I want to cut this pain
right out of me.
Take a sharp knife
and set it free.
There is no reason for this agony.
It is just my body
choosing to wage war
Against the everyday monotony.
And you can’t see it.
You can’t try to understand.
I hide the rolling sobs.
The hyperventilation is reserved
for my hiding place.
You only see the aftermath–
the red-rimmed eyes
the loud, ragged breaths.
You might be inclined
to want to help.
But you can’t.
There is no fucking way.
I have internalized
all of the bad in my world.
It boils inside of me,
robbing me of
I want to roll up in a ball–
let the world just pass right over me.
Because I would rather feel nothing
than to feel this
instability every day.
Category Archives: Unusual Poetry & Writing
I want to cut this pain
A.K.A. Monsieur Parkere and Senior Porkchoppo
October 31, 2002 (estimated) – August 23, 2014
Parker Jo Buhdoo was a German Shorthaired Pointer picked up as a stray. My husband and I found him at the Lenawee Humane Society, then going by the name of Archer. My husband was very interested in owning a purebred sporting dog. I looked at him skeptically and replied, “You want THAT dog?!”
That is pretty much how our relationship with Parker went.
Parker could easily hold his urine for 8 hours in a stretch if no one was home. If you were home, it was a different story. He would whine and pace about every 2 hours to be let outside. If he just drank the entire bowl of water, then he would need to go out again in 20 minutes. If it was getting close to dinner time, he wanted to go out every 10 minutes in hopes of being fed when he was let back in. If you called his bluff and refused to let him out, he would pee on the floor. He once peed on our mattress right in front of me just because he was mad. He peed on the floor probably at least once every two weeks, but sometimes 3 times in one day, for most of the years we owned him.
He was an asset in a hundred year old house in our drafty bedroom in winter. My husband and I worked different shifts, but Parker was a great source of heat and a good cuddler. It was one of the only times he was not pacing the floor and whining. Although he did occasionally howl in his sleep while dreaming.
Parker loved to run. We had a special leash and harness to hook him up to our bikes. My husband would always take Parker, because he was too fast for me. He would literally pull the bike. He would run until his feet bled. He once did that when he ran away. He ran away probably about 12 times in the 9 years that we had him. The best investment we ever made was his dog tag. The second best was when we extended our backyard fence to include the back door. Once, after a Pure Romance party at my house, he ran away. My theory is that the products with the pheromones in them turned him on. He usually ran away on cold, winter nights when it was freezing raining. Once, on a hot day, he went for a swim in Lake Adrian. He crossed 223 at least once. I always expected him to return with a broken leg or worse, but he never did. We only found him ourselves on one occasion. We clocked him doing 18mph down the sidewalk. Luckily, the smell of a nearby baby possum caught his attention long enough to slow him down.
Right when my husband and I were both returning to the workforce after lengthy bouts of unemployment, Parker managed to skewer himself on a metal fence post in our yard. The vet was concerned that he may have punctured his lung, but he didn’t. She said he was close to nicking his main leg artery, in which case he would have bled to death before I could have gotten him there. The vet’s office sewed up the wound twice. He popped the stitches twice. We made bi-weekly trips to the vet. He still went on to fully recover from that wound.
Parker was so excited to go for a car ride that he was not a very good passenger. After one incidence where he saw a wild animal and tried to crawl out the window that was rolled halfway down, we learned to only give him a few inches to sniff.
On a family camping vacation to Port Clinton, that bird dog went crazy when he saw an ostrich at the drive thru safari park zoo.
He was such a difficult dog that our best friends could no longer stand to dog sit for him.
Parker was a challenge every day, in every way.
I have a theory that Parker may have been a cat reincarnated as a dog.
Here are some excerpts from Sunday’s post:
Yesterday was our 11 year wedding anniversary. The day started by us saying our first goodbye to one of the furry children of our union, Parker. We think he suffered a stroke a number of months ago, could be going blind, and has exhibited a change in behavior. We had him in our lives for 9 years. I have always hated that dog. Now I hate him for making me cry at his absence. He was such a challenge to live with in every way. Although, I have to believe that maybe he was sent to us to prepare us for the trails that M, our son, would present to us. Maybe Parker was the opening act.
It was so hard yesterday, to pet Parker knowing it was the last time. Knowing we would never feel his velvety brown head again, or his short hair, that was course when it was dirty and soft when it was clean. I am sure I will continue to find it stabbing me in the cups of my bras though. It was easier yesterday when he was gone. But then harder again this morning. Yesterday he was still in our lives, that stupid, miserable dog. Today will be our first full day without him in our home. I am sad that it seems empty. But I am comforted in my belief that no other family would have put up with his whining and peeing on the floor consistently for 9 years. And it is a much more peaceful and calm atmosphere already, without having to fight with the Parker over everything.
We always theorized that he was previously owned by an elderly couple. He liked older people, and people in wheelchairs. He hated thunderstorms, and always sought refuge in the bathroom. We thought maybe the old couple kept him in the bathroom a lot. We figured one person died, the other would go off to the nursing home. Then the kids would come and just open the door, and Parker would run. Because that is what he did best. Always. Even with stitches in his leg. Then they wouldn’t have to try to find him a new home.
Maybe he needed more obedience classes. Maybe he needed more exercise.
Rest in Peace, Parker. You definitely made yourself an unforgettable part of our lives, and our family.
My 2004 Pontiac Aztek, sometimes affectionately called Baby Car, was officially put to rest today, with an odometer reading of 226,793. My Aztek was purchased on September 22, 2003 from Underwood Chevrolet Buick Pontiac Oldsmobile in Clinton, Michigan. All my miles.
I sold it to someone for a rock bottom price, as the cost of towing and repairs to get it running again will be steep.
My Aztek has served me well. It never left me on the side of the road (although once the battery did die in the insurance agency’s parking lot. But at least I was within walking distance of home.)
My Aztek once held my husband, myself, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, my dog, a wheelchair, and all the supplies my MIL was taking home from her camper for the season. It is a feat other, larger SUVs could not handle.
I loved that the rear seats could be removed completely. My Aztek was once loaded floor to ceiling with 25 years of my crap as I took it to my sister-in-law’s garage sale.
We once took a trip and camped back there, using the optional tent package. On another trip, we were able to take 2 bicycles along with us by just taking off the front tire and popping them in the back.
My Aztek hauled our belongings to our first and (so far) only house. It carried drywall to redo our ceilings. It carried our first dog, then our second dog as well. It has carried my mother and MIL to many doctor appointments and grocery stores. It hauled me to all my doctor’s appointments when I was pregnant with my son, then hauled him to his many doctor appointments for his first year, everywhere from Toledo to Ann Arbor.
The Aztek has been a wonderful car for me. Sure, things started to break off or stop lighting up in the past few years. And there was the recent issue of having to duct tape the passenger window shut. But, I rode it hard for a lot of years. (Huh-huh. That sounds dirty.) It drove a daily commute of 74 miles for most of its lifetime. Never had a tune-up, because, well, when you get to a certain point, you have to go with “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
I was so proud when I reached 200,000 miles. My new goal instantly became to take it to 300,000 miles. Plus, well, it would be good for my wallet to not have a car payment for a few more years.
But, alas, it began to overheat on the 2 minute drive home from the grocery store, with all signs pointing to a blown head gasket. You have to love a car that waits till you pull in the driveway to heave its last sigh.
While I am happy that it did not go to the junk yard to rot and rust, it is almost as painful to think of someone else owning my baby.
The Aztek will never be forgotten. It will always hold a special place in my heart.
In high school, I had a couple teachers who were my favorites. That did not necessarily mean that I learned the most from them, but that I liked their personalities and got along with them the best.
One of these was Mr. Clark. Mr. Clark, um, well…he was fuzzy, kinda like a panda bear. He was very dark-complected. I never found out why. I wonder if he was Greek? He had dark hair and mustache. Mr. Clark taught English. He had a kindly smile, which he often gave me after he had read some of my wacky writing. Imagine stuff similar to what I write on this very blog, except unpolished, undeveloped, and written by a suicidal, horny teenager.
I think the first time I had Mr. Clark for a class was my junior year. It was this horrible experimental class called “Issues”. It was a 2 hour class, a combination of History and English. I would say the class overall was a failure, because I still don’t know what those two subjects were supposed to have in common. I was a student who really loved English and found History super boring. I did learn entirely too much about concentration camps in Germany during World War II in that class.
ISSUES GROUP 12/92
I didn’t want to take Issues and was sure I would hate it. Me and everyone else has come to find the two-hour class very boring. The only thing that keeps me sane is my group. A, E, Y, and the extremely sexy chauvinist H.B. (And of course me.) If one person has candy, we share it with the rest of the group. When T.F. talks, me and E repeat every time she says “like” (which is, like, a 1,000 times in one conversation). We are the only group in class that doesn’t have an assigned table. The wrestlers put all the tables back after practice, but they never put them in the same place twice. When we sit in the back of the room we can’t hear anything, so we just make up our own conversation. When we sit in the front of the room, we watch the fish in the aquarium and fall asleep.
I can remember one day sitting in Issues class. I think we may have been watching a video. I was sitting on one of the tables, wearing a dog tag. Mr. Clark sat down next to me on the table and asked me about it. I told him that it had been my dad’s, and that he drove an ambulance in Germany in WWII. I explained how he was much older than my mom when they got married, how he died, etc. Mr. Clark seemed impressed by it all. It was much more interesting to tell my family history to someone than anything we were supposed to learn that day in class. And how often does a teacher come up and take the time to ask you about your jewelry? That, like, never happens. That is probably why I remember it to this day.
Sometime that year, some seniors started up a school newspaper. It wasn’t your usual school newspaper. Sure, it had stories about school events. But, they also welcomed creative writing such as stories and poems as well. Me, whose only after-school activity consisted of French Club meetings once a month, got suckered into the newspaper. Which is really weird, because I wasn’t one to go off and join activities, especially ones that my friends were not involved in. I wrote a few stories. I went to meetings. I started going to the assembly of the paper which happened on a non-monthly basis at the local town newspaper office. Mr. Clark was the adviser.
I had no car and no friends to provide a ride. It would have been probably a half hour walk to get to the town newspaper office by foot. It also would have been mighty cold in the winter. So Mr. Clark would let me hitch a ride with him in his minivan. It smelled like tobacco in there because he smoked a pipe. It was messy, with bits of his pipe tobacco spilled on the floor. But it was a ride. And he was a nice guy. And at some crazy point I guess you could say he sort of became my unofficial writing mentor.
When it was time for the seniors to graduate, they picked new people from the existing staff to be editors for the next year. They picked me, and a soon-to-be junior. I am convinced they only picked me because I was the most involved soon-to-be senior. I am not your typical leader type. I am uber-organized though. So for the whole next year, I would have to hear my name on the morning announcements, nagging people to turn in their stories for the newspaper’s arbitrary deadlines.
When I needed to pick out classes for my senior year, I was kind of lost as to what classes to take. Mr. Clark was teaching a new class called Writer’s Workshop, where some of the class was set aside to work on WHATEVER WRITING YOU WANTED! That was unheard of at my high school at the time. Mr. Clark told me if I took that class, he would allow me to work on newspaper stuff during class time. He also convinced me to take Advanced Placement English, although I had no intention of taking the AP exam.
Now, as much as I had grown to love Mr. Clark, and I believe I may have had him wrapped around my little finger to some extent, he wasn’t the most energetic teacher. In the more standard classes I had with him, his droning voice would sometimes lull me to sleep. This happened often in AP English. I had Mythology first thing in the morning my junior year. I had not even woken up yet!
Writer’s Workshop was a whole nother story. It was right after lunch. It somehow ended up as a class full of freshmen and seniors. That class taught me that if you have a whole class of usually hardworking students lumped together, they will ALL become class clowns!
Both my best friends were in that class. I would take turns hanging out with them. My best friend and I would eat Raspberry Blow-Pops until our tongues and teeth turned blue. My asbestos friend and I would flirt with the cute guys. Amazingly, I did get some minor amount of work done in that class. I worked on the newspaper stuff, wrote poems, and finished a short story that contains such achingly personal passages that I have trouble reading it to this day, but I still hope to publish it. Mr. Clark’s classroom was one of the first in the school to not only have its own computer (At that time, computer were all corralled into “computer labs”, for the safety of all.) AND PRINTER. So, if I typed up something personal and wanted to print it, that was the place.
What I enjoy most about going back and reading from that time are not the poems (and definitely not the newspaper), but the freewrites we did for the first 10-15 minutes of every class. And, well, that is sort of the impetuous for this entire blog. Other blogs are only about one topic: food or homeschooling or pop culture, etc. My blog is about all the things I need to flush out of my head. Where I used to write them in a way to amuse myself or Mr. Clark, now I write them to amuse you, dear reader (and myself).
Every now and then in my life, I come across a nice furry guy with a mustache that I can joke with. They often have a similar look of sweet exasperation when I bust out my weird personality. And they always make me think of Mr. Clark.
I miss him a lot. And I never, ever thought I would say that about any teacher.
This week a big, momentous achievement was reached in my goal toward self-publishing my own book.
I printed it out.
I know, that sounds really stupid.
In high school, I used to print out my stories all the time. But,
1. I didn’t have a computer at home to edit them on, so I had to use the hard copy.
2. My stories were short enough that I could print them out repeatedly.
My husband incorrectly assumed that because I printed out my story, that it was done. He questioned me when he saw I was immediately writing and editing on my newly printed pages.
No, it is not done. But, the achievement is in that it got to the stage where I needed to look at it on something other than a computer screen. And, I felt that it was worthy of “wasting” 115 pages of paper and ink to print it off. My husband is not a writer. He doesn’t understand my convoluted stages of writing, or the value I put on our limited supply of ink and paper.
I will revise, edit, and put away this draft, while I then proceed to do some preliminary editing on books 2 and 3 in the trilogy. Afterall, I need to make sure that the details and characters are consistent through all three books. Then, I will come back to book 1, update the file, and proofread it.
When I print it out the next time, I will tie my asbestos friend to a chair, hold her eyelids open, and force her to read it. And if she gives me any negative feed back, I will shock her with my dog’s shock collar.
But don’t tell her that.
Unfortunately, I also learned this week that 5 of the 12 TV shows I regularly watch will not be back next year. The following shows were cancelled this week. Some have links to other posts you can click through and read more about that show.
Most are not surprises, but I will miss them anyway. I believe that Star-Crossed and The Tomorrow People were The CW’s attempts at putting some of that special effect heavy, super-hero type stuff that plays well in the theater on their channel. And they were really well done. But, I think already having shows like Supernatural, Vampire Diaries, and The Orignals, The CW probably just couldn’t keep up the special effects budges on all those shows. The CW will have to stick to cheaper shows, such as Hart of Dixie. Which is a real shame. These two shows were like reading a short sci-fi teen romance novel each week, except better, because you could just watch it. They were the perfect shows for me. Or maybe I was the perfect audience for them.
The fact that ABC cancelled Super Fun Night isn’t shocking. ABC never really promoted it, and therefore it never found an audience. It was a nice little bit of escape on Wednesday nights that I enjoyed, along with actor Kevin Bishop who played Richard Royce. Now he will be off on his business trip to Berlin, indefinitely:(
I loved the first two seasons of Surburgatory, but it was just off this season and never regained it’s footing. I hope the series finale will find Ryan and Tessa reunited. In real life, that relationship wouldn’t work. But I think the actors both have chemistry and I like to watch it.
And it is possible that Ryan could show up on Suburgatory again, now that the actor who plays him, Parker Young, have more spare time, as the show he left Suburgatory to co-star in, Enlisted, has now been canceled by FOX as well. I was never a fan of the army setting, but the cast was great. Playing the other two Hill brothers were Geoff Stults (of the cancelled “October Road”, which I own the DVDs of both seasons) and Chris Lowell (who I just recently got to watch as Piz on the cancelled “Veronica Mars”).
Here is to hoping that all these fine actors find new shows in which to star in future television pilot seasons.
Oh, how cool would it be if they ALL ended up in the same show together!
This started out as just an homage to Pop-Tarts. But then somehow it just turned dirty. I guess that is what happens when you have been writing smutty stories since 7th grade. Maybe no one else will appreciate this poem, but it makes me laugh out loud each time I read it.
How I love you so
I want to hold you
And never let you go.
But you are still hot
from the toaster
So I scream and drop you
on my plate.
You are called “Pop”
Because you pop out of my toaster
You are called “Tart”
Because that was someone’s
original inspiration to invent you
And fill you with a fruit-like substance.
Cherry is my favorite flavor
And used the most for
An iconic image
pink frosty glaze
painted on top of a
topped with red sprinkles
Filled in the center
I devour you–
I can’t get enough
your fruit filling
glues the crust
into my teeth.
That nagging processed taste
fills my brain with sensations.
Some people will eat you out
of a vending machine
I don’t want you that way.
I need you hot
hard & warm in my hand
Then in my mouth
so sticky sweet
a little salty too
And then it’s over
And I am not satisfied
You always leave me wanting…
Dedicated to my favorite puppy, Dave D. Canine, who we brought home exactly 9 years ago today.
Dave was a sad little puppy
Sitting in a cage at the shelter all alone.
More than anything,
She wanted a forever home.
A place that smelled like
Human food & fresh laundry.
A place with something soft to lie on
And people who loved her.
“If I were to find a home like that,
I may just explode with happiness,” Dave thought.
Then a man & woman came by.
The woman was very interested in Dave.
Dave wanted to play with them,
But she wanted to look out the window too.
Dave was put back in her cage
Just like always.
But then a strange thing happened.
The man & woman came back.
And they loaded Dave into their car!
Dave loved to ride in cars.
“But where are we going?” Dave wondered.
They took her to a big backyard
Where she sniffed around,
Her orange fluffy tail in the air
And her orange head to the ground.
Then they led her into a building.
The shelter had burned her nose,
Smelling of ammonia & bleach.
But this place smelled. . .homey.
Dave sniffed all over the house
It didn’t seem like any other dogs were here.
She even found some stairs
And climbed up, without any fear.
But there was a problem.
“How will I get back down again?”
No one had ever taught Dave
How to get down the stairs.
She stood there pondering for several long minutes.
Maybe, if I go slow
Putting one paw in front of the other. . .
And next thing you know,
She was downstairs again!
Over the next few weeks,
Dave learned that she loved the stairs!
She could chase a ball up them
And race back down again.
She learned that the man was called Jason
And the woman was called Jennifer.
They would brush Dave & take her for walks.
One night they even all laid
on the thick carpet floor together to nap.
Dave hadn’t been this happy
Since she had been in her puppy pack.
Why, maybe this was some kind of new pack
She could be a part of.
Dave was so happy, she couldn’t contain it.
She felt all her love & all her happiness building inside.
It rose from her tummy & went to her head.
She threw back her neck & opened her mouth,
And “HOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLL” is just what came out.
Jason & Jennifer looked stunned,
“Was that a howl of anger,
Or a howl of happiness?” they asked each other.
But they soon learned it was happiness,
When Dave smiled & howled again.
Dave found her howl that day,
And her forever home too.
(from the author of Hogwart Discovers Christmas)
Radio turned up Loud
My ears dost protest
But my body wants to dance
Belted into a seat in the car
Singing at the top of my lungs
The Music drowns out my off-key notes.
Miles & Music
Music & Miles
The Orange Moon watches me
Country road rides like a roller coaster
A shiver down my spine
from the Music, not the wind.
I want my Music to escape out the open windows
And infect others.
I feel young again
I forget that I am not.
Bugs could fly in the open window
try not the think about that.
Close to home
Must turn volume down
Don’t wake the baby.
At a normal volume now
Can barely hear it
Over the ringing in my ears
And the music still playing in my head.