that gas feeling?"

I simply shrugged. "Am I supposed to feel different?"

Perhaps this was the wrong thing for me to say because within moments the doctor appeared by my side and informed me that he would be giving me something that "may" burn a little bit. I am here to say that I have no clear memory of anything after that. Everything else comes in spurts. I remember rolling by the nurses station and seeing them look at me as I was wheeled into recovery. During the blurry view of their faces, I recall hoping I didn't look completely horrible. Some time later my Dad appeared around the corner and I greeted him with a "Hey Dad" through my mouthful of gauze which probably sounded something more like "Ay Ahd."

I felt fine, like nothing had happened. I was ready to run a marathon. I would have leapt out of the chair if they had let me...but alas they would not. (Not that I didn't seriously think about it mind you.)

Most everything else was a blur. I spent most of the last two days sleeping and trying to maneuver my spoonfuls of applesauce around the ice pack that was taped around my head. Iced up or not...I still have chimpunk cheeks and some tenderness but...I am alive and relatively unscathed...for the time being.

Hey Hey Hey...Goodbye

I'm a teeny bit on the nervous side...

As of tomorrow morning at 8:30am I will be fast asleep in the Oral Surgeon's surgical room having my wisdom teeth removed. This is my first surgery ever...that's why I'm nervous. Well, that and the fact that I'm staying with my parents that day and night and I'm hoping my mother won't drive me crazy. I've also made my Dad swear that he will NOT take any pictures of me sleeping, awake or in any other state. He's gets a little trigger happy with his camera.

Therefore my friends...I will be away from my blog for a few days while my head is swollen, I'm drinking purified food and popping pain pills. I promise to visit everyone's blogs as soon as possible.