Outside the Chinese restaurant was a snaggle-tooth little boy with a blue balloon in his hand, sitting in a shopping cart, waiting for his obese father. He was indifferent to the somber skies. A truck roared by the parking lot. The boy yipped the most joyful endearing squeal ever emitted by a toddler. He searched for his dad, but found me instead.

"Truuuuck-, he giggled.

I was jealous of him.

Later, Eddie the tan-man left a red Jolly Rancher on the tanning bed before I laid down...I forced myself to rejoice and squeal as I popped it in my mouth.

Caffeine pills are not for me. The label practically has my name on it. But do I listen? Ha! I'm blind to caution labels and warning signs. Like the time I drank that energy drink, NO FEAR, 2 servings. How more specific can it get? IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO CAFFEINE OR PREGNANT, DO NOT DRINK. Bouncing off walls right now is not an option, it's a must! Now I fight twitch in my eye, destroying my gastrointestinal tracts, all to burn fat on my belly. Seems I'm always turning to either a stimulant or depressant. Always extremes, never a balance.

The tips of my eyelids are livid bright pink and swollen. The corners have crusty tears. My outgoing calls show every number but that one I promised myself not to dial. I used one spoon to scramble the eggs, add the salsa, and stir the coffee. I wish I had a gun to shoot down the light of the sun this morning. The dry cleaned shirts reek of Mexican. My biggest fear is to read everything I wrote yesterday when I thought weakness was my strength. If anyone dare comes near me today, expecting smiles or conversation...I'll kill them.

The email invitation was titled CAKE, inviting all to help themselves. I passed by his office, peeking in at it. No one had dug in yet. I wasn't about to be the first pig to slice it up. 15 minutes later, scanned by again. It wasn't chocolate I noticed and kept walking. About 30 minutes into the email and a few people had had their cake and ate it too. But to not seem impatiently interested, I waited another ½ hour, with a burning yearn to devour that red velvety butter cream layered cake with mocha chocolate shavings as topping.

The only true attraction I felt toward him was the notion of making love to him with nothing but his boots on. Other than that, he is too good for me. I'm not one to bring down a good man. I need a broken soul that I can't break any further. I can sense that no Greek tragedy will unravel between us. How boring! If the bastard can keep me after making me suffer in anguish, then I'm interested! Especially for the make up! Whoever it turns out to be, I'll still get him boots. Maybe a Stetson for me.

She's afraid of first pages. The standards are set with what you decide to write on the first page, or the pictures you choose to display, or the first letter you send. What if everything else does not measure up to the first one? It's a setup for disappointment.

I'm the opposite. I think the first pages are the easiest ones. The ideas and thoughts are fresh and filled with inspiration. But these things wear out. I'm not scared of the disappointment, but I fear the moment when you realize that the continued pages, although filled, are empty in reality.

This girl should've inherited amphibious qualities. I'd be the heartbreaker, not the heartbreakee.
Cold blooded, to gadabout prideful and unaware. Not necessarily the double life, but survivor of above ground battles and underwater environments.
Backgrounds would blend in with me and me with them, like intertwining limbs of a tree. Something so natural and earthly. Other jungle and rainforest creatures would respect me, and leave me be.
To think that some people will hunt these independent animals and eat them. Understandable though. They're considered delicatessens, as should I be.

Presumptuous you say? Say all you want! I'm thick skinned now.

This stout bundle of a woman, her eyes begin talking before the words escape her mouth. Her body language jiggles her flabby arms about the room. It's hard to concentrate on the conversation, since all your efforts are targeted to avoid the accidentally smack in your face. And when she blows that wheezy once-a-smoker laugh, you notice yourself stepping back at her explosive excitement. She's an endearing Southern woman, but it can cost you an eye and an ear to listen to her chatter away about her cousins in jail and pregnant nieces. I've resorted to cordial hellos and goodbyes.

I just didn't have the guts to direct my stare at him. Not while I was turning purple and sweating. He was the epitome of my attraction. Wide back, thick arms, thick body overall, strong legs. His walk exudes laid back confidence, and his eyes give away enough mystery to drive me crazy. He would walk back from the water fountain, lock eyes with mine, and then lift. But I just couldn't let him have the power over me to take my smile. I kept pushing arduously at my elliptical, letting him see how long I can go at it.

This urge to call you and desecrate what is left of my dignity is unstoppable and out of control. I know for a fact that no one will be able to appreciate your beautiful tortured soul. I can taste your pain through your kiss. You wanted to give me everything but you couldn't. You took more than I could bare. All I ask is that you give it back. Give me the bits and pieces of me that I need to survive without you. Or just come back to me, even if we were never to speak a word again.

It started out as just word vomit. Then, a holding place for my secret emotions. A journal next. Then, a container for my truth serum. I'm selective with what I decide to share, but I still think I give away too much. The free-flow inspiration stopped... I'm scared of what I keep finding. As long as I was spilling all my secrets here, I went elsewhere and rid them to the last drop.

New secrets are rising to the surface though. I don't know if I want to keep exploring what my mind struggles to bury from everyone, including me.

My arms and hands were waving, my fingers were bending and spelling. To my amazement, I was communicating! I don't know where I pulled the signs from, but I was spitting them out. And when she reciprocated in response, I could read her hands too!!!
What a warm feeling to be understood without a word being uttered. I wonder what else do I have in my memory that I could bring to surface. How many good things do I have inside that I have forgotten? And what the hell was in the air that gave me the guts to remember?

So they left me a cripple with a spastic twitch. Maybe you can turn that off and turn me on. A restoration project, if you will. It'll be fun and interesting. Why don't you come and try me? I won't leave it all up to you...I'll do my part. Of course, I might unwillingly trip you and we'll stumble a little bit. Expect a certain amount of harmless teasing and testing. Please keep mindful precaution. Approach with a little delicacy to prevent further shattering. Once you succeed mending me, then you may enjoy the full effect of my reciprocation.

The couch burdened my gruesomely sprawled out body. Rocks glass with bourbon cradled between my hands, placed on my belly. Like a drunken slug. A housefly decided to land on the rim of the glass.

"I have a few hours to live and look at me, flying around, fulfilling my life span!-

I blinked, looked at my drink....then at the fly. He was talking to me!

"Do something with yourself, you have 50 more years to live!-

So I did... without utilizing too many muscles, I used my thumb and index finger to squish the fly disturbing my stoic state.

Due to a minor malfunction in the inner workings of her brain, the roller coaster was temporarily shut down. The initial blast off was exerted with excess force causing trauma to the head and spine. The climb before the long steep drops brought upon unnecessary pressures to vital organs. The drops, and hills, twists and turns were madly out of control. But the technical difficulties have been taken care of. All harm is out of the way. We expect the ride not to crash and to be fully functional. Until the next time Lucifer decides to mess with her mechanics.

The way he would glide on the roof hammering those nails on the tarp was a graceful dance. One leg, cross over the other, swing one tempting muscle arm down with the hammer and hit. Meanwhile, I had my knees gruesomely spread apart to grip my body to the roof, so gravity wouldn't claim me. I pinned my sweater with colorful nails. They looked like buttons, picking them off when needed, the majority destined to the ground below. But the hardest part was suppressing my howl when I hammered my finger and smiling at him as if it didn't hurt.

We didn't talk much about our musical likes and dislikes. It was always a simple overview. But when he heard certain bands or songs play, he sunk into a delight zone. The expression on his face would change, all the while remaining speechless. Not even a smile was needed. I have to give him that much. As dumb as he came off, deep inside he had an intricate soul that appreciated a melodic song dripping with depth. Genuine, unique rock songs, usually with a violin in the background, cried by artist of great suffering. It's like they cried what he felt.

Sight has been so misleading and deceiving in the past. When we finally meet, it shall happen in a dark enclosed room. I don't want to see you. Only you and me. The blind leading the blind, because I can only assume you've been unjustly betrayed as well. You'll cradle in me the warmth of your embrace while I use fingertips to truthfully know you. I wistfully pray that your luring voice not be a snake hiss in disguise.
You wouldn't hurt a disabled creature, would you?

Or will I have to be blind and deaf to fall in love.

He drops his stench wherever he walks by. I'd be able to describe in detail what its like were it not for the paralyzing effect it has on my brain. Every capable effort rushes to help me survive its pungent aroma. If he's gonna be stinkin it up, he might as well drench himself in formaldehyde, do humanity a favor, and dig himself six feet under, so we can breathe pure unadulterated air. What makes him think that those dreads are attractive anyway? I don't know which is more repulsive, the ripping smell or the dreads that are never washed.

She purposely chose a gown so bright in color, so daring in trend, so challenging in budget. She didn't want to be another ordinary pastel Skittle, sitting at her assigned table with her name card on it. Drastic measures need to be taken to be spotted. But she did it with taste and with grace. Now she just has to practice sophistication, so they can see right through her abrupt thoughts and complicated emotions. At home, in her pj's, she slipped on her overpriced heels and perfected her dance in front of the mirror. The debt better be worth it.

Who would've thought I could put away my dependency of him? I would've picked out a different bride for him, but when they exchange vows, from my seat I will sincerely wish them eternal happiness. Nevertheless, I hold with all my soul, until the day I'm buried, that he should've married me. 20 years from his wedding date, when I have them over our house, my husband will be putting away the wine, and his wife will be freshening up upstairs. When I get him alone and buzzed in the den, I will ask him why he didn't want me.

This isn't how it was supposed to turn out, but considering the recent dramatic events, I'll settle with my bottle of bourbon. Take what I can. 22. I think it all started going wrong, when I let my daily Bible reading slip. Then again I never really had it. I cannot blame this life on divinity. Don't want to give the Devil too much credit. Not necessarily my fault either. What exactly is getting in my way?

If something were to go my way this year, I hope it starts with one magic phone call.

Actually, I guarantee it will.

"What do you even like about me?-

His laugh covered up the real answer, but his response was enough to shut me up.

"I really like your name.-

A CD and a half later, we became really quiet, it occurred to me.

"You hardly ever say my name. Say my name, bitch!-

By his laugh, you'd guess he was 12. "Hey girl!-

"No...say my name!!!!"I demanded through giggles.

"Hey girl!"We laughed until it hurt.

It got quiet again...... he whispered my name, I closed my eyes...He proved he's all man.

He proved he liked more than my name.

There must be some way to let you go. I thought there was, until you came for your third attempt. Yes, we're imperfect. But we're also supposed to pay for our sins in some way. I will not help you be that person that deals with your stupid decisions. Stay away from me. Who am I to pontificate when I sin too? I tell lies about not wanting you. I need to pay for that. The difference between you and me is that care about you enough to suffer this alone, whereas you decide to take me down with you.

"What do you even like about me?"

His laugh covered up the real answer, but his response was enough to shut me up.

"I really like your name.-

A CD and a half later, we became really quiet, it occurred to me.

"You hardly ever say my name. Say my name, bitch!-

By his laugh, you'd guess he was 12. "Hey girl!-

"No...say my name!!!!"I demanded through giggles.

"Hey girl!"We laughed until it hurt.

It got quiet again...... he whispered my name, I closed my eyes...He proved he's all man. He proved he liked more than my name.

Six unshaven legs rested their ankles on the window sill, a window that pictured a hot sultry sun burning the endless asphalt road. 30 toes getting dress up in candy-apple red nail polish. Sitting on one couch, in their messy pony tails, old stained t-shirts, short shorts, between mouthfuls of chocolate chip cookies they had it all figured out:

"We'll get a Mustang! Convertible, of course. I'll pick the motels.-

"All we need now is a map from the grocery store! I'm driving first.-

"Pacific ocean...here we come!-

They softly knocked heads together with smiles on their avocado masked faces.

She had to start bottling up her dreams before they transmuted into wishes. She couldn't continue wishing her life away. Dream Catcher was pulling over time at her request to screen and store the good ones. She picked the stars vouchsafing her dreams in the evening skies and stuffed them in quaint containers, little trinkets and music boxes. On weekends, if her life lacked color and hope, she would pick one and drink straight from the bottle to fill up with wistful intoxication. But on a daily basis, the wishing addiction was over. Sober, and ready for the nightmare reality.

It's not every day I slip into a delirious fever. And it's not every day I pick up a strange Philipino man at the airport. Call me paranoid if you will, (or if you won't, just listen) but I see a strong correlation between the two events. I'm not crazy about touching people I've never met, but a courteous handshake couldn't hurt me, right? Wrong! Whatever foreign viral disease he carried to the US, let it be known: I was the first to accept and receive its infected germs, for letting down my hygiene guard, in order to be polite.

Both arms went dead limp. All but a wimpy tremble down near the bicep area. The objects in front of her danced a lethargic movement. She tried to grab hold to keep the picture still, but her maneuvering was heavy and thick like putty. Space rippled in waves as she reached for the long thin paper container. Enclosed was the light colored powder to crank time up. The fleshy tips of her fingers ripped apart the edges for many eternities. She heard time creak and moan in agony. She watched the sugar particles sparkle rain into her mouth. She waited.

The band played on in the dim light, through the crowded floor. My eyes concentrated on the main singer. All my body parts were trying to sense you in the swarm of people. I felt a warm slow hit of air at the back of my neck. I knew it was you without turning around. I closed my eyes and swayed to the song. With your arms crossed, your body close behind me, you let them touch my back to ease my mind, sway to the rhythm. But the song was over, the lights came on. You quickly pulled away.

The bitter irony of this life!!! I can't bear it, it's acid to the skin. I don't wait for you anymore...You're right there waiting for me. I pray and beg for the strength to ignore you, to push you away and make you feel rejected, but somehow always end up crying in your arms. For these few moments of bliss I give in. Like a junkie to the blow. There are just some addictions in life we don't want to quit. Let me say I'm glad you haven't quit. But I hope I can be the one to quit you.