thoughts on touch, talking, and love 11/3/2013

To me, I think touch is so powerful. It doesn’t have to be sexual to be powerful. Maybe, hmm, what’s the word… sensual; not in a turn someone on type of way, but in the way that you are showing your loving and tender presence. Many people underestimate the power of touch and the effect it has on it. Touch releases happy feelings. The feeling of serenity, and safety, and probably more. It allows you to make closer friendships. No one probably can describe a close friendship in which there was no occasion that they hugged or touched this person. When you go to the online archives for the endless ways of “how to flirt” or “how to show someone that you like them”, it almost always will suggest that you touch them in some shape or form. That’s how we live; touching indicates closeness. Cuddling, to me, gives feelings of comfort. But what happens when you don’t have cuddling? What happens when you don’t even get small touches that could lead to cuddling? Now this is just my own personal opinion, but I feel that the lack of touch can drain you if it is prolonged for too long. To be touched, in a completely innocent and loving way, it feels beautiful. There are some people out there who can say “I can’t even remember the last time I was touched in that way”

library employee 6/17/14 I don’t know why I wrote this…

Dear Library Employee,

Do you ever stare at the teenagers who come into your workplace and get a library card? Do you have hope and think “Ah, finally the youth is interested in reading,” and then you see the same one weeks later, but they just use their card for using the computers this place kindly offers to the public? You are disappointed because that’s not the point of a library card, to go to a place that offers an activity you already spend so long doing at home anyway. Sure, you can read at home too, but this building is full of books and offers a selection wider than “the island of the blue dolphins,” or “phantoms toll booth.”

finding a reason to smile

Something I wrote august 14th and forgot to post.

So things have happened recently that aren’t as joyous as we would all hope. One of them being, the recent death of Robin Williams. I am not about to go on a long monologue about being an avid follower of his work, but I do enjoy his work that I remember seeing like: Jumanji, Night at the Museum, and Mrs. Doubtfire.  Sources have said that Robin Williams committed suicide because he was depressed. I’m not saying that I am clinically depressed, for I have no evidence that what I have experienced is depression, but I can sympathize with feeling like some things are just empty and hopeless. I had a few dark days in the last few months, none where I would have ever been so removed that I would’ve killed myself, but I would feel lost. It felt as though I didn’t know what to do and that I wasn’t making a meaningful impact on the world (as if that is a pressing responsibility that I have while alive). It seems as though there are so many things that could make us want to cry and just give up, yet if you just search a little harder there’s always something much more cheerful to dwell on.

Robin Williams was on this earth for 63 years, and in those years made a wonderful impact on other’s lives. Some lights just beg to be blown out though. They flicker and wave back and forth, hoping for some natural condition, like a gust of wind, to put them out of their withering. There is no reason to beg such an influence to expend every last drop of their energy on pleasing us, but instead we should find our own unique characteristics and create more flames, so as to connect to Williams’ flame. As the passing of the flame goes, we will continue to use this great light to make more flames, for there is no reason to grovel at the old flame for choosing to leave if it has left us with plenty of light and inspiration.

Earlier in the year I was having a bad day. It was immensely difficult for me to get a grip that day. I was stir crazy and sad. I wanted to make a difference in the world, or at least be a part of it that day. First, I didn’t know what kind of thing I wanted to make a difference about, and secondly, I had no means to get out of the house. I felt trapped. Somehow a place that is so comforting to me after long trip now felt like a jail cell. I didn’t want to be there and I honestly acted somewhat close to a child, crying and just using my sobbing to beg to be doing something that I enjoyed, something that would get my mind off of what was making me sad. Eventually, the day passed and I felt somewhat better, yet I still felt uneasy. I would never commit suicide or anything of the sort, but my mind voiced rhetorical and negative thoughts like, “What if I wasn’t here? I wouldn’t feel this way and maybe then somebody would notice that I don’t feel good.”

I value my life, and I’m not saying that people who commit suicide don’t, but I am saying this… Sometimes I feel very alone and it saddens me, and almost actually scares me, to read some things that I have been seeing recently on this subject of Robin William’s death. I’ve read the article that says that Williams didn’t kill himself, but his disease did. I saw one that basically said that depression was a killer and it wants to get you alone. Because that’s where depression thrives, it thrives in your loneliness.

What I ask of you all is to find somebody in those lonely times, if you have this illness or not, find somebody to sit by you. To watch you and be there for you, as a simple reminder that you’re in company of people that care about you in this world, and that’s all you can really ask for.

OBJECTIVE: Write a scene that involves a tuning fork

It was a rainy day and as I looked outside I saw the intense raindrops crash on top of the branches of the trees near my office. Clarissa, my daughter, was working on her drawing on the floor for an art project while I heard a ring at the door. We were expecting the piano tuner to come anytime today, but I would’ve understood if he hadn’t made it. Lord knows that I wouldn’t have gone out on a day like today, not after the accident. It was all three of us in the car, Clarissa, me, and her father, that is. We were driving down a quiet street on a rainy afternoon and the next thing I knew it felt like we were floating. He was driving the car and Clarissa was in the back seat behind the passenger’s side where I was. Nobody prepares you for that kind of trauma… to look over into the seat next to you and see a loved one in that suddenly still state. It wasn’t real… it couldn’t be… and that’s what i thought for a good few years. I wasn’t going to be alone, my husband did not die driving my daughter and i home from the first parent-teacher group meeting we’ve ever had… it’s like we had just started on this great journey together, and now I was all alone. All alone in raising her… We had dreamed about how wonderful she was supposed to grow up to be as a result of our combined efforts. The parent-teacher meeting was years ago now, she might have been in the first grade. Today, she is in the fourth grade and she is so beautiful. Her father would have been ecstatic to have seen her at her recital this last winter playing a classic Christmas piece that has been played over and over again countless times nonetheless, but doing something that was beautiful and wanting to learn how to make music.

“Miss?”

“yes?” I asked as I looked up from the computer screen.

“I’m here to tune the piano?”

And that was when we first met. George was my husband’s cousin. He hadn’t been in contact with him since before he met me, so I never met his cousin, who’s name was Drew.

So this was a writing prompt that I wrote a response to months ago. I thought I’d share it with you all. What do you think? Should I continue with the story?

Hello everyone

Hey guys, so I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. School has between crazy lately, and I haven’t really felt a creative spark either. I haven’t been feeling too much inspiration at all really. I’ve been brushing against it by searching for writing prompts, but I’ve found that during the semester there is never any time for enjoyable creative endeavors, but rather, mind numbing busy-work that professors assign you, when they truthfully know they’ve been learning this subject for years and they still don’t know everything about it either. The problem I have with school isn’t that I despise learning at a core level, but more that I like to learn the things I’m interested in, and not spend a terribly long time learning about subjects that are more tortuous than thought-provoking. Although I feel drained of my creativity at the moment, I still have some things to share with you. This semester I’m taking a Geology class, and despite it not being a subject that I’m interested in, I do realize that it’s a course that will broaden my horizons and will hopefully make me appreciate the environment around me more by the end of the semester. Another thing that I’ve noticed so far after attending college for three semesters now, is that the spring semester is always an emotionally tumultuous semester because it’s easier to fall out of routine as the weather gets colder and I’m able to wear more layers. However, my cold-induced laziness is one that I only cherish for a few days, until I realize that my workout schedule is falling behind and I’m becoming weaker every day that I come up with different excuses for not working out. Luckily though, I’ve broken out of that stage of cold weather laziness and have now jumped back on the wagon of prepping for lighter layers and my favorite and a more active season– Summer! I cannot wait to have the summer to finally write out stories in response to the many writing prompts I have saved on Pinterest, as well as to spend more time with my boyfriend. One class that I’m enjoying so far this semester is my argumentative writing class. Since writing is usually more pleasurable than not for me, working on my English homework is almost a sort of break in comparison to my other classes. Overall, I would say that this is my hardest semester thus far, but it is manageable.