18 Years
On this day, eighteen years ago, my mom died. It was fairly sudden and very unexpected. When I woke up and was getting dressed, I would never in a million years have guessed that was why the phone was ringing at 8:00 in the morning. That was the phone call that dramatically changed my life as I knew it. It seems a lifetime ago that I had a mother to answer to. In fact, it seems like someone else's lifetime. However, I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. I remember going to the McDonald's drive-thru. I remember what I ate, what I was thinking in the car on the way to the hospital. Yet, I cannot remember what it feels like to have a mother*. Anyway, in honor of today, I went traipsing through the cemetery in the rain to bring some flowers in honor of the anniversary. Mom, wherever you are, I love you and miss you.
*Side Note: That small fence behind us in the photo is the very same fence in which the ring is buried.
Hey Jelly Bean
Since it has been ruled that it's okay to "borrow" material from another writer, I thought I'd post this analogy. First, I must say that I don't think it's okay for one writer to publish their work when it contains storylines the author read in another book. To me, that is plagarism. It's like using someone else's registered trademark. Now, I haven't read this Holy Blood Holy Grail book. Therefore, I really have no idea how much Dan Brown actually "borrowed" from those guys. I think I'm going to have to pick up this book and give it a read.
Anyway, back to the point of this post. I read the following analogy on another blog and it really spoke to me and for me. It is really very poignant. However, I think the best part is that only the person in which this analogy is speaking to would understand the irony, not to mention the literal pun. Ain't that right, Jelly Bean?
This was written by Jürgen Nation. So here goes.
As Spring approaches, I am once again reminded of him. It's the time of year when I am once again assaulted with memories of his insidious manipulation, his cloven-hoovian depravity, his sinister charm. He's irresistible, really; every time I see him I think, "well, maybe he has changed; maybe I've changed and we can co-exist again." And then I try, with hope filling me like a helium balloon. But then he strikes and my helium balloon explodes with a loud POP!, sending me hurtling back to the Land of I Told You So, You Fucking Idiot. He'll never change. He'll never change. The sooner I can accept this, the sooner I can move on. And, eventually, I'll lose the unpleasant taste in my mouth. I'll get over it. I'll move on.
The hurt will eventually surcease, but my confusion will linger. Am I weak? Why, if I know better, can I not resist his black-hearted malevolence? Why do I not trust my instinct and run as fast as I can far, far away from the beast? These are questions that play over and over in my head every time this happens, every time I first see him (always in Spring). Spring is the time when the sun comes out, the sky turns from grey to blue, colorful flowers begin to bud. It's a time of hope and happiness. But, for me, Spring is dread, for it is also the time when his black heart prowls. I can't run away from him; he's everywhere.
EVERYWHERE, I SAY!
Black jelly bean, you stay out of my life. Don't you come near me, you anise-tasting Mephistopheles! I am tired of thinking you're a purple/grape bean. I expect the burst of grape to waterfall over my tastebuds, but instead your bitter, sugary malevolance jolts my buds like a current of electricity, hurtling me into a wide-eyed paralysis. My brain stops functioning, I don't have enough oxygen. When I finally collect myself with a whoooooop-ish intake of breath and run to the bathroom to spit you out, I see your presence in my mouth. Your inky blackness stained my teeth and is dripping down my incisor. You demon.
I wanted to give you a try, like your creepy Uncle Mushroom. I did try, I tried so hard. I don't want to be difficult, so I try...over and over again. Well, consider this notice, you evil boor. You have been exorcised from my life. I shall pick you out of every bag I find, every bowl I stumble upon. You will go down the garbage disposal and then I will flip the switch. I will hear you scream, but you have inflicted so much cruel torture on my mouth that I cannot say I will feel empathy for you. So scream, motherfucker. Nobody is here to help you.
(And you can tell your pal E. Bunny to stop shitting in the yard.)
