The Dark

I just read Charity Parkerson's twitter post that said:

"Evil lives in the dark--we instinctively know this as children." 

And it struck a chord with me.

I remember being terrified to go into the basement because it was dark. And later because my sister would bribe me like Lucy would Charlie Brown. She would ask me to get her a toy from the basement because she was too "little" and look at me with the biggest brown puppy-dog eyes you have EVER seen--and I fell for it every time.  So I would get to the bottom step, and she would shut off the light, slam the door, and run.

I was afraid to sleep without the hall light on--I still leave the lights and television on when my husband is away.

Everything is much scarier in the dark.  I cannot remember a horror movie where the really terrifying stuff happens during the day.

30 Days of Night is a movie about the town of Barrow, Alaska, that is plunged into a vampire filled 30 days where the sun never rises.  We all know they can only get you after the sun goes down...

Werewolves only 'turn' during the full moon--at night. 

My grandmother would say "there is nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light."  Oh, but Grandma--we can't see what waits for us when the lights are down.

We are told we will see a golden light when we die, leading us to the promise land.

This Little Light of Mine is shining and surely showing our good side.

Saying someone is all 'goodness and light' is self-explanatory.

A book I read about Feng Shui and "clearings" said that spirits live in the dark and the clutter.  The dim areas in our home that collect piles of stuff also harbor ghosts and evil.  We feel uncomfortable there not only because of the mess, but because darker and more base entities have come to roost. There is no motion--and no light.
Read about it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Creating-Sacred-Space-With-Feng/dp/0553069160/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1332779809&sr=1-2

I can't say if these things are true--but I think Charity Parkerson is right.  We DO feel things when we are children and running up the cellar stairs for dear life because we know something growling and dark is nipping at our heels.  But we grow out of these things--we are rational now and we learn to fight these feelings.

Maybe we should listen to our instincts a bit more.  Maybe our inner voice is right--the dark is scary.

Day 57 of 100 Unfortunate Days

Every single basement has a dark corner or room no one likes. Maybe the whole basement is dark and scary. Spirits collect in dark and cluttered spaces. They hide and wait for you because they are stuck. Some people can see them. Some people see the long, thin, black, wispy figures with arms ten feet long that unfold as they slowly reach for you in the dark because you have to go down there to get something or fix a light bulb or retrieve a screwdriver.

Part of you revs up and moves really quickly to get out of there because you know if you wait long enough and the arms fully unfold, they can touch you and then part of you belongs in the black corner in the basement. Then it will be very hard to be normal again. You will wake up in the middle of the night, and you won’t be able to get back to sleep because you will worry about all the things you have done wrong and how you are hurting people.

You can’t get this out of your mind now and you think that maybe if you count and envision each number in your head as you say it in your mind; you can block some of the bad thoughts. Or maybe you can pray—say the Lord’s Prayer over and over and over and God will surely be there to help you because you are saying his prayer. But it doesn’t help.

God doesn’t give a fuck when you are miserable—he doesn’t care if you pray. You can pray until there is blood dripping out of your mouth and nothing will change. God is an asshole that way. Even a relatively rotten person will assist you if you are begging for help, but your thoughts will just revolve through your mind over and over until you want to take a gun like the lead in Fight Club and shoot them out of your head. Maybe someday you will, but for now, you are trying to figure why God is such a jerk-off and you have to live like this.

You wonder why you feel forsaken—well it’s probably because you have been forsaken and you don’t know how to live in that state. Because when you are a kid somebody probably told you everything would be all right, and now you realize they lied. So you keep lying to yourself, telling yourself it’s not such a big deal, but actually it is, because now the dark corners in your basement have started to get darker. And bigger. The arms get longer and longer and pretty soon there won’t be anywhere you can go where they can’t touch you. So you start to drink or take pills or do some other kind of drug so you can’t tell when you get touched. Now the problem is you get touched all the time, but you don’t know it. At least now you don’t care.

Puppy Love

I have loved animals since I was a very young girl.

I loved the idea of having a pet..a bird to sit on my shoulder like a pirate, a puppy to wag his tail when I came home, or a kitten to pet and stroke as it purrs. 

But my parents never agreed to these pets.  We ended up with endless fish (not interactive), and two gerbils (they bit and smelled very bad).

When I got married my new husband and I wanted a puppy.  I liked small balls of fluff and he wanted a manly dog to take on long hikes in the Watchung Hills and look respectable on walks.

We looked at Huskies, Labs, Chihuahuas, and plenty of others.  As puppies they are all adorable and troublesome, and we ended up with a yellow Lab we named Molly.  I knew instantly this was NOT the dog for me.  She was not cuddly, wanted to wrestle constantly, and I had to clean up after her every time the doorbell rang because she got so excited.  She loved everyone and she was the perfect companion for my husband and son.

And she was a good dog--we just never clicked.

My son wanted a Sheltie after we lost Molly.  I did not know who had the sadder eyes, my son, or the Sheltie--and Penny the Sheltie became our next dog. 

She's soooo smart.  She understands endless commands and will chase a ball or the sound of sirens if we tell her "go get it!"  She has a beautiful coat and is perfectly trained.

Then I met a tiny Chihuahua named Valentine. 

She is sassy, nippy, cuddly, and practically untrainable.  And for whatever reason I am in love with her.  She does practically nothing "right" according to puppy training books, has ears bigger than her head, and I am happier since I brought her home.

So I want you to know that all dogs are NOT the same.  You should pick the dog or pet that tickles you, the one that makes you smile, the ugly misfit at the pound you cannot leave behind because she pulls on your heart strings. 

You only live once.  Don't get a fashionable pet, or one someone else thinks is great--get the one you love.  :)

Expose Yourself

Writing a book that had elements of me and my personality was nerve-wracking.

I had no problem doing the writing--but when it came to pushing the actual publish button I felt like I was standing on Madison Avenue naked.  I had second thoughts and regrets, felt exposed yet exhiliarted, and the book was not even available to anyone yet.

But there was a stronger need to get the book out than to let the fear win.  It was not an autobiography and I had to remind myself it was NOT a diary--but a study of a dark personality. 

The writing was cathartic and unnerving.  It dug up corpses I thought would surely remain buried.  I had to deal with emotions I almost forgot I had--and then live with them.

Weeks and weeks passed and I realized I could no longer pretend the emotions and situations the book revealed were just a side effect of writing a novella.  So I faced them.  Friends had to deal with my sudden changes in mood.  My blog had become a dumping ground for every angry thought and question I ever had. I am not even going to mention what my poor family had to go through.  (But thanks if any of you are reading this--friends too.)  I also realized who my real friends are--are who are not.  And I made some great new ones while meandering this unexpected path.  :)

Yikes.

After three days of shock, depression, and a dawning of what I was doing wrong and silly in my life--I faced my demons.  Holy #$%.  This was better than psychological rehab.  I'm not saying I am normal and perfect now and I will never do anything wrong again as long as I live--but I am saying that writing that book (100 Unfortunate Days) allowed me to clear the bats from my belfry.

Oh, there are so many cliches, quotes, and sayings running through my head now:

It's always darkest before the dawn.

You must do the thing you fear the most.

Honest is the best policy.

Just do it.

They all apply--and there are more but I will stop here.

So I guess what I am trying to say is expose yourself.  Let the real you out.  Let it scare the hell out of you and tear everything up in its path.  And when you come out on the other end get ready--you will feel like Rip Van Winkle waking up after his 100 year sleep :)

(The image at the top right is the potential new cover for 100 Unfortunate Days--what do you think?)