Category: Uncategorized

Help in Strange Places

For the past few months, I’ve found myself struggling; spiraling into a strange madness from which I could not escape. Everything seemed to be falling apart at the seams, my reality unraveling before me like a delicate fabric. I could handle the stress. In fact, I could handle most out what caused the out of control spinning. But I could not handle the thought that I had lost my imagination.

You see, my mind is something I have always valued, even when it seems broken or betrays me at the worst of times. But after so long of falling, I needed help to find my way back out again. The inner voice that guides my words was silenced, the pictures I paint with my words seemed foreign. I had the desire to create, but only the ability to destroy. The whirlwind was merciless. My mind, my imagination, have always been my coping mechanism for as long as I can remember.

As a child when things were difficult, I would escape to my alternate reality. The adult I was did the same. There, I ruled my lands. Nothing happened without my say so. I constructed ideal situations and gave them the perfect outcome in my perspective, or I took events that had already transpired and said what I wished I had said. I dreamed of a better world, a better life.

I took that gift for granted, and only when it seemed to be hiding did I truly understand the weight of what I had. An extraordinary mind filled with wonder that I needed to capture.

The spiralling took it away, bashed and battered it before hiding it beyond my grasp, replacing it with insignificant problems that only aided my downfall.

I sought help from a naturopath. It is most unfortunate that she cared more for my money than she did my mental health, for had she put forth the effort, she could have claimed such an epiphany for her own personal portfolio. What a success story she could have told. Instead, I’ve ripped such a glory from her, and I cannot tell you the immense joy I feel from that. Rather the glory is to be given to a dear friend of mine.

The advice he gave I shall pass on to you, my readers. It seems so very simple, yet it took hearing it at just the right time for it to finally make sense.

Be the best you that you can be. Do everything to the best of your ability, and fuck what everyone else thinks. You have to live with you more than anyone else does. He also told me to write. Write for me and for no one else. Stop living in the world of digital applause and Facebook likes, superficial shit. Write for yourself, and as you find your voice, that is when the applause will matter. It’s only real if you are real.

We live in a world where our lives are dictated by numbers. Your intelligence is measured by a score on a test, or a grade on a paper. Your worth is measured by your bank account. Your beauty is decided by what size your jeans are, or what the scale reads. And when you become so wrapped up in these numbers, you tend to forget why you’re here. Why you’re doing what you’re doing, and why you live doing it. For me, the number of viewers my blog received was important. I would write, and I would try to write well, only to see low numbers. It discouraged me, so I tried to change me. Instead of writing for myself, I tried to cripple myself in order to better myself. So let me pass on a bit of advice to you. You are more than a number.

You are more than the grade. You’re more than the money you make. You’re more than the number of hits on a blog. You are important. In the words of my friend, I’ll reiterate.

Be the best you that you can be.

New Year.

I’m sitting in my car listening to sad songs, trying to let music justify the emotions I currently feel. At the very least put into words what I’m feeling so that I might understand them. I’ve been doing that a lot here recently. I’m just unsure about everything.

It’s a little depressing. A few months ago I knew exactly what I wanted. I was finally thinking long term. I finally felt like I belonged. I felt pride and confidence.

But now I feel like my world is slowly crashing and cracking around me. Everyone feels like a stranger, including myself. I’m so overwhelmed with darkness and I’m trying to swim out of it. I can’t let it beat me. Not yet.

I want t the new year to be better. I want happiness and joy. I want someone to think about when I’m down that will make me smile and chase this away.

I had a thought and it’s turned into a goal, I think. I want to start over. I want to find a place where no one knows my name. I want to disappear.

So we’ll see.

Thoughts, Feelings, and Actions

I think I’ve finally discovered the one thing I hate most about working the graveyard shift at a hotel when it starts to get cold. If we are completely booked up, and no one is checking out the next day, I am left with absolutely NOTHING to do. NOTHING. NADA. I completed the audit, and that’s about it. Then I’m left spinning in circles going “Is this right? Am I forgetting something? But I didn’t batch the credit cards… That’s because we didn’t have any. Well so! IT FEELS WRONG TO NOT DO IT.”

And so forth. That’s been my night thus far.

As a side note, it has been a long, very sad weekend that I am now going to share with you.

My grandfather passed away.

I got off work at 7 AM on Thursday, a welcomed off day after working a pretty long schedule. I was so excited! I took my daughter to school, came home, and at 8:30 I was asleep. That’s all I wanted to do in that moment was just sleep. I don’t even remember what I was dreaming, now. I think I was being chased by people trying to kill us, and if we could make it to the top of the house, we were safe. I don’t remember, because at 11 o’clock, I heard a knock on my bedroom door. It took me a few minutes to register, then wonder if I was hearing things. The knock came again, and my dad’s voice came through from the other side. “We need to talk.”

This is never a good thing to hear. Especially when you’ve just woken up. So I grunted a response, and tried to adjust my vision as my dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I wanted you to hear this from me before you heard it from anyone else. Especially Facebook.” He began. See, my family has a bad habit of posting things to Facebook before making sure the rest of the family has found out any news. “Your mother and I have been trying to call you, but I guess your phone was on silent.” Was it? I thought I’d left it on sound. I’ll have to check that, I thought. Good thing the school didn’t try to call me or something. Phew. “Papaw passed away this morning.” Static.

…..

……..

………

Maybe I heard him wrong. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Could this be a hallucination? I could hear a buzzing in my head where thoughts should be. I’m sure he said more, but I was trying to swim back to the surface from the blow he’d just landed me. My heart raced, pounded at a deafening volume. Why is he still talking, surely he can see I can’t hear him over the beating of my internal drums?

“What happened..?” I finally managed to choke out. He told me, which we later found out wasn’t quite right. I’ll tell all later.

I was in shock. All I could reply with was “Okay.” I could feel a lump of glass forming in my throat, threatening to tear its way out in the form of a heart-wrenching wail. I kept my composure. My father, exhausted of things to say, left the room. The door clicked into place and my tears began to fall. I curled into a ball, and I sobbed hopelessly. “Please, no. Anyone but him. Please not him.” I begged to anyone that would listen. I rocked back in forth, I pulled my hair, I dug my nails into my arms. Please wake up, I thought to myself. Just wake up and this will all be over.

I felt as though someone had thrust their hand into my chest and ripped my heart out before stomping on it, stabbing it with blades coated in acid, then sending it through a shredder. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. So I grabbed the phone. There were the missed calls, and a few text messages. I felt thankful that I hadn’t answered, since I really wouldn’t have wanted this information over the phone. Almost as bad as Facebook, in my personal opinion.

So saying, I also couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. So I texted my friends. I texted my boss/other mother. I tried desperately to put into words the pain I was feeling, while I could hear a little voice chanting in my head “Hold me, help me, save me. Hold me, help me, save me.”

Condolences immediately began to flood in, plus phone calls. I couldn’t really bring myself to answer any of them. Until I had to call my other boss and explain that I was going to be out of pocket that afternoon, just in case I was needed. I tried to keep my composure over the phone, until I was forced to say the words. “My grandfather died.” I choked on the last word and very nearly threw up. I cut off a sob. It was the first time I’d said it out loud. I immediately felt sorry for Other Boss, and apologized, wrapping up the phone call as quickly as I could. This started a new round of sobbing, pleading, rocking back and forth, and penguin holding.

Interestingly enough, since I’ve started carrying the penguin around as my “therapy animal”, I have felt a lot better. I don’t know where I suddenly got this idea from, but I’m glad I had it.

I decided, finally, that I needed to go out to my grandfather’s house, as this is where the family had gathered to start the process of making arrangements. I headed out, stopping by the hotel to drop off my name tag. It’s amazing the things your brain grabs hold of and claims as important in a time of high stress. I knew what I was doing when I dropped it off, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t important. I needed normality. I needed something that made sense. Something I could control. In the time it took me to walk inside and walk back out, it had started storming so badly that the world turned white. It was ironic, because my world was black.

The drive that normally took ten minutes took twenty minutes, and then I arrived.

I remember everything in hyper detail, like I was grasping at everything in hopes of remembering it for later. I’ll skip the boring details and move on to the important ones. There was visiting, laughing, joking. It seemed like a normal visit. We shared memories of my grandfather, had a few good laughs.

Then we went to the funeral home to make final arrangements. This is where things get a little weird.

After we argued over which casket we wanted (I disagreed with the final choice, but whatever), I asked if I could see his body. The funeral director was very much against it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Trust me, tomorrow will be so much better.” “I don’t care.” “You will. Just wait until tomorrow.” “No, I want to see him now.” Finally he gave in and let me see him.

All they’d done was washed him off and added a bit of oil to his skin to keep it from drying out. He looked peaceful. He looked just like he was sleeping. It was surreal for a number of different reasons.

One: It finally really hit me that he was gone. I had my solid proof.

Two: I’d never been around a body that fresh before. Ever.

Three: He didn’t look like wax, which is what I’m used to when bodies are concerned.

Four: He looked like he had a grin on his face, which apparently wasn’t there when he died.

And for the first time in a very long time, I got to be alone with my grandfather.

To a lot of people, I realize this is really weird and probably very strange. But before I continue with the story, let me step back in time. The grandfather I knew versus the father my mother knew were two different people. Either way, one thing stayed consistent: He was an amazing man.

When I was a kid, I would go out to see him as often as I was able. My grandfather even watched me a few times when my mom was working. We would challenge him to races, and somehow he’d always win. He’d poke out his dentures at us, and of course we thought his teeth were falling out. He loved us unconditionally, and thought the world of us. I remember birthdays were a big deal when I was little. He would pick me up and take me to the store, and let me pick out whatever I wanted. Then he’d usually add a little something extra to top it all off. I loved every moment I got with him.

But as an adult, alone time with my grandfather became fewer and farther between. He started getting weaker, so birthdays didn’t happen. He still tried to bring us things. Then it was reduced to a card. Huh….. I just had the realization that I’m not going to be getting a card from my papaw this year…. And my birthday isn’t far away…..Wow….And the pain starts all over again. Anyway…. Any interaction I had with him was very special…..I just wish I had more time with him.

I stood in that room, alone, with my grandfather. He looked peaceful, and yet he looked different. He looked like him, but at the same time he didn’t. You don’t realize how much your soul changes the appearance of your body until you look upon a fresh body that no longer has a soul seated within it. He looked like he was sleeping, but something was missing. I can’t even really explain it.

I talked to him. Just he and I. Like when I was a kid. I apologized for not coming out more often, and I hoped he understood. I told him I was sorry if I disappointed him, and that I didn’t mean to… I reminded him that I did love him….and then I said “What am I going to do..? Where do I fit into this family now..?”

My grandfather, as I said, loved unconditionally. I didn’t need to be talented, or a boy, for him to love me. I could be as rebellious as I wanted to, and he was still proud of me. He loved me no matter what, and he loved us all equally. I don’t get that with the rest of my family. To those members of my family who may be reading this: You can try to argue on principle, but I will prove you wrong each and every time. Moving on.

I felt an odd sense of closure that I’ve never experienced before when it comes to losing someone I love dearly. It is a new feeling for me, a strange feeling for me. I’m so used to wondering how they died, and my brain going all sorts of dark and morbid directions. Having the image painted out for me made it easier. I realize the same does not apply to everyone, so I won’t go into details about his death. All I will say is he went peacefully, he went quickly, and he went at home which is precisely what he wanted.

The rest of the week was hard, even with my closure. Even now I’ll have memories and I’ll get choked up. The hardest part is having to adjust to normal life again. I want to apologize to every customer that walks in and explain why I’m flustered, but I know I can’t. Or I think to myself “People lose people every day, my case isn’t special.” When you lose someone, it feels like the world should stop for just a little bit. But stepping back into work is a harsh reality that the world just keeps on ticking.

I remember one time he called me. It was Friday the 13th in July, I believe. He called me because he wanted to wish me a happy birthday. I hadn’t answered because I’d been sleeping, but when I woke up I called him back. He laughed and said “I called to tell you happy birthday, but then I remembered you were born in October. It was Friday the 13th, just the wrong one. But at least you know I’m thinking about you.” I had forgotten that memory until my mother and I started talking earlier. I laughed and laughed all over again.

You forget just how much grief wears you down until you experience again, and then its like… how could I have forgotten this existed? All I really want to do right now is sleep. But again, the world keeps on going, and you have to keep going with it. It’s hard, it’s very hard.

So I’ve been trying to find ways to deal with my own grief, and to help make the transition back into reality a little easier. After much thought, I’ve finally decided on how I’m going to do that. Throughout the day, I have tendencies to get caught up in daydreams. I’ll daydream about anything, really. Sometimes they’ll be really interesting, and I’ll want desperately to make a story from them. I’m going to start doing that.

100 Stories in 100 Days is what I’m going to call it. Every day I’m going to write a little something. It might not always be long, but I’m going to write something. It’ll be my therapy. At least, I hope it will be. Whatever pops into my brain that day and I cling to, that’s what I’m going to write about. I’ll start on October 10th, which seems like a good day for some reason. O_o

I’ve shared my thoughts, my feelings, and my actions. Right now, my brain is too tired to think of anything else I should say. Except one last thing.

Between the arrangements, the visitation, and the funeral, I said many things to my grandfather. I told him I loved him, and that I missed him, and that I would always do those two things. But there is one thing I never said, because I couldn’t bring myself to say it. It was too permanent, and I wasn’t ready to except that it was over. I never told him goodbye. I tried. Every time I opened my mouth to say it, my words couldn’t pass through the lump in my throat.

This chapter of my life has ended, but the book is still being written. Instead of occurrences, my book will only include memories now. But those memories I will cherish more than many things, because they are precious. So it is now that I shall say my goodbye. To my grandfather. You meant the world to me. I wish I could have told you more often just how special and wonderful you were. I can only hope that you know all of those things I never told you now. You will always live on in my heart, and in my memories. I love you so very much, and every day you’re gone I will have a wound in my heart.

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” –Rose Kennedy

Goodbye Papaw Bill. I hope I make you proud.

It’s Okay. No Problem.

It’s been a very stressful week. Hell, it’s been a very stressful day. I’m trying my best to fight off another low that’s coming on (see my bipolar post to understand what I mean by that), and for the most part I haven’t been very successful. I’ve lashed out when I haven’t meant to, and I’ve bottled up a lot more than that.

So I could spend this post ranting and raving to try and make me feel better. I could get into a long winded post about what is wrong with the world and so forth. Instead I’m going to tell you about a little Indian guy.

I remember when I first met him. He rode his little scooter up to the front door of the hotel. I didn’t know who he was at the time, so thinking I would be polite, I hurried over and opened the door for him. He looked up and asked me if I had any problems. Now I was confused. I’d been trying to help him, now he was trying to help me? I told him everything was fine. He smiled and said “Good. No problem.” He introduced himself as my boss’s father, then went along his way. At first I thought he just knew very little English. Turns out, I was very wrong.

Every time I see this man, he always has a smile on his face. “It’s good, no problem.” is his answer to everything. No matter how bad a situation actually is, or how good a situation is. No problem.

At first I thought he was just a crazy little Indian guy. But I was always curious as to why he was always smiling and seemed happy all the time. This man has had a stroke, he rides his little scooter around everywhere. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite of happy.

Then… one night…. I was stressed. I was so stressed. Paperwork wasn’t balancing out, problems at home, etc. And I just…stopped. I smiled. And I said “It’s okay. No problem.” And I thought of him. It brightened my mood up to the point that I was able to let go a little more resentment, make myself smile a little wider, and I figured out the damn sheet.

I’ve started adapting this mentality to many things, and I find it does help. No, it doesn’t take it away, it doesn’t make everything better, and it sure as hell doesn’t fix everything. But it helps.

It seems like something so small. So stupid, really. How can two little words have any sort of power? That’s what I thought too. Until I realized he was smiling, and I wasn’t.

You know what else is a good feeling? That realization that you’ve found what you are meant to do. You’ve found where you’re meant to be.

Every single day I’m challenged. I learn something new every time I walk in that front door, and I leave with a smile on my face every time I leave. I think there has been one time that I left with a frown, and that was just a bad day from the start.

A friend of mine and I started joking a while back about building our own bed and breakfast/hotel (ironically enough it was before I started working in one). At first it was just jokes. But now… I’m actually considering it. The idea brings me joy, it makes me excited. And even though I hate doing the audit sheet, especially when it doesn’t balance, at the end of the day I cannot deny the satisfaction I feel. It is challenging, but I love it. I love it all.

I’m where I need to be right now. And I really do believe that this… working in a hotel… is what I’m meant to do. Maybe not always as a front desk clerk, but… something like this… Have I truly found my calling? My career?

Only time will tell.

When life gets you down, or it feels like the universe is out to get you. Sometimes it helps to just smile and tell it no problem.

Bring it on, universe. It’s okay. No problem.

Live and Let Live

Hello my lovely and loyal readers! 

I set myself a goal of posting a blog once a week. So far, I am failing miserably at it. But! In my defense… I have a terrible memory. And I’ve had a lot going on recently. Never fear, however! I’ve been composing this particular piece of writing for quite some time now. 

The good news about my job is I am allowed quite a bit of free time. Some of that is spent reading, other times I’m on the phone with my other late night friends, but most of the time I’m sat in front of my computer. It’s not that I’m neglecting any of my duties… it’s just….there aren’t many. Once my certain list has been completed, or the hotel has booked up, I have naught to do. 

That being said, I’m left with a lot of time to think. This can be a good thing, or it can be a very bad thing. This week I’ve discovered something new about myself. Well, more accurately, I’ve finally accepted something about myself. I am what the world would call a “Silent Judgmental” person. What this means is simply…I may not say I’m against it, but if I am, I’m judging. 

I don’t know why. I don’t do it all the time. I don’t go around pointing to random people going “Judging you. Yup, you two. Thought you could hide? Judging you, too. And you. Judge you and your mother.” No. I don’t even know why I judge the things I do. It’s none of my business, really, and it doesn’t harm me in the least. So why care? 

Why, indeed. 

What actually started this train of thought was one night I was watching Forensic Files (or, better known around my house, the Sleep Aid (It should be noted here that my family and I adore Forensic Files, but the narrator just has one of those soothing voices)), and they were doing crash reconstruction to verify the speed at which a vehicle was traveling at the time of an accident. They were using physics that were beyond my comprehension, and all I could think was “I bet those scientists got called nerds in school, and were picked on.” 

Which then led to another thought. That’s how my brain works. Think dominoes. Or train wrecks. Just don’t use physics. 

Why do people feel the need to judge another person based on their outward appearance, their likes/dislikes, religion, sexual orientation, etc if they differ from our own views/appearance? Why is it an automatic reaction as well? 

People are judged for being smart, and they are called nerds. Yet, those “nerds” are who we rely on when our loved ones are in crashes, and we need someone to prove the cause. 

Women are judged for the simple fact of being female, yet who do most men want to sleep with, or start a family with? Who takes care of them most of time? (clearly there are exceptions to the rules here)

Men are judged for the simple fact of being male, yet who do most females want to sleep with, start a family with? Who takes care of them most of the time? (See what I did there? I’m so clever.) 

The fact is, we as a society are pressed to pass judgement on everyone around us, UNTIL the perceived “flaws” in someone else can benefit us in some way. Why is this so? Why are we programmed like this? Is this a system we’ve been brainwashed with, or is it an evolutionary thing? 

I don’t understand the need to try and force other people to change, and when they refuse, bullying them because of it. I don’t understand why everyone has to confirm to this ideal of perfect. I embrace my flaws! I love my weirdness! I’m pride myself on being strange. I pride myself on my beliefs, my orientation, and my gender (until my period comes along and then I start begging for a penis), so forth. 

Are we trying to bring people to our level because it is a way to rise above them? Are we simply threatened by other people’s differences because we are not brave enough to wear our own on our sleeves? Is it envy and jealousy? I understand being annoyed by things. My friends like things I will never like, ever, no matter how hard you try you can’t make me nee ner nee ner *inhale* and they tend to keep talking about them. Meanwhile I start judging. Why? They like something I don’t, that doesn’t make anyone inferior or superior. My likes vs. Their likes, it’s not a damn competition. 

Same thing with sexual orientation. Where I choose to put my privates is no one’s business but my own. 

Religion: What god/gods/goddesses/nada I choose to worship, is MY business, and is between me and my deity/nothing.

It goes on and on. The fact is… Instead of encouraging hatred, or trying to make everyone conform to some impossibly high standard, why don’t we try something new? Clearly hatred, bigotry, and being judgmental aren’t getting us anywhere, so let’s try something more peaceful. 

Live. And Let. Live. 

Live your own life, enjoy your day, and do not dwell on the workings of others. If they are not hurting you physically, or invading your home and hurting your family, then you have no business meddling in anyone’s life but your own. 

Live and let live.

Let that lesbian couple hold hands in public. It isn’t going to hurt anyone. 

Let that black and white couple kiss and hug their child. Does that hurt you in any way? No. 

Live and let live. 

We cannot fix the world as a whole, because no one person, group, etc is correct or perfect. Perfection is an idea, not reality. Perfection is an ideal we try to hold ourselves to, and feel defeated when we can’t stick to it. We are not meant to be perfect creations, we are meant to live life to the fullest and embrace friends or family, love them entirely despite their differences. 

We can only fix the world one person at a time, and it starts within our own hearts, and our own minds. If your soul is black, how can you judge the colorful soul of another? Worry about your own problems before you start trying to “fix” others. 

Innocence of a Child

Hello, everyone!! Look at me go, two blog posts in one month. I’m getting better at this already! At least I think it’s been in one month… Close enough for government work, anyway. Since converting to nightshift, my days are so thrown off it’s a little unbelievable. I couldn’t remember what day it was yesterday, and was genuinely panicked for a few minutes. Was it Tuesday, or Friday? Maybe it was Saturday? This was triggered by the fact that someone forgot to turn Sonic’s lights out (on the weekends they stay open until 11, weekdays at 10).

But, you didn’t come here to read about that did you oh loyal readers of mine. So we’ll move on to talk about my daughter. Now, in the past I’ve talked about her a little, but I’m not sure that I’ve gone into great detail about her. My daughter is absolutely brilliant. Brilliant, and a bit of a smarty pants. Every day is a new adventure, and now that I’m working I’ve learned how to take advantage of what time we do have together, rather than take it for granted like I did before. Which brings me to today.

For her birthday, my daughter got a sandbox. She absolutely loves it, because it combines her three favorite things: Being outside, playing pretend, and getting filthy beyond all imagination. She asked if I wanted to play with her, and I did just that. We made sandcastles and moats, walls and bridges. I taught her how to make a wall to protect the kings and queens inside the castle. She looked up from her castle and said “Yeah, we have to protect the queens in the castle!” “Queens?” “Yeah! Two queens live in that castle, mama, and they’re married!” A bit later she finished another castle, and informed me that two kings lived in that castle, and they were also married. They also wore yellow dresses to match the flag on top of the castle.

While all of this was incredibly cute, and very sweet, I felt a strange sense of sadness and confusion. I’ll start with the confusion. My daughter is way too young to understand that what she just said is considered taboo and “wrong” to so many people in society. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing, or why she’s marrying two queens and two kings together. She doesn’t understand the bible, or know who Jesus is. Yet here she is with two queens and two kings in drag (I guess this would make them drag queen kings) (Badum tsh). How, if homosexuality is a choice, can a four year old girl pair them together without so much as a hesitation?

The sadness is a bit more obvious. As I looked on at my daughter’s innocent game of pretend, I realized that I needed to cherish this as much as I possibly could. One day, someone is going to try and beat that out of her, and shove religion down her throat. One day someone is going to try and tell her that marriage between two women, and two men, is wrong. One day, she’s going to understand bullying, and hatred, and bigotry. I’m going to try my best to make sure she’s on the right side of that line, but at the end of the day, she’ll make her own decisions and walk her own paths. That hurts more than anything else. As a parent, I want to protect her from the world, and shield her from the hatred and the negativity that awaits her. I want to hold on to that childish innocence, and paint a picture of a perfect world for her. I never want to lose the way her eyes light up over something small to us, but is magical to her. Inevitably, however, it will happen. My daughter’s heart will become hardened to the world around her, and she’ll be expected to conform to the status quo, or face a life of being picked on.

I remember being a kid, and there was a woman wrestler on television. She was absolutely gorgeous. They were showing nude pictures of her on the screen, but her breasts and genitals were covered by a black stripe. I stated “Why don’t they just uncover her?” My mother immediately dragged me to my room to ask me why I’d said that. I remember panicking, because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I remember thinking that I wanted to see her beauty in its entirety (except way more simple because I was a kid), but that clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So, instead, I said “Mom, I’m not gay.” Growing up, any time a reference to me being a lesbian came up, my mother would respond “Please, don’t.” or something such as.

So, of course, when I start finding women attractive, I began to hate myself. I remember experimenting with a female friend of mine, and feeling so disgusting and ashamed of myself afterwards. I hated myself more and more each day, because I was becoming the one thing my mother practically begged me never to become, what society had told me was wrong. I was becoming what kids had been bullied or killed over, what major debates were being fought over… It got to the point where I cut, because I wanted my outside to look as ugly as I felt on the inside. How could I disappoint everyone around me so much?

Then I woke up and realized… Fuck them. Fuck society. What has society ever done for me except cause me pain, and cause me to hate myself? How does that make me a better person when I am filled with just as much hatred as they are? How does this benefit me? It doesn’t. Instead, my pain gave society a different way to laugh, to mock, and to kick me while I was down. I wasn’t a child in pain, I was an attention seeker. I wasn’t taking off from school because I was sick, I was taking off from school because I was gothic and it happened to be the anniversary of Columbine, so clearly I was planning something. My suicidal thoughts weren’t real, they were a way to get everyone to look at me and pay attention to me. All of the above is shit that was actually said to me at one point or another, by various people.

So it makes sense that I would want to protect my daughter from this world, but I know that isn’t fair. Because it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of you, or what society tells you is right or wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times my mother, or the world, begged me, I still grew up to embrace my bisexuality. No matter how many times I went to a Baptist church, I still converted to Paganism.

The only thing I regret is losing my child like innocence. What I mean by that is sometimes I envy my daughter for how she looks at the world around her. It’s all simple, beautiful, and magical. I wish I could see the world like that again. I wish I hadn’t been tainted by hatred and evilness.

I sort of went off on an entirely different tangent there, and I’m sorry for that. The message, I suppose, I’m trying to deliver to you now is be careful what you say, how you say it, and who you say it in front of. The phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is untrue. Words have power. Words have more strength than anything else. Wounds will heal, but words will forever haunt you, and cut you with each time you remember them.

I know I’m going to make my own fair share of mistakes, and I know that I will create scenarios that will haunt my daughter just as mine haunt me. All I can really hope is, in the end, I will do right by her.

That’s it for today, folks. Sorry that went in a different direction that I thought it was, but apparently it needed to be said.

Put Santa back into Christmas

I know, I am a terrible blogger. I go for months at a time updating everyone on everything happening in my life, and the proceed to fall off the earth for a bit. Such is the way of life, I suppose. It’s the curse of the Time Lords.

However, sometimes I stumble across things, and I allow them to brew so heavily within my mind that I cannot concentrate on anything else. That’s when blog posts appear.

Today I’m going to discuss Christmas, and why I think people suck.

As a child, I remember being so excited for the idea of Santa coming to my house and delivering so many wonderful gifts. Each year, it never failed, that Santa would slip a surprise gift under the tree (or outside) that I had not been expecting. It was a magical, thrilling experience. I would go to see family (which we only did twice a year), and I would exclaim with joy and pride how good I must have been to get such amazing gifts, including some extras!

Then the inevitable happened.

I’d lost a tooth, and gone into my room to put it under my pillow. I’d been sure to turn off the light before leaving, because I did not want to meet the wrath of mom. Just before my parents went to bed, I peeked down the hall, and my light had mysteriously turned itself on. Curious, I thought, and went to investigate under the pillow. Sure enough, there was money. My mother was in the bathroom, and I walked in to confront her (I was an awkward child, and now I am an even more awkward adult). In the span of a few moments, all the mysteries of life began to unravel. Santa wasn’t real, nor the Tooth Fairy, nor the Easter Bunny. In many ways, this revelation helped me learn to appreciate the efforts my mother and father went through, but I also knew that everything had changed.

The magic of Christmas, of Easter, etc, was gone. Since that time, I’ve struggled every year to find something that makes Christmas worth it. And each year I am met with disappointment. But why? Why am I met with such disappointment? Why is it so much harder to get into the spirit of Christmas, especially the older I become?

Because people suck.

Allow me to explain. In the day of mass media and social networking, we are constantly being smacked around with controversy. “Put Christ back into Christmas” “Take the Christmas tree down! It’s a Holiday tree!” “How dare you not say ‘Merry Christmas’!” “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME MERRY CHRISTMAS?!” and the argument from both sides: “YOU’RE STOMPING ON MY PERSONAL FREEDOM!”

GUYS.

SHUT UP. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

We’re not in Braveheart. We’re not all walking around with blue pant and kilts. (Just take a minute and enjoy that mental image. You’re welcome).

First of all, I’ll briefly state that Christmas began as a pagan festival of Yuletide to celebrate the winter solstice. Second of all, does it even matter?

There are certain words in the English language (I can only say for the English language because I do not know others, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong) that have, over time, lost their original meaning. They’re just words. We don’t question their origins, we don’t stop to think about the definition, we’ve just heard it in certain contexts for so long that we just automatically know what it means. Take the word “Whore”, for example.

Christmas has sort of become the same thing. No matter the origins, what it has boiled down to is a celebration of family, of friends, of bringing joy and happiness to one another by means of gifts, or food, or cards, or simply a phone call saying “I love you”. People have gotten to the point where they are just too easily excitable, they just want to bitch, moan, or fight about something.

If someone says Merry Christmas to me, a pagan, do you know what I say to them?

Merry Christmas to you too!

If someone wishes me Happy Kwanzaa?

Same to you, buddy!

Hanukkah?

Happy Hanukkah to you too!

Happy Holidays?

Happy Holidays to you, too!

It doesn’t matter what is being said, it doesn’t matter how you greet me. The fact is, you thought of me. And you tried to spread your warmth, your joy, to me in what ever greeting you choose.

Getting angry at someone for trying to be nice to you is the most selfish, childish thing you can do. And trying to force others to greet you in the fashion you deem appropriate is as stupid as going into a foreign country and expecting everyone to speak English to you. All this controversy does is ruin Christmas for those of us who just want to be happy. I’m SO sick of seeing this debate!

Perhaps it all began with teaching children about Santa Claus. Christmas was never overly religious for me when I was growing up. That has changed, a lot, and I just ignore it all for the most part. But each year, people get so angry at each other over a word. Over a holiday that is about being joyous and happy.

It’s getting to the point now where I do not want to spend time with family, and I dread Christmas each year, because of the shitstorm that becomes of it. But! I do it all regardless, because I do have a child.

Having a child has brought some of the joy back into my life regarding Christmas. Instead of receiving from Santa, I *AM* Santa! I get to be creative, I get to hide things, I get to sneak them out of their hiding spot, all the while hoping to the powers that be that I do not drop EVERYTHING in the process.

As a kid, all I understood about Christmas was it was about waking up early, getting wicked cool presents, and because both my parents were off for Christmas, I got to spend some rare quality time with them. Then I got to visit the rest of my family that I don’t get to see often, and eat amazing food. THAT is what Christmas became.

The point to all of this is… If a bunch of soldiers can set aside their difference during WWI and celebrate Christmas together, then we should be able to do the same. Instead of arguing over who is right, and who is wrong, why not embrace the spirit of Christmas and say whatever greeting you’d like. If someone says Happy Holidays, respond with Merry Christmas. If that is not your religion, just accept the fact that someone cared enough about you to greet you in such a way. Don’t shove your beliefs down everyone’s throat, I don’t care what religion (or lack thereof) you follow.

Live and let live.

If we could all just stop arguing, and stop hating each other for one. Day. We could bring the magic back, put the magic back into Christmas for everyone. Being an adult doesn’t HAVE to mean that Christmas sucks.

And remember. Santa is watching. Or Satan if you’re dyslexic.

Merry Christmas, Blessed Yuletide, Happy Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, etc etc etc etc.

The Job Interview from Hell

For those of you who know me in my personal life, you know that I had a job interview yesterday (Friday). What was difficult for me to explain at the time was how much of a cluster fuck it was from the very beginning. Instead of telling everyone individually, I’ve decided to blog about it instead.

I wake up at 6:50 in the morning after only getting about four and a half hours of sleep. That part was my fault, and I accept full responsibility for it. After fighting with my child, I finally manage to get the two of us ready and out to my friend Arwen. Which, by the way, a HUGE thank you goes to Arwen for A). Agreeing to watch her at the last minute and B). Waking up super early to watch her.

I leave Arwen’s, drive in the opposite direction to the interview which, as I learned, was about 20 minutes away from where I live. Not a terrible drive, and it is a distance I am used to driving.

I was told to meet a woman at 9 AM, and I arrived at the store at 8:45. I walked in, she wasn’t there yet. No problem, I was early. They’d just opened a diner across the street, so she was probably caught up over there. Not a problem in the least. I walked back outside and waited. And waited. And waited. 9:20 rolls around, and a woman pokes her head out of the door. “Were you here for an interview?” “Yes, ma’am, I am.” “What time were you told to be here?” “I was told to be here by 9.” “Oh. Okay.” She turns and walks back inside. Well….alriiight. I look back across the street and a few moments later I see a pregnant woman get into a car, and drive across the street and park beside me. “Are you Rebekah?” “Yes ma’am.” “Good, follow me, please.” Okay, this must be the woman I’m looking for. Awesome.

I follow her from the front of the store, all the way to the back of the store where she hands me off to the woman who’d poked her head out of the door in the first place. So…why was I left standing outside? Alright, no problem. The conversation between us goes as follows:

“Is there any shift you absolutely cannot work?”
“I would prefer evenings, but if I have to, I can work mornings.””Can you work graveyard?”
“I don’t want to, but if that is absolutely the only shift available, then I can.”
“We have a store on Goodwill Road that needs a person on graveyard.”
“I don’t know the area that well, so I’m not sure where that is.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t very far.”

I was then led inside and handed an application. After filling out everything, I then was required to do math (with no calculator. Flashbacks to high school started in my head), but I was proud of myself. I only got one problem wrong and I was only off by a dollar. (Hey, they didn’t say I couldn’t check my math with a calculator).

She sits down to talk to me a few moments later, asking me the usual questions. “Tell me about yourself. What are you strengths? What are you biggest issues with coworkers?” etc. I handle it all with ease and grace I didn’t know I possessed. I even made her laugh!

She tells me that she’s made her decision, but she wants another opinion. The opinion happened to come from her sister. While we wait for her sister to come over, she begins explaining to me about the other store. Which, as you may recall, she explained was not far. “It’s completely crazy over there. I don’t really go over there much anymore, and they have no managers for graveyard.” You’re really going to send someone who hasn’t worked since 2007 to a store with no structure? Really?

A few moments later, her sister wanders over. She’s the obvious shy type, and I mean EXTREME shy. Can’t look me in the eye, twitches a bit, etc.

“You’re really willing to travel from your home to Goodwill Road?”
“Well, as I was explaining to her -points to interviewer- I’m not familiar with the area, so I don’t really know where that is.”
“That’s Exit 31.”
“….Excuse me…?”
Basically, add on an extra 20 miles from where I live. Comes to a grand total of about 40 minutes. Working graveyard where I won’t get off work until 6 AM. Uhhh no. So I told her I wasn’t interested in that.
“Oh, I’m not going to hire you over there. That isn’t practical at all. -She turns to look at her sister- Don’t we still need someone here?”
“Yeah, at the store across the street.”
Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with instead of trying to send me 20 miles in the opposite direction?
“Well, I’ll have to talk to them and see if they need anyone over there, then get you set up. Thank you for coming, we’ll be in touch.”
So…I’m being dismissed….So much for “Guaranteed job”….So I stand, give them my best smile and thank them for their time. Finally I ask them “Do you know how long it will be before I know something?”
“You’ll know by Monday.”

O_O Okay…

So I leave. I drive back to my house to get something to drink. At this point I am rather angry. I was lied to, passed to a new person, lied to again, passed to another person, and then dismissed. Kay. So I drive back to my friend Arwen’s house, and decide to sit and chat with her. In the time it took me to get to Arwen’s, they’d called again. No voicemail though, so I assumed it was them. My phone goes off again a little bit later but I wasn’t able to get it. So when it goes off a third time, I grab the phone and rush out. The conversation goes as follows:

“Hello, is this Rebekah?”
“This is she.”
“Hi, this is -interviewer-. I was wondering if you could start Sunday?”
“What time on Sunday?”
“We’ll need you here at 6 AM for three days of training.”
“Can I be guaranteed evening shifts?”
-She gets a horrible attitude.- “Well not for training. Those girls on evening shift don’t know what they are doing and they aren’t qualified for training you. One has been here for a week, the other has been here for three weeks. There are things you need to know that can only be taught on morning.”
“Ma’am, that isn’t what I meant. I meant after training was done, will I be guaranteed evenings?”
“I don’t know what you’ll work but you’ll probably have to work graveyards. I don’t know when, you might only work it a few days out of the week but yeah you’ll work graveyards.”
“Can I call you back so I have time to think about my options and discuss this with someone?”
“-exasperated sigh- Look, I don’t have all day. In fact, I’m not even going to be here in the next hour. When were you thinking about calling me back?”
“Probably this afternoon, but I was under the impression that I would have until Monday.”
“Well I need to know now. If you don’t want this, then tell me right now so I can move on to other people who want the job.”

Quick run down so far: Lied to, passed to a different person, lied to again, passed to a different person, dismissed, had someone pop an unnecessary attitude with me, and now she’s essentially saying “Make up your mind or you don’t get another chance.” So not having any options at that point, I told her I could guarantee sunday but I wasn’t sure about any other day.

“Fine, just let me know and we’ll reschedule if we have to. See you Sunday.” -click-

I realize that I am not in the position to make demands. I am not in the position to even really be picky. But if these people can’t even get the hiring process right, and they are already acting like complete bitches to me, how the hell am I supposed to work with and for them? How am I supposed to trust anything they say?

It is rather sad when an applicant is more professional than the people interviewing them. The interviewer kept texting while interviewing me, and the other manager couldn’t even look me in the eyes. How the hell did they get to be managers? UGH.

I deserve a bit of respect. I need money, yes, but I don’t need it badly enough to be treated like shit before I’ve even gotten the job and been officially hired. This is just ridiculous bullshit.

So that’s the story of the worst job interview in history.

Dare to Hope

I feel as though I may have cheated my readers a little bit this morning by giving you such a short post. No worries, I hope that I can more than make up for that with this one. When I woke up today I actually had no intention of writing another blog post, but circumstances are always changing, and I felt inspired. What inspired me, you might ask? A man named Nick Vujicic.

Nick Vujicic, for those of you who do not know, is an Australian-Serbian man born with a condition known as tetra-amelia syndrome or, to put it in terms we can all understand: He was born with no arms and no legs. He travels around the world giving motivational speeches, and I have to say, it brings me to tears. My mother actually showed me a video of his years ago, but what he was saying didn’t really make sense even though it was entirely relevant to what was happening in my life; I simply wasn’t ready to listen. I am now, however, and I have found myself in a completely different state of mind than what I originally was.

What makes Nick Vujicic’s speeches so profound is the fact that he starts by making jokes at his own expense, but then grows completely serious. He looks into the crowd and tells everyone “I love you. I don’t care what you’ve done, or who you are. I don’t care what you look like, because that doesn’t matter. I love you.” And though he is religious, and he says he found his strength in God, he encourages everyone to find strength in whatever they need–be it religion or otherwise.

I think that is the problem with the world. We are too busy judging those around us. Whether they are gay, straight, black, white, Latino, European, etc. We judge based on the religion they choose to practice, the choices they’ve made in life, because we want everyone to be perfect. I’m here to tell you there is no such thing as perfect. Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder. The outside shows nothing of what is on the inside, and if we would look past our judgements, we may actually find we like some of the people we’re tossing down. This point is validated when Nick states

When I first stepped onto this stage, a lot of you felt sorry for me. A lot of you pitied me. You don’t anymore, do you? No, of course not, because you know me. You know what I’ve been through, you can see what I overcame. You’d want to be my friend now, wouldn’t you? Of course you would! But as you can see, I still have no arms and no legs. At this point you’d say, ” So what? Who cares?”

I’ve mentally written this blog a handful of times already, and each time I reach this point, I’m never sure where to begin.

I’m not perfect. I do not want to be perfect, as there is too much stress. I know what it’s like to feel as though no one likes you, or no one wants you around. I know what it feels like to think you’re not good enough, or pretty enough. I’ve been beaten down, I was pushed to the end of my rope on many occasions; one of them nearly slid me to the end. But I came back. I’ve popped up, and I’ve kept going. It’s true, we all worry a little about what people around us think, even if we are too proud to admit it. We’re always trying to please someone. But my question is why? Why are we so worried about browbeating others into thinking like us, and why do we care so much about what others think? The world around us is full of bullies, whether it is in the form of a kid in school, or a corporate business owner. People are constantly pushing and shoving others down–the only thing that changes is the motivation behind it.

I, too, have been told “You’re not good enough”.

What Nick Vujicic has taught me today is to have hope. I wish I’d listened then, perhaps I would have been a lot better off. But the beautiful thing about hope, is it isn’t too late to change. I’ll never be a supermodel, I’ll never be Einstein. I’ll never have a voice like some of the singers in history, I’ll never have a writing talent like Anne Rice. But I am me, damn it, and there is only one me.

You are more precious than diamonds. All the diamonds in the world.

And that is true. There is only one me, just as there is only one you. There will only ever be one you. Never again will there be another you.

My life has made a drastic change over the course of these past three years. I was annulled, married again, became a mother. I divorced again, I lost friends, I reformed some old connections.

There have been days where I just sat, and I cried. I remember the first night when my now ex-husband walked out, and I cried. I sobbed. I panicked. I mourned what the relationship had become, and celebrated what it had once been. I allowed myself to panic, feeling I deserved at least one night. But when the sun rose the next day, my daughter was going to need me, and I needed to pull myself together. So I did. I sat there and I had my arguments with my now ex in my mind. I made him sit and listen to me, and I told him everything he needed to hear, things he didn’t listen to before. At first, I thought that was enough. Until a few months later I realized I still had anger and hatred in my heart for him.

Then I realized that I’d never really be at peace with anything, or anyone, if I held that hatred. Which then led to the realization of just how much hatred I have in my heart towards a lot of things. Hatred is a poison, and it slowly kills us each day. Perhaps you cannot physically die by hating someone or something, but you lose a piece of yourself each day that you left fear, anxiety, and hatred control you. So this time, I had my arguments. I made him listen, but this time…. I let him speak, and I listened. This is all in my head, of course, so I’m sure I was a lot crueler to myself than he would have actually been.

The next day when he came to drop our daughter off, I took him outside and I forgave him. But then I turned around, and I said I was sorry. I don’t know if he knew precisely what I was apologizing for, as he’d not been present for the mental arguments–which is probably a good thing.

I used to feel so much hatred and feelings of betrayal from my friends because I felt as though they’d left me and they’d abandoned me. I hated them because I felt they weren’t showing me what I deserved. And sometimes that may be true, and I will always be hurt by certain things, I am better than that. So instead of hating them, instead of hurting them, I’m going to simply show them why *I* think I deserve better, by being a better person to them.

I felt so much hatred towards my mother, and towards my father, for a lot of things that happened growing up. I held onto that hatred for so very long, and I used to worry that it meant I’d lost valuable time with them. I’ve struggled, I’ve had my arguments, and though I am still hurt by a lot of things, I even managed to forgive them both. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future.

One step at a time: That’s the other thing Nick Vijucic stresses. You cannot take two steps at once, it has to be one step at a time. I have a long way to go before I find my own inner peace, before I am free of this hatred, but I will get there. One day at a time.

I am lonely, and I am afraid, but I have hope that with one step forward each day, I will become the person I want to be. I need to cast my fears aside, and I need to run headlong into life. I am better than that. I am better than the person I was yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll be a better person than I was today.

Instead of worrying about what everyone is wearing, or thinking, or how they look, or act…Instead of trying to make everyone fit to your ideas of perfection, or trying to fit into another person’s ideas, just be yourself. Be happy with yourself, with how you look, who you are.

No I’ll never be any of those things I mentioned above. But they will never be me either.

Do you dare to hope?

I never really knew what my purpose in life is. Hell, I still don’t really know. But maybe, just maybe, this is meant to reach someone. Maybe, just maybe, this will save someone. That being said….

You are beautiful. I don’t care who you are, what religion you practice, the color of your skin. I don’t care what grades you made in school, or what you can or cannot do. I do not care about what you’ve done in your past, because it is just that: The past. I love you.

Dare to hope. Dare to dream. Do not settle for those who cannot love you for who you are. Be you. Love yourself.

For those of you who may be interested in hearing more about Nick Vujicic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snDQe3tWwRQ

Thank you for reading.

 

My Review of Affliction *SPOILERS*

I literally just finished reading the newest book from Laurell K. Hamilton named Affliction. It is the 22nd book in her long running Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series.

Before I begin let me just say that I am a huge LKH fan, and have always been so. She’s disappointed me–what author, artist, or musician hasn’t in some form or fashion?–a few times before and honestly there are quite a few books that I would have just left out entirely, but I stick by her because I like her writing style and sense of humor.

Needless to say when Affliction came out, marking the 20th year since Anita first hit the market, I was ecstatic! What better way to celebrate than by buying the newest book from the series? So I did, and immediately began reading.

Here is where it gets a bit spoiler happy, but I will try to avoid the major ones. If I can’t, they’ll be marked with a huge red SPOILER!!!

You have been warned. Turn back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The book begins with Anita sitting in her office, explaining to the reader how uncomfortable she is with her guns strapped to her body. She’s also giving us a bit of background as far as where she’s working and who she is. It’s a nice little game of catch up to those who might be coming along later in the game.

Her secretary bursts through the door and explains she has a call on her phone and it’s a woman who is incredibly upset. After some confusion, they realize it’s Micah’s mother, and she answers the phone in a panic.

The next few chapters are spent with her on the phone with Micah, then Jean-Claude, then Nathaniel, then Jean-Claude again, then Micah again. Alright, no big deal, she’s getting things in order and she’s stuck at her office. Makes sense to me.

And while all the talking on the phone is fine, one thing did irk me about the entire set up. You see, authors will do this nifty trick when they’re trying to help A). New readers who picked up late in the game and B). Old readers who may just need a quick reminder, by often times having the character reflect, or explain briefly in narration what a particular word means, or who a person is. Anita does this quite frequently throughout the books (which was a bit much at times), but there were moments when she was doing this in casual conversation. For example, she and Jean-Claude were on the phone, and he began explaining to her some of the politics behind her visit–even if it was just a standard visit to see Micah’s father in the hospital. In this conversation, he says something about Nimar-Ra and Nimar-Raj, and then begins explaining it to her as though she’s somehow forgotten what these words mean. Instead of saying “Oh Jean-Claude, shut up I know this already.” She carries on the conversation and proceeds to do the same to him. This is why I don’t like when authors explain things in dialogue like this, because it makes the characters sound stupid, or it’s just bad form. Keep the reflections and explanations out of the dialogue.

Then there is some turmoil at the airport. Jean-Claude does not accompany her, as it’s just a standard visit to see Micah’s father. Nathaniel tags along for emotional support because he is their partner.

Upon reaching the hospital, the cops start giving her hell because they think she’s going to move in on their case. After telling them over and over that she’s just visiting Micah’s family, they finally cut her a bit of slack and let her through. She goes up to the room where the doctor tells her his father has a disease from being bitten by a zombie, and it’s making him rot from the outside in.

But wait. Zombie bites aren’t contagious like that. Whaaaaat?

And just like that, Anita decides she’s going to take the case over after all.

It was fun, and exciting, a new disease that no one had heard about–not even Anita. It was nice to finally see her so clueless.

But most of the book was wordy, circle arguments and conversations as she tries to find herself and find answers.

Micah’s character changed quite a bit in this book, which I could sort of understand considering his father is in the hospital dying from a disease they don’t know how to cure. But some of it just seems very…..odd.

He’s throwing his relationship with Anita and Nathaniel in his family’s face, for example. This is not the attitude you have when you’ve been estranged from your family for ten years now. It’s just not.

SPOILER!!
~~~~~~~~~
He’s, apparently, been lying to Anita for quite some time, and she’s not happy about it. But her more grown up self eases through it to keep a major fight from breaking out.
~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

We get to see a lot of old characters coming back round, some that she’d only seen or spoken to on the phone before. An old nemesis that didn’t get a lot of airtime comes back to play as well, so that was nice.

A very tragic event happens, and though Anita mourns him, she’s a bit inconsistent with it all. It’s hard to explain what I mean without revealing the spoiler, so I’ll just leave that for you to read and see for yourselves.

Edward pops back into the picture, and they team up again. Which was pretty awesome!

While I was reading, I was so excited. There was the fear, the anxiety, the wonder. I did not want to put the book down! I stayed up until 7 AM reading as much as I could because I just had to know what happened next.

And then the ending happened.

And I hate myself a little.

The beginning, as stated, was slow starting. Which was fine, with the exception of a few things here or there, it was completely understandable and believable.

The middle was drawn out a bit, but it only added to the thrill and excitement of getting to the end. It was like the biggest hype-man you can imagine.

I was getting ready to sign on to Amazon, without even finishing the book, and toss down a five star review because I was so excited! I’m glad I didn’t.

In the space of one chapter. One. Chapter. The book concludes. And it was a relatively small chapter at that. I might even say in the course of two paragraphs, it concludes.

The last chapter is wrapping up the loose ends that LKH forgot to cover in the book itself, and voila, the books is over.

So again. Slow beginning, GREAT MIDDLE, dropped off a cliff into the conclusion.

Is Laurell K. Hamilton just growing tired of writing Anita? I used to think that wasn’t possible but now that I stare at this book I’m starting to wonder.

There is a HUGE revelation in the book, though, but it does point to things rapidly coming to an end. Normally I would be disappointed, but honestly at this point I think it might be the best thing that could happen. I will still be sad to see it go.

What could have fixed this? It seems to me like LKH’s brain was just a little too scattered, and if she’d managed to keep notes in order and made conversations a bit more realistic, that would have been nice too.

There was minimal sex, so that was nice. But one of the sex scenes made me a bit uncomfortable.
SPOILER!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we all know, Nathaniel is a submissive but every once in a while he likes playing dominant. Anita plays bottom in this with Nathaniel and Nicky. It threads the line between what is acceptable, and what is not. It just seemed way too dangerous, and was a bad use of BDSM. I’m sure there are going to be quite a few people in the BDSM community that are going to be even more upset about this than I am. Other than that particular scene, the rest of the book is business as usual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

If Laurell K. Hamilton had just spread out the ending and made it a bit more involved, THAT would have been amazing too. This book had so much. SO MUCH potential!! If the ending matched the middle, I would have immediately posted a five star review, or tried for higher, because this would have been the greatest book in the series in my opinion. But because of the quick ending, I bumped it down to a four. I almost feel gracious doing that too, actually, which is a feeling I do not like.

Let’s just state here and now that old Anita is dead. She died the moment she took Jean-Claude to her…well….bathtub.

That being said, however, the series didn’t really start to suffer (in my opinion) until about book 10. I keep reading, keep reading, hoping that I can regain some faith in this series. I wasn’t a huge fan of Kiss the Dead (or whatever it’s called), as it began quickly, built up to the end, and then just suddenly dropped us off the cliff into a conclusion. Sound familiar?

So to wrap it all up, pros:

Very thrilling, very engaging.
Minimal sex
A blast from the past in a lot of ways.
Did I mention minimal sex?
Big revelations that a lot of people have been waiting for, I think.
Lots of “air time” for a few older characters.
Brand new disease that no one has heard of.

Cons:
Things seem a tad bit chaotic, like LKH didn’t quite have her notes on straight.
One of the sex scenes was a bit too on the dangerous side, and seemed badly executed (ha ha).
The ending was way too quick, as though LKH had grown bored of her own writing and needed a quick fix.
There is a lot of bad light cast down on a lot of the male characters, and that gets to be a bit much at times.
A lot of things weren’t very realistic.
Did I mention a quick ending?
I recommend the book, but I have to warn you to prepare yourself for the ending. Otherwise it is a good book.

I will probably continue to read and see this series through to the end. Laurell K. Hamilton is a great writer, and the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter books are a great idea. I will continue to support this author, even if I don’t actually agree with a lot of what she has written, and I will watch this series end.