I am not afraid to die –
but I am not yet
unafraid of living.
I’m not sure I have ever written truer words than the 3-line poem above. This little gem came to me while taking a bath last night, so I repeated it to myself like a mantra until I got out of the tub and could write it down.
It is true that I am not afraid of death. I am a bit afraid of the actual feeling of dying, mostly because of the instinctual anxiety I fear it would bring. However, I am not afraid of being dead. In fact, I rather look forward to it. If there is something after death, it will be awesome to explore and find out what else is out there. If there is nothing after death, it will just be like the times I have passed out or been put out for surgery…simply a loss of consciousness which often sounds like a relief in itself. No more worrying. No more pain. No more anxiety or depression.
However, living is scary. Knowing I may have years and years of dealing with anxiety and depression ahead of me. Knowing that I will likely suffer from chronic pain and chronic illness until I die. Knowing that my degenerative conditions will likely worsen with time. Fearing that my husband may get sick or die and I will be alone. Fearing financial ruin. Fearing homelessness. Fearing potentially abusive situations. Fearing the entire planet going to shit (a justifiable fear from my point of view). Fearing that I may end up committing suicide if life becomes unbearable (not the ending I would desire for my life).
Tomorrow I have a dentist appointment and haven’t been feeling too good anyhow, so thought I would post tonight. Here are a few more elfchen poems for your reading pleasure (with a few slight poetry form rule breaks lol):
electric slide feet
first and head banging.
off a rocky
ocean shoreline, lonesome
blaming others for
your own bad ideas –
Here is my tweet-sized entry for this week’s photo prompt Twittering Tales challenge:
The train draws near in a cloud of fog – the headlight shining through the mist just enough to illuminate the faces of those waiting to board.
I tip my hat downwards to hide my own expression. I do not want to see. I do not want to be seen. Human attachments will hinder my plans.
She could never let me sleep.
That would put us
on equal footing
and allow me
to be fully awake
she would sneak into my room,
shake me awake
and cry loud, calculated tears
while I practiced
hiding my true feelings
and tried my hardest
to become a limp, gray rock
held barely out of reach.
with the hair
on their heads
(Poetry by Maranda Russell, marandarussell.com)
The prompt for this week’s Twittering Tales writing challenge immediately brought back sad memories of an ill-fated tour of a great entertainer (one of my all-time personal favorites), so I went with it. Here is the photo prompt and my entry:
“It was meant to be my swan song. I pulled out all the stops…the moonwalk, the sequins, the white glove, the gangster getup for Smooth Criminal.
It was the only chance my children would ever have to see me live on tour. When I said This Is It, I meant it, but it came too soon…”
I wanted to add the video and song by the same title as well. It is a beautiful, though sad song and the video features footage of rehearsals for the tour that never was…
While reading a book called “Flash! Writing the Very Short Story”, written by John Dufresne, I came across the writing form called a abecedarian. This writing form is where you write a story or other form of creative writing where each new sentence starts with a new letter of the alphabet, going sequentially from A-Z of course. I thought it sounded fun and tried it myself, with a creative writing piece I call On Climate Change:
Another world is not an option. Before we give up on this one, let’s at least put up a fight.
Clean up your mess. Don’t think you can cut corners. Everyone has to learn to work together. Failing to do so, may lead to the annihilation of us all.
Give up the fossil fuels. How? Imagination – learn to use yours. Join together, share ideas. Keep trying. Let no temporary failures steer you off course.
Make clear the risks we face. None of us live alone, quit acting like we do. Open your eyes, open your mind, open your heart.
Practice makes perfect, but persistence wins the game. Quit fighting each other and fight the corrupt system. Right the wrongs that have persisted too long.
Stop worshiping consumerism. Turn your trash into treasure. Undo the damage our selfishness has created.
Voice your appreciation for the strong, proud nature of our mother planet. Watch how she rallies to protect her own. X-ray her heart and share the joy you find within.
YOU hold the future in your collective hands. Zealously protect and celebrate your beautiful home while she is still beautiful.
I hope you liked this little writing exercise. It was indeed fun and I think I might try it again sometime and maybe do a fiction piece.
Not many 10-year-olds
could be hit
by a speeding
while crossing the street
to tell the tale…
but I always was
a weird statistic.
The truck ran
with the ease
of a speed bump.
I even had the
and imbedded gravel
across my stomach
to prove it.
When I woke up
in the ER
I screamed out the names
of all the people
I was going to sue…
until my mother
bought my silence by
with the promise
of a brand new
(Poetry by Maranda Russell, marandarussell.com)
Here is the photo prompt and my entry for this week’s Twittering Tales writing challenge hosted by Kat Myrman:
Olivia sat on the edge of her daughter’s unmade bed. She ran her fingers over the ridges and bulges of the white blankets. She leaned down to sniff the fluffy pillow at the head of the bed, then laid her head down on it heavily.
She’s really gone. The pain hit hard and fast.
(Note: The photo prompt this week really reminded me of the novel I am currently reading, “The Night Olivia Fell”, by Christina McDonald. So, I stole the character name for the writing exercise.)