Per my promise

Here’s the next piece of writing for you, babe. I created a tumblr so that I could keep my character’s stuff together. Meet Viveca Leigh Gideon, a character I’ve created for World of Warcraft (retail) on Wyrmrest Accord.

Roses and Dandelions

If such things as crystal balls that conveyed the past existed, and a person of wilful mind could gaze into the abyss within and view a person’s existence, then one could deduce that Viveca Leigh Gideon lead an extraordinarily dull yet fortunate childhood. Born in April some twenty or so years ago, a snow white babe if there ever was one made two proud parents of Rose and Jachaery Arterton. Since her conception, the pair had found nothing but luck in their lives. During pregnancy, Rose hardly fell ill, and though her husband insisted on bed rest in the end, it’s said that she could walk about, work the gardens, and keep the kitchen going without much fuss. There were no unusual complications during the birth of Viveca, their one and only daughter, and she took to the breast without any inconveniences. The babe was hardly ever sick, and she was without collick. She slept through the night, and grew to each upon routine. The sound of her father’s laugh was hardly matched by the song of her mother, and both aided in keeping the child mostly happy throughout the formative years of her life.

Though they never had enough to dress of value or buy frivolous things, Viveca’s parents did well to be certain she wanted for nothing. The thing was, though, that Viveca hardly seemed to want much more than they had. From her mother, she learned to garden, learned the plants and their uses. From her father, she learned to fight. He refused to teach her with a blade, but unarmed, she could get in a few punches before fleeing for her life if the situation rose for it. Growing up, she knew she would take over the apothecary of her mother’s creation and Viveca accepted this with hardly any resistance.

For years, the Artertons appeared untouched by time, fame, or wealth. Kingdoms fells, Theramore Isle grew stronger, and the Kul Tiras were proud members of the Alliance still. The first mark of tragedy to fall upon the happy trio was the assumed loss of her father, one of many who sailed in the fleets for the Alliance under the Kul Tiras banner. Though Viveca, in a morbid fashion, had been prepared for the potential loss of her father ever since she truly understood his line of work and the risks involved, Rose Arterton took this news hard. She was never quite the same.

This left Viveca to man the apothecary, to seek the sales. She had to use the soil herself, will the plants to join her in keeping up the family’s money, cook and clean in a house meant for three, and into growing from a young girl into a woman, she had to keep up her guard for would-be suitors. She could not bare the thought of leaving her mother behind, and there would be no guarantees she could get her to join her wherever she went. It would just be best for all involved if Viveca let that part of her life slide by.

However, even for the luckiest of us, life has a funny way of forcing a person along when they become too stagnant.

The man she came to know as Arrick Gideon entered her life in the same way many greet Theramore Isle, a boat. Though he never gave her a clear answer on why he happened to be there that day, the moment they met, he insisted he never wanted to leave without her. The prospect of her daughter getting married seemed, for a short time, to heal Rose Arterton’s grief. Infatuated with the pair almost as much as they had become infatuated with each other, none were surprised by the announcement of their engagement.

This, though a joyous occasion altogether, was the first major decision Viveca would make for herself.

When Rose claimed she would keep up the apothecary there, Viveca left her stubborn mother in Theramore and sailed back to the Eastern Kingdoms with Arrick. Across the sea that took her father, Mrs. Viveca Leigh Gideon was eager and anxious to take on the new responsibilities of being someone’s wife in a land she couldn’t remember ever having seen before, in a family she’d never yet met.

With luck ever on her side, any tension or ill-will addressed to the woman who would steal the heart of Arrick Gideon while he was away from his rather close family was cast aside as soon as they met her. Together with her husband and the land his family owned in the Redridge Mountains, the life the newlyweds led was busy, but not unusual. Arrick, as it turned out, was an explorer who’d dreamed of reaching the unknown areas of Kalimdor as soon as travel there was safe and resources readily available. He was not so much interested in discovering new land as he was procuring rare items and artifacts, learning rich history, and studying the affects of the ancestors on the likes of Azeroth. Much like the relationship with her father, Viveca’s love for Arrick only solidified further when he was away and burst with enthusiasm when he returned.

In the months that he was gone, Viveca grew close to the soil of their land and began to work it once more. As soon as she’d sprouted this idea and grown comfortable with the life she now had… Once again, life forced a hand.

Rumors of Theramore’s destruction came swiftly to her hears in waves of people having found out sooner than later, and even aftermore. Well wishes and condolences were sent to Viveca on behalf of her mother’s death counted among the others, and worry grew in the pit of her stomach for the sake of Arrick’s life.

Fortunately for the Gideons, Arrick appeared to be no where near the catastrophes that took place during and just after Theramore’s demise. He returned home the following winter just in time for Winter’s Veil, and since the recent events and then the cataclysm that shook the world, the lovers decided home may be the best place for him to be until stability was a part of their every day life again.

And so the garden and apothecary they grew only flourished in Lakeshire, where Viveca set up post once a week and made decent enough profit to continue living. Over the years, Arrick’s own parents and extended family began to perish. Some to the war, some to the events of the world, some to taking risks beyond their expertise. Yet, Arrick remained alive and for Viveca, this was all she could ask for.

Enter in the most recent invasions of the Burning Legion and you have yourself the backdrop for another unfortunate event in the otherwise extraordinarily lucky life of Viveca Leigh Gideon.

To be continued…

And then, to make things current:

Poor Unfortunate Souls

The latest invasions from the Burning Legion last season came, conquered, and destroyed thousands upon thousands of lives in the blink of an eye. One moment, time stood still and while life wasn’t absolutely perfect, it wasn’t a tragedy for just one fucking minute on Azeroth.

But, like all good things, Arick’s life came to an end before Viveca’s eyes.

“Travel to Westfall, he says,” Viveca teased her husband from behind the caravan. The pair were on horseback riding alongside a cousin’s caravan as they took to Westfall in hopes of taming land that was otherwise recognized as untameable. Jokes had been made about the poor condition of Westfall’s soil, and even further serious comments had been made about how this had directly affected the hunger strike in the countryside. Surrounding the pair and the caravan of luggage were a dozen or so volunteers to guard them, though all would be paid if Arrick had any say in the matter. Beggars with haunted faced and swollen eyes looked up on them as they passed, and the bravest of these even bothered to come closer with anger. They never made it far.

“It’ll be fun, he says,” she continued to tease him, and only when he looked over his shoulder at her and tossed the blonde mane of his did she smirk up and blow him a kiss with her gloved palm.

“Come now, country living has done you wonders. You went from some sea urchin to a right farm girl in no time.”

“I can hardly claim our garden a farm,” Viveca laughed up at him with mirth, shaking her head. “And there’s a difference, darling. This place has.. little hope. It would take a miracle, more than that to get it back on it’s feet.”

“It’s their choice where my cousin decides to start and waste away his inheritance. We aim to serve our family, remember?” His horse, on command, lingered back a bit to walk in stride with her mare.

“Yes, I remember,” she confirmed.

“If it bothers you that much, we’ll see to it that we return home swiftly,” He reached for her hand with his, and between the pair of horses, they lifted their arms and locked digits. “Maybe,” he added with a wink, “we’ll pick up a few animals on the way. Make it a real farm, eh?”

“And where are you going to keep a few extra farm animals?” The dark haired woman’s laugh almost grew to a pitch that would disturb the evening of sleeping homeless and helpless people, and thus, her husband brought a finger to his lips to remind her.

“We’ve got an extra room in the upstairs, don’t we?” He lifted a brow at her, his voice lower still.

“You’re going to keep chickens and a mule upstairs in the spare bedr–” She began, but realization set in on her hard and fast. Her eyes went wide with admiration and her heart threatened to burst louder than their voices could ever have been. “You don’t mean?”

“I do,” He nodded to her.

It had been a point of conversation at once point, certainly, but between the pair it had been decided the world simply wasn’t worth raising a young boy or girl in until it was a bit more stable, safer. They were waiting, though exactly what for, Viveca had never known.

“And you think now is the proper time?” Viveca questioned, her heart in her throat with all her hopes and dreams.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” the tone of his voice grew firm, serious. The blonde brows that knitted on his face were a telling sign that he’d already made the decision and wouldn’t be swayed. “There’s no point waiting for a world that will never be perfect. Our world wasn’t perfect when we were born, you know.”

“Oh, Arrick,” She breathed, straining to keep her voice quiet despite how loud she’d wanted to shriek with delight. “I agree! I mean to say, we should! When we get back, then?”

It was one of those moments where the light in her eyes threatened to stay there forever, daring the world to throw whatever it could at them for she would never falter in her faith.

The world listened, or, someone from another world did. The same sky that caused her eyes to glitter with joy grew dark, disturbed and outlined in green. Funnels from deep clouds above sprung from the heavens and pulsed into the ground all around them as demons of all shape and size began to walk through various portals all about the countryside.

“Go! Go with her, now! Eight of you go, and take her back!” Arrick wasted no time with the orders, and Viveca both loved and hated him for it.

In protest, despite the fear that prickled her spine, she began to slide off of her horse and run towards him in defiance. His horse led a charge to speed up to the caravan and attempt to turn it around, to take it to safety where there was none. As her feet hovered above the ground, a hand swooped in and gripped her by the waist, pulling her up into the air and pinning her to their chest. Another arm grabbed at her flailing legs, shouting at her of all the times to be stubborn, this was a time to flee. “He’ll be joining us. He’ll be right there. He’s going to meet us in Goldshire. Let’s go, m’lady!”


No one, not even Viveca could convince herself that anyone would be there to reclaim her from Goldshire. This last memory with her husband would be all she had left of him in Redridge.

I want flatlands
I never cared about money and all its friends
I want flatlands

I want flatlands
I don’t want precious stones
I never cared about anything you’ve ever owned

I want flatlands
I want simplicity
I need your arms wrapped hard around me
I want open plains and scattered trees

I want flower fields
I want salty seas
I want flatlands soft and steady breeze
bringing scents of lined-up orchard trees
dripping heavy with pears and dancing leaves

I want flatlands
will you go there with me

when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s always there
when it’s dead in our heart but your mind is unafraid
when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s never coming back
when it’s there in your heart in your mind you set it free

Love you,

Kettle

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May Resolutions Review

Hey B.

Let’s see… a little check up on my resolutions and how they’re going… ?

 

Week One Jan 3-9 : No more sodas. (I feel like this is super reasonable. I love tea and everything else just as much if not more.)

HAH. I think I succeeded on this one, but it didn’t last long. *sips her Dr. Pepper*  Maybe I should get back to work on this one.

 

Week Two Jan 10-16: No more candy. (This will be so difficult at work.)

You know, this one stuck. I don’t eat candy, really. I am chewing gum lately to trick my brain when I get anxiety, but that’s about it.

 

Week Three Jan 17-23: 6 of 7 days, cut out fast food. (This includes breakfast. Oh, that will be so difficult. I am going to practice Week One and Two.)

HAHAHAHAHAHA…. I really need to fix this. I mean, to be fair, since I bought my lunchbox, I have been having mainly sandwiches and water. But, for breakfast, ugh. I still swing by Chikfila and throw away my money. Not only is it not good for me, but it kills my bank account. (More on Finances later.)

 

Week Four Jane 24-30: Pescetarian again. (Only Fish and Poultry for the meats.)

For the most part, I have done this, though I admit to having Black Forest Ham on my sandwiches. RIP.

 

 

 

New goals for this month? Let’s see.

For the first time, ever, Matthew and I are trying Envelopes as a way to manage money. It’s been pretty great so far because we physically see the money we have and don’t have before we make financial decisions. This is only week one, but it’s already made me that much more conscious, so I’m hoping this one sticks.

gave up gaming, though this wasn’t a goal of mine. It’s a cycle, I know. I play the games for a bit and then I get off them and back to the world for a bit. This is also not out of any ‘games are bad, mmkay’ rant at all. I love games. Just like I love movies and books. Granted, the ones I play have stories that keep me interested as opposed to shooters and stuff, but oh well. It’s worked out, though. I’ve been watching movies again, tv shows I enjoy, and reading. When doing the hobby of roleplaying, I never feel like I have time to do those things, so it’s nice. It was most horrible when I lead the guild. I felt I had to live and breathe the guild, work, sleep, repeat. Thankfully, I had enough sense to still spend time with Matthew and Elijah outside of it, so nothing was truly damaged as far as my life goes. I am proud I had a handle on that and felt I was responsible. Emotionally, eventually, it took a toll but that’s neither here nor there related to time. In any case, I’m writing now. So that’s cool. 

I have been going to bed around 8-10pm more often than not during the week and in turn, been getting up earlier and feeling more energetic and just at peace. While at first, I panicked thinking OH NO MIRANDA, YOU ARE NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE WITH YOUR ONLY ‘YOU TIME’, but I was. I was choosing health. I was choosing to be well rested so I could effectively kick ass at work and stuff. I was choosing to shower in the morning before work and wake myself up proper. I was choosing to stick to a schedule. It’s fan-fucking-tastic.

In addition, I want to continue my discovery of faith. I swear, every month that goes by has felt so good. I have never felt so peaceful and healthy. I have stopped feeling like I’m a royal fuck up that’s going to die and end up in the wrong place because I didn’t dot my i’s and cross my t’s. I don’t feel like by doing things I have always done, that I am being ‘wrong’ or ‘sinning’ or not ‘good enough’. I just… Ahh. It’s so nice. I don’t like to shit on things in order to make myself feel better. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m imperfect. I still do it. But I am trying not to.) So any Christians reading this, I speak purely and truly to my own experience and life – and nothing of you and your particular stories. I hope they are wonderful, and they are what you need and breathe. You do you, boo. I’m doin’ me.

The last but not least thing is, I am evaluating my relationships. In that mean, I have a lot of codependency issues I am clearing up with myself, and they have with or without my knowledge affected my friendships in some way, be it minor or major. I don’t know who will stick around afterward, who will come closer, or who will have no clue what I am talking about. I am learning about boundaries, and limits, and self-help, and not putting up with shit I don’t care about. At this point, if people who have seen me in my best, in my worst, and in my struggles of sweet ecstasy don’t want to be around … Fare thee well, Felicia. 🙂  

Relationships go two ways. For me, things that are the most important are Communication. Honesty. Forgiveness. If you can’t meet me on at least two of these, then we’re gonna have a bad time.

 

 

Anyhow. That’s me.

-M

Here, have some music.

Movie Review: Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003)

Hi Catie,

Adam and I watched this movie last night along with two others I will be reviewing as well. At around eight or nine in the evening, we began our movie binge with Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas (2003). It’s an animated movie with the leading voices of Joseph Fiennes, Brad Pitt, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Michelle Pfeiffer.

The summary: “The sailor of legend is framed by the goddess Eris for the theft of the Book of Peace, and must travel to her realm at the end of the world to retrieve it and save the life of his childhood friend Prince Proteus.”

My opinion: I love this movie. I loved it when I was a child, and today I still watch it every so often for inspiration of seafaring characters and the random happenstances that can occur when out on the ocean in a world of fantasy.

Naturally, this world is supposed to be Earth, way way back in the day, but alas, something so ancient in history feels like a fantasy to me as I cannot truly empathize what I have not experienced.

The characters are well-thought out. A man who loves his city, his birthright, and holds a sense of honor for his duties.

A man who has never had things easy, yet managed to befriend someone outside of his working class bounds, holds the thief-with-a-heart-of-gold trope, and still rings noble in the end.

A woman, promised in an engagement and prepared for a life she didn’t ask for – yet she’s still strong, and adventurous, and a wonderful role-model of optimism, cleverness, and honor.

This entire adventure was sprinkled with well-placed quips, comedic value, and soul-searching for all ages. I formally rate this movie 4/5 stars.

 

 

 

Dear Catie, my body is a temple.

Catie, my body is a temple.

New International Version
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own;

New Living Translation
Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself,

English Standard Version
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,

Berean Study Bible
Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own;

Berean Literal Bible
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit in you, whom you have from God? And you are not your own,

New American Standard Bible
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own?

King James Bible
What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghostwhich is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?

Holman Christian Standard Bible
Don’t you know that your body is a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,

International Standard Version
You know that your body is a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have received from God, don’t you? You do not belong to yourselves,

NET Bible
Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own?

Aramaic Bible in Plain English
Do you not know that your body is the temple of The Spirit of Holiness who dwells within you, whom you have received from God, and you are not your own?

GOD’S WORD® Translation
Don’t you know that your body is a temple that belongs to the Holy Spirit? The Holy Spirit, whom you received from God, lives in you. You don’t belong to yourselves.

 

I had no idea that that phrase came from the bible. I had heard people say it – usually in defense of staying abstinent until marriage – but I thought it was just a nice way of saying “you are worth more than a careless shag.” Y’know?

Which, to be honest, that always bothered me. Absolutely, a person is worth more than that, but to give a phrase that much power without first ensuring a sense of self worth is hard. Personafying a body as something so holy, so right, so without flaw in God’s image… It truly bothered me to hear things like that because it only solidified what I felt about myself.

As someone who was raped multiple times by multiple people in my life, I began to feel that my temple was destroyed. My temple was no longer a temple, but a ruin. And if my body was to be a ruin, then what did it matter how I treated it? Sure, doll it up, make it pretty, but a ruin is nothing more than a collection of pretty artifacts of the life that lived within before.

Can you see, now, why I began to detest the phrase?

My body is a temple. Was a temple. Is a ruin.

And then, my mind changed. I began to think for myself, and then, I began to read and reread and reread that phrase. I began to see how misused it had been, and how harmful it was as a weapon disguised as a shield.

Now, I realize, my body is a temple.

My body is a gift from God. It is not truly mine, but what I use to walk this Earth in. It is a vessel in which I can experience life in, and what a true gift that is.

My body is a temple, and with it, I realize.. It will only last so long, as all great things will crumble in time. So, perhaps, I should do my best to respect it. To use it to venture forth in to this world. To push it to it’s limits and see what I can withstand with it while valuing it enough to feed it what will nourish, heal, and rest it.

I dunno. This phrase just hit me recently, and it’s made me want to dance.

I got big plans, girl. Big plans. God’s just been waiting for me to see them.

 

xoxo

mojo

Dear Catie, the older I get, the less I care.

I’m not talking empathy. That is still high and I will always feel unmeasurable pangs of guilt, sorrow, sympathy, empathy, happiness… etc. That’s part of BPD. I’ll never be ‘mellow yellow’, but you get used to living with that after a while.

What I am talking about is the older I get, the less fucks I give about things like:

  • How someone other than me parents (as long as it doesn’t hurt the kid)
  • How someone other than me loves another person (gays, bisexuals, etc)
  • How someone other than me lives their life (as long as it doesn’t hurt someone)
  • What I eat, what I weight, and have I told you how much I love my body lately?

  • Where someone lives and the pictures of their ‘life’ they allow us to see on social medias
  • Keeping up on my own ‘social media’.

I try to post enough to let my grandmother not freak out, but honestly, I have found the tools on Facebook considering who is allowed to Follow you, See what you post, etc to be very helpful. I can now feel comfortable that I won’t step on any toes and other bullshit like that when I post things about how I feel with friends who are like minded. My family is southern, conservative for the most part, and not as… progressive? And that’s fine. I’ve learned that I don’t want to change them at all. Let them live how they always have, cause it’s not hurting anyone. While they disagree with gay marriage, they aren’t going out of their way to kill, abuse, or otherwise hurt gay people. *shrugs* And I know that I give less effs about what other people think, but Facebook is full of little ways that people can pipe up with their opinions and disagree with mine and make me feel like, in general, using facebook to share my opinions is a waste of time because they will be shit on every fucking time. (Which is why I hide a good majority of it now from those who do that.) (I’m looking at you, Joseph. I hope he reads this with the same humor as me, but damn, that guy is as much of an instigator as ever. AGAIN, THOUGH, WOULDN’T CHANGE ‘EM.)

  • What people think of me.

A good part of social media for me, way back before I left it, was I put way too much stock in to

  1. What people posted and how their lives that they let everyone see must be all there is to it.
  2. What people see of my life must be perfection, just like theirs, and wtf, why isn’t my life perfection like theirs?

A great part of learning people are full of shit and all about The Game of fronts and perceptions is that I don’t give a fuck to play a game I didn’t realize I was playing. Fuck the rules, fuck the ‘my life is perfect #blessed’ bullshit. I don’t care. I’m glad everyone’s so happy, but they got nothing on my life. Sorry ’boutcha.

And I mean that. You ask on the regular how I am doing, and I feel bad and like a parrot when I repeatedly state: “I’m good. We’re good. Everything’s groovy.” — But it’s the truth. Matthew and I are —

Oh wait. The readers have no idea about that. Oops. Summary recap.

Matt and I split up last summer in July 2014.

We were fantastic apart. We were nothing but nice and friendly to each other the entire split.

The worst part was divorcing not only him, but his parents. — And that’s a lesson we learned. We were married, but his parents were a heavy portion of our marriage. While, in their own lives, Matt’s grandparents were a huge part of their marriage, they felt that was the norm for everyone – so they including their lives so heavily on ours. I don’t mean ‘come and visit me once an a while’. I mean, where we live (apartment vs house), how much we pay, the city we live (was 7 minutes from their house), how often Elijah sees them else we hear about it, the things we spent our money on, keeping up appearances and visiting extended family at functions, going to the lake and outdoorsy things all the time when the weather allows.

None of these things are awful traits. They honestly do it because they care and that’s how they know how to care. They have always wanted what is best for Matthew and I, and if it worked for them, it must be ‘best’, right? I used to be so frustrated and angry with them and the way I feel they personally drove more stress and anxiety in to my life – in to Matt’s life – and then, in to our marriage because they ultimately ended up pinning Matt and I against each other on the regular. It was so unhealthy — but they aren’t solely responsible.

Boundaries are important, and if Matt and I never speak up, and never hold up to our end of the fence post, then they would never know where the boundary began.

Anyhow, so they were hard to divorce because they were hurting and I was the one to blame and blah blah. It was pretty ugly there, but I remained trying to be as nice as humanly possible because that’s how I was raised, and I didn’t want Elijah to think Nana and Pops were some horrible people. They’re not, and I don’t want him ever to think they’re anything than super heroes in his eyes.

Matt and I dated other people. Our paperwork wasn’t filed yet, but damn, do you know how expensive that crap is? You do, cause you’ve done it, but we agreed that we were both divorced, that neither would use in court some adultery charge if we were to date before we filed, etc etc. So we agreed to date others. We didn’t live together, we dated, we would occasionally update each other on how that was going, and we became best friends again. It was amazing.

And then, one night we decided to take Elijah out to eat together. And then we took him back to Matt’s place. And then I didn’t leave, and we fell back in love. It went something like this:

The most important thing I took from this separation is: We grew up.

We were not so focused on the other person, and would they still like the other person if we liked this or didn’t like that, or had a preference to this or that. We weren’t able to grow up healthily in our former relationship, between each other and his parents. I wasn’t allowed to feel comfortable, and feel like I wasn’t some freak because I didn’t like fishing like the others did. Or that I preferred to read. Or whatever.

We got to grow up when we were apart, and dating again was complete and total new territory. We were different people, who loved ourselves, and we went in to this relationship like this:

-Do we feel the same religiously? (Because I gained way more faith when I discovered I was Super Mom as a single mother)

-Can we communicate? (A huge problem before, where Matt would rather bottle things up than speak up about them at the risk I would blow up at him — and I would definitely blow up at him at every chance, with tensions so high.)

-Can we be our own people, but also still love each other? (I’m sorry, Matthew, but Grunge was so hard for me to pretend to like. While some is fine, I just can’t get behind Sound Garden. It’s not my jam, mannnn.)

-Can we be us, and not let anyone else intrude on our relationship? (We decided, if this would happen, that this time around we would gently let everyone know that it’s us against the world. Just us.)

Naturally, we came to an agreement. We dated in secret for a while, because while we can forgive each other and fall in love all over again as new people — everyone else that we knew in our family would likely be confused, hurt, and not know what the fuck was going on. I was definitely worried for his side of the family, who had every right to be bitter I feel. I was never worried for my family, though. They’ve always loved him and his family. I half expected a celebration — one that will come.

When we eventually came public, Matthew told his parents and informed them as gently as he could that it was he and I, and that this time, while he knows they love him, he would do his own thing with me. They didn’t quite understand, and he tried to explain, but again. That may be something that never changes, and that’s life. Gotta let it go.

Sooooo. Long story short, we’re happy. Still. I wouldn’t say it’s ‘honeymoon’ phase, because we’re smarter than that. We know there’s hardship, and we struggle – but our struggles are easier now. They seem so easy. Communication has been key. We both make more money, and love our jobs, which is huge. We live in Frisco — which is perfect for our lifestyles. We go on dates, with or without Elijah, weekly and without having to plan it.

I tell you, spontaneously asking the other person if they wanna go see a Movie tonight and knowing you can afford it without having to skimp on some bill is the best feeling in the world.

But, despite how amazing we are, I don’t like to go in to detail anymore. Why? Well..

  • It’s my life. Our life. And that’s between us. It’s a boundary.
  • Life really is great for us, but rather than post all the damn time about it on social medias, I’d rather people witness it if they’re curious if we’re just as happy as we seem.
  • I don’t have time any more to post on the regular about my life when I’m busy trying to write my book and relax on the small amounts of times I have. I work pretty heavily now (which I love), and Matt works opposite schedules, and Elijah is on a schedule, and while there is always time for the three of us – we don’t back burner each other, and that means things like this and gaming are not prioritized and it’s just hard to keep everyone updated.

I know you ask because you care, and because you can’t just ‘come over and chill’ and witness the glorious harmony yourself, but believe me when I tell you.. Things are groovy. We’re so lucky. No one I know has the love story we do, and let me say, just because it worked out for us, doesn’t mean it will work out for everyone going through divorce. I’m not one of those blindingly positive people who thinks people need to try harder. Not at all.

Also, just because he and I ended up never getting an official divorce on paper, we do consider ourselves divorced in our hearts, because we dated other people and truly attempted to live apart.  We fell out, definitely.

Which means as of today, we consider ourselves Boyfriend and Girlfriend, or dating. Someday, when we decide this is forever, and Matthew asks me to marry him again, we will have a ceremony in which we reconfirm our love for one another — but this time, with God involved, and on a personal scale. But that’s the future.

We’re enjoying the now.

Love you, Pot.

Dear Catie, I’m writing again and here’s a shameless plug.

Sorry I’ve been scarce. A lot has happened, and I’m thankful for our phone calls as of late to keep me from drowning. It’s all good things, and eventually, even better things. In the mean while, I’ve still been writing, and in addition to that, my fellow-author-to-be cousin and I have created a website called WHAT THE PROMPT? in order to spark out writing style. For me, it’s great. I get to create on an outlet that is not my main novel, but I don’t have to stand around for hours for roleplay chances – which used to be my old outlet. Anyway, check it out. Love you, and here’s my first response to the very first prompt:

 

“Let’s pretend the year is currently 1995, and you’re still the current age you are now. You’ve fallen asleep, and you didn’t wake up until 20 years later. It’s now 2015. You’ve missed everything in your 20-year-slumber. Write what happens next.”

-WHAT THE PROMPT?

There are three certain ways to wake up from a good nap. The first one is waking up with an acute awareness, alert as if someone just blew a bugle to remind you your work shift started twenty minutes ago and you missed the alarm. The second is not as panicked. It’s relaxed, but not to the point that you feel you can’t manage to move a limb. You twist as you pop this joint and stretch that muscle. A smile creeps on your lips, a kiss from the sun peeking through your window shades. It’s time to get up, but take your time. Today is a gift.

The third way is so crippling that it’s almost as if you never fell asleep at all. You wake up with more exhaustion tugging at your shoulders. Your eyelids protest the signals from your brain, concerned that you haven’t opened them yet to find that, in fact, your nap lasted much longer than it needed to, and it wasn’t for the better.

This time is the third, and it wasn’t hours late that I woke up.

After what feels like five minutes, i split the shade over my eyes and find myself in the closet I had fallen asleep in. For some reason, I cannot remember why it was that I went to the closet in the first place, or why I had decided it’s floor would be any aid to fatigue I must have felt; the worsened condition I felt now.

I lift my hand, a finger digging at the crust that formed in the corners of my eyelids. Out of habit, I lick the tip of my index finger and begin rubbing underneath my eyes, just in case mascara has made a smudgy home there as it’s want to do. My eyes begin to focus and I can see wrinkles on the back of my hands that weren’t there before. Good lord, I’ve become my mother – not over night – but in a matter of a nap.

I push this thought from my head and rise from the ground on wobbly knees and uneasy ankles, parts of my body that aren’t sure if they can bear the weight of the rest of me so quickly after their rest. My hand clutches the pole that holds empty hangers, all white. There are no clothes on them, nor on the floor where I am certain to keep my dirty laundry despite the overpriced woven basket hamper from Home Goods. The floor beneath my bare toes feels damp, as if recently shampooed. How hadn’t I noticed that before?

I open the door slowly, disgruntled as the light showers me from the darkness of the small, dark room. There are no blinds, no curtains. There is no furniture in what should be my well-worn bedroom. The walls are no longer adorned by painted sunflowers on a dull green backdrop from Lowes. My eyes scan the corner for the stain of coffee that fell from my bed years ago and wasn’t retrieved until last month, when I remembered it had happened at all. The carpet? It was the same color, the same texture, but the stain was gone.

I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I’d opened three more doors: my bathroom, the hallway, and the room to my littlest sister. All remarkably cleaned and remodeled. All notably… empty.

Adrenaline met with the panic that filled my throat, disabling my subconscious ability to breathe. Where had everyone gone? My lungs pumped with oxygen at such a quick rate, I forgot to exhale. I was a balloon, expanding until my head began to ring dizzy. I opened my mouth to call out but only a whisper escaped, “Is anyone there?”

No reply.

I fought the urge to buckle at the knees, to cry out. There was an explanation for this, there had to be. Seek it out. Keep your shit together. It’s just a puzzle. More than likely, a dream. With this newfound determination, I descended the stairs. The banister had been replaced and what had once been carpet covering were now fresh planks of wood stained in a red color that reminded me of bitter wine. More empty rooms. The kitchen to my right was hardly recognizable and had been walled up where an open bar once stood. I don’t bother searching any more rooms on my way to the front door. My assumption is that they are all as empty as I felt. The front door is locked from the inside, and I struggle to pull the deadbolt in the other direction before I hear a successful ‘click’.

I pull the door towards me and open Pandora’s box.