Jigsaw Puzzle Girl... an explanation

In 2008 I wrote a long erotic BDSM themed story called Northwest Hunters.  When I submitted it to a small publisher he had me break it into three different books.  I ended up titling the three books "Joining the Circle", "Finding Happiness", and "Ending Evil".  The publisher was a great guy but never really got off the ground and we ended up parting ways.  (If you look over in the right hand side of this blog you will see a section titled "Links" and if you click on "where you can read my stories" it will take you to Literotica where all three books are available to read for free if you are curious about reading them.  Caution... Literotica posts my stories alphabetically so they are not listed chronologically.) 

The series was about a couple in their 50's who were seeking a submissive female to serve them in their home.  They found Junie and things were looking pretty good, but then there was a serial killer that was stalking Junie.  He is caught before he can hurt Junie but there was another victim, a young girl named Monica who was in her early 20's.  He had assaulted her, torturing her with a knife but do to fortunate circumstances she survived.  She was a key to the capture and was a critical witness in the trial of the killer.  She fell in love with the FBI agent, David, who was in charge of the case and was many years older than her.  He had fallen in love with her too but had refused to consider the possibility of ever acting on that love, believing it was the circumstances of the case, he was too old... etc.  In the last book of Northwest Hunters a small subplot is how Monica overcame David's reservations and he ends up proposing.  They drive off into the sunset.

I ended up writing a story about Monica and David and their particular challenges; how they overcome their issues of age difference and PTSD called "Jigsaw Puzzle Girl".  I plan to post a Chapter now and then...so keep an eye out.

What you can do for me is if you see any mistakes or inconsistencies or just have a constructive suggestion, please feel free to leave me a comment.  I haven't had an editor in years and I do my best, but I seem to have singularly large blind spot for my own mistakes.     

Sick, sicker, sickest

So I am still sick.  In fact I am worse than I was before.  Tired... tireder... tiredest????  Still coughing up those little green dudes... I will spare you the description of how disgusting they taste.  My voice is less hoarse, but now I have painful sinus congestion and it makes me talk funny. 

I cannot begin to express how awful it is to be sick when I am on vacation from work.  And I have only two more days before I go back... just the right amount of time to get well.

I work at a special ed school for kids with behavioral problems.  Last year I worked with 11 to 13 year old kids.  I used to love it most of the time.  Generally I didn't mind the crazy shit the kids the kids would pull, but had tons of issues with my co-workers... rude, angry, horrible people.  My principal transferred me over to work with the smaller kids... (1- 10 years old.)  Completely different.  My co-workers are amazing... and NICE.  It is kind of weird to work with a team that appreciates what you... says thank you, actually smiles and jokes and say "Good Morning" like they mean it.  But the kids... little kids are so so so so much harder to work with.  Before I would deal with violence maybe once a month and restrain a student maybe twice a year... now it is 5, 6, 7... 10 times a day.  I restrain the little critters all freakin day long.  It makes me tired.  Both physically and emotionally.  Almost every day, when I get home I am just used up.      

I have been writing and when I run out of words... I am taking the time to go back and reread my old stuff.  Cool thing is if husband sees me typing... he really likes it.  He goes out of his way to support me. 

Still working on making better nutritional choices.  And HE sneaks off and buys ice cream... dishes it up with the last slice of pumpkin pie and waves it under my nose... "Want it???" and then he giggles when I cave in and eat it.  Not so virtuous last night.      

Seriously?

Husband has this thing he does... he spends some amount of time out of the room... outside smoking, hanging out in the bathroom (he seems to be in there a lot of the time) or messing about on the computer and then he wanders into the room where I sit.  I am usually busy on my computer but I do have the TV on...  I listen... I glance up now and then.  Sometimes I even watch. 

He picks up the remote and without even checking to see if I am watching searches through all the options and eventually changes the channel.  Usually I don't mind... I rarely am very invested in a show but here is the kicker. 

He leaves.  He does not stay and watch.  Seriously.

It is a source of great amusement on my part.  He gets irritated when I giggle as he walks out of the room.             

Writing

Writing... is not exactly like riding a bicycle....  I spent a lot of yesterday rereading some of my started stuff and feel a little intimidated.  Jeebus... I don't even remember writing it.  And it is gooooood.  I read it and wonder how I wrote it... wonder if I can ever get back to that effortless grace... or is that part of me just as old and creaky as my joints.  I have ideas for what to write... but to make it beautiful???

He picked up the flashlight but did not turn it on.  He knew his way around the house by heart, trailing one hand along the wall and then down the banister.  The floor creaked in all the same places, Nugget’s toe nails clicked on the floor as he followed along.  He slipped out the back door and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust.  It was dark, so dark that everything was a flat, black silhouette against a brilliant, shimmering dome of stars.  They were so thick, so bright, and so close.  It was like all the stars you could not see in all those civilized places, the cities with their street lights and neon signs, had come here to roost. 

The air was cool, frosty and his breath was a cloud that caught the light of the stars.  His boots crunched on the frost covered ground as he walked out the outhouse.  There wasn’t a door, it had fallen off years ago and Bunco said it helped with the smell.  Robbie flicked on the flashlight and swept it around inside the outhouse.  The last thing he wanted was to be surprised by a varmint when he was preparing to sit down and “enjoy the view” as Bunco was fond of describing it.

As he was walking back into the house, far in the distance he heard the high pitched bark of a coyote and then even further away, an answering howl.  He paused, listening.  Nugget growled softly, deep in his chest. 

Robbie waited until the light in the east was bright before he started working at the wood pile, picking up the familiar double bladed axe and limbering up his arms.  Chopping fire wood was one of his favorite ranch chores.  Bunco had taught him the fine art of being able to read the way a chunk of wood would split, how to let the weight of the axe do the work, to keep his arms and shoulders loose.  He loved the sound and smell of it, the way the logs would fall in half, and mounting pile of wood.

He was still working at it when Bunco came out.  The sun had just peeked out above the horizon; and the birds were starting to sing.  Robbie left the axe in the chopping block and let his arms drop to his sides, savoring the tingle and ache of the exertion. 

His uncle looked up at the sky.  “Gonna be another clear day.  It’s shapin’ up to be another dry summer.”  He eyed the pile of freshly chopped fire wood and nodded, but he did not say anything.  The idea of thanking someone for doing something that naturally just needed doing would be as odd as giving praise for breathing or growing hair.  And as far as Robbie was concerned that nod was all that was needed. 

In a way it was an illustration of life out here, life and death were too close to the surface.  Every act, every chore was intimately related to survival… warmth… food… shelter… energy was a precious commodity that should be conserved for these tasks and not to be wasted on words that were essentially redundant.  Just the sight of the chopped wood was reward enough, the knowledge that when it was time to fire up the stove the fuel needed would be just an arm’s length away, the food hot and delicious, cooked upon the flames of his effort all the thanks he would ever need.

Seriously,   It was like all the stars you could not see in all those civilized places, the cities with their street lights and neon signs, had come here to roost.  This blew me out of the water.  And the "enjoy the view" made me laugh.

Well I will tell myself the same thing I have told a dozen people who have said to me that they wished they could write... "The only thing you need to do is start... just start writing... the more you write the better you will get."  Perhaps it is like riding a bicycle... you just need to keep pedaling.  

2015

2015....

An impossible number... when I have my birthday this year I will be sixty...  another impossible number.

It did not arrive with a bang.  Both husband and I were sound asleep hours before midnight.  I've been sick... nothing major but I am very low energy, my voice is hoarse and I occasionally cough up something frighteningly similar to those talking green balls of goo you see on the Mucinex commercials.

Husband says I have given it to him... but beyond sleeping a lot (and he always sleeps a lot) I haven't seen any symptoms.  But now it is all about him...

He took me out for breakfast this morning... I think he decided to do that because he can see how I am waking up tired.  I had a veggie omelet made with egg substitute, dry whole wheat toast and fruit instead of hash browns.  I feel so virtuous. 

Wow...

Wow... what to say?  That was and continues to be the rub.  I fell into the trap of thinking that I have to have some deep meaning, some amazing observation... some precious gold nuggets of wisdom to share.  And lately... I feel like I have been wading in the shallow end of the pool.

And it was ... and continues to be... very uncomfortable to look down at those metaphorical feet with the murky water of a mundane life swirling around my ankles. 

But that is just excuses... just a way to avoid... procrastinate.

And a new year looms before me.  And if I know anything... I am totally (slams into a brick wall... blinks away tears... grinds teeth... pushes forward... just keep typing) angry?  bored?  terrified?  disgusted?  sad.. ????????? with my life.  Currently there is very little I am  I feel proud of. 

I used to write... I loved writing... I felt like I was good at it.  Stories, poetry, this blog... And I know all I need to do is to click on that word icon on the computer screen and I would be writing again.

I used to love my job.  Now it just makes me exhausted... physically, emotionally drained.  It is very stressful... and I need to find something outside work to recharge my batteries.

And while my husband and I are good... very good... solid... stable... dependable... safe... yet without the power exchange it does not completely satisfy me.  And the reality is that I doubt we can get it back... clearly he likes it better without it... and once again I need to find something outside this relationship to scratch that itch.

I spend way too much of my time playing computer games.  WAY TOO MUCH TIME.  It is an addiction that makes time pass quickly.  But after that time has passed I have nothing to show for it... level 602 on fucking Candy Crush???? WTF is wrong with me??? Diablo 3/Hearthstone and god knows a half dozen other random Facebook games...all of them time sucking traps.  It is like living on white sugar...it is not filling, it makes me fat... it makes me ashamed... and leaves a terrible taste in my mouth.

So 2015 is here... and I have another year to take stock.. 2014 was not a year to be proud of.  But there are some things I need to change. 

So here it is... MUCH LESS TIME ON COMPUTER GAMES... and MUCH MORE TIME WRITING.  Even if it is about boring, shallow end of the pool, mundane crap. 

And the writing thing, means... TA DA!!!! I am going to start writing on this blog again. 

Beautiful fall leaves... all over my yard.

I think this is the only place I can come and tell on the man in my life.... one time husband... once upon a time Master... Can't go to face book... he reads that.  And one of the sad things about our relationship is he WON'T read my writing. 

But this is not about all that crap.

This is about a crazy thing that happened this afternoon. 

He was out "mowing up" the leaves.  It works quite well.  Put the bag on and push the mower around.  Dump often on the compost.  Neat pile of leaves already shredded up and decomposing to make nice dirt for the flower/vegetable garden next year.

As usual he cannot focus for more than a few minutes on any one task without getting distracted by something else.  So as he 'mowed up' the leaves he became dissatisfied with certain areas of the lawn that had gotten bald spots during the brief months of no rain we get every summer. 

Distracted, he stops the 'mowing' of the leaves and starts to throw around fertilizer and grass seed.  And then he does this weird thing... he goes and starts to put the 'mowed up' leaves back on top of this.  Being a bit of a know it all I point out that mulching the seeds might be a good idea "IF" the mulch is not so deep that it kills them.

He grins and shrugs and tells me to spread it out "just right".  Me and my big mouth.  So there I am... probable the only person in town using a rake to put the leaves back down on my lawn. 

Sigh.