The Ghost of Past haunts me at night. As I drift off to sleep, I slip into the gentle dreams of an innocent child. Then; charging in with a roar, the Ghost of Past invades my tender fantasies.
He brutally drags me from my warm covers. I scream and fight him, to no avail. He pulls my unwilling frame down dark, twisting corridors; through tormented memories that yet burn, flames blister my skin. A bottomless pit of pain awaits me at the end of the obscure hallway and Past dumps me there on my butt. Sweating from the heat and crying with fear, I fight the numbness that weighs my body down. Cruel paralysis traps me here, in this tortured hallway created by Nightmare.
But wait! What evil ghost is this? Ghost of Shoulda. “Oh Angel,” he moans, “you shoulda done better, if only you had, why didn’t you?” “I did my best!” I scream in his ugly face. “But you still failed!” he says with delight. His hideous voice cuts through my anger and goes straight to my grief.
“You belong to me now and your dreamscapes are mine to wander. My power grows,” he gloats. “Remember that day when I sauntered into your thoughts when you were wide awake?”
“I popped into your head as you showered, and memories rose unbidden. I brought you to your knees and you fell and sobbed as the water went down the drain. Dirty, filthy water swirled around your body and washed the smile from your face.”
I remember.
I rage at him insanely until I begin to retch. He smiles.
His accomplice, the Ghost of Regret, walks up to us. He approaches slowly because he has all the time in the world at his command. They both roar with laughter as Regret chokes me.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Keeping his hands around my neck, he sits on my chest. Regret is so heavy.
Blackness surrounds me, tragedies from my past flash across my mind, flash cards from Regret’s Hall of Pain.
Weeping, I am in no shape to fight the Spirit of Guilt, as he steps out from behind the Ghost of Regret, shoving Regret off my chest.
My hero, Guilt does not laugh in my face; he simply sits there with me while I cry. He offers to hold me. I know if I let Guilt put his comforting arms around me, accept his deceitful promise that he can console me, I will be lost. Still, Guilt’s arms entice me. The image of Guilt, holding me close, is seductive. It would be so easy to give up and I could blame Guilt.
Guilt is no stranger to me. He and I have fought to near death (mine of course) and although I can send him away, I cannot annihilate him.
His companion, the Black Cloud of Despair (as always) is right behind him. As I glance over Guilt’s bony shoulder, I see that Despair is getting ready to settle in for the duration. He shakes out his moldy tent and drives the stakes into my heart.
“Hey,” I scream at him, “get the hell out of here! I haven’t given up yet!” Ignoring me, he just continues to settle in, taking the tools of his trade from his abysmal, black bag.
He knows.
I have never won this battle with Past and Despair is so sure that there will be a place for him in my heart, he just ignores my curses.
Sighing, he declares, “I don’t know why I even bother to pack up and move out, Angel. I know that you never last long without us.” He moans softly and settles down all around me, like a blanket of heavy, gray fog.
I look down at my trembling hand and I see a key. The very key that unlocked the door that Past rushed through. “Damn it!” I shout. “I let them in again; it was me who gave them access to my soul.”
In the distance I see a glowing inferno.
Dragging my ghosts, I struggle, crawling towards the flame. The warmth beckons me, draws me closer. If only I can reach the fire, I will throw myself and these unholy demons into the flames!
I haven’t much strength left, but with a last, gut wrenching expenditure, I reach the funeral pyre. Leaning towards its center, I let the orange and blue flames lick at my hands, blistering my fingers.
At first, the pain feels good and it soothes me with its fiery warmth. I close my eyes, at peace, ready for the final sleep. The last nightmare.
Then a fiercer pain invades my lethal lethargy and terror fills my soul. Here we are again, at the edge of distinction. They have led me to this fiery pit and instead of breaking free, I have, once more, allowed them to motivate my unrelenting descent.
The Wisp of Future taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me for interrupting your pity party, but I have something you need to see before you end it all.”
I see the Spirit of Hope standing there beside him. Our eyes meet but then Shame slaps my face and I can’t meet Hope’s eyes. Hope stays silent.
Future flashes my children’s faces across my mind. They are standing around my grave, and their faces reflect deep anger. They are crying.
If I give up, my suicide will be their legacy.
It won’t matter to them how long or how hard I have fought this bitter war. All they will see is my defeat and my surrender.
Pulling back from the roaring inferno, I struggle to free myself from my ghoulish companions.
One by one, my demons take their hands off me and my strength returns. They know that for tonight, it’s over. They have lost control.
I wake up shivering and shaking, afraid of tomorrow. My familiar bedroom now surrounds me like grey prison walls. There is no comfort here.
How many nights must I fight this battle, over and over? Why do I fight?
I fight to save my children and my family the torturous pain of my suicide. I fight for the chance to hold my precious grandchildren once more in my arms. To see their smiles, to feel their hugs. To feel the warmth of their untainted love flowing into my cold and weary soul.
I live for the nights when I am not haunted. I live because the Spirit of Hope and I used to walk hand in hand; inseparable; until I let Grief and Guilt tear me away from him. I live because I can see Hope and although he now walks just beyond my reach, he is beckoning to me, pleading with me to believe, to remember, to follow.
I live because I know that if I keep fighting my ghosts, I can catch up to Hope and once more we will laugh and play, dancing together beneath the summer rains.
Until then, I will continue to fight.
I wrote this 17 years ago and reading it with today’s eyes showed me how far I’ve come, by the grace of God, and then, how much I still need to heal.
Tag: jeanne marie
Happy New Year!
Gorgeous Florida Sunset…
Gorgeous Florida sunset last night…
Merry Christmas from Florida
Merry Christmas from Florida
Always Home For Christmas
Today, someone asked me if I’m going home for Christmas.
I told them that I am already home.
I will be home no matter where I park, because I will always be bringing my home with me. My 330 sq. foot home has wheels.
With family in Oklahoma, Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Florida, Indiana and Montana, I could never really gather my entire family in one place, so maybe I’ll spend Christmas in a different state each year.
This year it’s Florida.
I’m a bit of a gypsy. I’ve lived in the first five of those states, plus New Jersey and Tennessee. I moved to Oklahoma four times, Florida twice, New Hampshire twice and I have owned fifteen houses.
But, from now on, no matter which destination I choose, with my family and friends safe in my heart and only a phone call away, I will always be home for Christmas.
From my baby book…
From my baby book…
August Is Gone, September 2012
I think about it. Maybe I’ll take the month of August off and go to a place where I can be alone and I can think for myself.
Make my own decisions.
My birthday was last week and I turned fifty-nine.
How did I get from twenty-seven to fifty-nine so quickly?
Why did I not realize that not making a decision and sleeping my time away so that I wouldn’t think, was a decision in itself?
The days blur together and the months sneak past, quick as the black racer snake that lives in my garden, slithering by my feet as fast as a bubble can burst.
My bubble has burst many times, but I just waited among the shadows for another bubble to shelter me.
I have been foolish, thinking that there is always another bubble and there will always be another August, even though I know that all I have this is very minute.
Yes, I let another August pass me by and I sit here wondering, how, why?
What if that was my last and final August?
It seems like yesterday that I was diapering my babies and now, they are grown.
My arms and my hands are empty and just as surely as my babies grew too large to hold in my arms, another August is gone.
I Love You
I Love You
I love you does not mean that I will accept
your unacceptable behavior.
I love you does not mean that I will allow
you to hurt me emotionally whenever you choose.
I love you does not mean that I will let
you crush my spirit and wound my soul.
I love you does not mean that I will let you tell me who I am or control my decisions.
I love you does not mean that I will allow you to hurt people I love.
I love you does not mean that I will not walk away from you, if you do those things.
I have learned through God’s grace, that I can live without you,
but I cannot live without me.
Thankful for the things that I have left behind…
This might sound strange, but the things that I am most thankful for this Thanksgiving are the things that I have left behind.
This past year for me has been a year of change, letting go and personal growth.
I have let go of so much more than material objects, although I filled my porch with boxes and bags for the trash or the yard sale when I emptied and sold a ten room house.
I let go of three closets and three bureaus filled with clothes.
I let go of trying to earn love. Love is only valuable when it is freely given.
I let go of expecting people to be someone they are not, rejecting the unacceptable behavior and accepting the good. Yes, I let go of my happy-ever-after fantasies, so that I could enjoy today.
I let go of worry about my future and while I still plan, I am only living in today.
I let go of my old habit of saying yes, when I wanted to say no, and I don’t do things I don’t want to do anymore.
I let go of the guilt and the shame and the anger I have always carried over my mistakes and other’s mistakes because I have carried that negativity long enough. Those emotions were so heavy.
I let go of shopping to fill a void.
I let go of cooking unless the mood hits me.
I let go of thousands of books, and I never dreamed that I could get rid of my books.
I let go of owning my own flower garden. Now, I enjoy other people’s flowers.
I am even learning to let go of trying to hold back time.
So, I am thankful for the feelings and possessions I no longer carry and the huge house I no longer have to clean. This feels like freedom to me.
My five-year-old granddaughter explained to her dad, “Grammy wears a disguise because she is not really a Grammy, she is a kid. She plays like me.”
What more could I ask for, than to be told that I have the spirit of a child?
So, the things that I am most thankful for this Thanksgiving are the things that I have left behind.
Happy Pink Thanksgiving!
Breaking Up With Time
I do not trust you anymore.
You are not nice.
I don’t care how good we used to be together. You are sly and you are sneaky, and you are hurting me.
I go to sleep and you do horrible, cruel things to my body.
The damage you have inflicted on my body, especially over the past year is unbelievable.
Your actions are silent, so I didn’t even realize what you have been up to lately, not until I went into the bathroom to take a shower. I catch a glimpse of myself naked in the new full-length mirror. My first reaction is shock. My second reaction is grief. Tears join the shock and the grief.
When I see what you have done to my backside, I begin gasping for air. My cute little behind is gone, just totally gone. Two empty sacks have replaced the flesh I had considered mine. The backs of my legs resemble cottage cheese that has gone bad. Real bad.
Yes, I lost too much weight, but did you have to twist and punch everything I have left?
The only body parts you haven’t dominated yet are from below my knees to my ankles. (I just checked to make sure you didn’t re-sculpt them while I was writing.)
My hair, my feet, my legs, my breasts, my arms, my neck, my face, my ears, every day I find new damage.
I would like to say I am above pride in my physical appearance, but that would be a lie. I’ve never been a beauty, cute I’m always told, but cute and undamaged was good enough for me.
I trusted you for so long. You were mostly kind to me. You treated me with respect, and you were gentle with my body, for over sixty years.
I was aware that you had a bit of a mean streak, but I trusted you anyway.
Yes, there were many red flags, but I ignored them.
I was only thirty-six when I told you, “I like the grey streaks you painted in my hair. My mom had the same streaks, so I wear them with pleasure.”
You smirked, and I should have left you in the dust right then, but I didn’t.
When you pulled my hair out a few years later, I adjusted. It was never abundant anyway and as it thinned out, I just pinned it up. I asked you to stop and you just smirked, again.
You kicked the heck out of my spine long ago, so I knew you could be extremely cruel, but I thought we had leveled out, reached an agreement to be kind to each other.
When my breasts deflated, almost overnight, I said, “Oh well. I can live without plump breasts and long, flowing hair,” and then, I threw my stupid bras away.
Last summer my young grandson said to me, “Grammy, your arms are wrinkled and soft like Jell-O.” He poked one to show me.
I looked down and sure enough, it was true. Why hadn’t I noticed?
Not done yet, you had redesigned my arms.
I explained to him that it was nicer to tell a woman what was right about her, instead of what was wrong. I told him I was getting older. We agreed to close the subject of my jiggledy arms, and he gave me a hug. I was even proud of myself for handling the discovery so well.
However, my backside is the last straw and now I see that pulling my hair out wasn’t even enough for you.
My hairdresser told me last week that my fake blonde hair is breaking off by the handfuls, no more blonding it. Blonde has been my disguise for thirty years, you jerk.
As I have slept, you’ve ravaged me. You’ve reworked one body part at a time, and I was blissfully unaware that you were indulging your freakish addiction to playing sculptor with my body.
You have gone too far, my old friend.
I’m breaking up with you at once, while I can still walk and still have clothes that fit.
TIME, you can go play your ruthless games somewhere else.
P.S. I placed the mirror on the other side of the bathroom door too. Just in case TIME doesn’t honor the break-up. I have a feeling that I’m going to need a restraining order.
I hope you dance….
I hope you dance…
What Am I?
I am hard and I am soft.
I have sharp edges and smooth worn curves.
I am strength and I am weakness.
I can be broken, but I am unbreakable.
I will stand by you when you are wrong,
I will rejoice when you succeed.
I will stand by you when the world walks away.
I will leave you and I will always be beside you.
I will pull inside myself like a snail when you hurt me.
I will bloom like a flower when you love me.
I am a soft place to fall.
I am the hardest place to go when you have fallen.
I will always love you
No matter what you do or become,
You can’t lose my love.
I will smother you.
I will release you,
To explore your own strengths.
I will let you walk away if you hate me,
I will keep my door open if you want to return.
I will soul glide with you.
I will cry with you.
I will fight with you.
I would take a bullet for you.
I will make mistakes that will hurt you,
But no one could ever love you more.
I am where your life began and I am
Where you will always long to return.
I am not perfect,
But God thought I was perfect for you.
I am your mother.
Such A Dilemma
Face the storm outside or the storm inside?
Such a dilemma.
If it was the end of the world
and zombies were at the window,
we would argue over which gun to load
until even the zombies got a headache.
Things I Like About My Tiny Home On Wheels
I can clean my entire house and outside area in an hour, including changing the bed.
I don’t have to think about laundry every day because I don’t have a washer and dryer.
The laundry sits in the basket for a week until I go to the laundromat. Yay!
I always know where my little dog is sleeping.
If my neighbors are annoying, I just move.
I love cooking on my tiny stove in my tiny pans and flipping eggs with my tiny spatulas.
I only have clothes that I like and actually wear now.
In the middle of the night, the bathroom is remarkably close.
My bed is in the living room. So is the kitchen.
I like the word rolling. I like doing it even more.
If no one knows where I am on my birthday, I can skip a year.
It’s not official until you eat the cake.
I can chase sunshine and never endure a below freezing winter again.
Spirit Whispers 9
I’m so lost…
No, you’re not my child.
I’m right here.
I know exactly where you are today, and I see where you are going tomorrow.
Just release your fears to me and take the next right step.
Don’t Let The Sun
Don’t let the sun go down on me…
Heading Out, August 27
August 27
It’s my last night in Oklahoma, for now.
Tomorrow morning, I head out to Florida.
Tonight, I learned to raise the jacks and hitch up the trailer, including sway bars and chains. Sway bars are heavy!
I bought a shoulder bag for my one lonely computer (we lost three comrades to downsizing) and for my three external hard drives.
Perfect computer bag and it was on sale.
I downloaded two full older WD drives, a desktop and two laptops onto my Western Digital 4 TB external drive. 985, 161, 000 files.
Almost a million files. I was shocked.
I still have another external hard drive, my one laptop and a baggie full of flash drives to back-up, so I’m sure to climb over the million mark.
Tucked my tablet in the bag too.
I destroyed two old hard drives and I was really proud that I could let them go.
Usually, I back-up files and keep both copies, which explains almost a million files.
Flushing The Poo Poo Away
Today, I learned how to flush the poo poo away, disconnect the sewer, electric and water. Also hooked up the truck and trailer for the trip.
I drove for a few hours and was quite impressed at how well the 2011 Chevy Silverado pulled my 20-foot Coachmen Apex Nano.
I was even more impressed when I pulled off the highway, then into a midsize Shell gas station and parked perfectly at the gas pumps!
That Shell sign looked sweet as sunshine beaming down on my tiny house on wheels.
Tiny Pans, Big Flavor
Before I moved into my tiny house on wheels, I got rid of 95% of what was in my ten-room house.
I saved two tiny kitchen pans that are special to me, and it was a good decision.
Last night, I cooked hamburgers in my tiny frying pan, then used it to make a tiny batch of chili.
It was difficult to decide on how much of each spice to toss in to about four cups of chili, but the end result was delicious.
We had burgers for lunch, and I stored the chili in a tiny pot and it fit perfectly into my tiny fridge.
Instead of a gallon of chili, I had enough to feed me four very filling meals.
Not A Whisper Remained
I searched my hometown for a trace of me…but not a whisper remained.
Tree Frogs and Trailers
Why am I up at 6 o’clock in the morning you might ask. Well first, I had to get out of bed and catch a tree frog who was plopping around in my kitchen.
I’ve been really wanting to see one, but I didn’t want to see one in my kitchen. Actually, in my kitchen, living room, bedroom.
Luckily, my dog, Maggie Mae, didn’t even wake up because she would be freaked out forever.
That dog fears her own shadow, let alone a tree frog in her tiny house. That is something she would never forget.
Then, I went to the bathroom and thought my ponytail holder was a huge grass spider. I started whacking it with a dish towel. Fully awake now. I almost killed an inanimate object.
Moving right along, the night before last, I was cooking a sweet potato when flames burst out of my microwave and the whole trailer filled with smoke.
Mind you, I bought a brand-new trailer so I wouldn’t have any problems.
But this morning, I’m up at 6:00 a.m. so the trailer can go to the dealer. The only dealer out of four who would take me for warranty work, because they take in their own customers first.
Funny, they don’t tell you that when they say you have a one-year warranty, good anywhere in the USA.
I only got this appointment because somebody canceled, or it would have been a month.
Honestly, I’m trying to rough it, but it’s really rough if I can’t heat the dog food.
Hopefully it’ll be fixed, before my daughter gets here to visit tonight or tomorrow morning,
Otherwise, I hope Motel 6 really does leave the light on, because tonight, we might be looking for one.
I always try to see the best in a bad situation.
This one has amused me to the point of laughing hysterically.
I’m sitting under the blue lights with my coffee, hoping that tree frog doesn’t jump on my head now.
One thing life has taught me, the story that I can write about almost anything can turn it into an adventure, and on the plus side, I might actually get to see a Florida sunrise.
I’m also thankful that I wasn’t sleeping or on the road when the microwave flamed, because it has been smelling like burnt plastic all along, and I thought it was burning off the new smell. LOL
P.S. Coachman Apex Nano, 2019. I’ve had it for three months, and the list for repairs today is a page long. Already replaced two roof fan shields that crumbled, outside speaker and two jacks. Dealer also has to replace refrigerator.
it’s life’s illusions…
The Night The Stuff Went Down
I think I’m having decluttering remorse.
Almost like waking up after a blackout, trying to remember each item I tossed.
“I threw away what last night?”
I don’t really need to item by item remember, because it ALL went.
What was in the last room that I attacked with the rage born from exhaustion and frustration?
Just everything I had thought was important enough to move from house to house, even if I never opened the boxes.
The next day was moving day, and I thought the last room would only take a few hours. Although the anxiety I felt every time I went in there over the past year should have warned me.
It was just a corner filled with boxes. Boxes I hadn’t opened since two houses ago, some hadn’t been opened for twenty years.
I had spent the last three weeks decluttering. Selling and giving away the contents of a ten-room house, cellar and garage.
I was on a roll. How hard could this last corner be?
I had thrown away my wedding heels a few months ago, so I thought I had toughened up.
The contents of several boxes had been scattered for weeks, opened and left, the victim of my confusion. Well, I had no choice now.
Tonight, was my deadline and I dug in, armed with kitchen trash bags. It didn’t take long for me to go downstairs and find the huge, green bags.
I always knew I was a good packer, but I don’t know how I fit so much content into those boxes.
I filled at least six green bags with CD’s and cassettes and that was just the beginning.
Some of the CD’S had been special to me. Our ten-year anniversary by Alabama I had signed, “Then Again…Forever, you and me.” I kept that one.
I had listened to and loved each CD at some time in my past.
As I looked through them, I was overwhelmed by how many there were and I began to grab handfuls, shoving them into the green bags.
So many material things I no longer needed or wanted, but surely my frustration added volume to the trash pile.
I was angry, and I was sad, and I just wanted to be free from stuff. Too much stuff.
Our mind is like a computer and it captures every little thing we have ever done, seen or felt and much of my frustration was because I was replaying those memories as I threw each thing away.
My wedding dress got special treatment. It was 3:00 a.m. and I walked outside and hung it on a tree beside the yard sale.
My neighbor was still outside because she was getting ready to have a yard sale with me, and she said, “You have to take a picture,” and of course, I did. As I took pictures, I realized that I was trying to capture my emotional whirlpool in a snapshot of a wedding dress.
The dress had fit like it was designed for me, draping my tiny hips, and it had made Mum smile, because back then, I seldom wore dresses. As I ran my fingers down the silky dress, I could see her smiling face.
I remembered the day I went shopping for it with my mum and how proud she was that I was marrying such a good man, a man who worked and took care of me and my three kids financially.
She special ordered artificial roses for my corsage and for the wedding, because I was allergic to flowers and I remembered how the florist thoughtlessly sprayed them with rose perfume and I sneezed all day.
I threw the still rosy corsage away too tonight, along with a box of wedding day souvenirs.
We never dreamed thirty-eight years ago it would end this way, my wedding dress hung in a tree for a yard sale, all alone in the dark. Us, living in separate houses. Big ouch.
Couldn’t hold on till morning. Needed to let it go, let it go.
He was here helping me finish up the packing and for the closing, and I couldn’t afford to show any weaknesses in front of him. It was a real test.
His heart was hurting as he saw me throw away our memories.
The picture Mum bought me because she thought it looked like us, my IHRA umbrella and hundreds of presents he had bought me.
I think it hit him hardest when he saw my books start to go. Fifteen house and thirty-eight years, and through it all, he’d been complaining about moving my books. I always found ways to resist his demands to get rid of the damn books, because I loved my books. I had learned that if I carried the boxes in and out of the moving trucks, it wasn’t as bad, but even then, the “weight” it added bothered him.
I usually soothe him when he’s hurting, even if he’s sad because he hurt me, but not anymore. Not anymore. Recovering codependent, yes, I am.
Now, as I rerun the night of the huge declutter through my mind, I am proud and sad and proud.
I let it go, I let it go.
I let it all go so I could move on, move into my twenty-foot Coachmen Nano Apex travel trailer and on to the next chapter of this story I am living as I create it.
I took pictures of things that touched my heart as I tossed, and that was enough stuff, for me.
Poodles From Outerspace
The first time I saw Peggy-Sue, she was eight weeks old. I looked into her tiny face and I adored her. She was a creamy white color, with apricot splashes and her nose was a peachy, brown, heart shape. I had no idea back then that she was from another galaxy; she looked like a real poodle to me.
Well, let me tell you, she is anything but a dog. Oh sure, she would fool most people, but I have seen her real identity, that peculiar little creature that lives under all that poufy hair.
I know that she sent for back-up. Puppy just appeared on our doorstep, but I believe aliens dropped him off.
Puppy looks like a poodle too, but his true nature peeks out from beneath the hair that covers his eyes. He peers out from under his fluffy bangs in that sneaky way he has, and he watches us.
I’m not as sure about Charlie, my little black poodle, but since he was neutered, he hasn’t been quite himself. I swear that if I had known that they would castrate him, I wouldn’t have had it done. I thought they would give him a vasectomy.
Anyway, I guess he has a sound reason to act strange and I really think that he is just a normal, silly dog and not an alien like the other two.
I don’t know what the two white poodles plan to do with the rest of humanity, but they have taken over this family and we are prisoners in our home. I continue to resist, but they have total control over my husband’s mind. They manipulate him in strange alien ways, and he obeys their every command.
Peggy-Sue won’t eat unless he sits with her and she likes to bite somebody before she eats. She has many rules about eating. I guess the traditions on her planet are quite different from those of earth dogs. For instance, she forces my husband to get out of bed, (if he is asleep, she wakes him up) to get her water and food.
She uses a variety of alien signals. I have begun to de-code these messages, but I pretend I don’t understand her; it would take more than an alien poodle to get me out from under the warm covers!
She has such a sweet baby face that it’s hard to believe she’s an alien poodle and when you see her, you may doubt my story or even believe that I’m crazy.
I am contacting you at the Men in Black Program because I am sure you’ll be interested in studying her and trying to track down her siblings.
In addition, I hope you can help release her alien influence on my husband’s brain. Maybe you could give him shock treatments or cough up a few of those designer drugs you’ve created with my tax dollars.
Please be careful when you enter our home, remember, they are not dogs and they are dangerous! You may need to bring a S.W.A.T. team to take them out of the house, because until my husband is de-briefed–HE WILL RESIST YOUR ATTEMPTS TO SAVE US!
Peggy-Sue, the tiny poodle has him completely under her control. He doesn’t even suspect that she is running our lives or that she is in charge of this home.
I don’t know why she picked our family or why she summoned Puppy here to help her, but I feel that they are gathering strength and soon I will be sleeping alone, condemned to the spare room while they lounge on my bed; cuddling my husband, eating my snacks, maybe even wearing my clothes.
Seriously, I caught Peggy-Sue trying on my underwear last weekend. She had it over her head and I wasn’t about to ask her for it back or show her the correct way to wear it.
As I sit here typing, they are all three at my feet, watching, waiting for me to try to escape. I fear for my life, so please come soon and capture these alien poodles from Hell. You must prevent the take-over of our planet by these devious creatures, because they only appear to be dogs. They are not. Aliens they are, that you can believe.
I am a prisoner in my own home, so please come soon,
Sincerely,
Jeanne Marie
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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