It’s Hump Day, people! The best and worst day of a work week.
I have felt entirely sapped of my energy and I am hoping I can turn it around today. Fingers crossed! I don’t need to sleep in and waste the day away doing nothing which is what yesterday taught me.
My mom came over and helped sand, clean, and put the first coat of Tremclad on our awful metal railings. They look better already after that. However, being productive didn’t quite get me out of this weird mood slump I’ve been in so here’s hoping today’s the day.
Anyways, I hope you are on your way to a wonderful weekend and may my BraveWrites help you out!
September 12th
She stared out the car window and watched the rain streak down it. Her mother talked at her, but she didn’t hear the words. Only emptiness.
But she was #encouraged by their want to help and surprised when they confessed their own visits to a psychiatrist. Maybe there was hope.
September 13th
She watches as her mother takes another drag. The cigarette’s blue-tinged smoke shimmers in the light and dissipates.
A silent, slow threat.
And she sheds another tear. Greying skin, ragged coughs, the crimson drops that spell the end. She waits for #cancer to claim her mom.
September 14th
Video game consoles litter the house, attached to various TVs. She turns on the xbox 360 and plays Assassin’s Creed. Her character scales rough pick, runs across clay tile, and lives.
She envies his freedom though she is the #gamer.
September 15th
Her brother pushed her under the water as part of the game. His hand was like steel on her head and she fought to surface. To suck in oxygen once more.
Panic had set in as time slowed. When he finally released her, she was ravenous for air.
Her #umbrage was now rage.
September 16th
The #vibration of the nail file on her toes unnerved her and served as a reminder. She was unwelcome here.
She was no pretty girl who wore make-up, fake nails, or got her hail done. She was a tomboy whose hands were filthy and rough.
But she stayed in the salon.
September 17th
She stood with her friends and their boyfriends in line, waiting to have her prom ticket checked. It was clutched in a white-knuckled fist as her anxiety took over. Her companions laughed and gasped as they entered the hall.
She suffocated internally on the #pizzazz.
September 18th
Her #alacrity had nothing to do with a fear of failure. It had everything to do with her need to prove them wrong. She was tired of the comparisons that ground her spirit into dust. She was tired of fearing whispers and taunting looks. She’d stand strong.
The voice in my head is telling me I’ve wasted two years on a dream that will never come true. I had a book idea and I ran with it. I didn’t fight hard enough for it though.
More and more, my husband seems to get mad that I’m not working on my book. That I’m not bringing in any money. That I’m just ‘lounging’ around the house.
It doesn’t matter that I clean the house top to bottom by myself. I weed the gardens and mow the lawn and whippersnip, by myself. I feed the cats and dogs day and night by myself. I do the laundry, by myself. I make the appointments for both of us. Keep a running list of things. Try to be the voice of reason more often than not. (I will admit he helps on occasion, but not near enough…)
I wish I was bringing in money. I wish I had fought harder for my book. It feels like the only choice is to abandon it entirely. It’s not what I want, but I always put everyone else ahead of me.
But then that leaves me with a blog and a twitter account that serve no real purpose anymore, right?
So, I’ve applied to part-time jobs in the mean time. I’ve started freelance transcribing again for Rev. I’ve created a Ko-Fi account in hopes of some additional help so that I can keep writing.
I want to keep writing, I really do, but this voice tells me there’s no point anymore. If I was really passionate about it, I’d be somewhere other than editing, right?
Anyways, that’s the end, (I think), of my self-pitying post. I had to say it before it ate me alive though I still think it might.
https://ko-fi.com/kemwriting is the link to donate to my creative path. I’m sure after a decent cry, I’ll be up to fighting again…
Music pounded above the chatter
the beat louder than the melody
but she swayed to it.
Downing her whiskey in a chug
she rose from the table
and danced to the center of the writhing bodies.
Surrounded on all sides
she twirled her lithe form
like a lustful seductress.
Sex filled the air as she danced.
Warm, liquid, and kinky.
Begging behind the bars of it’s cage.
His electric touch summoned her.
The promise of fulfillment
on his velvet lips.
Pulled into a dark room
She tasted the sweet liquer
Of his passion.
Wrapped about his waist
he pounded at her chains
and she moaned for freedom.
Her nails dug into his shoulders
Desperate to hold on
Drawing a groan from him.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads
Its scent beneath the musk of need
And in a cry they succumbed.
Finger tips trace
Lover’s soft skin.
Lips meet
Share more than words.
Need.
Pure want for it
That beguiling touch.
Bask in passionate warmth
Skin to skin.
Bodies move as one
Synchronized.
Climbing higher
Higher.
Sweat forms.
Fevered moans.
Heads tossed back
To greet Ecstasy.
Cries ring out,
Trembling flesh
Atop heavy breaths.
Collapse
In Sweet Climax.
Kember's Journey 