Start to finish
it's never over.
Life runs in cycles
for better or for worse.
I subject myself to trying and doing new.
Sometime that means
(more) starting from scratch.
Feeling the icky, crappy, repulsive sensibilities;
the memories; the frozen numbness; the torture.
Life goes on, I must pick up again and keep trying.
Keep connecting, keep the joy, the smiles from a stranger.
Thank you to those who allow me this, gratitude to starting from scratch. I am reminded of how fragile I can be.(less)
"Four years after the war, your grandfather started to build this house from scratch. He spent three years, coming out here on weekends and vacations. He drained his life savings, retirement, college funds for us kids, he lost his wife, family, his job. When everything had dissipated from his(more) life, except for this unfinished dream, he let go. He sat on this porch, right where we are now, and made for himself a noose. See that beam, that's where he tied his rope off. Out here in the sticks, especially during those years, neighbors were scarce, sometimes no one would come around for weeks. And that's how long it took before he was found. A rotting, purple faced corpse, creaking as he swayed, the worst kind of wind chime. So, now you know. Now you know why we're going to burn it down, something I should have done years and years ago. It just didn't feel quite right til now."
Thomas looked up at the beam, and then to the empty space next to him, where he wished his own son could have sat. In one hand he held a butane torch, in the other a can of gasoline.
"It's time," he said to himself, and walked through the front door for the last time.
Break it down and start all over.
Sometimes I wonder if it was intentional just so whoever was left could start from scratch and get it right this time.
The world had gone to hell quickly the last few years before the end.
Politics became a joke perpetrated b(more)y an unchecked-media-gone-wild and it didn't take long before everything was completely out of control.
And then came the government takeover of the health-care system.
Everyone who got the mandatory immunization shots for FLU6X3 quickly lost any shred of desire to do anything at all.
People just began to stop everything.
The employed stopped going to work.
Schools closed as all the teachers stopped showing up to empty classrooms.
Hospitals became a place to fear.
Television and radio was nothing more than static being transmitted, the signal was there but nobody paid attention.
After the financial system collapsed completely a good percentage of the population followed suit. Literally.
They'd been so reliant on the government,so used to being told what to do and waiting around for checks to live off of that they just waited around for death.
Oh they didn't have a wait-for-death-plan or anything like that, they just did nothing to help themselves.
Everyone had pinned their hopes on the government actually living up to their false promises. Meanwhile they were busy ripping off the people blind. It was only a matter of time until the government fell victim to their own nefarious plan. The last rumors anyone heard about the government was that they had gone down to some underground bunker to wait for everyone up top to fade away so they could come back up and start again.
They didn't count on anyone messing with their air-supply.
And I didn't count on my tower becoming a military headquarters.(less)
You know in movies when they show a character writing away before he suddenly shouts, rips out the page, crumples it and tosses it behind him before he starts writing again on the new page? That character doesn’t know how good he has it. I want to start form(more) scratch. I would love to have a blank page.
Currently my page is rather full, filled with words that aren’t words which describe who I am. It is a mess. It is covered with scribbles where I attempted to be rid of unwanted parts that were permanent enough to be written in ink. Silly me. Words never really go away. The memory of them always lingers once they are written. Some lines are repeated either because they are so much a part of me that they deserve it, or because I needed it to be a part of me and fought it. As I said, it is a mess.
I wish I had a blank page. If I did, I could re-word some things and leave out the scribbles. I could fix the mistakes and fill in the details on some of the more important aspects. I could try to make myself better than what I am. But, you know, I have a feeling that a lot of it would be the same. I bet that if I could start form scratch, by the time I got back to where I am now, the page would still be a mess and I would still be me. (less)
She is the girl of my dreams. Everything that I strive to be she already is: Mature, Independent, Kind and Caring. Often times in the morning I watch her sleep and marvel at how lucky I am. I can not help but smile my little secret smile as I smell her sweet(more) fragrance, kiss her intoxicating lips and sink into the depths of her eyes.
The strangest part is that she is crazy about me too. I don't know what she sees in me, I feel like a dopey kid around her sometimes. Ever since I laid eyes on Shauna I think it's safe to say I loved her, but I was such a slob at the time I knew she would never be interested in me. For months I made really over the top advances on her more for my own entertainment than hers. But I grew tired of being the dancing monkey, being laughed at instead of laughed with. So I locked myself away for several months to undergo a metamorphosis.
I returned to Shauna as a man on a mission. I didn't swear anymore, I had a better job, I dressed nicer, wasn't mean or crude when I spoke to people that had nothing to offer me. I went from gross to charming in my conversation with her, and needless to say, she fell for me.
But I still have a long way to go before I am who I want to become. She is the woman of my dreams, but I am not yet the man of my dreams. I can't commit to her, and I like her too much to just play things out for a while. It's all or nothing, and sadly, I can't have it all. Not yet.(less)
There's a point in our lives where we all realize that we've messed up. A point where we feel that there's no reason to keep going. Like we've messed up so bad that we just can't keep going, that all are friends will disregard us, that life just isn't(more) worth living.
That's when we have to start from scratch. I know that it seems like it would just be so much easier to give up and let youtself die, but believe me. I've been there. I know. It just isn't worth.
I will freely admit that some of your friends. But they won't all go. The true friends will stand by you. They will help you get back up, give you a smile, and they will make life worth living again.
Scratch it all off. Start over. I promise you it will be worth it. (less)
I don’t have the time in me anymore to: add, subtract, multiply, or divide my way into your brick wall. Go bury yourself my Fortunato, and then call me like you do, when you realize that you want back in.
Yes, I’ll be there, bloody knuckles and all(more). I might even be there with some words of my own, ready to say that I am slowly learning to leave you out.
That sometimes when one’s heart begins to itch, it would be wise, to start from scratch. (less)
Mother used to make my lunch every morning, and if I gave her any lip about it that evening--usually something like, to her question of how my day was, Well, lunch was the same old boring thing I'm tired of peanut butter sandwiches Can't I have money for hamburgers?--she'd(more) say this:
First, the ground had to be prepared for farming.
No, wait, first there needed to be a ground at all: Earth had to be created. But I'm not going to get into all that--how long it took and what had to happen for it to even be possible for Earth to come into being; they're teaching you something in school, right?--but you can imagine, can't you? The enormity of what had to happen.
Including the idea and then the actuality of people, thought, language--or language, thought--fire, the domestication of wild foodstuffs . . . Anyway, we get to farmers farming and readied soil.
Now, we have the wheat and the peanuts that we need to get seed for and plant and tend and harvest.
Oil. Well, we probably would like to produce that ourselves, but it's quite a lot of work. I'll settle for sourcing that out, but now we've added business skills to our to-do list.
Let's see--this is a pretty simple sandwich, you're right. But we still need at least salt and yeast--where do those come from? Go get the S and YZ encyclopedias.
Oh, and access to clean water! she'd call.
My mother was right. Can you imagine how she managed to do all of that for me, and run the rest of the household, and work outside the household, and still dream of one day earning her college degree?
Today, fifty years later, please stand with me to celebrate one of your most amazing classmates.(less)
The only evidence that someone might've occupied this space were the pictures markings left behind from her old photos she proudly hung.
Once upon a time.
Like trudging trough molasses, she(more) made her way to a certain side of the room.
She avoided this space, yet was in here anyway. Norma's eyes began to water.
This area; this bedroom!
Norma slammed her palm on the bare white wall, caressing it, glaring at it, hoping, by some miracle, it would burn.
This bedroom held too many memories for her.
"This wall," She told herself "This wall is where by babies were, that night. Frighten. Without me,"
The growled, suddenly she frantically ran into the living room, kicking over the trash. Her eyes widen when a framed picture of a couple fell out, smiling gleefully back at her.
The couple had just been married.
She yanked the picture from the floor and hurled against the white wall. "BUT YOU TOOK THEM AWAY FROM ME!"
Hearing the commotion, Norma's sister, Beverly, rushed into the room, gasping at the sight of her sister curled up in a ball, sobbing hysterically.
Beverly bend down to her baby sister, stroking her hair, whispering words of comfort.
"That wall," Norma pointed out with a shaky index finger " T-That wall was the wall where he shot my ch-chil-" She buried her face in her sister's chest "They stood right there when he shot them. DEAD!"
Beverly sighed, wishing desperately to take her sister's pain away. But all her sister could do was to let time do its healing, to start her life from scratch.
She gazed down to her baby sister, all four of them were so young.
Could time ever really erase her sister's pain?(less)