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MDelia @ Storytym
Batch completed and posted for the first time. Noted diary format. I may use grid with 100 boxes to help me remember to write, but those squares are not my creativity guidelines and limitations. Last month was work centered. *This month* I'm going to try creativity. One word sears its way from the top of the pen, through the fingers and onto paper. This word hides and sneaks through time to pop up on a computer screen. It lurks on the paper to be read and typed. Oh, no. The word escaped the paper and snuck into cyberspace. Bad "word".
I know you hid us in a box,
but we just can't stay here.
You've hidden many things, you fox;
Things that are both precious and dear.
We've been hidden here long enough.
Come fellow dreams; draw near.
The time is coming
when our box, I truly fear,
will no longer exist.
We are slowly getting ghostly clear.
Hopefully the dreamer will list
some more secret desires
and put them in here.
Our light has long been gone.
Our person needs someone to be fair
and meet at the skies dawn.
I see some light,
fellow dreams arise
Purpose Driven Life - Interact with book next 39 days. What on earth am I here for? It's not about me; it's about what God wants me to do. Currently, be patient and explore healthy possibilities. Colossians 1:16. I seek for understanding, hope, peace, and joy. My thoughts have been locked away, but are working their way back to normal, if there is such a thing. Creativity comes in many forms. Two poems have snuck into my mind, but haven't blended in with the ink to travel down to the paper. The poem names are
Rainy Drive / Day
By daylight or darkness via headlights,
A fine mist, individual droplets, downpour,
or sprinkling; rain on my windshield alights.
The wipers create the look of a play
opening with a curtain being drawn.
By daylight, the play runs softly framed
due to the gray skies and hazy fields.
By headlights, there is a soft glow
due to the foggy conditions aimed
at the area illuminated by the lights.
Either way, I thought about a lot of
things on my
to and from work.
was replaced by strong, gusting winds.
What is my purpose and/or driving force? Hmm... that's difficult to answer. Helping children is a major focus of my life. I know I want to be a role model and advocate for children. However, do I want to stay in full time direct care? No, I still feel led to work with underprivileged chidren. The kids and youth I currently work with are underprivileged, but I don't feel that
mental health worker
is my final purpose. I know God has had me deal with a lot of things since October / November 2001. This preparation has guide me to here.
A day of
takes its toll. Thoughts meander across my mind. Why did I forget? Why can't my thoughts focus? Why did I agree to nine days straight? The answers are all beyond me at this time. My thoughts drift from my mind slowly through the tired muscles to drip onto paper. Ink to paper from pen. I don't know if I can do 100 words tonight. The only way I can be sure to do it is to write them in my five by twenty grid on paper that I print out four per page. I'm done.
What is my life metaphor? I'm not really sure. My major life verse is
But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.
A life verse from a time of major trial is
When my life was ebbing away, Lord, I remembered you, and my prayer rose to your holy temple.
I shared these with a patient at work one night. It was a rough day and he'd asked my help with his verse.
Waldon Park - after Thoreau's pond. A trail around the pond for walking or running, but not bicycles. This place was joined together by God's grace. It is a quiet place with trees and peace. The playground and skate park, the pool, and the ball fields, the boat deck for fishing. All are part of the total experience. I learned about Waldon Park by trips with my group home kids. These kids are no longer mine, but the memories and habit remains. Walk the trail and look for others on it. Stop at both bridges to reflect. Then, continue on.
Rye watched the shooting star float down on the moonbeams and wondered why she was raising her brother as her own child. Rye had taken Cecilia Marie home to meet her family. Rye thought her orphaned best friend would enjoy a family holiday at the Summer House. Cecilia Marie had been entranced by Rye's father. The result was the little brother Cecilia Marie had delivered on her deathbed. Rye knew her father would not want his son to raise. He'd said good riddance to parenting when the last of the sisters had gone to college and he hated young babies.
The future lies ahead of us, Skylar. Your mom's gone, little brother, so I'll have to take her spot. I'm sorry our father did this, but we'll get along. Rye looked up towards the sky and saw thunder clouds coming. Rye picked up her backpack and put Skylar in his front snuggly carrier. Heavy burdened as she was, Rye made it to the distant cottage just before the rain started. She had just buried her best friend and was bone weary from the rough emotions. Rye had to stay strong. She was the only one who knew about her brother.
It was a day of new beginnings at home and at work. The little one needed a lifelong medication that started today along with diet and exercise routine. It was a day that had new patients and staff at work. Opinions bounced back and were heard in response. Shift trade paperwork was filled out and turned in. The wedding is on and I can go. The mandatory inservice was cancelled - third one. They'll make them up in April I was told. Grandad may be up tomorrow to till my garden patch. My goal is to plant my potatoes before work.
Falling along my path,
I saw two shooting stars;
one each night; yesterday and today.
I made the same wish each night.
This wish may never come true,
but I hope that it does.
Each shooting star reminded
me of a long ago night.
A trip that I almost didn't take
led to one starry night
that I'll never forget.
Dream upon a starry sky;
wish upon a shooting star.
The moonlight and stars always
bring me closer to the one
my heart longs to see.
Why are my hopes and dreams
centered on these bright shooting stars?
A wish made on a shooting star came true this afternoon. Peace was hard to find, but one heaven sent note calmed the day down. Marks on skin fade and children are forgiven. Frustration at not knowing how to help makes life rough. Instead of going on maybe I need to explore a way of changing dreams. Focus on the future not the past. The child, my little brother, cannot be blamed for our father's mistakes. The journey won't be easy, but we can make it. I don't know why this is my battle, but I will make it through.
Precious are the words that arrived yesterday by mail. I'm not sure why this person's words can make my day. I just know that they do. Shared experiences... long distances... unrealized dreams... many things bond this other writer and I together. One day, hopefully soon, the words won't be written by hand or sent by computer, or even heard over the telephone. They will be heard and the nonverbal words seen in person - face to face. We'll have to see how long these words will remain in written format. I hope by year's end personally delivered will be precious words.
The breeze was picking up and Rye could smell the rain coming. It was time to get into the cave with Skylar. The rain would mask their hiding place as long as Rye kept Skylar quiet. This wasn't always easy, especially when Skylar wanted his bottle. At one month old - most of it spent travelling and hiding, Skylar was really a good baby. He had his mother's grin and sweet disposition, but also had his father's temper and demanding way. Rye just hoped that taking Skylar to his father was the right thing. It was proving an incredibly dangerous task.
Why did I agree to let Rye bring Skylar home? The enemies of their father knew Rye was coming home. They thought Skylar was Rye's son being brought home to meet his grandfather. The heir apparant returning home was bad enough, but a second generation heir was deadly. If only they knew that Skylar was the male heir Hunter had always wanted, the danger would be much greater. Hunter had made so many enemies building his corporate empire that Rye and her sisters had grown up learning that it was never safe to be unguarded. Should I reveal the secret?
Did you wear green today? If Irish blood runs through your veins, you did. I had emerald, nod, and orchid nails to keep with the green and spring day. Green is the colour of luck on St. Patrick's Day. Other days it represents envy, greed, growth, beginnings... the list could be endless. However, today it's time to celebrate the Irish heritage and wear the green - all tints and shades accepted. Dressing like a leprachaun - wearing shamrocks - these are some ways. Others are less bold - nails, earrings, pins, rings with emerald or malachite, bracelets, charms... Remember heritage is important still today.
Little things tied together with love. Large things need no gift wrapping to be complete. Can I find a way to combine all the thoughts and emotions that are involved? I've made a heartfelt decision and am going back ot my second alma mater for another degree or two. BS in CJAD for sure and maybe a master's as well. I'll have to wait and see. Law School isn't the path I'm to take. I want to continue working with the public without being a lawyer in a courtroom. Case manager, probation and/or parole officer, juvenile officer, or who knows.
Journal Entry for Friday, March 19th.
Long time since work went this smooth. Lowest point number was 50. Six kids and all went well. Came home and worked on dishes and laundry before watching "Friday Night Movie with Hank" on KSN. The movie was
which was kind of strange. My meds seem to be working well together. At work, the movie was
so I cleaned and did all of the charting so that I didn't have to do that much after the kids went to bed. I worked on the JOY Angel counted cross stitch, instead.
Journal Entry for Saturday, March 20th.
Another awesome day at work. Six kids with two of the "J's" leaving tomorrow. They played outside, watched
The Littlest Vampire
- the live version, and had family visits. Lowest point number was 56 out of 62 possible. Jacob agreed to give the JOY Angel a happy home. I'm just working on it so I can see some accomplishment with stitchery. I'm cancelling my Law School visit and setting up an appointment to talk about getting a BS in CJAD with minor in Juvenile Justice. I already have submitted FAFSA for loans.
Journal Entry for Sunday, March 21st.
My last day before two days off in a row. First time that'll happen this month. Four kids at work. Really awesome day. Four really good days ina row is kind of scary, but it's been fun. I probably will have a brand new group of kids when I go back to work on Wednesday. Spurlin can't meet with me, so he referred my to Richard Spencer who teaches int'l and juvenile justice courses. I hope we get along. I sent him my unofficial transcript and will meet with him Wednesday at 1030.
La di da di da. I had a lounge lizard day today. Read, talked with Jenn, stitched, et al. And now going back to creativity instead of the journalling relapse.
The sky was masked with clouds that hid the stars and moonlight. Rye had been using to navigate. She basically knew the way to the cottage hanger, but she couldn't afford to wake the baby. The people trying to kill her were getting closer. Her ace in the hole was the helicopter she'd built a collapsable cottage around. It was rumored to be haunted and cursed so it wasn't entered.
They kept tracking the daughter and her baby. It wasn't easy. At least there wasn't a way out of the canyon besides on foot. That gave them a chance to catch her. The ransom money would just be a ploy to open communication with Hunter Summer. His youngest daughter had given them the eldest's location. The heir apparent didn't seem like she was going to take over the company. After all, she'd lived in a poor village for over nine months and refused all contact with people of her class. Surely she would bring a pretty price from the slavers.
It's a bit startling when you go to log your words and you are the featured author. Kind of cool, but kind of scary in a good way. I always enjoy reading my words in print. Some words I'll never forget... others need written so that they can be added to words yet to be thought in a printable format. Ideas lurk behind many doors. Each day brings new inspiration and deepens existing plots. Writing 100 a day sparks creativity that can't be contained in only 100 words. So, I try to finish many things step by step.
From darkness and despair
to lighter than air,
my words tumble about in my head.
Sometimes crawling, but at times racing
like a cheetah across the plains.
My words flow as thoughts
through my head on then to paper.
Sometimes typed, but typically handwritten,
my words make sentences
or pose deep questions.
Are words really thoughts,
or are thoughts really words?
Does something have to be written,
or can it be expressed
verbally, nonverbally, via computer?
With so many ways to share,
does the media really matter?
My words reach out to you;
it doesn't matter how.
Creativity, where did you go? Did you run away forever or just temporarily? Yesterday you were very evident. Poetry and fiction both came easily.
"You can..., but I..."
plus some more for the series of short stories just rolled off of my pen. Today it seems like a lost cause to be creative. Is it stress or exhaustion that chased you away? A combination of both plus three exams tossed together I suspect. My eyes struggle to stay open and my wrist aches to write. However, these 100 squares need filled even if you, creativity, are taking a brief nap.
Lightening flashes across the sky
in bright batches or single streaks.
Either way it illuminates the darkness.
Lightening flashes across my memories
and makes me recall life events;
Times of stark brightness or darkness.
Lightening flashes are like trials
that we face in our lives;
Single events or clustered events.
Lightening flashes are memory awakeners
on a dark stormy night like tonight;
Happy, joyous, sad, scary events.
Lightening flashes across the sky.
Rain falls across the windshield
and all around the darkened windows.
Lightening flashes; memories abound.
This night brings a decision
and it remains a hidden wish.
Today is your wedding day.
It is a time of excitement and joy.
Your job is to be happy today.
Little things will throw you into a tizzy.
Your feelings will change and be enhanced,
possibly making you dizzy.
You will find a hidden part of yourself,
and find peace as you say your wedding vows.
The guests you share your wedding day
with are precious to your hearts -
family, friends, family, et al.
Remember this most important thing
on this your wedding day:
for your new spouse -
the other half of your soul.
Enjoy this day.
Can you express yourself with only 100 words? I wasn't sure at first, but found that journalling was possible. Creativity is too if you put some thought to it. Imagine a staff with the music notes. Now add a word or two. Expand those words until the feeling is evident. That is one way to see creativity at work, but there are more. See what is around you on your drive home and expand that into part of a story or a poem. Journalling was easiest a couple of days, but creativity did okay this month. Two days to go.
Six poems that are 100 words long plus parts of a story equals my creativity for this month. Add one purring cat and it's all set. Target is my
orange tabby cat with circles on his sides. He is my typical companion as I write my one hundred words. He likes to lay on my feet or in my lap as I read and write. He makes a great foot warmer on cold nights. I find his purring peaceful even if he does
me write by chasing my ink pen and batting at it while I'm writing.
Next month's theme since this one didn't got exceedingly well. I'm going to put 30 things in a box. One for each day. And my assignment is to take one thing out each day and write 100 words about it. A story, memories, description... all are acceptable. The only thing I won't be allowed to write is what the object is. This is my challenge to you for this next month. I only hope that it works to spark my creative juices. My muse had faded this month and needs awakened again.
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