Fighting depression. Have been for days now.
I am having a hard time with one section of the book. It is part of the murder case trial in Bradenton. Trying to pull together phone calls, testimony, trial records, and interviews to make it all more readable.
It is difficult and slow. I have a lot of data to write about and to blend. I think that is the hardest, the blending. I have testimony from several sources and am using those elements to create a story that will be smooth. I am also jumping between dates. Because of that I need to make sure that moving from one set of facts or data to another set of facts or data is not only smooth but will be entertaining at the same time.
I am going to be sooooo happy when this book is done.
I am having some Cracker Jacks. Haven’t had it for a very long time. Even has a prize inside. Woo Hoo!!!
Missing the way Chinese carry out use to be served. Now they have it in a plastic tray with a plastic top on it. The rice is still separate in a box with fold over top and wires to hand onto. That’s the way all of the food used to be r for carry out. I want to eat it like that, straight from the box and not the tray. Something is missing with the tray. Where do I log my protest? Does the ACLU take on cases like this? I bet if I told them I was “offended with the tray replacing the box” they would Oh well. Wonder if they would sue themselves if a bunch of us told them their existence offended us. It is worth a shot, I think.
In 1959 to 1961 I was a student at Proviso High School located in Maywood Illinois just outside of Chicago.
When I went there the school had just started to split into two campuses. There was a Proviso East (where I went) and a Proviso West. Many of the students that were “Proviso West” were bused to Proviso East in the morning and then transferred back later in the day as the West did not have all the resources that the East had.
In the 1960s the school had a student population of around 7,000 students…..yep… I wrote 7,000 student. There were at least 5 street gangs that went to East, and I belonged to one of them. Yep. True. So I left the school by joining the USMC in 1961 just as I entered my Junior Year. I could see no future there and opted for the Marines instead of the possibility of being hurt in a street fight or going to jail for something stupid.
In 1963 a riot broke out in the school cafeteria and over 100 highway patrolmen were called into to secure the school, bring peace, and act as hall monitors. The violence did not stop. I had a friend that was knifed in an alley across from the school.
Parents were called in and had to act as hall monitors. What a mess.
In 1965 I came home from being in Vietnam and discovered the insanity was still going on at the school. Anyway, so much for big schools.
She Writes of Life is a strong, personal writer. She writes about herself and the world she has come to view, participate in, deal with, surrounding her. She is blunt, direct, and not boring at all. She does go deep, so be prepared, and perhaps too much so. But, I understand the depth and the need for diving as she does to the far reaches of her world in order to touch the furthest parts of her soul. She is a young woman trying to understand herself and the world about her.
I tend to think a lot of the time as well which, for me, makes reading her writing a special treat because I see that I am not alone in this. However, I knew that already. There are other writers linked here that do the same. Still it is a lonely place to be and I often wonder if I should be writing at all about what troubles me.
In any event, you need to read her writing to see if she can touch your heart the way she touched mine.
Here’s an interesting place. Michelle Cook started a blog with one name and changed it to another. I’ve done that. I actually like both names she has used. She is a poet. She has videos. She speaks from the heart, and that is hard to find these days. I think anyone who goes and visits her site will come away carrying a message of peace and hope and, who knows, maybe a different way of looking at life regardless of their religious beliefs.
I’m wondering at 46 minutes past midnight. I’m wondering about me and you and everyone else out there. I wonder about what I say and how I say it. I wonder about the anger that lives within me left there by the pain of trauma that you don’t know and the war, there is always the war, how about you? and the missed chances in life to be better than I am in everything and anything. It is not so much to be introspective but to realize that there are plenty of errors in one’s life is painful. I wonder if you do that, if anyone does that. I wonder if it matters. I wish I had been a Golden Gloves Boxer just for the hell of it, a ballet dancer in my youth so a female neighbor friend could have stared in Nutcracker (she had to get a boy to play the prince and she had asked me and I politely declined… me a ballet dancer? really? yet I did dance in a ballet company when I did theater as an adult to help with an injury to my back) and then there was the war…how many of us wish we had gone back. I loved the smell of war. I regret that I didn’t go back but was surprised by the hatred here for all of us that went. Nothing like coming home and finding you are looked upon not as a veteran but as a criminal. I loved the smell of war. Does that surprise you? I loved to fight as a youth. I loved to even taste the blood in my mouth and to dish it out as I got it and yet I feared hurting another. How about you? I wonder what ever happened to the first girl I kissed, or the Tom Boy that lived on my block and who would fight and kick and throw rocks with the rest of us and I wonder if she grew up and became the beautiful woman I hoped she’d be. I wonder about the girl who had polio and had paralyzed legs. Did she ever learn how to dance? And I wonder about you. How about you? I wonder. How about you? Do you ever wonder? Does it matter if we wonder?
I reblogged her poem…free style I think…I like it…A LOT! Great job. Wow, mental pictures formed. Anyway, very interesting blog and well worth your visiting.
She has an incredible ability to “word-dress” (new word just created by me!) what she is thinking and seeing so the reader has this incredible vision. Good job!
I am happy to reblog this beautiful poem.
2015,,Did i jump off a cliff into the ocean,did i swallow sea water when the waves swept over me,
No miss stilletto slept under a tree and watched the sea gulls soaring thru the air.
And let her bears do all the above.No dross of yester year remains.m still a mum who does beach fun and hides from the sun.
Im the only one still standing on the sand but i know both husband and oldest son are near..
And then it appeared half way thru the day,
the longest unbroken white cloud you have ever seen.And it didnt leave for many hours it just sat there over our heads like a long white wizards beard.
I looked up at the pohutakawa tree known as our maori xmas tree, the wind was strong. i could hear the waves crashing against the shoreline and the whispers of a message loud and…
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I am happy to intro you to DOM
based on his photo and some of his poetry he is a serious sort of writer and poet. He addresses several issues on his blog. Interesting topics that he brings up.