The Wolf Transcends

 

The Wolf Transcends

At night

I am who I was supposed to be

Here, I have worth

cherished beyond all hate

and I am allowed

to be creative

to excel

to be right,

and real

where I’m never punished for being good

but it’s only a dream

a false promise of home, yet

still, I wait to be one

with the wolves

in the snow and ice and ravenflights

If only I can get through another day.

–Willow Croft (11:11)

 

 

 

Black CATastrophy Writing Prompt #2

A crippling feeling gripped him in the very pit of his stomach. He knew he would never see Beckham again.

“Relax,” Tamara said. “It’s only kindergarten, he’ll be fine. Wait till we have to send him off to college.” His wife took his hand. “C’mon, I’m due in court in an hour. Sure you’ll be okay? I can have Dad come over and take you to lunch.”

“Ha, ha. Don’t worry, I have clothes to wash and floors to sweep. Oh, and don’t forget to get milk on your way home.”

“I won’t—see you at six. Love you,” Tamara let go of his hand.

“Love you.” Tim watched his son dump a pile of blocks on the carpet. He’ll be fine, he told himself as he left the classroom.

At home, he wandered from room to room. He’d lied to Tamara. The laundry was done, the floors were swept, and he’d even finished the dusting while Beckham had watched his Sunday morning cartoons. Why didn’t I play with him more yesterday, instead of having the TV babysit him?

He turned on the TV and looked for a tennis match. There was none. And the TV noise annoyed him more than the sound of his wife’s business-on-weekends phone conferences.

Milk, he decided. He went to take his car keys off the hook by the door, only to realize he was still jingling them in his hand. The noise echoed in the quiet house as he left.

He got milk last, going up each aisle and gathering everything to make Beckham’s favourite meal, spaghetti and meatballs. Tomatoes, grated cheese, pasta, ground beef, spices and herbs thrown on top of a cartful of things he didn’t need. And red wine to toast his wife’s court victory after Beckham was in bed.

On the way home, he switched “Wheels on the Bus” for a top 100 mix of artists he pretended to recognize. Beckham’s fine, and he got on the freeway instead of the back way that would take him past the school.  He merged and then typed a text to his wife: Got the milk.

…………….

Tamara knew she would win—she always did—but she was still energized as she left the courtroom.

“Congratulations, Ms. Sanders. You’ve helped yet another criminal avoid prison time.” The prosecuting attorney shook her hand a little too firmly.

Tamara hid the wince with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to comment on his lunchtime happy hour. Or, more likely, his liquid breakfast.

She practically skipped to her SUV, unused to getting out of court so early. She took her phone off silent mode. She scrolled through her text messages, all business. I’m not going back to the office, she decided.  But it was the missed call from Beckman’s school that caught her attention. She began dialing the school, but another call came in. Business, she sighed, and took the call.

“Mrs. Sanders?”

“Who is this?”

“Mrs. Sanders, my name is Officer Hudson of the Boston Police Department…”

“What happened to my son?”

“Ma’am, your son was not in the vehicle your husband was driving when the accident occurred.”

He’s fine, my son is fine, she thought.

“My husband has been in an accident?”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

He’s not fine.

The phone shattered against the pavement.

black-catastrophy-writing-prompt-2

https://blackcatastrophy.com/2017/08/13/black-catastrophy-writing-prompt-02/

Seriously, Comcast?

 

Okay, so I’m not supposed to rant on my author blog (my rule), but I am so frustrated with Comcast, especially as this problem has been going on since May, and they still haven’t fixed the issue. They have even admitted (well, their service tech has) to an issue with their equipment down the road which they are working on, and that “there’s nothing they can do” and I just have to live with it. Plus, they have recently started to charge me for each visit, even though they have tinkered with their equipment to fix the problem. I have had to fight with them each time after a service charge shows up on my bill. Then they resort to customer blaming. “You need to go out and buy a $60 cord to connect your laptop to the modem.” “It’s your old computer.” “It’s your software upgrade.” Ad nauseum. Anything they can think of to absolve themselves of any sort of accountability as Big Business. The main problem is that I’m stuck with Comcast because nobody else will (or is willing to compete with Xfinity) provide Internet service to the area.

Here are the issues I’ve been having:

  • Slow Internet speed
  • Pages not loading at all/slow loading/partial loading
  • Intermittent Internet/disrupted Internet connection
  • Complete lack of Internet

 

Anyone else having similar issues (with or without Comcast) and have any suggestions on how to troubleshoot these issues? Please share below–thank you!

Surreal (Slow, Sleepy, Sad, Sullen) Sunday

Today is Food Stamps day, so I have go shopping. I dread shopping. Even though I have my list handy (that I work on in the weeks in-between food stamp days), I always seem to forget something. Food Stamp Day has fallen on a weird day. It’s come after the Saturday Farmers’ Market, so I can’t get all my shopping done in one fell swoop. Poor me, right? *wry laugh* Imagine if I was a gatherer in a hunter/gatherer community. “Oh dear, I forgot to get some wild garlic. Now, I’ll have to go back out and get some.” And then I would get eaten by some fierce nocturnal animal because the garlic spot was miles away and I didn’t make it back before dark. Not that the stew wouldn’t have been burned by then, anyway.

I had a weird dream I had moved into a new apartment, but I was forgetting something (a hint of the grocery shopping day looming?) in the move. The apartment was in a European city, maybe in Germany, and I was embroiled in this undefined mystery. Plus, I was trying to get settled into my apartment community, and I kept forgetting to take stuff to my new apartment from the place I live in now. Like one of my cats. Like a bed, which I brought anyway, and then realised there was a bed already in the apartment. I was trying to get everything sorted so that I could begin my new life, but I kept screwing it up. I never did get things fixed, because I heard one of the feral cats outside and it woke me up.

I miss having a indoor cat companion so much. Although, I realise I’ve been really lucky (or smart) in the cats I picked. For the most part, they were such good kitties. They were also older cats by the time I adopted them. Everybody seems to want kittens, but I can’t imagine why. Older cats are fantastic…sweet, calm, mellow, patient, loving. Kittens can be that, too, eventually, but somebody I know just took in a kitten that showed up at their house. But they get into everything. Running all over like a demon, jumping all over you, attacking you in play nonstop. This little sucker even managed to tear off the sofa cover in about a few minutes’ time. Better them than me, seriously, as cute as the little monster is.

I am officially a fan of older, more sedate cats–the ones that so often get overlooked in shelters. Even senior cats rock! It’s so nice to have them just curl up on your lap for hours, or curl up with you at night. They embody meditation and stillness and just radiate peace and contentment. Comfort in a little purr-body.

Find your old-kitty gem at a shelter today. Or an older dog. #AdoptDontShop https://www.petfinder.com/

I mean, look at these sweet loves. How can you resist?

https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/39403911

https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/39403908

An Idle Friday

 

Today I have off from my day job. It feels idle even though I’m still technically working. Which got me thinking about the obscenely rich. Well, an idle Friday and coupled with this blog post about the absurdly wealthy from one of my favourite blogs: https://buffalotompeabodysblog3.com/2017/10/12/daily-briefing-sack-wranglers-2/.

All that wealth pooled together could be put towards the actual planet and its non-human inhabitants instead of all this silly crap they buy to show the world and each other just how much money they have. Who needs six mansions? I mean, really?

I like to think that if I were among the top 2% I would just buy something simple–a modest vintage house and fix it up (unless I got an old castle and turned it into a rescued animal mansion/shelter).

Then my 2% friends and I would use all the rest of my obscene wealth to buy up huge tracts of land (rainforest, wetlands, forests, etc.) and anything else natural we could buy and restore it to its “natural” (or, as natural as it gets) habitat to protect the threatened-with-extinction animals that live within its particular ecosystem. Or clean up the ocean of all its plastic junk, trash, and pollutants. Then we, the 2%, in between making more money, would just cruise around on the newly clean ocean in our small, dinky, but non-polluting boat, hanging out with all our non A-list fish and marine friends, on our weekend getaways.

https://www.worldwildlife.org/species/vaquita

Or something like that.

 

Now I just have to get rich. Well, before their time runs out.

 

 

Lost and Found

 

Lost and Found

The store had everything

Everything I gave away

and wish I hadn’t

plus everything I wanted

but didn’t need

and even a couple of things I secretly did.

The best part about thrift stores is

you find what you weren’t looking for

among all the people from my past

and present

you were there, talking about

a tennis lesson in Florida,

of all things.

Even more improbable,

I was playing matchmaker, yet

I disentangled myself from the woman

who wanted to meet you

in real life.

Near my old record collection,

we eloped, trying to find a world

where no-one knew us,

but my past found me,

that thief of impossible worlds,

and I lost you, too.

 

Thieves of Totality

 

Thieves of Totality

All I have are thieves.

Thieves of time.

Of space.

And captured in the nostalgia

for past selves

or selves I never was.

artist

dreamer

world-changer

lover and

loved.

Those things,

lost among the ruins,

even those are fading to black,

yet

they still whisper to me,

crazy,

worthless,

and so many more judgments.

All the things I was not, yet

they have convinced me it’s

too late to do anything

except wait for the totality of silence.

 

–Willow Croft