A special kind of crazy…

When I first read through a recent list of prompts for writing a story, even a few paragraphs… anything…just one grabbed my attention.  Write about something that drives you crazy.

Really?

Just one?

Understand that, given my personality, there isn’t a day that passes where a multitude of things don’t annoy me or, more honestly, piss me off!  I’m certain most can identify with a given annoyance, some household infraction, village cell-phone idiots, robocalls, any demonstration of human stupidity, people who are overly passionate about every damn thing in the universe, however insignificant…and the list goes on.

Of course, I can easily compartmentalize all of the above and move on but there is still that nagging issue, that one most aggravating thing that pushes my mental stability close to the edge of exploding.

Writer’s Block.

Yup, that’s it.  The big one. 

Happens to me every year, usually around this time.  Trust me, the ideas are there.  Words dance in my head, always at the most inopportune moments and I make a mental note to run with it, even send myself a text as a reminder.  And, something always gets in the way because, when I do write I want it to mean something, to stand out in some small way and touch the person reading my thoughts.  Writing is the one thing that gives me a sense of accomplishment in a life where I’m constantly running in too many different directions.  Not being able to share even an occasional burst of meaningful prose at the drop of a hat definitely makes me very crazy.

And so it goes…

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workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Workshop…Write about something that drives you crazy.  Again, I might have expanded on so many daily happenings that push my buttons but I usually can get past most, if not all, of them.  Usually.  Some linger to wake me in the middle of the night, much like a problem or something I neglected to remember.  This prompt turned out to be a positive, writing-wise.

 

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The Christmas Cat…

The aftermath of one more sad goodbye…

Dale

Soft blankets and pillows on the couch where he would sit, basking in the morning sun.

Dishes still filled to the brim with his favorite food because, as all cat owners know, less than that amount brings forth a look of starvation.  And, the same for the water bowl which always had to have fresh, cool water.

Two litter boxes.  Well, this particular discerning feline, who allowed us to share his home, used each box separately, for different, well, um mm, things.

Cat toys, everywhere. Most missing whatever catnip fragrance they once held but each was still serviceable for an occasional tussle and tossing into the air.

Now…silence The absence of his spontaneous greeting every morning, each evening, or whenever you walked into a room where was lounging.  Hardly a positive song and the stillness is a painful discontent.

His name was “Dale”.  He came into our lives several years ago, around Christmas time. A rescue, found huddled behind some supermarket, emaciated and barely surviving.   A gentle soul, probably a pet who had gotten lost.  It was more likely that he had been dumped by someone who just didn’t want him anymore.  From that point, his history didn’t matter, he became part of our family and I always called him our Christmas Cat

He liked my husband better.  It didn’t matter that I cleaned his bathroom, kept his food needs in ample supply, he followed my spouse around like a dog.  Dale would listen by the windows for the sound of my hubby’s car and run to greet him at the door.  All this affection directed at a man who never really liked cats and grabbed a tissue to sneeze whenever he was around one.  It didn’t matter, not to Dale.

Two days ago, we had to make the sad decision of putting Dale to sleep after he threw a blood clot.  One minute, he had been running through our house as he did every morning, the next found him lying down with his back legs motionless.  Any choice of putting the cat through procedures with no promise of favorable results were out of the question.

Today, he was laid to rest in our little pet cemetery with great pomp & circumstance and many tears.  This, thanks to the man who didn’t like cats but was Dale’s best friend.

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Look away…

It’s a standard warning on car mirrors: “Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear”. Mirrors don’t always give a truly honest reflection. Sometimes, the mirror is warped; sometimes, it’s only our perceptions. When Alice went into her mirror, it was the world itself that was distorted. And yet at times, the mirror will show you true things that you weren’t aware of; something around a corner, or behind you, or on another spectral plane. People can even act as mirrors; they can show you yourself as others see you.

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She constantly refused to look into a mirror, any mirror.

My mother.

It wasn’t because of vanity or due to failing eyesight.

She could see clearly, without eyeglasses, towards the end of her life.

It didn’t matter.

The reflection staring back was unrecognizable

To her.

That person, that old woman with gray hair and wrinkled skin was someone else.  “A witch” she often said as she quickly looked away from what she had determined was some creature hiding in the glass.  She would cover her face with both hands.   It wasn’t her, not by any means; she was young, in her twenties, still with dark hair and red lipstick.

In her mind.

Mother lived in long ago realities; the aging process stopped and did a U-turn back about fifty or more years once Alzheimer’s took control.   In some ways, I was envious.  She didn’t have to deal with life’s sorrows and responsibilities but that was nothing new.   For as long as I could painfully remember she always managed to look away from bothersome issues, seeing only what she wanted.  Comfortable, happy reflections.

I was never her mirror of choice.

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workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Workshop…Writing Prompts for 4/4/19…Write a blog post inspired by the word: mirror.

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