Is it just the books?

Life is a struggle. Money is a struggle. 

"We want to enjoy life without this stress of money but it’s impossible.  This cycle is never ending."

The only thing that brings me sanity anymore is my books. I often imagine myself as Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I wish some beast would lock me up in a castle lined with stained glass windows.

I want to live in a library full of escapes, full of books, full of different worlds that I can escape to. 
Books have this thing about them.

In A Thousand Plateaus by Deleuze Guattari, it is stated that "A book has neither object nor subject;

it is made of variously formed matters..."

He compares a book to a rhizome, but a book can be anything. For me though, a book is safety, a book is sanity, a book is pleasure, a book is joy.

I've read my whole life. I think it started when I was younger; my grandmother used to read to me. She grew old and sick, but she never minded reading to me. Eventually I grew old enough to read to her, which I like to believe she enjoyed.

                       I want to read to my kids; I want them to get out of reading what I do.

                I want everyone to read more. But that's not happening.

                                         But in a way it is. The KINDLE and the NOOK         

                                         seem to be encouraging people to read more.

But is that enough? Are people reading as a fad, or are people really learning to love reading, to love books? Are they escaping to alternate worlds, or are they reading Fifty Shades of Garbage Grey. But it really is garbage. And somehow it's a bestseller. It makes me think that I'll never be a successful writer. I will not sink to the level of crappy writing just to make it. I'd rather write beautiful stories and poetry that never gets published.

Till then, you can find me in someone else's castle, someone else's story, someone else's happily
                                                                                                                                          ever
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http://almostdone13.blogspot.com/

Sailing and Driving

Driving can be so relaxing, so liberating. I like to drive. I really like to drive by myself. It’s a time to think, to reflect, to be myself.

In fact, the beach and driving have quite a bit in common for me. The beach is also very relaxing. I imagine that driving a boat would be wonderful. The freedom of driving, the peaceful gestures of the ocean, all together would make for a wonderful experience.

As I pulled into my driveway, I laughed as I realized how upsetting driving a car could be, especially when people hit your stopped car. Driving a boat would be better, the ocean had less idiot drivers around.

But imagine being the driver of the Titanic; what an upsetting drive that would have been…

I stuck my key into the front door, turned it left, and back up again. The aroma of my mom’s chicken filled my nose and I smiled. I liked being home, sometimes.

“Hey sweetie, dinner is almost done,” she yelled from the kitchen. I loved my mom, no matter how much I acted like I didn’t need her.

Sometimes I resented her for not having the money to support me through college—

“There is no use being alive if one must work. The event from which each of us is entitled to expect the revelation of his own life’s meaning - that event which I may not yet have found, but on whose path I seek myself - is not earned by work.” ~Nadja, Breton

I often struggle with the need to be free of responsibility. So many of my peers seem to be free of responsibility, at least to the degree that I feel. What’s the point of responsibility. I guess there are two possibilities.

1. I could be over-working myself for nothing.

2. One day, all of my work will pay off. All of this stress I put on myself is going to be worth it. I’ll already know the value of a dollar. I’ll already have my work ethic. I’ll get a job over someone who got to goof off throughout high school and college.

Hopefully option two will become reality and I’ll get to retire and buy a boat and just hope my fate doesn’t lead me to the titanic.

http://theunfamiliarr.blogspot.com/

Unfamiliar Encounters

Mom is going to kill me. A car accident? What am I supposed to do? Stay in the car. No, that’s stupid. Get out. Oh no, the girl from the other car is getting out. What if she’s some crazy killer, like a modern-day Victor Kelly? There are people like that out there, in the right neighborhoods. Better said: the wrong neighborhoods. I need to lay off the murder novels. Resurrection Man had been giving me nightmares for a while anyway. Not everyone was bad. Just get out of the car.

With much hesitation, I unlock my door and open it, shaking. The girl is almost to my door. What am I supposed to say?

“Hey! I’m like so sorry.”

I was frozen, I couldn’t move. Was this my fault? Had a stopped short?

“Are you okay?” She dangled her keys in one manicured hand, the other arm was crossed across her chest. She looked about my age, and the Greek letters on her shirt indicated that she must have been attending college, whether it was local or far away, I had no idea; I didn’t care.

I shook my head to let her know that I wasn’t in shock, even though I was. She had a designer brand purse and high heels on. She looked like one of those girls that was handed everything in life, as long as she did what daddy said. Get these grades, apply and go to this college, major in this, and I’ll make sure you get a nice job at my law firm when you graduate. The best part is, you don’t even have to work through college.

Not me, my life wasn’t pre-planned out like that. I was walking blindly through life, never knowing where I was going to end up. The girl was still talking.

“…so I don’t think we should call the cops. Kay?”

“You hit my car. We have to call the cops.”

“But daddy will be so upset and it’s not like there’s any damage.”
“We don’t know that. We need to at least trade insurance information.”
I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this girl. I agreed and watched her zoom off in a car that probably cost more than a college education.
http://undertherooseveltbridge.blogspot.com/

“I’ll pay whatever damage I did. Just don’t tell the insurance companies or the cops.”

Train Stop

The air outside was growing cooler and the breeze was blowing harder. 

I should go home. As I let my eyes take a final picture of the setting sun over the ocean, my ears caught the laughter of a small boy. He was with his parents. They looked like they had spent the day on the beach with their ivory skin turning red.

The boy looked like he was 10, full of life, and happy. He was innocent, unknowledgeable of so many hurtful forces of this world. I envied him.

"Alright, it's time to go," the boy's father said.

"But dad I don't want to leave," the boy replied.

"If we leave now, we'll have time to stop and get a churro."

Without a word, the boy immediately ran in between his parents, broke their united hands apart, and took his mom's left hand and his dad's right.

That boy must really love churros.

            I made my way up the sand, down the boardwalk, up the stairs of the 100-year-old parking garage, down to my car, Sabrina. The sound of the engine was no louder than usual, but it startled me. I had spent the day on the beach, which seemed to quiet down as time got closer and closer to sunset. I considered stopping for churro, but decided I wanted to get home, and I wasn’t in a position to be spending money needlessly. As I pulled around a corner, I saw that the light at the railroad crossing was turning red.

            Of course. My timing is wonderful. That light was almost always green, except when I wanted to pass through. I threw Sabrina into park and turned my music louder; trains can be really loud, and I found Mumford & Sons to be more audibly appeasing.

           

I let my mind wander, but it kept going back to the family I saw on the beach. They were so happy. Must have been on vacation. No one could be that happy in this town. Not me at least. I guess churros from that place on A1A made it slightly better. I couldn’t wait to break free from this town. To get my own place and start my own life.

My car thrust forward, just slightly. My heart felt like it had stopped. I was still in park. The train was still passing. A small silver sports car was in my rearview mirror. Should have gotten the churro.

http://hotdoghysteria.blogspot.com/

The Fortress

     My toes sunk into the cool sand. The aroma of sea salt was overwhelming but I was a native; I was used to it. Voices of tourists invaded my ears. The sky was dark, only lit by the few innocent stars and the radiant full moon. This is where I came to forget.

     I was alone, in the eyes of everyone else, but there was more than that. Walls surrounded my brain that kept everyone out, except for the few I chose to let in. My eyes fell shut as I tried to let go of every emotion I felt. Every love I’d ever felt, every tear that had ever fallen, everything that had ever made me sad. But they refused to leave. My emotions, my memories (the good and the bad) clung to my heart and my brain, and they were here to stay.

     I’d been on this sand so many times before; I felt a connection, as if the sand knew who I was, where I was from, and everything else about me. The sand knew me and it knew brief stories of the many trespassers that marched on it.

     The waves crashed on the shore like they were trying to escape the wrath of the sea; I tried to focus on them. Just like I felt, the waves were constantly under attack of an unknown force, as they raced to the shore for safely.

     The wind blew my hair across my face, mixing the scent of the salty water with strawberry shampoo. I found it interesting that two things that were so different could come together and still seem like they belonged.

     I longed someone to come sit with me. The passing strangers each had a story to tell, and I wanted to hear them all. But mostly, I wanted to tell my own story. I just had no one to tell it to.