The dolls were meant to ease the burden of loneliness.
What was she thinking he would ask himself as each evening he’d sit across from them? The gulf between them and himself testament to his feelings about the whole arrangement.
They were attractive in a very dollish sort of way. But did he need their help?
He was in denial that his loneliness was a matter for concern. He was used to it, and when he received the dolls, he was told it was being done to help him adjust.
That one resembled Michael Jackson was a worry to him as he wasn’t that way inclined, he had no inclination to be with boys or men.
The other doll was a non-descript uni-sex sort of figure. She was reserved, showed no sense of satisfaction, and he worried if he used her what that was saying about himself.
There become a…
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Unlike most bloggers who experiment during their first few months to see if blogging is right for them, I had to gain traction as fast as possible.
I HAD to build a platform for my writing, to earn an income. Yes, I wanted to inspire people, to change the world, but I was also extremely passionate (and motivated) to not starve to death.
To be honest, because English was not my native language, I wasn’t sure I could express my thoughts and emotions in a way others could relate to.
Also, I wasn’t sure what to blog about, so I kept writing reviews. I then switched to writing about the creative process, about art, inspiration, writing, and self-publishing.
Fast forward seven years, and I know blog about life, motivation, self-help, and personal development. I also blog about art, the creative process, and, of course, about blogging on this neat blog…
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Stop lying. To yourself. To others. In the comments section of your blog. On other people’s blogs. In your about page. Stop lying.
“I don’t care if people read my stuff or not.”
“I blog for me, myself, and I.”
If that were true, you’d be writing in a notepad. Or several. Hiding them away under your bed or in a closet. But you’re on the world wide web for a reason, and that reason is to be read.
But no one reads your blogs, so you have to lie. And I’d use that terrible, terrible cliche that the road to hell is paved with lies and good intentions and adverbs, but the truth is that lies are the bricks that help build hell here on earth. A kind of hell that you have to live with for the rest of your life.
So, yeah, stop lying to…
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John has my Bobbsey Twins books.
I don’t know John very well. I met him when he bought eleven boxes of books from me.
I like any man that buys eleven boxes of books. He must be good, right?
When I called him a few days later and asked him if he would like to own my Bobbsey Twins, free of charge, he said yes.
He came back with all the books he had bought in his van, because he hadn’t found room for them in the house yet, that’s how I know he loves books.
He took the Bobbsey Twins, but he told me, “If you ever want them back, you call me.”
I thought that was an awesome thing to say.
He said that he would keep them safe and treasure them.
I love that, John, but I will never call you for those books. I let them go and I let them go into hands that will give them love and respect.
I knew I could not throw those books away or sell them at a yard sale.
Some had been sent to me by fans of my story, “The Bobbsey Twins, Dad and Me.”
Many were gifts from my husband, who was thrilled each time he found one for me.
There were about forty of them, dating from the first book, and I loved them all.
I saved one, “The Bobbsey Twins at Snow Lodge,” but there was no room for the box full of Twins in my new, tiny house on wheels.
The memories, yes. The books, no.
Ode to a Black Eye by Christine Ray
I can’t remember now
If it was your left eye or your right
Just how puffy it was
Almost swollen shut
Black and purple
Against your pale skin
The white of your eye
From the force of the blow
I don’t remember
If we asked what
Or if we just knew
I do remember
Being in Mrs. Merten’s
Into each other’s ears
Wondering what you had done
To deserve this black eye
Had you pushed John-John
To the limit?
Flirted with another guy?
Had you been mouthy?
You could be mouthy
You could be a bitch
In the way that only a teenage
Girl can be
I hit you once myself
At a middle school dance
After you said something
Cruel and hurtful to me
Pushing a button
That only an…
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I love nurses…❤
She lies in the bed, covered in bruises with a pallor base tone, whispering “good morning” to me through blood-blistered, dry lips. I brought her a copy of her lab results, but she already knows she needs blood and platelets. It’s become a daily task, the focus of her days this month. I have done my job keeping her safe, educating her about how the results we read together likely make her feel and what to look out for.
She determines how she feels by the numbers I provide her with.
Her course of treatment is based on results, bad cells versus good, functioning ones, her body’s reaction to chemo, radiation and a prolonged hospitalization. I praise her on her ability to predict the numbers based on her symptoms. She starts saying things like; “I need blood today, and probably platelets because I had a nose bleed last night.” After…
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