Crimson Muse

Today, work is not working for me. This desk is not where I wish to play. I have stories in my head and things I'd like to do. Building ads, generating headlines, formatting words not my own - bothersome. Irritating.

I want to go home and play.
Fashion words to a page.
Edit and move.
Move and edit.
Or snip-snap shots from a camera lens.

New camera, that too is what I need.
New digital camera with changeable lenses.
I miss the feeling of my old 35mm...
...ratty bag filled with lenses and films.
Tripod strapped to my back and rugged boots made to explore.

This tame life I traded for the wild one I used to covet and call my own...
...I miss it on days like these.

My life lived in 40 hour stretches, 5 days a week.

Chocolate Death

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This was lunch. A six layer piece of chocolate death from J and mines new favorite restaurant, Sophia's Italian Kitchen in The Pass. He picked me up from work for lunch and at the end of it, I ordered this. Even though I was cutting it with J's vanilla ice cream...

I think I hurt myself.

Yes, deadly.
This cake is deadly.
Half of it is sitting inside my fridge.

I hear it calling me...

But...I am going to bed to shut it out.

Evil sinners cake.

Show us your favorite flower.

Blue Rose

Friendship

A coworker of mine sent this to me at work. So true, so true. At least, when I give voices to pets both past and present...I imagine that this would be what their journals would look like.

Happy Friday!

Dog Diary

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!

10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!

1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!

7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!

11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

CAT DIARY

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed  hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the  rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to  keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of  escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet..

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet..

I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.

The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The  bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the  guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors  have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

When I first came to Vox I was tagged to do the 5 Things People May or May Not Know About You. And before I let my other Vox persona sort of fizzle into silence, I realized - I never got to the 5th.That was 2006. It's 2008, but in lieu of trying to keep up with a resolution to finish things I start...here's to a finish.

I don't know what it is. Friends joked that it was my special mutant ability. If that's so, well...I'm still a Sidekick. The Cheerleader will not be saved and Sylar will still pop open heads and do whatever it is that Sylar's do. My life in Heroes or X-Men...one I can assure you would be cut short.

I, token brown girl, would sense plausible danger then - SMOOSH!

Scene over. Cut me my paycheck. Off to pay bills. Live, breathe. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It's not really uncanny. We all have it. Do it. Sense it. I just think I never found the 'off' switch for mine. And it serves me well. If I were dumped in a horror movie scenario, I'm pretty sure I'd still be living in the end. Not that you'd notice, I wouldn't be hanging around at the end of the movie having slain horror movie monster. Nay...The Little Brown Girl would have sensed 'Something ain't right in this here town/hills/wax museum/etc.'', stolen somebodies ride and been off to less scary and uninviting places. Some call it cowardice. I call it survival.

My non-plus ability is having a knack for sensing the energies that people, places or things give off. It's not real special. It's not real neat. It's no doubt just a throwback to our hunter/gathering days. But...it does come in handy. In high school and college, my friends often tapped that ability to make sure that our nightly drives didn't wind up with Bambi on the hood. While they had their cheeky little Cop Finders plugged in, Deer Finders, Pet Finders, and other various Varmint Finders - they did not make. So, that was me. Designated Pulse Finder.

I still find pulses. I don't want Bambi hood ornaments or have to go door-to-door to find and tell pet owners...I ran over your <insert pet here>. I happen to adore animals and have fluffy four-legged children of my own. That does not a good evening make or a nice story to share.

So...the other day, J and I were on our way to dinner and I was taking the road near the park. We were chittering and chattering and finding general amusement in the lyrics of music played over the radio, when up ahead, in the road, something moved. It looked live leaves. Leaves from the open trash bags set out on the sidewalk from somebodies newly manicured lawn.

About 8 yards away and bearing down rather quick, my heart started to race and I felt a ghostly sense of giant sized panic. Eyeing the road, our little leaf pile wasn't so much a leaf, but a pint sized squirrel having made his way out of the nest to begin learning what it means to be a squirrel. As winter turns to spring, the roads in The Pass are littered with them. The ones who don't learn quick enough: Cars are not friends.

I drive a Dodge Caravan.
There is no contest.

J, he hates these moments. Those moments where the lady beside him searches frantically for phantom heartbeats, checks her mirrors and makes split second decisions. Because if I'm forced to make a call between hitting other drivers or wheeling over four-legged (sometimes two, we have lots of birds) I'll do the latter. But, if I have to hear the BUMP BUMP beneath my tires, tears. Lots and lots of tears. Though, through all my years of driving...there's never been a BUMP BUMP Incident only minor grazings - all of them with happy endings.

So, darn you Baby Squirrel. You Look-A-Like A Leaf. And lucky for Baby Squirrel (and hopefully for Baby Squirrel) he learned that Vroom Vroom's are not friends. So at final moment, no traffic neither to the side or behind, I veered to the right, planting J's face against his window while I and the squirrel shared the same sorts of facial expressions. He Look-A-Like Dis:

Ahhhhhhhhhh!

He look-a-like dat smack dab in the middle of the road, right on the line, I look-a-like dat making the same sound behind the wheel, and J...he look-a-like dat with his face smashed against the window. I stopped making that face and sound once the squirrel collected his wits and scampered out of the road to safety. We would later make the same faces and do the same noises over dinner.

So yeah, that's me. Your happy (sometimes screaming) energy/pulse finder. Gotta pulse to find, dangerous strangers to avoid in the dark, or furry hood ornaments you want to avoid - The Ninja Chick, she's your girl.