sorchawench: (Default)
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me!
So beat me, tease me, tie me up,
And with flogger's kiss, delight me!

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But you can break me faster!
So do your worst, do your best,
And make me call you Master!

LJ Idol

Jan. 13th, 2012 12:48 pm
sorchawench: (Default)
Well, I lost this round of LJ Idol. Which means I'm no longer in competition. I do however plan on playing the Home Game, which means I'll still write on the weekly topics and post them here. And with LJ Idol, there's always the chance to be brought back into the game. So, who knows....
sorchawench: (Default)
Contrary to what common sense would suggest, I'm trying it again. Another New Year's resolution.

What is the point of New Year's resolutions? As if for some reason, this time of the year willpower is stronger than other times. As if, during the cold months of winter we find it easier to hold fast to those changes we want to make than in the summer months.

That's bunk and I know it. New Year's resolutions are about hopeā€”the thing with feathers that allows us to believe self-improvement is possible.

The New Year brings forth a renewed sense of hope. That maybe we can persevere and make this coming year better than the one before. Maybe we can quit smoking, loose 30 pounds, work out more, spend more time with our family, volunteer more often....the list goes on and on.

Despite my past resolutions and failures, this year I'm going to make a concerted effort to regain a certain level of fitness. It's not about the numbers this time, it's about how I feel. I need to get back some flexibility and health. Less pain when I move. I know part of this is impossible, there are aspects of my health that will always preclude a certain level of pain for me. But I also know I have a lot of areas I can improve.

And so once again, with the dropping of the ball, I start again. Despite my past track record, despite what common sense would dictate will happen. Hoping that this time I'll succeed.

Tribute

Dec. 29th, 2011 10:17 pm
sorchawench: (Default)
We've had a bit of a vacation this last week or two with LJ Idol. Gary offered up some free topics last week, but I was too busy with family to write on them before the deadline was up. Today though he posted a new topic. Write an entry inspired by/as a tribute to the person or people who taught you the love of reading, and writing.

I initially didn't think I'd write an entry at all, figuring it would be a typical entry about how my parents influenced me with bedtime stories or about how the few teachers I loved instilled a great love of reading. But after a moment of thinking I thought about the 3rd group of people who were the greatest influence in my life, as far as being a reader went.

The bullies.

I doubt that those people knew what an impact they made in my life as a reader and future writer, but I have to admit to myself that they were an influence. From the early days of my youth through my teen years I kept my head buried in a book, as a defense mechanism against the hurled insults and barely veiled threats

Every day I would wait at the bus stop, book clutched firmly in my hands, stomach in knots. Waiting for that yellow harbinger of doom and despair. I would spend the 60 minute ride to school reading and daydreaming fantastical stories where I was the heroine and immune to such petty nastiness as mere bullies could dream up.

I was a bookworm. It was my defense in those days. I always had my head in the clouds because earth was so damned depressing.

Looking back now I have to thank those kids who bullied me. Without them I would never have met the friends I did between the pages of a book.
sorchawench: (Default)
I grew up as an Army brat. Dad put in 22 years before retiring and 21 of those years I was part of the great fiasco that comes with moving every few years as the military bounced us from base to base.

My earliest memory of major upheaval comes when we moved to Panama. I was pale, scared, had the barest ability to count to 10 in Spanish, and there we were, moving to another country. I remember our arrival in the airport, we were novelties with our pale skin, light blue eyes and blonde hair. My Mother told us later that she was offered money for us, in that airport.

I am not entirely sure she was joking.

Most days in Panama were like an eternal vacation. Where one could step off the porch and choose from a selection of fruit trees, bananas, oranges, papaya, mango...hanging ripe and sweet in the sun. We were serenaded every morning at 6AM by flocks of parrots, come to roost in the fruit trees, have breakfast and gossip about bird like things. Weekdays after school I would join my friends and we would race across green fields cut out of the jungle and have adventures within the jungle's edges, never straying too far into the darkness for fear of panthers, pirates, and the occasional monkey.

Weekends were spent on the beaches. We had access to both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans within a 2 hour drive. We learned to snorkel and swim like dolphins. Coral reefs became a second playground for us as we held our breath, diving deep and exploring it's wonders.

It was during one of these excursions that I became one with the sea, in a bad way.

My parents loved to snorkel and dive. They would leave me in charge of my brother within the low tide zone and they would head off into deeper waters, deeper reefs. My brother and I would play within the tide pools, temporarily turned into mermaids by the power of our imagination.

One weekend we visited a new beach. As the tide rolled out it exposed a good mile or so of reef top. Flat as a table, with hidden drops and caves. My parents were well off, into deeper water and I had grown tired of playing with my younger brother, so I decided to explore and see just how far out I could walk.

I'd made it pretty far out when my Father surfaced at the edge of the reef. He told me the tide was coming back in and that I needed to be headed back to the beach before I got myself into trouble. Then being the joker he was, he yelled "CATCH!" and threw something in my general direction.

Now, I wasn't much one for playing catch. I preferred books to balls and was more inclined to injure myself playing a sport than I was to succeed at it. Dad knew this, and didn't aim directly for me, but made the throw anyway. I cringed and tried to dodge, God only knew what he was throwing at me...it could have been anything from an octopus to seaweed...I just knew I didn't want to catch it.

And that's when the accident happened. Dad had thrown a sea urchin in my general direction.



Sea urchins are extraordinary creatures. They live on the sea floor and in reef systems. They come in a variety of colors and sizes. This one was about the size of a baseball, round, white, and covered in spines. I managed to dodge it with just about every part of my body. So the fact that it slammed into my leg near my right ankle was a fluke. The fact that the shock of getting hit with a ball of needles propelled me backwards and into a tidal pool was probably to be expected.

I recall my Father's face, when I surfaced. He was initially trying hard not to laugh. I'm sure it was quite an amusing image, me, shrieking and flailing like the girl I was, before falling over into a reef pool. Once he fished me out however the humor was over. The sea urchin had put those spines to good use and my leg was now bleeding from more than 30 puncture wounds. Some still had needles in them.

I, ever the overly dramatic child, saw blood and began wailing like I was dying. Dad was torn between trying to calm me down and figuring out how to signal my Mother, who was still diving nearby. Finally he managed to get her attention and together they helped me limp across that mile of reef top, back to the beach and the car.

They gathered my brother, who was delighted that we were having an actual adventure and demanded to know if I was going to die. I was near hysterics at the time and didn't have the energy to spare to beat him as an elder sister should. We ended up driving half an hour or so through the jungle to a little clinic in a relatively remote village. No one there spoke English. We didn't know very much Spanish, but thankfully the local doctor was capable of dealing with my injury. For the most part.

With tweezers and a lot of patience he pulled out the remaining needles and cleaned me up. I remember I got a shot of something we later determined to be antihistamines, as some sea urchins are poisonous and can cause swelling and redness around the area, which may lead to severe pain and infection. In my case, multiple deep puncture wounds may cause fatigue, weakness, muscle aches, shock, paralysis, and respiratory failure. And of course, the lovely side effect of death.

I'm comforted now by our lack of being able to communicate with the Doctor at the time. I know my 11 year old self would not have handled death well at all.

We ended up calling it a day on our little beach adventure and drove home. Dad felt horrible for hurting me and I managed to weasel a fruit ice out of him, from a local vendor, before we made it home.

Now one might think this was the end of this little travel travesty. But oh no....fast forward about 4 years. We were in southern California then and I had just tried to break my ankle playing softball at school. Remember....I'm clumsy.

I tried to warn them.

I'd managed to try a gallant slide into home plate, which looked more like a cartwheel gone horribly wrong. I came down hard on my ankle which promptly began to swell and turn colors. My coach proclaimed me broken and off to the ER I went.

We went through the normal rig-amoral of x-rays and were in the process of getting fitted in a walking cast for my severely sprained ankle when the ER doctor came in with a questioning look. They'd found something in my x-rays it seemed, something that wasn't supposed to be there.

There on the X-ray, were faint white lines, hovering near-ish my ankle bones. Sea urchin spines. Once we explained what they could be to the doctor, he told us that they had apparently calcified in my body as opposed to working themselves out.

Imagine the conversation I had with my Father that night.

I'm 37 now and as far as I know, I still have sea urchin spines in my leg. Only I think they are weather foretelling spines now, as I get those occasional twinges from the area when the weather gets colder.

Oh, and Dad? He never threw anything more dangerous than a pillow at me again.

Bupkis

Dec. 6th, 2011 01:24 am
sorchawench: (Default)
Once upon a time...

My ass.

Sure, it's the way the story goes. Once upon a time, some singing, a wicked stepmother, a kiss, and happily ever after....but really, you know bupkis.

Did you ever stop to think about that wicked stepmother? No. You were too busy being enchanted by Snow White singing to the birds or Cinderella and those damned mice.

I hated those mice.

Almost as much as I hated the role into which I had been thrust. Someone had to do it they said. Someone had to take the fall, be the bad guy, do the dirty work. And so the wicked stepmother was born. But did it ever occur to you that without me, you wouldn't have had a fairy tale princess that needed rescuing? Without me there never would have been a poison apple or the need for a magic created gown and pumpkin coach. Without me Prince Charming would have found a perfectly suitable girl within his realm and settled down to raise a passel of children.

Ah ha! Didn't think of it that way, did you? You have no idea what I went through with those girls.

Take Snow White. No, really....take her.

Skin white as snow, hair black as night, lips red as blood. Did you know, she spent hours bathing her skin in milk, avoiding the sun like the plague, and lathering herself in creams and unguents to get that white as snow glow? Snow White wouldn't lift a finger to help a person out. She was demanding and whiny and when she didn't get her way, oh....the tantrums. I didn't initially intend on having her heart delivered to me by that huntsman, but I could only take so much of the simpering and demanding.

After I learned that she had changed, with the dwarves, I tried to make amends. And thus the basket of apples. Only greedy guts there took too big of a bite and passed out. If any of those dwarves had actually knew the Heimlich maneuver, Snow White would have been fine. Thankfully Prince Charming came along and managed to figure the situation out.

And Cinderella. Whew boy. Now there was a peach. How she was supposed to run a house, much less a castle was beyond me. She had zero clue of how to manage a household. The servants were lazy, merchants were robbing her blind, and her father....well...notice he wasn't around much at all. Yes, I was hard on the girl, maybe too hard at times, but it was for her own good. I was trying to teach her something of use, but she'd rather lay around all day playing with those Gods be damned mice. When the invite for the ball came about, I felt it in her best interests NOT to attend. Frankly, she was so vapid and clueless, it was embarrassing. We had a reputation to uphold, after all.

How was I supposed to know that there was a Fairy Godmother in the picture? If I'd known, then maybe I could have worked with HER and gotten some common sense knocked into Cinderella. What did I get instead? A pair of glass slippers. Which just proves to me that the Fairy Godmother had about as much sense as Cinderella. Who wears glass slippers...really?

Next time I marry, I'm going for someone with sons. It's got to be easier than raising girls.

~*~
This week's story can be blamed on [livejournal.com profile] shadowwolf13's entry last week and is dedicated to wicked stepmothers everywhere.
sorchawench: (Default)
My earliest memory of food came with screams and slaps.

I remember being dropped off at that day care, a huge forbidding stone building on the grounds of Ft. Sam Houston. I can only remember snippets of experiences there, but I remember how much I hated going. I was 4. My brother was in that transitory period from baby food to solids. I remember that afternoon, just before nap time. It was lunchtime and there was peanut butter and jelly. It was always peanut butter and jelly. Only this time, instead of the aides feeding my brother his baby food, I was handed an extra sandwich and told to feed him myself.

When I close my eyes I can still see fuzzy images of a baby crying and screaming. A small blonde girl, who I know is me but am somehow removed from, crying and begging her baby brother to eat.

A faceless, tall shadowy figure screaming at her, a demanding hand in her face.

A slap for not doing it right.

And I remember the closet-where we went when we were bad. I spent nap time and the rest of the afternoon in the closet, laying on a rough woolen blanket, afraid to cry anymore for fear of another slap.

Shortly after that day we were no longer dropped at that daycare. My Mother became a stay at home mom. I've had the occasional PB&J since that incident, but every time I have one, it reminds me of that day.
sorchawench: (Sadness)
It's a hard thing to wrap one's brain around...the knowledge that I am incapable of functioning as an adult in this, most simple of tasks. But there it is, in the harsh light of truth....

I can't do it.

And it's gotten us into a bind. A big one.

I can't pay our mortgage bill. On time. Or at all. I have a mental....block....for all intents and purposes, something in me is terrified of going to the bank and withdrawing the money. I can't fill out the Western Union form. I can't walk up to the teller and send the money to them.

I. Just. Can't.

I have panic attacks just thinking about it. I sit and cry and shake and can't move beyond that point of fear.

I can't set up automatic payments. I have to work up a decent dose of courage just to call them. I cling to my xanax when it's time to dial that number and beg for a way to fix the problem I've gotten us into.

I've tried to explain to my husband that I have this problem, but it's an inconceivable notion to him. I offered up the theory that perhaps I was burned at the stake by mortgage brokers in a past life. I can pay the other bills without much of an issue. Yeah, they may not get paid on the due date, but they get paid. Why I am unable to do this one simple thing is beyond my grasp of knowledge.

I've gotten us into a situation again. I will have to muster up the courage to try and fix it. It will mean tough times and lean wallets for a little bit, but I'm hoping I can get it together.

Hoping.
sorchawench: (Default)
"You can't be in love with him!", I cried.

"In love with him", you replied.

"He'll never love you! He thinks only of himself! Please!"

"Please", you responded and shook your head sadly before walking away from me.

I hadn't been able to change your mind, no matter how hard I tried. You loved him with all your heart and he was a selfish, self centered bastard who acted like he didn't even know you existed. Every move of yours was rebuffed. He'd lead you along, like a faithful puppy, only to kick you away when the mood suited him.

And still I watched you go to him, begging him to see you, pleading with him to acknowledge you, parroting his hurtful words to yourself. And you never realized that I would have given up everything to be with you.

I was your friend only. I wanted more. I'd sit and hold you as you sobbed, your tears on my shoulder, I could feel your heartbeat against mine. Your music, once a delight to many had taken on a sad tone. You never sang anymore.

I watched you waste away without his love, like a flower without sunlight. And I raged within, while continuing my efforts to convince you to look elsewhere.

I could do nothing as your heart hardened to stone and that carefree girl withered and died.

That's when I began planning his death.

Narcissus would pay.

~*~

This is my entry for Week 3's topic "What has Narcissism got to do with me". So my brain played around with the story of Echo and Narcissus. Constructive crit always welcome.

Coprolite

Nov. 4th, 2011 11:53 am
sorchawench: (Default)
A lot of the pain we are dealing with are really only thoughts.

Every week I'd make my way downtown for my appointment with my therapist, Cheryl. We'd spend an hour dredging up the old shit from my past.Turning it this way and that, examining it from every angle.

I've been in therapy for many years. And I sometimes question what it's gotten me. I still have fears and anxieties. I still think on those childhood events that left scars. There are days when I just don't think I can cope with anything. Those are the bad days.

Then there are those days when I am on top of the world. Nothing can touch me. There are no fears, no doubts, no emotional traps waiting for me. Those are the days when I can see clearly and when I can tell how far I've made it from that scared, bewildered child of 13.

A lot of my problems are past me now. They've become hardened bits of memory, fossilized and dusty, forgotten, sitting on a shelf in my mind. Every once in a while I'll take them down, dust them off, and remember how life was with them. Never forget, right?

But no matter what baggage I may be carrying, no matter how old my shit is, at least I'm not making jewelry out of it.

~*~

This is my entry for week 3 of [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol.

Coprolite.

Riiiight. W.T.H.

So I'm throwing this out right now though for *shits* and giggles. Read it, tell me what you think....
sorchawench: (Default)
We once again packed our gear and hit the road this weekend. It's Samhain. A time for us to gather with our family and friends in the SCA. People we don't see all year arrive all weekend long and we are again bonded in our common dream.

We are here for a celebration. We are here to celebrate love.

This weekend was special though. 11 years ago we stood on the banks of that particular lake and promised to be true to one another, be each others rock in times of need, and above all to love one another as our hands were fastened and our friends and family looked on.

We are here to celebrate marriage. A relationship of 18 years...we rejoice that 11 years ago these two finally had the good sense to marry one another...

11 years ago. And we were finally returning to that special spot.

Oma, the woman who handfasted us had passed on years before, but her daughter Chrissy, a sister of my heart, had agreed to go in with me on my little plan. She drove from Colorado Springs to be with us this night.

Our friends, brothers and sisters in the dream, were in on it too. The only person who had no clue what was going on was Wes.

When you first joined hands and hearts you did not know where life would take you. You have both changed since that day and the world around us has changed. But one thing has not changed, you promised to love, to give your best, to cherish and keep each other, no matter what else happened.

Those 11 years haven't been easy. Sometimes they've been downright impossible. But we've stuck together, sheer stubbornness on our parts at times to give in. But we've also had a multitude of blessings in those 11 years.

Life has surely brought you both wonderful blessings and difficult tribulations. Therefore you have fulfilled your promise, and the Gods are smiling!

The day was done, the party just getting started. My heart sister stood there and asked us both to join her in front of our gathered troupe.

So as you stand here today and as you reflect back over all the years you have been together, do you now reaffirm the vows you took 11 years ago?

To say that he was surprised would be an understatement. He took my hand as Chrissy wound our handfasting cord around our wrists. His eyes were big and wet and he could only shake his head slightly in shock and amazement that we had pulled this together.

To say the words....I love you...was not enough.

You are my heart, my best friend, my life. Today before family and friends, I renew my commitment to you. I promise to love and cherish you, respect you and grow with you for all the days of our lives. This is my solemn vow.

We said those words to each other under the starry night sky. And then we kissed. It was an epically beautiful kiss. I could feel the tears on his cheeks. I felt him whisper I love you against my lips and knew that those words meant more now than they did before. Our friends cheered us on.

When we finally came up for air, we were surrounded by our family. Tears and hugs were everywhere. I was reminded of all the reasons I joined the SCA those many years ago.

Around us the night moved on. I could hear singing and drums in the distance, calling us to join them. The wind was cool and the fires in the darkness beckoned all of us to draw nearer. We gathered cloaks and drinks and moved outward into the night. He was by my side though, his hand still wrapped in mine. Throughout the night I heard him frequently, ever so softly telling me...I love you....and....Thank you.

Whatever the future may bring us, where ever the winds of fate may take us, I know that together we can face life's challenges and succeed. As long as we remember to speak volumes with three little words....


~*~

This is my entry for Round 2/Topic 2 of LJ Idol at [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol.
sorchawench: (Default)
His depression caught up with him and he spent most of the weekend away from all of us, wandering around. At one point, he came to me (after drinking a bottle of Chaucer's mead in less than 20 minutes) and he told me all the reasons he didn't want to live anymore.

I knew he was drunk. I knew he was depressed. I knew it was his bi-polar talking. I had heard all of this before. He'd been in a funky mood all day.

I'd tried ignoring it. I'd tried fixing it. I'd tried cajoling him out of it. Nothing worked.

At that point it didn't matter.

I got angry.

I was angry that he had no focus except for that which was negative. I was angry because it seems like every nice comment or loving supportive statement we, his family, make, gets shoved off. I was angry and tired of feeling like my opinion as his lover and mate meant nothing, yet the hurtful words and negative comments were plated in gold and he held them close to his heart.

I was tired of being kicked in the teeth.

At one point he told me that we just didn't know the demon that he was. The monster behind his eyes.

Right. I sleep with him, genius.

After our first conversation he said he was going back to the lodge to sleep it off. Not 5 minutes later Joye and I saw him headed off into the woods again, this time with a blade.

We caught up with him at a little clearing. I asked him where he was going and what he was planning on doing.

Yeah, I was thinking the worst.

I know the point when I lost my temper was when he yelled at me and told me to basically mind my own business.

Fuck you, Stringer. Fuck you six ways from Sunday.

I'll never forget what I said. I took that blade and damn near did the job for him right then and there. I know Joye was worried. She's never seen me screaming mad before. And boy was I ever screaming.

I gave him full blast of all the hurt and frustration and anger that I had held back to keep him from feeling guilty. I told him to go ahead and do it then. If that's what he wanted.

I have jumped through hoops my whole life trying to make people happy and if that would make it better, go for it.

He could only focus on his one hope. That a soul that suffers death by suicide will not be reborn. His worst fear is to come back and deal with the same pain.

Unfortunately I know him better than he does at times. I offered him another theory. I told him, what if we all have our path clearly marked and when it is our time to go, we go....and come back.

How do you know that walking down that hill and doing yourself in isn't part of your plan? That a rebirth wasn't in the cards?

I clearly recall him crying and telling me "Thank you very much! You have just ruined my last hope of some peace!"

Wrong words to say to me at that point.

I actually managed to calmly tell him that after all the supportive comments I had said, and he tossed away, there was no way on this green earth that he could convince me that one comment from me changed his entire belief system.

Remember, I don't matter. What I say means shit in your world.

Then I left him lying there on the path. I left him. With the knife.

I told him to do what he had to do. I had never committed murder before that point, but I was taking my chances.

I turned and walked away. I just....walked away. I didn't make it 10 feet before I was crying. I couldn't believe what I had just done. Every step I took that carried me away from him made my heart sink with the knowledge that I'd just killed my marriage, if not my husband.

Joye trailed behind me, carrying my cloak. We ran into Marida on the way up the path. She also began to follow. Neither one could keep up with me at that point. I was running on anger and fear. And prayer.

Joye turned around and went back to Wes. I knew she wasn't comfortable with my decision. I wasn't comfortable with it myself.

Marida and then Kitty picked up behind me and followed me as I walked and fumed and prayed. Bless them. We talked. They managed to get me calmed down.

Joye stayed with Wes. At some point they both came back to the lodge. I could tell by seeing him, he'd calmed down.

And once he calms down and gets slapped back to reality he is a changed man. When he came back up that hill he was sober.

This is how we fight. One big blast and then it's over. Until the next time.

The weekend went better from that point. We went to the fire together and were with our family. He didn't drink. He stayed with his family in the lodge. No one noticed anything wrong. The mask was back up.

~*~

I recall my time at the bonfire that night.

Framed by flames I stood there. Rain begining to fall in heavy drops.

Each footstep was measured carefully. One log for those gone before, I said. For myself and my friends, near and far. Our loved ones are with us tonight and always. Light and love to you all.

The fire snapped and sparks shot to the cloudy sky as I tossed the log.

One log for a change, I said, holding it high. Grant me the lesson of paitence. Grant me the lesson of peace. Grant me the ability to give support and love. Grant my loved ones the same.

And another wish rode on the smoke.

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