So, I stepped on a wall plug. Let me be clearer. I stepped on the upturned PRONGS of a plug.
I was telling my husband a story of how my store manager got my movie reference (it made my day) and was trying to put pants on, after my shower. I didn’t pay attention to where my feet were landing and I stepped on the prongs of an electric razor adapter.
They went in, maybe a millimeter. I initially thought oh it just hurt. Then I looked and there was some skin scraped off. Ok that’s not to bad. Then I looked again a mind THERE WAS BLOOD.
Listen, I’m not afraid of blood, I am a woman after all. I’m also not a wimp when it comes to pain, I’m in some kind of constant pain at all times. No biggie. So, I laughed at myself, because it’s my fault the thing was in the floor, and hobbled myself to my bedroom, after I’d grabbed the first bandages I could find: finger bandaids.
My hubs helped doctor me by finding all the first aid nonsense, including pain relief antibiotic ointment, and gauze pads from when he cut his foot. The kid gets scared of blood and wounds so she backed out. But she did come back to TAKE A PICTURE WITH HER IPAD because she wanted to show my sister. *facepalm*
The problem in all this is that I have to work tomorrow. This wouldn’t be that big a deal IF I DID NOT WORK ON MY FEET. This injury (which is two gashes) is right about where my arch would be if I had one. I’m severely flat footed.
So if it hurts to walk from my bedroom to the bathroom in squishy off brand crocs, then working in my feet for eight hours in hard “ash” New Balance with dead insoles isn’t going to be sunshine and butterflies.
But again, constant pain anyway, and I need to get something besides old gauze and bandaids to hold in on with. Might as well go to the retail establishment I work at. Besides. I’m off day after tomorrow.
I probably wasn’t going to make money off OnlyFeet anyway.
I found the names I needed to start one PFN project. There are 11 total. Those names (first names only) will be in a scheduled post. The person whose name is on that list needs to “vote” for their name if they want to be in the story as a side character/NPC. This poll/post is a scheduled and will post within The next few weeks. I honestly cannot remember the date.
I’m going to be finishing and posting an old incomplete story as a Halloween story. This story was started as a “choose your adventure” type story. It will be posted as a weekly story here on the blog.
As soon as voting as been completed I will begin working on both PFN and the Second Story.
Updates will be posted on thr blog, the Facebook page and group, and some in intagram and Twitter.
If anyone read my super depressing TMI filled post about poop yesterday I apologize. For the TMI part not the depressing part. my feelings are valid.
Anyway, as part of the “quest to figure out what the hell is wrong by with me physically” I stopped-ish drinking Pepsi. Sorta.
On this frustrating quest, I had one or three no four Pepsi’s and Miralax laced coffee. But I’ve tried to drink an ungodly amount of water too. I expected nothing but frequent urination and maybe an improvement of my health.
I have been tracking my intake of Pepsi and randomly for craps and giggles, my weight.
While I’ve not noticed a major difference in my health (I do notice when I have less water), my legs are less swollen, and I don’t get dry mouth as much. I did forget that behemoth of a water bottle this morning so I had very little water, and I’ve noticed a difference in my, “movements”.
Anyway, despite the positive and unhappy change in my carbonated and caffeinated beverage consumption and increase and clear and boring flavorless beverage (I like water actually), I have been, if you haven’t noticed, fantastically depressed.
Honestly Pepsi has been my happy place. And I think I can blame it on mom. But that’s another story. I drank a Pepsi when I was angry, tired, depressed. Mostly at work. I sometimes even drank it just cause I like the flavor.
Now, as I’ve said, I’ve been tracking consumption Pepsi. Not how much but whether or not. I created a little table in my Notes App on my iPhone. I also randomly weigh myself.
In 18 days I’ve had Pepsi four days. This is usually one Pepsi. Mostly a can. Once it was a large fountain Pepsi (the best Pepsi). This, in fact, was the craving. It has been five days since my last Pepsi (Forgive me father for I have sinned).
In 18 days I have weighed myself or have been weight three times.
For YEARS, I have stayed right at 320. I have fluctuated five or ten pounds either way at certain points, mostly shark week. But if I am weighed, whether voluntarily or not, I’m usually right in 320.
Tonight, before I crawled into bed (to start writing this) to sleep, I decided, “Hey, why not add fuel to the fire of my depression induced mental breakdown and weigh myself.
I use an old fashioned analog scale with the little red doodad that points to a number, because I get a different number every time with a digital scale. Plus no batteries.
So I kick off my off-brand Crocs, not for the weight I’d them but because I need to see the scale. I have big feet and they make it worse. I make sure the scale is pointed at zero abs throw my large giggly form on top of the scale and watch the pointer circle round and lap that zero (the scale only goes to 300).
I expected it to land in 320 or higher. My legs are swelled a little, and let’s just say the tunnels need evacuated. But did it land on or beyond 320?
To my utter shock and surprise, no. That little red doohickey sat neatly between 310 and 320. So according to that old janky scale that I’ve had for about a decade, I’m 5 pounds lighter than I was 8 days ago at the doctor.
Now I know that number is what it is because of a combination of water weight and two months of lingering garbage my body should have spluttered out days ago.
But I’m gonna take it as a tiny win. I am gonna ride that short wave like I’m a novice skier on the bunny slopes at a ski resort for the rich and famous. Because no matter how what we do we could all do to celebrate the little things.
Also I’m so sleepy right now I’m typing this with one eye closed. So here’s the screenshot if my notes app.
If anyone read my super depressing TMI filled post about poop yesterday I apologize. For the TMI part not the depressing part. my feelings are valid.
Anyway, as part of the “quest to figure out what the hell is wrong by with me physically” I stopped-ish drinking Pepsi. Sorta.
On this frustrating quest, I had one or three no four Pepsi’s and Miralax laced coffee. But I’ve tried to drink an ungodly amount of water too. I expected nothing but frequent urination and maybe an improvement of my health.
I have been tracking my intake of Pepsi and randomly for craps and giggles, my weight.
While I’ve not noticed a major difference in my health (I do notice when I have less water), my legs are less swollen, and I don’t get dry mouth as much. I did forget that behemoth of a water bottle this morning so I had very little water, and I’ve noticed a difference in my, “movements”.
Anyway, despite the positive and unhappy change in my carbonated and caffeinated beverage consumption and increase and clear and boring flavorless beverage (I like water actually), I have been, if you haven’t noticed, fantastically depressed.
Honestly Pepsi has been my happy place. And I think I can blame it on mom. But that’s another story. I drank a Pepsi when I was angry, tired, depressed. Mostly at work. I sometimes even drank it just cause I like the flavor.
Now, as I’ve said, I’ve been tracking consumption Pepsi. Not how much but whether or not. I created a little table in my Notes App on my iPhone. I also randomly weigh myself.
In 18 days I’ve had Pepsi four days. This is usually one Pepsi. Mostly a can. Once it was a large fountain Pepsi (the best Pepsi). This, in fact, was the craving. It has been five days since my last Pepsi (Forgive me father for I have sinned).
In 18 days I have weighed myself or have been weight three times.
For YEARS, I have stayed right at 320. I have fluctuated five or ten pounds either way at certain points, mostly shark week. But if I am weighed, whether voluntarily or not, I’m usually right in 320.
Tonight, before I crawled into bed (to start writing this) to sleep, I decided, “Hey, why not add fuel to the fire of my depression induced mental breakdown and weigh myself.
I use an old fashioned analog scale with the little red doodad that points to a number, because I get a different number every time with a digital scale. Plus no batteries.
So I kick off my off-brand Crocs, not for the weight I’d them but because I need to see the scale. I have big feet and they make it worse. I make sure the scale is pointed at zero abs throw my large giggly form on top of the scale and watch the pointer circle round and lap that zero (the scale only goes to 300).
I expected it to land in 320 or higher. My legs are swelled a little, and let’s just say the tunnels need evacuated. But did it land on or beyond 320?
To my utter shock and surprise, no. That little red doohickey sat neatly between 310 and 320. So according to that old janky scale that I’ve had for about a decade, I’m 5 pounds lighter than I was 8 days ago at the doctor.
Now I know that number is what it is because of a combination of water weight and two months of lingering garbage my body should have spluttered out days ago.
But I’m gonna take it as a tiny win. I am gonna ride that short wave like I’m a novice skier on the bunny slopes at a ski resort for the rich and famous. Because no matter how what we do we could all do to celebrate the little things.
Also I’m so sleepy right now I’m typing this with one eye closed. So here’s the screenshot if my notes app.
Where I feel like I’m never doing anything right, and will never catch up.
The current state is affairs: I can’t find my child’s brand new bottle of allergy medicine that we just bought so she went without her dose tonight. My house is a wreck and I had no time/energy/gumption I need to do anything about it. I need to work on any of my 9,000 side projects but I don’t have the time/energy/gumption to do that either. My insides are messed up but apparently my doctor thinks that I’m just constipated (I think he is unknowingly being sexist because I knew what I was talking about).
Social media (mostly tick tacks) is reminding me that I’m not good at anything, can’t do anything, and will never be successful at anything. It also reminds me that I will never ever be a teacher ever.
This is me right now. There is no changing it. No matter how hard I try I always end up falling back into the same hole. I don’t know if it’s depression, but I’m sure if I ask my doctor about it he’ll tell me to give it a few days and try to be more positive and see how that goes.
I went to him once because of anxiety and he basically told me to wait and see. The anxiety I was having was due to The Kid’s issues at school and he wanted to wait and see if it improved with school ending. He’ll yes it improved with school ending. Her behavior issues were worse at school, dimwit.
That’s the reason I don’t like going to the doctor. Being made to feel like an idiot because I know what my body should and shouldn’t be doing.
Oh fun fact I found the medicine I was looking for. After I had multiple mental breakdowns that were only slightly related to that.
Being reminded, whether it’s a sign from the universe or not, that you’ll never be anything more than you are, can be devastating to someone who already struggles with wanting more, wanting to be accepted, appreciated, and approved of. By others and by oneself.
The only thing I’ve ever fully accepted about myself has been the fact that I am and always will be overweight. It’s who I am, it’s who I’ve always been. I couldn’t imagine myself if I were not. And I’m not even putting myself down over it. I embrace it. If I do anything that could affect my weight or size it’s because I literally don’t want to die.
When I started having the pain that I saw my doctor for, I first thought it was back related, as I’d been having some issues with it already. When typical self-treatment didn’t improve it (heating pad and ibuprofen), my second thought was much scarier. My kidney. I’ve never had issues with my kidneys, but I had been drinking a significant amount of Pepsi as of late. It’s generally my go-to for stressful days.
So I assumed, of course, the Pepsi was affecting my kidneys. So, miraculously, I stopped drinking Pepsi (for the most part) and started practically guzzling water. I’m currently carrying around an 80oz jug. But when the pain, which would become unbearable, wasn’t improved with more water and less Pepsi, I wondered. I had my husband make the appointment (for two weeks later), if I left it up to myself it never would have happened.
But I realized something (tmi warning) if I made myself poop, the pain was less significant. Still there, still lingering, but not something that had me wanting to burst into tears while I did price changes.
I had stopped taking a stool softener a few moths back as it seemed to stop working. But once I realized that it might be the problem, besides mentally preparing myself for a colonoscopy (it was only a matter of time I figured) I tried Miralax.
If you don’t know, Miralax is a general powdered laxative you mix with any beverage. It’s supposed to help you go and soften your stools. I’ve used it before. In fact, the last time I’d seen a doctor he put me on the stool softeners and Miralax until the issue cleared.
But did my current doctor want to do a colonoscopy? Nope. Not even with my family history of digestive issues. No. He put me in the exact treatment the last doctor did. But added Metamucil (which, by the way, is the most uncomfortable texture of “drink”. I do not recommend) every morning.
Now, I’m gonna be 100% honest here. I haven’t stuck with his plan to a T yet. Everything else that has me distracted in my life right now, I’ve been extremely inconsistent (this isn’t unusual). But my fear is that if I do, I’ll go from one extreme to the other. And I don’t want that.
But, I was being spiteful the other day. Not only did I take two stool softeners at once, but I made myself a delicious cup of iced coffee (honestly it’s not really coffee once I’ve violated it with additions), but I stirred in a cup full of Miralax. I figured a double dose of “go go juice” with help me.
Well, the only thing I got out of the iced coffee besides delicious flavor was a rapid heart rate. I practically chugged the last quarter of the cup, too. It was delicious, though.
But Crystal, where’s this “never do anything right” nonsense?
Well, that, my dear friends, is work. The only job I’ll ever have. And I’m not even good at it. You see, in my retail establishment I work in seven areas. In those seven areas there are technically about ten departments total. And only one me. I have two direct supervisors and there’s one other co-worker. For all those areas. And we don’t all always work the same days or times.
One of my main tasks is price changes. These drop daily. And sun times multiple times a day. Sometimes there’s just a few. Some days there are over a hundred, in one department. And we get in trouble if there are late price changes. I’m not even sure how long they can go before they are late. Sometimes they drop late.
I managed to get all of them cleared off a few days ago. The last day I worked we had a major establishment-wide task. Everyone had to work on it. When it was over I checked those price changes. In one department there was 113 price changes drop. I had just completed those two days before. Every single department had zero price changes.
And come to find out, we missed something on that Task. My direct supervisor got the brunt of upper management’s rile in that one. Luckily for me, he seemed to understand that I am just one person. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.” He’d said.
I have a whole list of complaints I have with the running of The Establishment that have everything and nothing to do with local or distant bosses. I won’t get into it here, and I’d vowed to not go into detail about work and all its intricacies here.
There are other issues, that have nothing to do with my day job. They are, in fact almost entirely related to this blog. You see, I want to be a writer when I grow up. And I wanna be a maker. And all kinds of things.
But see, I went into this bit thinking, I’m not good enough, I’m too tired, I’m mentally unstable, etc. but the truth is, all of that is my fault. Well, I can’t help being crap at writing that’s just who I am.
But I could do it if I tried. Stopped beating around the bush. Stopped watching short form videos on my phone (which I think is causing or contributing to the ADHD of the world).
There was a thought in my head but it flew away like a bored little bird ready for something more interesting.
Oh, the fact that I’m afraid that I won’t make anyone happy. The absolute internalized mental disorder that leads me to believe that I have to make averting happy. “What I’d I write this thing and no one likes if?”
“I’ve taken so long there’s no way that they’re still interested.”
“No one’s ever gonna read it, why do it?
The same goes for anything I make that I want to make money off of, like earrings. Out if ever fifteen pair I make, I might sell two pair. And they’re usually to the same people. I love doing it but why do it just for them to lay around?
This is going on too long. I have a lifetime worth of complaints, and I’ve still got, what, another decade to live?
I got that day job I’ve gotta go to in the morning.
“The king has requested your presence.” These were the first words she heard from anyone outside of her personal staff this morning. It was Alrick, the King’s personal butler. Alrick was a stiff, cold, older gentleman. She had been told he’d been with the king since his father ruled. “The king would like for you to join him for luncheon in the gardens this afternoon.” Alrick said. He then promptly turned on his heel and left the room.
“I suppose no is not an option.” She said aloud. Elamya had been betrothed to the king, Drane, since she was a child. She was raised to be a queen to this man she only met once before their marriage. She was a good daughter and had always done as she’d been told, knowing her only possible future was as a queen to this king.
The night of their marriage was the moment she had been the most nervous for, she’d had butterflies. However, she learned more about King Drane in their brief encounter that night than she ever wanted to know.
“My lady?” Georgina, her handmaiden, who had come with her from her childhood home. “I’m not sure you should go.” Her brows were furrowed, and lips pursed.
“I apparently have no choice, Georgie.” Elamya said, sipping the tea Georgina had just poured. “He is the king, I must do as he says.”
“But he hurt you.” The concern in her voice was palatable. Georgina was the only servant she’d been allowed to bring with her to her new home. Elamya remembered that night, the night that made her hide in her rooms for days. She still had bruises to remind her. Georgina had been the one to come to her aid.
It had been a week. A full week since their marriage and that terrible night. Georgina and her other servants had cared for her, fed her, ensured she had what she needed. Drane had largely ignored her lack of presence at court. He’d sent notes via Alrick a handful of times, checking in. They all contained veiled threats about what would come, regardless of whether or not she left her rooms.
“He has made it abundantly clear what he expects of me, and what he plans to do to me, regardless of how long I choose to stay in these rooms.” She looked around at the opulent sitting room. She’d been given these rooms, and had inspected them the day of the ceremony. She’d been in such awe of the elegance and beauty. With windows overlooking the gardens she had no shortage of things to admire.
“I won’t have him hurt you, my lady.” Georgina could be stubborn, Elamya had allowed it to an extent over the years. Her handmaiden was fiercely protective of her.
King Drane had made zero effort to learn anything about her other than what he’d learned that violent night. One thing he failed to learn was that she’d been taught that she deserves to be treated with respect as does anyone else, and take disrespect from no one. Whether this applied to the king, she wasn’t sure, nor did she care.
“My dear Georgie,” she said, sitting her tea cup on the tray before her. “Your kindness and loyalty is most precious to me. But I do not need your protection.” She said, patting the seat beside her. When Georgina sat, she continued, “but I do need your assistance.”
A few minutes later, Georgina carried the tea tray to the kitchen on the lowest floor of the castle. A heavy weight in her apron pocket thumped against her leg as she’d descended the stone stairs.
She sat the tray to the side with the rest of the morning’s soiled dishes, and surveyed the room. On a table near the stoves was a basket. “Is this the luncheon being prepared for this afternoon?” She asked one of the cooks.
“Yes,” mumbled the cook. “His majesty requested a picnic in the gardens.”
Georgina grasped the lump in her pocket. “I’ll carry it out, ma’am, when it’s time.” She said. “I’d like to assure her highness there’s offerings to her liking.”
“Take a gander now if you like, it’s nearly ready,” the cook said, putting her hands to her hips. “But his majesty has preferences who handles his food. Besides, it’s he who sets the menu round here.”
“Thank you, cook,” Georgina said, and waited for the grumpy old woman to turn back around. She grabbed the lump from her apron pocket and quickly slipped it in under a long loaf of bread. The white cloth of the wrapping hid well in the depths of the picnic basket.
“Alight, get your hands out of there!” The cook had turned, and was about to pull the basket away.
A throat cleared behind Georgina, and she jumped in surprise. “Allow the help to do their jobs, cook.” He said, glancing in Georgina’s direction. “As you’ve been reminded, everyone is replaceable. Even you.”
“Everything seems to my lady’s liking, and smells lovely as well. Thank you, cook. Your work is appreciated.” Georgina made a small bow to both, and turned to leave as the cook grunted in response.
“I do hope everything is to her majesty’s liking,” Alrick said low to Georgina as she passed. “I will send for her when it’s time.”
A few minutes later, Georgina was back in Elamya’s rooms and helping her ready for luncheon with the king. “I’m afraid he saw me my lady.” She whispered, even though they were alone.
“Nonsense, he would have said something immediately.” Elamya wrung her hands as Georgina brushed her hair. “Was it wrapped well?”
“It was indeed, my lady.” She began the intricate twists and braids for the delicate style.
“We must hope against hope that he suspects nothing, lest we both be in more than we could imagine.” Elamya said, closing her eyes.
“I shall take the fall for you, my lady,” Georgina said proudly. “I will protect you at all costs.”
“You are the sister I never had, so I shouldn’t let you do that.” She grabbed Georgina’s hand and squeezed. “Besides, I don’t think I could continue this life without you with me.”
A half hour later, a footman knocked on the door announcing it was time. Elamya insisted Georgina stay in the rooms, and the footman escorted her down to the gardens.
Elamya did as she was taught, and put on her golden mask. A mask of demure and kindness, when inside all she had was fear and something she’d so rarely experienced. Anger.
King Drane’s outward appearance belied what he was really like. He was tall and handsome, with bright blue eyes and silvery blonde hair. The afternoon sun turned it golden, and his wide grin spread across his face. But she could see the sinister in his eyes. The brightness was a facade, like a shining silver mask hiding black malevolence. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“I am perfectly safe,” Drane shooed away the two footmen who stood on each side of him. They reluctantly trotted away. “And I’m perfectly capable of emptying a picnic basket myself,” he gestured halfheartedly to the butler that stood beside the basket. With a quick bow he too, left. And the king and queen were completely alone.
Elamya’s stomach twisted itself into knots as Drane gestured toward the cushioned stools that sat on either side of the small table where the picnic basket sat. She glanced at the basket, and ignored the hand he offered to help her sit. He took the seat opposite her, taking a moment to adjust his position.
She glanced around the gardens, at the lovely flowers that surrounded them. Had the circumstances been different, she would have strolled along the flower beds, smelling each plant, perhaps choosing flowers for a vase in her room. But this was not the time, perhaps she might never have a chance.
“The gardens are lovely, your highness,” she began, still looking at the flowers, but keeping him in her peripheral vision. “Whose artistic vision can be thanked for such beauty?”
“Certainly not me,” he said, halfheartedly, while pouring them both a cup of tea. “I hate flowers. The gardens were apparently the former queen’s work.”
“Your mother? I’m sure she was a lovely woman, I wish I could have met her.” Elamya said, thinking she might have shed a light on his cruelty. “What was she like if I may ask?”
Drane rolled his eyes. “She was a woman, her only purpose was to bear children. And that she did well.” He said snuggly sitting up straighter. “My father insisted he raise me.” He sighed. “Of course a king should say how a king should be raised. What does a woman know of ruling?”
“A sight more than you’d expect, I’m sure.” She thought this, but didn’t dare say it.
“Of course, this will be the way for our marriage. Should you bear me a son right away, I shall have no further need of you, and you may continue to hide away in your rooms as you have been.” He said, glaring at her over his cup of tea.
“And should I bear a daughter? What then?”
“Oh you can do what you want with it. I care only for sons. The line of succession is male, it always has been. If you provide a female child I’d prefer to not lay eyes on it at all.”
Elamya imagined his eyes falling on a new born baby girl, and his being unable to resist the urge to toss the child out of the window of the birthing suite. She stifled a shudder to not reveal her fear or anger at the thought. “And should I bear all females, or am barren?” She asked, afraid of the answer.
“Then I’d have no use for you. We are only wed for the legitimacy of a male heir. Should you be unable to provide that which you are required, then our arrangement,” the emphasis he placed on the last word was upsetting, “shall be ended.”
Elamya did not want to know what that meant.
“What if,” she took a deep breath, “after the events of the night of our marriage, I should not want to share a bed with you ever again?”
He stopped in the middle of a sip of tea and did not say a word. He just stared at her with his cold blue, no, not blue, gray, gray eyes. Finally he set the delicate porcelain tea cup aside. He spoke in a flat tone, clearly controlling an anger inside, “Our marriage is nothing more than a binding contract that says I own you. You belong to me and I will do to you what I please. You may try to hide in your well appointed rooms with your homely little handmaiden. But those rooms are in my castle and that maid is paid with my coin. And every other person in this castle and in these grounds is paid with my coin. Had I wanted access to you before today, I would have had it. Do not think you can refuse me. I am the king and I do what I want.”
“I am no man’s property,” fear and anger had boiled up inside her and she’d practically shouted the words. She stood and turned to rush away but he was faster. She heard behind her the tea set topple over, clattering, and the contents of the picnic basket overturn.
He grabbed her arm with a vise-like grip and squeezed, spinning her to face him. She went to slap him with her gloved hand, knowing full well that it’d do nothing, but he caught her hand with his and held it tight. She screamed in pain and in hopes to alert someone, but he shook her to silence her.
“They may hear you scream but they know better than to disturb me.” He growled the words into her ear and began to force her to the ground. She knew immediately what was happening.
He laid his full weight on top of her, forcing her arms over her head with one of his large hands. She tired to wiggle and kick away from him but his weight and force was too great. He tore at trim of her bodice, ripped it away and exposing slowly fading bruises and bite marks she had covered and tired to forget. All injuries from the first time he’d abused her.
She stifled a cry, she would not let him hear her cries this time, he’d seemed to relish in them before. She would deny him this one pleasure. He fought to lift the layers of her gown, layers he hadn’t had to deal with before, in attempt to expose her to the elements. She looked away from the horrifying grimace in his face and saw the bundle that had been placed in the picnic basket by a loyal friend.
He was grunting in frustration at the many layers, and in his anger and rush his grip on her wrists faulted and she did not let the opportunity pass. With lightning reflexes one only has in moments of duress, she reached for the bundle, the glint of Damascus steel shining in the sunlight, grabbed the jewel encrusted handle, and swung.
She felt the sharp point of the dagger enter his flesh, and plunge deep into his side. She heard him grunt and his face switch from violence to shock. The color drained from his cheeks and he coughed. She felt something wet on her face and saw dark, almost black blood dripping from his agape mouth. His eyes then rolled back into his head as he sputtered wetly one last time then slumped lifeless onto her still bear chest.
Elamya lay beneath the body of the now expired King Drane, fist still clenching the hilt of the dagger, blood running down her hand as stones bit into her gloved palm. When she heard softened footsteps on grass approach, panic started to set in and she could not move. She closed her eyes and waited for the ax to fall.
“We should get you cleaned up my lady.” It was not the voice of her companion, handmaiden, and one true friend and ally in the castle she heard. But the voice of the servant said to be most loyal to the king. Alrick ungraciously rolled the king’s corpse off of her, covered her exposed upper body with a linen napkin from the overturned picnic basket and offered her a gloved hand.
She took it, numbly. She hadn’t expected Alrick of all people to assist her in this moment. She got to her feet, swaying, and he steadied her with a hand at her elbow.
She then watched as he pulled the dagger from Drane’s side, and blood oozed out of the wound. He wrapped the dagger in cloth and dropped another less unique blade beside the body. He turned toward her once more, and offered her his arm. She took it with her clean hand, and he said, “A warm bath will be drawn for you. We must clean you up, we have much to discuss.”
There’s a bit more of the story in me. If you’d like an extension, please let me know. Just not tonight!
The Forth of July or Independence Day—I’ve always thought it was silly to call it the Fourth of July, that’s the date. But apparently that’s an official name for it?—anyway, it’s a yearly celebration of our nations independence from a king across the ocean.
If you click on the Google Doodle for today (if you don’t know it’s the redrawn logo for Google that changes for holidays and such) it takes you to a page with info about July 4th, or Independence day.
It was on 4th July, 1776, when Congress signed the Declaration of Independence of the United States, thereby giving freedom of the country from British Rule.
Two days previous, on July 2nd, they’d voted to declare independence from Britain.
How’d it start?
The Revolutionary War in 1775 started because the 13 original colonies basically hated the colonial governments that represented the British crown. It was because of the war, also know as the American Revolution, that the people in the colonies began to want independence from their current government. That’s what eventually led to the Continental Congress voting on independence, and then signing of the Declaration of Independence (penned by Thomas Jefferson).
Of course the British government didn’t appreciate all this nonsense and war continued. But that’s not what this post is about.
People began celebrating the Declaration Independence when it was first read in the colonies. This often consisted of holding mock funerals for King George III, in representation of the end of his rule over the colonies. Considering they previously celebrated his birthday, this was certainly a unique turn of events.
Modern Celebrations
While fireworks have been in use for many reasons since around 200 BC so they aren’t unique to the celebration of the independence of a nation. But they began to appear in 4th celebrations as early as the first anniversary of the signing of the declaration. There was a 13 gun salute from a ship, and the Sons of Liberty shot fireworks over the Boston Common.
The Forth of July didn’t become a federal holiday until 1870, and in 1941 it became a paid holiday for federal employees.
Politically the holiday has declined in importance, but, like all holidays have, it has changed. It has become more of a leisure holiday. Families and friends gather for barbecues and fun and games AND BRIGHTLY COLORED EXPLOSIONS.
Some may say it has become the official day for kid’s carefully curated sleep schedules (you know, because of school) to become totally out of whack as loud noises and bright lights tend to make everyone a tad unstable.
Y’all can thank the hubs for this one. No clue where he stole it from.
You also cannot forget the ever present retail connection to the holiday. Like all modern versions of holidays, there’s a heavy undercurrent to Independence Day celebrations. No holiday can be complete without themed sales and deals.
Having a backyard BBQ? How about new grill from Home Depot or Lowes? Or a new television so you can watch fireworks from the comfort of your own home?
Or how about you just go out and purchase your government sanctioned sky explosions? The average American can spend hundreds of dollars at roadside fireworks stands.
And cities and counties spend those Americans hard earned tax dollars, anywhere from $2,000-$7,000 for 10-20 minutes of KABOOMS.
And that’s not even the fancy shows.
Kinda makes you wonder if the 56 fellers that signed the Declaration of Independence thought we’d be celebrating their act by scaring animals and some small children by exploding chemicals in the air with fire?
And with the state of the country today, many people aren’t celebrating freedom. To be honest, I only went to our local celebration last night because The Kid wanted too. But she ended up getting sick and we missed the finale.
I also must mention, that the town I live in canceled theirs because, of course, a shooting locally. Three police officers and a K-9 officer were killed. Didn’t feel right to celebrate.
In conclusion
I apologize if my hastily written post is, well, hastily written. But I wanted to post it, and love to do a little bit of googling.
The day started out like every other. Woke up twenty minutes before my alarm, and barely dozed back off before the alarm finally buzzed. Got up, contemplating life choices for a moment before getting ready for work. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
I had zero customers ask me for help, which isn’t unusual on a Sunday morning. We don’t get many in before church.
I was able to get a lot more done on my ever growing list. This was in spite of all the cleaning up after other people I’d had to do. This too was not unusual.
Now, normally, when I have a lot to do, which isn’t unusual, I keep my nose in my own business and stay focused on what needs to be done. I don’t go looking for conversation when I need to be working.
I do, however, get distracted with tasks better left to a less busy day.
But I soon began to realize that none of my coworkers had spoken to me. I often saw them in passing, even if we are short handed on Sunday mornings. But not a one spoke to me. I quickly chalked it up (side note: I had to Google that to make sure I used it correctly) to either me being my grumpy self, or my running theory that no one really likes me. It was that or everyone was just as busy as I was.
When I used the radio to ask a question and no one answered, well, the radio has been wonky for a while. At least I can hear on it. Oh well.
When lunch time rolled around, I finished up some business and walked around to try and find someone to cover me. After a few minutes I saw someone from neighboring department. His keys worked on the locks in my area, so he was my usual coverage. I waved at him, signaling an L with my thumb and forefinger, and I thought he nodded.
I sat at lunch with my phone and earbuds, watching silly short-form videos. “I really need to quit this,” I thought to myself, for the hundredth time. But I continued watching, while the break room had people come and go, once again ignoring me.
When I went back out to the floor, the church crowded had begun to make their way in. This always made my job infinitely harder. Between helping customers and getting around them, it meant that my efficiency went downhill.
But no one asked me for help. I saw plenty of them ask my coworkers for help. They would struggle around my department a bit, even though I’d overheard what they’d been looking for and told them the exact location. When something was needed from a case, someone else got it. Phone calls were picked up before I got to them.
What was happening?
I stood for a moment, staring at my company provided device, not really seeing what was in my had but trying to work out in my mind what was really happening.
My paranoid brain thought it was a twisted torture intended to make me insane. Logic told me I was ridiculous.
Then this woman walked by. I didn’t notice her initially, she saw me first. She was older, maybe early to mid 50s. Dark gray hair, wild and curly and long. Clear blue eyes, eyes that belied her age. Gold wire framed glasses with big round lenses. And she wore a spectacularly shabby yet brightly colored dress.
She’d stopped right in front of me and did a double take. The most attention to have been paid me all day. “Well hello!” She said brightly.
“Oh, uh,” I stuttered. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“Nope.” She said, matter-of-factly. “But I can help you.”
After a moment’s confusion I replied. “Uh what now?”
“My dear, you don’t know?” She seemed sad. “Well, this can happen. It does quite often. I honestly think I’m the only one in this small town who has left their mind open.” She sighed. “It’s a shame really.”
“I’m confused.” I said finally.
“My dear,” she said, “what happened this morning? I feel like it was this morning. Still kind of fresh.”
“Nothing, the usual. I broke a jar of pimientos. Who puts glass jars on the top shelf?!” I said, exasperated. “Wait, why am I telling you this, I don’t know you.”
“I have that affect on the soul. You close yourself off a lot, don’t you? Don’t let your self open. Just go with the flow. So much negativity on you.” She scolded, then shrugged. “Oh well, too late now.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“Sweetheart, something happened this morning. But, I think you’re so used to a pattern, a routine, that you’re soul just went on about it’s day.”
“My soul? What do you know about my soul?”
“For one it’s tired. Had been for a while I think. But that’s not important. It needs to think about what happened this morning.”
“I—”
This morning? I woke up? Got ready for work. Drove here, there was a squirrel. But there’s always squirrels. I live in Tree City USA. There are small animals and birds everywhere. Stupid squirrel. Couldn’t decide which way to get out the road. It was too late to break so I swerved. “Oh.”
“There it is.”
“I, I swerved.” I mumbled. “I shoulda swerved right but I swerved left.” At least there weren’t other cars. “The River.” I said. “I knew those guardrails weren’t strong enough.” I said to myself. I looked up at her. “I’ve always been afraid of that River.”
“Yeah, it’s a scary river. Lotta people in there.”
“WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?!” I shouted.
“Muscle memory.” She said, nonchalantly.
“Mus-what?”
“You know,” she said. “When your muscles and your brain are so used to something that they do it without you having to think about it?”
I rolled my eyes. “I know what it is.”
“Yeah, well your body had done this,” she gestured around. “That your soul just went ahead and did it. Despite the fact that it doesn’t have to anymore.”
“So,” I swallowed hard. “I’m dead?”
“You’re body, yes.” She said. “Yeah it’s probably still in the River in your vehicle.” She said, nodding. “What do you drive?” She asked.
“Did, drove.” I said, correcting her. “Uh, a truck.”
“Nice, those gas prices though.”
“Heh, yeah.” I agreed half-heartedly. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know, dear.” She answered. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to do anything now.” She said, smiling. “But, I don’t recommend dropping in to see loved ones. At least not until you’re ready. Have some fun first.” With that she winked at me and walked away.
And that’s how I spent the first few months of my death making my favorite coworkers feel like they were slowly going insane.
Crash Landing 