My Father's Advice

When I moved into my first apartment, alone, far from my parents, my dad wrote out and framed16 rules to live by.  I came across them today while cleaning out my closet.  It's a good list, and it's funny.

1. Work hard, but work smart.  You make money with your brains, not your hands, but never be afraid to sweat (a lot).
2. Always love your family, be close to your spouse, work hard at your relationships and tell your children you love them (often).
3. Always tell the truth.
4. If you get cold, put a sweater on.  If you get hot, take it off.
5. If you get hungry, eat.
6. Never give up.  Make sure your dreams are just beyond your grasp, follow your dreams, and dream big.
7. Remember birthdays and anniversaries.
8. Save your money.
9. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, do without (this is an old piece of advice, but good to remember).
10. Be happy and don't take your problems to work.
11. You are a very capable and powerful person, be proud of who and what you are.
12. Be kind & considerate of others, but don't let others harm you or walk all over you.
13. Be organized.  Lead, follow, or get out of the way!
14. It's better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.
15. Semper in Excretum, Solum Profundum Variat (this is fake Latin for "Always in shit, only the depth varies").
16. Halloween is the best holiday of the year (Boo!)
    

I never realized how much my dad apparently likes parentheses.  Anyway, that's that.  It's pretty straight forward and it's come in handy more than once in my life.

The 2500 and Other Stuff

Excitement seems to be percolating around the blogosphere right now, and I'm excited, too -- for the prospect of writing 2500 words per day for 30 days. This is what I have undertaken, along with my 30 days of yoga, for the first month of my 35th year.

The prospect of doing both of these things simultaneously is somewhat frightening, but I am taking the opportunity while I may. I can't depend on it ever popping up again in this way.

Other things I'm excited about?

• The Boat that Rocked/Pirate Radio is finally being released.
• I get to see my family in less than a month for my favorite holiday.
• Christmas music is in the near future.
• I can finally wear my favorite scarf again.
• It's cool enough to cook things like chili and curry (not the best foods for Vegas summers).
• I can get out the knitting (also not the best summertime activity as having a lapful of wool is sweaty).
• I sent my wedding ring to be sized down a size and a half.
• I can get back into some of my smaller clothes.
• Bubblebaths.
• A massage and pedicure on Monday.
• All of our wine from Napa is finally home.

Okay, so that's that.  Happy Halloween (or Devil's Day - as my grandmother used to call it - not the good grandmother).  Brace yourselves for November, it's tomorrow.

Fancy ≠ Floozy

Okay, so I admit that I am at least 90% responsible for the irritation I encountered today while looking for a dress to wear to a holiday cocktail party.  My first mistake was going shopping while having my period.  This is something that is colossally stupid for many reasons, but foremost are excessive irritability and water retention.  My second mistake was going into chain stores.  I hate them all (except Loehmann's) under good circumstances, so I should have stayed away.  Having acknowledged all of this, I was still entirely annoyed and disappointed by every store I walked into. 

I should have just kept going past Banana Republic whose entire job it is, these day, to be a let down.  I remember when Banana Republic was cool.  Then they were acquired by Gap and now they are to Gap what Lexus is to Toyota. 

As a general rule, I don't shop at any of the Gap stores.  Not that there's anything wrong with the clothes, I just really hate when someone says to me, "I have that same top," or "I almost bought that."  I should also note that I don't always care what I look like, but when I do care, I care a lot.

So, there I was perusing the tiny, shiny dresses and the halter tops that even the skinniest women look hefty in when one of the saleswomen skulked up behind me and scared the everloving shit out of me.  "Aren't those great?"  Uh, no.  But I just smiled.

"Is there something I can help you find?"  She was very enthusiastic.  I like enthusiasm - in others.  So I told her, "I'm looking for something to wear to a holiday cocktail party.  Fancyish, but not too formal."

She lit up like a firecracker.  She told me she thought she had "the perrrfect thing!"  Thing?  That implies one.  One would have been sufficient if it had, indeed, been perrrfect.  However, she led me to a rack of frilly, low-cut tops and started whipping an assortment of things (plural) off and handing them to me.  Then she went to the dresses and pulled out some itty-bitty numbers.  "Do you prefer pants or skirts?"  I told her skirts - since pants almost always require alteration on someone as short as I am.  She took me to a dressing room and hung all of my prospective outfits up and then left me alone so she could gather skirts. 

I was already skeptical.  I'm not huge, but I'm not skinny and I'm also not 22.  Everything looked like it was made for some anorexic teenager.  I started with the first dress.  I could already tell it was going to be inappropriately short.  I went on, though.

When my "associate" returned with the skirts, I actually laughed out loud.  They didn't even look like they'd cover my ass all the way.  "Do you have anything longer?"  "Uh.  I think so.  But it would be more businessy." 

I realize Sex and the City is partly to blame for this trend, but when did fancy become synonymous with looking like a tart?  I mean, really.

I realized then that I was in the wrong store, and most likely, the wrong decade to find what I'm looking for.  I'm going to try to find a nice vintage store to find a nice vintage dress that covers my tits and my ass simultaneously.

Taste Sensation

I recently made Restaurant Refugee's Truffled Fries.  They're FANFUCKINGFAROUTTASTIC.  Not surprising, though, considering that fries are great and truffle oil is even better, so the two together are a shoo-in for side dish of the year.  Side dish?  They could be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner and I'd be perfectly happy.

The other part of the recipe is braised short ribs.  I didn't make these at the same time that I made the fries the first time, so I didn't discover until last night how incredibly yummy they are.  These are a delightful accompaniment to the main course of fries.  But I jest.  They're delicious.  Tender, juicy, tasty.  I could go on all day.  They're the kind of thing I could eat until I popped.  You should try them.  They're so worth it.  And if you don't have an immersion blender (which I don't) you can still puree the veggies in a food processor with a pretty good result.

I like them so much  I'm also thinking of trying out the same preparation on a lamb shank.  I can't imagine why it wouldn't also be delicious.

I've even found a bona fide butcher where I procured more beef bones to make a small vat of stock to have on hand so that I can make the ribs at the drop of a hat.  I know they say veal bones make the best stock, but I can't do veal.  It's too pink.

Anyway, I'm in love with the Refugee.  He's a great writer and, apparently, quite a chef.  I'm trying the tomato bisque with gorgonzola crostini ASAP.

If I'm not careful, I'm going to have to do three yoga classes a day to work off the food.  I think it's an even trade.

Anyway, you should try his recipees.  He'll even answer cooking questions.  No cookbook does that.

Day Two

Today's class was definitely not good, but it was markedly improved from yesterday.  Last night I was so concerned with just making it though class, I forgot to try out all of my new tricks for standing bow. 

Today I could form thoughts that didn't include Oh holy hell, I'm going to crash into that guy or I can't feel my right hand.  Today I tried out Hannah's creeper method on the first side.  It helped, but I didn't want to stop there, so on the left side I tried to maintain focus on one point per DancingJ and Duffy.  I also tried to pay attention to my stretching hand.  In second set, right side, I tried them all together.  I held it longer than usual.  I repeated it on the left side and again held longer than usual.  Woo hoo!  So thanks everyone for the input.  I'm sure I'll be tapping the collective wisdom again before too long.

Challenged

So I started a 30-day challenge with Hannah yesterday.  I went to a late class after getting home from a week's worth of late nights filled with lots of food and wine and song.  My allergies have been awful, too.  My lungs are raspy, my nose is runny, and my eyes are itchy and puffy.

I dragged myself into the studio (just barely) and set up in the cool corner - far enough away from the mirror that I couldn't see what a disaster area I was.  I tottered through standing series like a baby giraffe (without the length of bone).  No grace, no flow, just jagged, jerky movements, barely able to hold my head up at times and falling out all over.

I had especial trouble because I couldn't breathe well and the pressure in my head was incredible.  I tried to sneeze quietly, but wasn't always successful.   If you were in class with me, I apologize for the sniffling and snorting coming from me.

But that's not all.  Somewhere on the floor, I realized that I tasted blood.  When I spat into a tissue to see if I really was tasting blood, I found myself looking at a bright red Rorschach blot on my tissue.  Um ew.  I should tell you here and now, this has never happened to me before.  I have never spontaneously sprung a leak in a vein.  For a spilt second I was worried that I might be dying.  What I finally realized, though, was that it was my bottom teeth. 

I'm a mutant.  I still have my bottom front baby teeth.  I don't have any adult teeth to push them out, so there they stay.  It's a genetic anomaly that runs rampant through my mother's family.  I have a cousin who only had 6 adult teeth show up.  Anyway, as you can imagine, after years and years of use beyond their intended time frame, they're worn and loose.  Last night in yoga, the gums around these tiny teeth oozed and oozed.  It was gross.

The real capper on the crappy class, though, was the fact that I could feel (and hear) my tendons stretching (creaking).  I am less than a week away from my 35th birthday and I'm feeling every single hour of my age (and more) right now.  I felt challenged last night - and not in a good way.

I wasn't going, "Oh yay.  This is great.  I get to push myself here."  No.  It was more like, "Dear god, I hope I can get all the way to the end without losing consciousness."  But I finally finished the class - not in good shape, but not dead in the corner, either.

I'm going to do a couple of doubles in the next couple of weeks because of my birthday and also because I'm leaving for Thanksgiving a day earlier than I thought, so in order to get my 30 in 30 I have to do a couple of doubles. 

After last night, I'm pretty sure I can get through just about anything.  So at least there's that.  I just really hope to never have a class quite that bad again. 

The Bible (Abridged)

I have thousands of bookmarks and I've been going through them lately, testing and culling the ones that don't work or aren't what they used to be.  I'm pleased when I run across a little gem like The Brick Testament.  I had forgotten about it and it makes me laugh.

A Minor Amusement to Make Monday More Mirthful

Mondays can be rough.  For everyone.  Especially bananas.  That's why you need a BANANA BUNKER!  

I love this thing.  It's hilare.  I want one in every color.  And I don't even take bananas anywhere.  I imagine that for those of you who do transport bananas, this isn't merely a fashion statement for your fruit, but functional as well.

Professor Moriarty, I Presume

Standing bow is my nemesis.  Like Moriarty to Holmes, Luther to Superman, like Nemesis herself to everybody.  No matter how much I practice, I can't seem to stay balanced.  It drives me crazy.  Crazy, I tell you!

It's gotten to the point where I practice it at home more than any other pose.  I think about corrections to try.  I think about how to incorporate all elements simultaneously.  I think about what I want to look like.  I concentrate on my eyes, my breath, kicking, kicking, kicking.   I also try to not think about it and just do it.

Alas, the bow mocks me.

I can't figure out the problem.  I've asked every teacher I've ever had for suggestions and corrections. I've spent time in the room before and after class practicing so I could use both sets of mirrors.

My hips are aligned.  I'm kicking hard into my hand.  My knee is locked.  My head is straight.  My foot comes straight up over the top of my head.  My weight is slightly forward so my standing leg isn't tilted.  I even have my arm relaxed and my shoulder behind me.  When examined by experts, I'm given excellent technical marks.

This leads me to believe that my key difficulty with the pose is psychological. I'm preventing myself from doing it. The question is why.

When I started doing Bikram a year and a half ago, I had no expectations of my performance.  My first class wasn't too bad - all things considered - and I liked it more than I thought I would.

For the longest time I didn't see much change in my poses.  I didn't mind.  I was in the very worst shape of my life and I was just happy to be on a path.

Then I started to see progress.  I've always been pretty flexible and pretty strong, but my understanding of the poses got better and when that happened, I saw changes.  Except in standing bow.

I don't know when I realized it wasn't getting better, but when I did realize it, I asked my teachers about it.  They examined, tweaked, suggested things.

Yet I'm at an impasse.  I fall out every.single.time.  I tell myself that just because I fell out yesterday doesn't mean that I will today.   It gets harder to say this to myself, though, when every day I fall out again.

This is where the psychology comes in.  This is something I have to believe in order to do.  The problem is, my mind doesn't operate that way.  I need to see it to believe it.   So you see the obstacle.

I don't know how to overcome this.  I know this - this method of thinking - is a hindrance in more than just standing bow.  I know I'm limiting myself in other ways.

I have to believe in myself more.  I have to believe in myself more than I don't believe in myself.  Cool.  Now that I've got that all figured out, I'm going to have a nice long cry.  Sometimes I really hate yoga.

Things I Love*

1. The smell of coffee. I don't like the taste so much, but the smell is delightful.

2. The honey-colored days of October

3. Spending Sunday reading

4. Matt's texts

5. New pens

6. The deep silence of the stacks of almost any college library

7. The sound of my heartbeat as I lie in savasana

8. Trying a new recipe

9. When my iPod on shuffle knows my mood

10. When I'm out running errands and everywhere I go the same band follows me from place to place

11. The sound a new book makes when I open it for the first time

12. Walks at civil twilight

13. Open windows and cool breezes

14. Chuck Berry songs on a sunny afternoon

15. Lightening

16. Rain that makes everything sodden, but sparkly

17. Mail that doesn't include any bills and coupons

18. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

19. Freshly ironed sheets (I don't usually iron my sheets, but occasionally I do and they're divine)

20. A hot, hot shower

21. The first spring sunshine that makes my hair warm

21. Hollandaise

22. Longhand

23.  Bananas Foster

24.  Sunset on the Pacific

25.  The last bite of dessert

26.  Restaurant Refugee's truffled fries.  They're fanfuckingfarouttastic.  Thanks RR!

27.  Yarn and knitting supplies

28.  Adhesives

29.  My dictionary

30.  Bitch Magazine

31.  Waking up to the smell of bacon

32.  Midnight movies and all-night bowling

33.  Shelling walnuts with my mother and sisters (and now my niece)

34.  Hitting my dad in the face with a cream pie on his birthday

35.  Boarding a plane that will take me on vacation


*"love" in this case meaning "like a really lot" and "think are pretty cool" and does not include people, as they are not things

Tell Me Another Story

When I was little, I liked to hear stories about when my parents and grandparents were kids.  I could listen to the story about my dad ice fishing with my grandfather and his leg going through one of the holes in the ice over and over again.  I would beg for just one more telling of my mom's childhood Halloweens when she had cocoa with Einstein.  

My grandmother told me stories of her own childhood, swimming in the canal, living on a houseboat, leaving food and money out for the Gypsies.  My grandmother and mother both told me over and over the stories about my great-grandmother's house getting moved.  That great-grandmother (who died long before I was born) was also a midwife and I could listen to stories about her lying-in hospital in the very house that got moved all the way across town and was such a big to do that all of the kids got out of school to watch it go by until the storyteller was hoarse.

My grandfather told me stories of his boyhood as a hellraiser.  He and his brothers made mischief all around town.  My great-uncle trained their dog, Pickles, to ride on the running board of the car and sit on top of the "fireplugs" and wait for them outside school.

My very favorite story of all, though, was the story of my maternal great-grandmother cutting her hand with a hatchet when she was a little girl and her dad cleaning it with turpentine and pulling down cobwebs from the barn to stop the bleeding.

There are a million more - a million stories that my parents and I will tell my kids someday.  The thing I wonder, though, is what stories will I tell of my own growing up?  When my kid asks me a story about when I was little, what will I say?

It isn't that I don't have stories, but I wonder which will come to mind first.  Which ones will I tell them when they're little?  Which ones will I save for the adolescent moaning, heartbreak, vitriol?  Will I be able to whittle the salient points out of the larger tale?

I never realized the wisdom of the timing of my parents' stories.  Some were timed to keep me amused, others to get me to bed, still others to make me feel better or illustrate points.  Later, they were stories of empathy over broken hearts or having to do something undesirable -- each one told at the perfect moment.

I hope I tell stories as well as my parents.  I hope my chidren are as eager to hear them as I was.

That's What I Want

I have a high IQ. It's high enough to impress people who are impressed by this stuff (mostly school administrators). Somehow my score followed me through school and, inevitably, all of my teachers found out and would approach me about "special projects" and "more challenging work". I was told by everyone I encountered that I had limitless options and I wasn't "living up to my full potential" by not talking every AP class available.

At the same time, I was having a hard enough time trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up and I hated school. The last thing I needed was another choice. The last thing I wanted was a "special project".

It was a lot of pressure - even for someone as "mature" and "gifted" as I always was for my age. I helped my friends with homework (and by helping I mean doing it for them). Everyone (to be fair, my parents weren't pushy about it, they just wanted what was best for me) heaped their expectations on me -- told me about all of the great things I could accomplish if I "set my mind to it". Uch. I felt like a circus performer with the upside-down human pyramid on my head wobbling around to keep my balance on my overburdened unicycle.

Finally, in my sophomore year in high school, I tipped and everything went flying. I spent a couple of weeks crying. I spent a lot of time with my therapist. I was unhinged. I couldn't focus on anything. I had lost interest in all things academic. I didn't even want to see my friends.

My parents, with the help of my therapist, worked out a deal so that I could do a lot of school work from home and I would go to classes at the end of the day on a rotating basis. It worked out that I saw my teachers about once a week.

My friends didn't understand what had happened, really, and a lot of them were jealous of my new schedule. I actually lost a friend because she complained to the Superintendent that it wasn't fair and we got into a fight that ended our friendship.

It was a really horrible time in my life. But I recovered. At least to a degree.  But I have to wonder whether my limitless options ended up being more restrictive than anything else.

I have always been good at lots of things.  Good, never great.  I'm good enough to get by.  I'm like the handyman.  I can do most of the small stuff and some of the big stuff, but for the really important stuff, you should call an expert. 

I have never been able to commit to a career path because I was always afraid I wouldn't love it and I should love my career, right?  However, in not having committed myself anywhere, I have consigned myself to a default career in a field that has never interested me. 

I have paralyzed myself.  I need to make a choice.  My options are still limitless (although not all practical).  I want to not be afraid to do something I might not love.  I want to have the guts to try something for real and possibly fall flat on my ass.  Now that I have Matt and lots of love in other parts of my life, maybe I can do it.  That's what I want.

NaNoWriMo Approaches

National Novel Writing Month is coming.  I'm excited.  I don't have any expectation of 'winning' this year, but I'm going to go ahead and give it a try.  I have a few ideas floating around in my head (one of the stipulations of participating is that you start something new).  I'm keeping track of the ideas, but not expanding on them until November. 

If anyone else wants to join in, it's free and fun.

Peeve of the Day: Misuse/Abuse of the Ellipsis

Okay, I'm not grammarian.  I don't have perfect punctuation.  I look up usage all the time.  I also recognize that informal writing has a more relaxed outlook on grammar and punctuation than formal writing.  One of the things I like best about the English language is its adaptability.  All this being said, I have gotten an alarming amout of emails lately that either misuse or abuse the ellipsis (. . .). 

I got an email recently that had not one single period in it.  It was all exclamation points and ellipses.  I'm not a big fan of the exclamation point as it seems somewhat, well, loud.  However, the real objection I have is that an ellipsis should not be used to replace periods.  I defer to my hero, Grammar Girl to explain proper usage of the three (three only - not four or five or 10) dots that make the ellipsis.

This over-dotting is my other complaint about the use of the ellipsis.  I've noticed that people seem to use the dots at their discretion.  I don't know if this is to indicate a longer pause?  But there are other forms of punctuation that can do that without abusing the poor ellipsis.  Perhaps the abundance of dots is for emphasis?  I don't know.  The other possibility is that they don't know that there are rules governing the use of this delightful little device.  This is the most likely answer.

I must not blame the user for the lack of knowledge.  I know I got an above average education.  I realize that many people have not had this advantage.  What I don't understand is why no one cares to find out the things they don't know. 

I look up usage and words all the time because I don't know half of what I should.  I know I'm not alone, but sometimes....... after I gotten another email.............. that makes me want to get out my red pencil.......... I feel like I am.........And it makes me want to scream!!!

Thursdays in October

I was inspired by Hannah to make a playlist for Thursdays in October.  Some of it's old, some of it's new, and it's all stuff I really like a lot.  And it will last almost the whole day.

1. New Morning - Amandine
2. Apartment Story - The National
3. Lloyd, I'm ready to Be Heartbroken - Camera Obscura
4. I Stand Corrected - Vampire Weekend
5. Smile - Lily Allen
6. Lisztomania - Phoenix
7. Sit Down - James
8. Sausalito - Conor Oberst
9. I Thought I Saw Your Face Today - She & Him
10. You Can Make Him Like You - The Hold Steady
11. Woman in You - Ben Harper
12. The Bunting Song - The Good, The Bad, & The Queen
13. Shadow of Grief - Amandine
14. Chasing Ghosts with Alcohol - Gomez
15. Everything's Just Wonderful - Lily Allen
16. Minimum Wage - They Might Be Giants
17. Each Year - Ra Ra Riot
18. The Compromise - The Format
19. Today Will Be Better, I Swear - The Stars
20. Slow Pony Home - The Weepies
21. Actor Out of Work - St. Vincent
22. Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby - Islands
23. Eyes Open - Gossip
24. The Long Island Sound - Beirut
25. You or Your Memory - The Mountain Goats
26. Boxcar - The Rosebuds
27. Clementine - Elliott Smith
28. Drink to Me, Babe, Then - A.C. Newman
29. Your Summer Dress - Dirty on Purpose
30. The Melody of a Fallen Tree - Windsor for the Derby
31. Vampires in Blue Dresses - Margot & The Nuclear So and So's
32. Sundialing - Caribou
33. Harrisburg - Josh Ritter
34. Today is the Day - Apollo Sunshine
35. Big Brown Eyes - Old 97s
36. Blackout - British Sea Power
37. Coming In from the Cold - The Delgados
38. Lovelier Girl - Beach House
39. Miss Spiritual Tramp - Blitzen Trapper
40. Night Majestic - Au Revoir Simone
41. Safety in Numbers - South
42. Bad Weekend - Art Brut
43. Dead and Lovely - Tom Waits
44. Stoned - Old 97s
45. Happy Little Bumblebee - Of Montreal
46. White Gold - Metric
47. I Don't Want to See You - Camera Obscura
48. Isn't Life Strange? - The Clientele
49. Hey! Is That a Ninja Up There? - Minus the Bear
50. Room with a View - Imperial Teen
51. Worry About it Later - The Futrueheads
52. Pamphleteer - Weakerthans
53. Will You Please be There From Me - Reindeer Section
54. Pier Thirteen - The Bomboras
55. Low Gravity - The Acorn
56. Devil's Elbow - Colin Meloy
57. Everything Kills You - Echo and the Bunnymen
58. God Bless the Ottoman Empire - A Hawk and A Hacksaw
59. Crazy Love - Marianne Faithfull
60. Com On In My Kitchen - Crooked Still
61. Gotta Get a Problem - Mates of State
62. Zombie - Nellie McKay
63. Everybody's Getting Down - Incredible Moses Leroy
64. Mama's Got a Girlfriend - Ben Harper
65. Bumblebee - The Casual Dots
66. Like 24 (6+1=3) - Joy Zipper
67. Get Up, Get Out, Get High - The Village Green
68. Prisoner of Love - Tin Machine
69. Beep Beep Love - Incredible Moses Leroy
70. (Still) Terminally Ambivalent Over You - The Real Tuesday Weld
71. Moving Furniture Around - The Handsome Family
72. Day One - Polly Paulusma
73. Falling at Your Feet - U2
74. Queen's Night Out - Persephone's Bees
75. The Happiest Days of My Life - My Favorite
76. Rosemary Moore - Joan Baez
77. Calling All Angels - Jane Siberry with K.D. Lang
78. Roll Up Your Sleeves - We Were Promised Jetpacks
79. National Anthem of Nowhere - Apostle of Hustle
80. Beatific Visions - brakesbrakesbrakes
81. The Boy - Celine
82. Heroes and Villains - The Charade
83. (I'm Gonna) Burn Your Playhouse Down - The Proclaimers
84. Annabelle - Communique
85. Revenge - Bitter, Bitter Weeks
86. Goodbye - Pretenders
87. My Old Friend - Emilie Simon
88. fuck was i - Jenny Owen Youngs
89. The '59 Sound - The Gaslight Anthem
90. Love Always Comes to Those Who Waits - Celestial
91. Nothing Seems the Same - Heartless Bastards
92. Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most - Jane Monheit
93. Flawed Like a Diamond - Caviar
94. Personal Jesus - Johnny Cash
95. Kiss Me Only with Your Eyes - Future Bible Heroes
96. Little Pretty Thing - The Troggs
97. Hey Sweet man - Madeleine Peyroux
98. Heaven & Hell - Minus Story
99. Rainbow Connection - Kermit the Frog
100. Flesh and Spirits - The Gena Rowlands Band
101. Settling Song - Nina Nastasia
102. Joking Aside - Pulp
103. November Nights - Run On Sentence
104. The Smaller Song - The Geraldine Fibbers
105. Crushing Yer Head - Slot
106. Kicking Ass - The Strike
107. Accidental Joy - The Minders
108. You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl) - The White Stripes
109. Screamings Not an Option - The Grey Race
     

The Smell of Blood

The hit was so fast, so hard I didn’t see it coming.  After, as I looked down at the blood, I felt no pain.     “Am I going to die?” I asked.

“Everyone dies,” the man said.

I looked down again at the bloodstain – watched it grow and consume my white blouse.  When I looked up again, the man, my attacker, was gone.  My blood was filling the room.  Then the pain rose inside me.  I didn’t mind it so much and it made me sleepy.  I closed my eyes and woke to the smell of blood. 






I got out of bed to shake off the dream and when I stood up, my nose began to bleed.