DARE 2BK

Thanks for all who participated in the first-ever Manic Mom's Progressive Online Blog Story, which is published below --

Erin from Whack-It-Wednesday!
Joel, who I'd love to link you all to, but he has vanished from Blog World.
Sara
secretcave
Ben O., who was an especially eager participant.
Charity, who just had a birthday!
Christa, who started her own chain story at her site so go play there!
Jess(I'm-so-jealous-but-happy-for-you-for-getting-a-book-deal)Riley
goldmoon

Hope I didn't miss anyone, and now, with further adieu --

DARE 2BK

Kay gritted her teeth as she sliced her morning orange. She knew it was going to be a bad day -- the kids missed the bus, the cleaning lady quit, and Brutus came in smelling like skunk.

I'll never make it to the appointment in time, she thought, and then looked down suddenly, shocked. Crimson rivers traveled across the cutting board and a terrible sting seized her; blood and citrus mixing. Kay had just amputated the tip of her pinky finger.

She cried out in pain, rushing to the sink to clean her wound. She watched in fascinated horror as her blood mixed with the running water.

It seemed like she had only been standing there a moment when she heard John come in. He wasn't supposed to be home from work yet; his shift wasn't over until 11. Her body tensed as she felt him come up behind her. She lived her life torn between love and fear of the father of her children. John came behind Kay and grabbed her by the hips. She jumped a little as he grabbed her, and both water and thicker blood splashed onto her white shirt.

"Did I scare you?" he whispered, grinning into her ear. "Alice gone already? You're not busy, are you? I've got some news." He spun her around, then took in the blood spattered on her shirt, the blood still streaming down her hand.

"Jesus, what happened to you?"

"I was just chopping up some cucumber and I guess I nicked my finger. Here, give it a kiss." She extended her finger up to his waiting lips. That's when she smelled the perfume wafting out from his collar as he leaned over to kiss her boo-boo.

"What the hell is that? Please tell me that you didn't go back to her. Please tell me all of those sessions were not a complete waste of my time." She was all teeth and nails now, and he felt like he was sliding back from her in slow motion.

"Well? I'm waiting."

John grabbed her wrist hard and he grabbed a towel to wrap her hand in. "Kay now is not the time, and I don't think you should start with me, do you?" John squeezed her hand harder to make his point. "Go to the doctor; you will need stitches, I will be here when you get back. Cucumbers, huh? These look like oranges to me."

Kay's eyes had filled with tears, not for her finger, but for what awaited her return. "I was thinking about getting some cucumbers for the salad tonight, I was a little mixed up when I said that. I'm sorry."

Kay felt the familiar form in her throat that she could only assume was her heart. It seemed to reside there, somewhere in her esophagus, cutting off her precious air supply. Ever since John's affair, ever since the marriage counseling and ever since the makeup became more for bruises than for beauty, she'd felt that lump in her throat whenever he was near.

Tonight, though, she knew it was also there for another reason. She turned her back to John, seemingly to reach into the drawer that housed the Spongebob Squarepants band-aids.

"Seriously, honey, you need stitches, not just Spongebob..." His voice trailed as his eye caught the gleam of a silvery object in her hands.

John's heartbeat began to sprint, but he relaxed when he saw what Kay was holding.

I should have known, he thought, and snorted. "Kay, if you're going to kill me," he said, "at least use the Wusthof. I didn't take you to see Essence of Emeril Live and buy the official Emeril Wusthof so you could go Mommy Dearest on me with that serrated piece of crap from Ikea."

But Kay had a secret: she'd taken knife juggling in 4-H back in 1982. And she was holding more than the econo-knife from Ikea.

As she held the knives, her life with him flashed before her--their first date where he wouldn't buy her dinner, stealing her virginity at prom, getting her pregnant on their honeymoon, the dirty motel rooms, the cheating, the lies, and all she ever did was submit.

This word echoed through her brain. Submit. Submit. Submit.

"I WILL NOT SUBMIT!"

Her first marriage was the picture of submission and she was fed up. This time it would be different.

"No, I think you are going to apologize. I want to hear you say that you are sorry." She elegantly switched the knife to her other hand. "I can't believe that I actually thought that you could stay away from her. I'm such a fool. I want some honesty from you . . . Mister!"

It was all getting to be too much. He knew he had pressed his luck with this one, and just as it was with the others- the 'others' Kay knew nothing about- it was time to get rid of her.

Even though he had been a paper pusher at the precinct for more than a year, he still packed the heat. In a move smoother than silk he swiped a pile of magazines from the island to the floor, and in bending down grabbed his .22 from its home on his left calf.

With nothing more than a cold look and firm grip, he ripped off three rounds in Kay's direction. The "pop-pop-pop" of a gun always amazed him. Amused him. Perhaps even turned him on.

A crack shot for years, he expected pieces of Kay to be all over the marble backsplash and oak cabinets. Instead, almost in a daze, he realized that every shot had missed.

After Kay relaxed from the gun shots, she looked at John. She had recovered in time to see the shocked expression on John's face.

He had shot her? No, there wasn't any blood, she didn't feel any pain...and then her eyes began to glaze over.

It was then Kay realized what it meant to see red.

Kay threw the knife she still had grasped in her had. John screamed. Kay smiled and picked up another knife.

"Its time to play my game now, John."

As John reeled from the pain of the kitchen knife now embedded in his thigh, the truth dawned on him. He had hit her. Twice in the chest, though the third shot had missed and taken out the cow-shaped cookie jar resting on the counter. But she wasn't bleeding. His docile, innocent housewife was wearing a bulletproof vest under that Anne Klein blouse!

Bullet-proof vest? Knife juggling? No submission? Who was this woman whom he thought he'd known all these years?

Had the player been played? John felt a vein in his temple throbbing with anger and confusion. Just then, the door that connected the garage to the kitchen burst open.

She Froze. He Froze. Footsteps rattled the tiny kitchen. After what seemed like an eternity, she came walking in... Kay's identical twin sister (who Kay always thought looked a little bit pudgier through the neck).

"I thought we agreed that you would just take the money and leave her? You still love her don't you . . . that's why you came back during the day. So you could see her one last time."

Kay felt cold and detached, not realizing that the bleeding from her finger had stopped. She had submitted before, but even so, she knew there was about to be a whole lot more blood on her yellow and blue tile.

The End

Coffee Demons?

They're out to get me.

All of a sudden, I announce I'm giving up Starbucks (trying to) and the Coffee Demons are swarming me.

The guy at the bank tells me I can answer a quick survey on loans and I'll get a $25 gift card to Starbucks.

I am getting emails for coffee products.

The smell of roasted coffee beans permeates my every pore when I walk through the grocery store.

Signs flash around me, taunting me, saying, "caffeinecaffeinecaffeineyouknowyouwantone."

They're everywhere.

And tonight, I am going to get my hair cut and colored, and...

there.
is.
a.
starbucks.
right.
across.
the.
street.
from.
the.
salon...

I'm caving...

But so what? If I want a freaking coffee, I'm getting one. So there, you Coffee Demons, you. You don't scare me.

Oh, yah they do.


* * * * * * *


(On the progressive story, there is still one last post to finish it off as of right now, so check it out and maybe you'll be the 15th contributor to end the story)

A Blow Dryer and a Little Sex

Who would have thought that two simple things could start a day out so nicely? Well, certainly not at the same time, that would get just a little bit too hot, but really, I feel like a semi-new woman. That's semi-NEW not NUDE for you perverts out there.

Anyway, from recent posts, you can tell I've been down. I have had every emotion from fear to hatred to confusion to devastation. I have asked all the Why Them questions, I have cried, I have gone into my world-famous Depression Sleep, I have almost become a One-A-Day-Xanax girl, and almost had to up my Effexor intake. Right now, though, you've got me on the high-point of this roller coaster, this unknown spherical globey thing we call life, the earth, the world.

The Blow Dryer. Well, I haven't actually used it all year until this morning, when we got ready for church. Oh yes, and that is another thing. When all the questions and the Whys and the tears come, where do you turn? Yep, The Big Guy. And isn't it great that He never turns ya away. Never says, "Hey, where the heck have you been five out of six Sundays, Missy? Why are you coming to Me now?"

Because I need Him now. I need to feel that He is here to offer love and support and care, that He is going to take care of everyone no matter how bad it gets, no matter how many lives are affected. It will all be good in the end. And we have to just keep believing in it. Heck, I might even get out the Bible and read some prolific stuff to enlighten me on this recent curveball He has thrown. Maybe in some way it will help me understand the things He has planned for us in this life, and what we can expect in the Next Life. There's a book title for ya: "What To Expect When You're Not On Earth Any More."

Back to the Blow Dryer. I do not take a lot of time to do my hair, and those of you who know me, I know you are bobbing your heads up and down right now, saying, "Hello? Do you spend ANY time on that hair of yours?" But, since the New Year, I have not once dried my hair. Not even to just get the wetness out of it straight from the shower. And, perhaps this is part of the extra funk that has been created in my life. But alas, a round brush and the hair dryer this a.m. before church, plus the mandatory three squirts of Rave hairspray, and I tell you, the world didn't seem as terrible as I've been thinking it is. That, and the sex thing, and I was not so much in a funk today.

And, this news will shock the heck out of you all. Ready?

Not.One.Single.Trip.To.Starbucks.ALL.YEAR.LONG.

Nope. I don't know if I've kicked the grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalattenowhipextrahot habit, but I sure as hell have already saved twenty-five bucks. Although, I have heard from two people the latest craze is a cinnamon dolce latte.

(Sidenote: seventh grade spelling bee--lost trying to spell cinnamon. Will never forget it. Every time that word is mentioned, I relive the trauma of being in that Catholic school library, palms sweaty, mind swirling, trying to conjure up the image of a cinnamon shaker to project the word onto my mind...)

[In SpongeBob fashion, if you're a SpongeBob viewer, say it with me folks...]


SIX.HOURS.LATER.

Okay, it's like six hours since I first started this post, and I realize it's not really going anywhere. But I'm still going to post it, because if I didn't, then, this would be like something I dreamed I wrote, when I really did write it, and that would just be like taking a piece of paper, writing a bunch of stuff on it, and then throwing it into the trash because it doesn't really make any sense. Kind of like I'm doing right now.

Senseless? Not sure? But my brain is telling me to just put it out there, because in the trash it does no one any good. In Blog World, maybe it will at least help someone learn to spell cinnamon?

P.S... You can still post on the progressive story below...

Something Fun, Maybe?

Not sure if you're interested, but I thought we could 'write' a story. I'll start it with a first line in the comments section, and feel free to continue with it, but with no profanities, and possible humor would be good. Later this weekend, I'll choose a number, and that will be the last poster who will have to end the story.

Rules: You write three to five sentences. No profanity.

Let's see if this'll work.

SAD

So, I guess I deal with sad stuff by withdrawing and avoidance. I don't feel like talking to people or explaining why I'm sad. I choose sleep over anything else as a way to avoid the grief or the sadness. A friend of mine says she cleans like a maniac, and I guess that would be more productive, but it doesn't work for me.

I started this post yesterday but didn't finish. I'm trying to clear my head from the fog. I'm trying to understand why God does the things He does, why He causes pain to good people. Is it so we can be reminded of His suffering? Is it so we can remember to hold our children tighter, to be kinder to one another, to say "I love you" more often?

A friend said she thinks our lives here on earth are just a tiny blip on the screen, like really, we're living in the world but it's only like one second long, and then what happens afterward is a mystery, but far greater than any of the best feelings we feel while we are here. I like to believe that to be true. That we are just right now being tested for the future of things to come, and that none of this stuff will matter so much when it's all said and done. In the end. Or rather, what I like to think, In The Beginning, where there will be no suffering, no sadness, no pain or grief or fear. Just joy and calm and happiness, and unsurmountable love.

I just don't understand why bad stuff happens to good people, and I know there's that book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, that helps to make sense of things, but I've not read it.

I guess we are not meant to understand, and someday, when nothing on earth matters anymore, there'll be this big conference where we'll all be attending, and everything will be explained to us, and we'll be like, "Oh, why didn't we realize that before?"

It's cuz we're not meant to realize whatever the greatness God has in store for us yet. I don't think so anyway. I don't know what I'm saying really, so please forgive this post, it's just something that's been on my mind in light of some new situations some very much loved people are going through right now.

Thank you for your previous comments and for your prayers. I did have to laugh thinking that some of you who have no clue who I am would be saying, "Dear God, help Manic Mom's friends." But I am so thankful for your thoughts, prayers and kind words, and when or if I feel ready to discuss this, maybe some of you have answers, or a relative or friend who, God forbid, has undergone the same, and maybe you can help. But for now, prayers are very, very good, so thank you.

New Year Blah

There's a lot on my mind, much I won't discuss here, but so far, this has not been such a favorable year. There has been illness, death and fights already. I don't want this stuff to be happening with and to the people I love.

So, please, if you are a praying type of a person, send some prayers to some very close friends of mine, okay? Thanks.

All I Need Is Food And Creative Love

If you would have told me 12 hours ago that I would be alive and functioning enough to be blogging in the New Year, I would have told you to get your ass to the convenient store to buy yourself a lottery ticket cuz your chance of winning would have been better than me moving.

A quick glimpse into Manic Mom's life in 2006 so far:

3 a.m. -- Tuck children into bed, including two others I have no idea from whence they came.

3:30 a.m. -- Made good on one of my resolutions, if you know what I mean, then pass out until 8:00 a.m.

8:00 a.m. - 8:40 a.m. -- Spend time with my porcelain god.

8:41 -- get back in bed, pray for sleep or death. Get neither.

9:56 -- Hear the soft beckonings from Tukey, calling from the bathroom... "I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! Come wipe my butt."

Wipe butt.

The rest of the day is a blur, in and out of sleep that doesn't count, being hot, being cold, worshiping the porcelain god again, showering, then getting back into bed soaking wet and haphazardly clothed.

3:30 p.m. -- chilren come visit. It's nice to see them. I ask Diva if she wants to play a game. She does! I tell her she gets to play nurse and could she please get me an ice water and a cold cloth for my head. She's awesome at this game.

3:45 p.m. -- children now bored with nursing game and want to watch Wizard of Oz in my bedroom. I agree, if only to make good on another resolution to be a better parent.

This better parenting thing lasts through about the first verse of Somewhere Over The Rainbow and I leave my bedroom and crawl into Tukey's bunk for more attempts at sleep.

Note: Still have not attempted to even sip water at this point. It would be too risky.

4:00 -- Hear that darling, most wonderful husband in the world is taking the kids to a friends to watch football. I sleep.

7:30 p.m. -- Wake to a dull banging noise, that sounds like rhythmic thunder and am confused as to whether it is coming from my head or outdoors.

7:31 p.m. -- Crawl out of bed and make my way downstairs for the first time all year! (I love saying that. Like if you see a friend on Dec. 31 or talk to someone on the phone and you say, "See you next year!" That never ceases to amuse me.)

Open the back door, inhale fresh cool air. Wonder what it would be like to lay on the ground. Wonder what it would be like to lay on the ground in a snowstorm with snow falling all over my body. Wonder if I would be able to eat all the snow falling onto my face in order not to be buried alive in snowstorm. Please note, there is no snowstorm.

Still hear that banging noise, and wonder who is doing construction work at this hour on the first day of the year. Wonder if there's some bomb scare or freak accident about to happen. Wonder if this is what it sounded like/felt like during Jurrasic Park when the loud, booming footsteps of the dinosaur was arriving and made the glass of water shake in the car. Or, maybe this is the sound of King Kong coming to get his woman.

Take out the phone book, wonder if I should call the non-emergency fire department, but decide against it. Because if there is a bomb scare coming, what can they do about it, and also, I know from past experience with the non-emergency fire department (and if I wasn't in the frame of mind I'm in right now, I'd try to find that post from last winter to link you to, when the firefighters, the HOT firefighters came to the house because I smelled rubber burning, only for them to discover a burning rubber toy dart stuck to the boys' lamp and lightbulb).... Anyway, from past experience, they send someone out to the house of the person who calls, and I was in no shape or form to be seen by cute, hot firefighters, so I bagged that idea, and just decided if the world is coming to an end, then at least I had a nice time.

Drink three sips of diet 7 Up. Eat six honey teddy grahams. Open back door again, still hear the rhythmic booming noises that sound closer and louder now, then hear it happen boomboomboomboomboobooobooooom!

And realize it's some freaking fireworks show.

Call hubby at friends house. Pretend to be fine and tell him I've been up for a while (pseudo-truth) and that I was going back to bed but if he were coming home now, I'd stay up to help put the rats to bed. And, shouldn't he be coming home soon seeing as the kids were up until THREE A.M. in the FREAKING MORNING! (But I guess the A.M. I just typed was an indication that it was in the morning, duh!)

Free reign to go back to bed. Family comes home around 8:30 p.m. I seize Diva and tell her to cuddle with me, to hold my hand, to snuggle. Ahhh. Tell her as I always do, that she is my most favorite little girl in the entire world. And she asks, "Who's your favorite big girl" and I tell her it's her too! Feel good for the first time all day. Fall asleep comfortably with a cold compress on my neck and an eye pillow scented soother on my face. Ah.

10:30 -- Hub comes to bed, removes Diva from our room. We talk about the party we had, but I tell him I can't talk too much because reliving the party will make me think about how sick I was and I don't want to feel sick again.

11:00 -- Hubby snores. I start thinking of McDonald french fries and a vanilla milk shake. I'm thinking of Needing Food and Creative Love (which, by the way, is a song from Rusted Root, for those of you who don't know. Who did know? Anyone hear it before?) So, I'm thinking of Food and Creative Love. I'm hungry AND horny. (Sorry, Mom, don't read if you don't want to know that your daughter gets a little horny from time to time! ahahahhaahahah!)

I come downstairs. I eat some food. I think, I should maybe blog about my day. So, there's my first post of the New Year, and had I typed a bit faster, I could have made it under the deadline and would have had this posted by January 1, but as I said, at that point, all I needed was Food And Creative Love.

Happy 2006! (And Robyn, I LOVE my pillow! And you!)

So, Happy New Year!