Time Enough for Drums

Tonight, I'm reading a book I've read numerous times before. I enjoyed it each time, but I never really pondered why.  I knew it was partially due to it being set during the Revolutionary War, but other than that, I just thought it was a good book.  Written for teens, the first time I read Time Enough for Drums I think I was in the fourth grade. It's a sweet book, about a woman coming of age, and into her own, during the war.  She has to step into a role that she wasn't prepared for, as her brothers join the war, and her mother's choices have dire consequences for the family.  All the while, the phrase "there's time enough for drums" is repeated.  How can the men go off to war, when it's so silent, where are the drums? A boy of fifteen frustrated he can't join the war. "There's time enough for drums." And when those drums do come, they change things forever.  Thinking about this, I realized there is a great lesson to be learned. There is time.  Time enough for relationships, and jobs, and babies, and college, and careers.  Even as we want to rush off, or we want great declarations as we go.. there is time enough for that.  It always seemed to me as if life was rushing past me, and I would try to grasp it, fighting tooth and nail to hold onto it. On the flip-side, it also felt as if I were being held back from accomplishing my dreams. Now I know.  Now I understand the draw to this thought-provoking book.  Life is neither too fast, nor too slow. Life just is. There is time enough for drums.

What Do You See?

What do you see, when you look at me?

Do you see a woman, with scars that show?

Do you see a child, with rage and hate within?

Do you see a student, with knowledge to spare?

Do you see a female, with nothing but hot air?

I want you to know, when you look at me.

I am none of these, yet maybe all.

I am a woman, healed and scarred.

I am a child fueled, by fury and contempt.

I am a student, full of thought.

I am a female, with a lack of care.

What do you see, when you look at me?

Do you see the real me?

Do you see what you want to see?

Do you look within, deep below?

Do you see only what I share?

I want you to know, when you look at me.

I am not what you see, but so much more.

I am showing what I want to display.

I am scared, and yet tenacious.

I am me, because I dare.

Thunderous Rage

Thunderous rage reverberates within.

Lightening can bee seen, just look in my eyes.

See the flash?  It illuminates my soul.

Faster and faster blow the winds of hate.

The shell of duty can barely contain,

The storm of agony that it holds.

Taught by words as ruthless as whips,

Chained in a role, that does not fit.

Energy clashing, has taken its toll.

As the lightening zaps, scorching my heart

The thunder roars, releasing the fury.

Wait, for the day the shell cracks, and breaks.

Freeing my spirit from chains of obligation.

God is Nature, Nature is Peace

God is Nature; Nature is Peace

My meadow. I sit feeling the knee-high grass teasing my skin as the wind gently caresses it. My hair, like the grass dances in the wind. Gold tendrils fly and gently kiss my face. The sun warms my skin through the light blue, snug, t-shirt I’m wearing. The sun is on my back, relaxing me as it seeps into my muscles.

I see nothing, but prairie grass for miles, yet I know if I were to turn to look behind me, I would see the forest with a wide path that leads to a clearing where I would find my cabin snuggly fit inside. The cabin was a making of my design. Every inch was a representation of tranquility.

I let the cabin fill my thoughts as I rolled my shoulders, loosening my muscles a bit more. A rusty varnish gave my house an old-country appearance. My chimney will be smoke free for a few months, but it sat on the north end of the cabin waiting. During the winter months it would be releasing grey dancing smoke heavenward into the bright blue.

Windows comprised almost the entire west wall of the cabin, including the master bedroom, the living room and the kitchen. On rainy days I am able to watch the rain dance among the trees, dropping to the ground and splashing when they hit. During storms I can see the lightning jump from cloud to cloud, and hear with astounding clarity the thunder as it cracks and rolls through the sky. When winter arrives, bringing the blustering snows I can watch it fluff to earth and continue to watch as the weight of the accumulating snow gathers and strains the branches too their limits.

I hug my tan legs, loving the peace, loving my nook in the world. Again the wind makes the grass dance at the same time, it teases my hair. I feel a gentle shiver down my spine, and roll my shoulders again. Like the spreading of a prairie fire the wind fuels my peace as it blows from behind me. I breathe the delightful sent of the pine trees, the bitter of the dirt, and the sweet sent of my deep violet lilac bushes.

I continue reminiscing about my safe-haven, my cabin. There were two more bedrooms. The front bedroom (the guest room) faces the east with a large window and a wide, padded window seat where one can watch the sun rise through the trees and pathway. It also has a rustic feeling. The bedroom set includes a hand crafted, dark-cherry wood, four-poster bed, the headboard sitting against the west wall, and a matching chest of drawers further into the room against the south wall, near a second, smaller, window. On each side of the bed are identical end tables that match the rest of the furniture. A quilt that contains various shades of blue and green around a bright yellow sun splash covers the bed. The wall is a clean, deep, ocean blue with an ivy border. The floors, like the rest of the cabin were hard wood. Identical mint-green throw rugs were on each side of the bed. At the end of the bed stood a flat-topped chest that was the same color as the rest of the furniture. Above the bed hung a watercolor painting of the cabin, as the sun set behind it. The closet was located two feet from the right side of the bed. Two wooden pocket doors concealed its contents. Then, in the corner between the east and north walls stood a full-length, matching, mirror. A dark-cherry dresser stood against the north wall, an abstract green and blue painting hanging above it. The door stood next to the dresser and opened from the left.

As the sun falls further down in the sky behind me I relax onto my back for a short while then roll onto my stomach to watch the sunset through the trees. The sky was a mixture of red and blues as the sun receded and changed from a bright yellow to a more fiery orange. Anyone who denies the existence of God has obviously never watched nature closely. There is a peace here that only He can make.

Back in my cabin I picture my hallway between the two bedrooms, done in a bright white with a rose design at the east end of the hall. The baseboards matching the peddles of the leaves in the rose design, a deep, rich green.

Right across from the guest bedroom stood a smaller bedroom that had been converted into my office. There it was less rustic and more contemporary. The north wall was a deep, captivating red, while the other three walls were an off-white color. On the red paint hung framed jackets of my books. They were hung in pattern that looked like a spider web extending from my first publication. My desk sat in the back, left, corner and extended into the room so I could have the wall at my back and more natural light onto my desk. The desk was also handcrafted, but it was twirled black chrome instead of wood. The surfaces were glass, and gleamed in the sun. The wall above the desk had the same twisted chrome as the desk, making shelves for my office supplies. The rest of the south wall had three, six-foot, matching bookcases. At the end of the room, near the door, there were two other chrome bookcases. Along the eastern wall there were two large bay windows, separated by a final bookcase. In the center of the area left open by the desk and book shelves there were two, black, over-stuffed chairs and two loveseats making up a rectangle around a twisted chrome coffee table that sat on a large, circular, red throw rug. Not all the bookcases were filled to the absolute max with books, but I was well on my way to getting them there. On shelves that were not full of books sat decorations of red and black, and above every bookcase hung a red and black artificial floral design.

The sun was finally deep behind the trees and dusk had arrived, and with it a chill in the air. I closed my eyes as I took a long, luxurious, breath filling my lungs and spirit enough that I knew I’d be able to make it through the night in peace. As I sat up I sent a short “thank-You” to God for bringing this beauty into my life, as well as for the gift of His Son. I moseyed trough the prairie grass towards the woods expressing my thoughts to God, and again thinking of the earthly safe-haven that He’d given me.

After leaving my office I mentally follow the short hall to my “great room.” The great room included my kitchen, living room, and my loft bedroom. The hall held a bathroom just after the guest room. As far as bathrooms go, it’s relatively large. The walls are oak slats, matching the floor, with a very light varnish. The bath lies against the back wall and gives the appearance of being an old metal tub, until you looked at it from directly above. Then you can see the black porcelain, and the little button that turned the shower on and off. On both sides of the button there are “increase” and “decrease” buttons for hot and cold. The sink is on the south side of the bathroom. It’s black porcelain on top of a three-foot black counter. The sink, like the tub has a pseudo metal side. The faucet looks like an old-fashioned pump. The red paint on the side appears to be chipping and old. However, like the shower, buttons that sit on the handle control the water. On the floor in front of the sink lies a colorful rug. I hand-made it from old cloth scraps. The toilet, also black porcelain, sits next to the tub, in a corner. It has a small wall between them, then there is another wall about five feet from the back wall, giving even more privacy. The top of the toilet has a number of old remedy bottles strategically placed on a metal cover that hides the tank. In front of the wall there is a closet that again has a pocket door. This was the place I came to when I needed to get my perspective back on track. As well as the place where a bath and prayer were the gravity for my life.

As I trekked up the long drive back to my log cabin, I looked at each individual tree, and thought how, like people, each one was different. However, unlike people each one was free to live and grow every which way, yet they chose to grow closer to God everyday. Millimeter by millimeter every day, every year, the trees are growing closer to Him. I trimmed back some of the branches every spring and autumn, yet I knew that doing so would make the tree more healthy. I knew that any pain I’d felt or would feel in the future was just God grooming me to be healthier.

The kitchen had a view of a strong and sturdy oak that was just as the epitome of my thoughts. When I built the house, the oak was ill, and I wanted to remove the eyesore from my line of sight. Yet, something stilled my hand as I was going to make the call to have it removed. Instead, I went to the local greenery store and bought fertilizer, pulled out my saw and hand tools, then set to work. I trimmed, fertilized, and cared for this oak and now, five years later, it is showing me God’s truth.

The kitchen had all modern, rustic-looking, appliances. The stove gave the appearance of an old wood stove, charcoal black and cast-iron in appearance. I never took the time to find out what material it was truly made of, but other than it’s rounded shape it worked entirely like any other stove I’d used. The counters and cupboards were made of a light cherry wood. They lined the east and south sides of the kitchen, with the stove closest to the large glass pane that let me enjoy all the elements. The refrigerator was hidden inside the pantry at the end of the east wall, as were the electric mixer and coffee maker. In the middle of the counter that faced south was a sink, it was not split, but rather a large metal bowl with a hand-pump faucet (much like the bathroom’s). On top of the east counter sat an old hand mixer, some old Coca-Cola® and Pepsi® bottles, and other kitchen items from centuries past. In the center of a room sat a hand-carved cherry table, and its matching chairs. In the legs of the table and back of the chairs was burned an intricate rose and vine pattern. The walls, like the bathroom, were a pale yellow and flowed into the living room.

The living room was slightly larger than the kitchen, given that the walls went all the way back to my office, but it was still cozy. On the north wall sat a fireplace, with a patterned, black, chrome fireguard. The fireplace was built of stone, with a large, flat stone making up the mantle. On top of the stone sat a black mantle clock that showed time really did move in the cabin, although it rarely felt that way. Two old, crossed, shot guns hung above the fireplace. In front of the fireplace was a black bear skin. There was a blue-gray loveseat and two matching chairs that made it into an inviting little cove, and all the furniture was positioned so that the natural beauty just beyond the glass was visible.

The east wall had a mural of a cabin sitting by a river as the sun rose. Inside the mural were various animals playing. The wall was eight feet high, and the roof slanted upwards to accommodate my loft bedroom. The loft had stairs that started next to the fireplace, then a landing place that turned the stairs west, straight up to the place I gratefully returned to every evening. There was a banister on the left as one climbed the stairs, and it continued down the length of the loft. The posts were made of a cherry wood that matched the kitchen they were plain, as was the banister, yet it gave a more relaxed feel to the three intricate rooms. There was a large burgundy area rug that covered most of the open-area bedroom. The bed was in the northwest corner of the room. It was a canopy bed with black walnut posts and sheer burgundy hangings. The headboard sat against the north wall. It held the same pattern of roses as the kitchen table and chairs, and the rest of the furniture was built to match it. There was an end table on either side of the bed and the room also held two matching dressers, that sat about five feet from the end of the bed. The bed was topped with a white down comforter that had the rose pattern sewn into it.

Behind the dressers sat three burgundy loveseats. Each was overstuffed and held a fluffy blanket at its end. They sat in a “U” shape that faced the picture window. It was here that I would most often watch the weather. Rarely would I go there, unless I had the time to sit and meditate on the beauty that was God. It was my haven inside a shelter.

Now, back at my door, I enter this shelter God has made into a home for me with a prayer of thanks written on my heart. The door closes behind me and the mural is back in place. I place my shoes on the next to the coat stand that sits to the right of the fireplace, and slowly move toward the bathroom. God is so heavy on my heart that I can’t wait to talk to Him as the hot bath water relaxes my body.

Finished...for now

Below the Skin

~Elizabeth Dawn

Melodi stared into the mirror, this can't be it. This can't be life. She thought abut where she had come from, and who she'd traveled the journey with. Her parents being constants. Yeah, constant pains, she acknowledged, to herself. The thought of continuing to "just survive," made her physically ill.

Everyday, Melodi would stand in front of her mirror, as she was doing at the current moment, and tell herself to breath. She would try to feel connected with her body. Yet, there was something missing. Some connection, maybe the one that brought her body and spirit together, and then let them live as one, was missing. She felt as if she were a shell, existing without the spirit. In short, Melodi felt, numb.

She kept a blade on her all the time, especially as of late. It had been difficult to acquire, initially, as her parents had confiscated all her knives and any blades they knew about. Which, was, in essence, all of them. What they didn't know, were seemingly oblivious to, was her ability to find more. Especially with the help of her online "friends." The 'Net was the easiest place to find information on how, what, and where to hide anything that had to do with self-injury. She knew there were people fighting to shut down the "Pro-Ana" sites. Yet, the site she frequented wasn't even thought about. The people, on there, even posted pictures. Photos from fresh, bleeding, cuts to scars of years past. They gave the best suggestions on what items work best, and how to get them. After her parents took all her tools away, she went looking for the sites, the "Pro-SI" sites. It honestly wasn't difficult. Every blog-like thing had one. They each claim that taking any pro-... site off would be against the first amendment. She was thankful for their views. It made things much easier on her. Hell, it made everything easier, when it came to her reality. She could rationalize that, "I'm not the only one. I'm not a freak." Yet, she knew, without even having to go into too much self-analyzation, which it also perpetuated her drive to hurt herself more frequently.

With the assistance she received from the various sites, Melodi took apart a manual-pencil sharpener, taking out the blade, for future use. The whole process was a bit...involved. She first had to find a manual pencil sharpener. Then, she had to wait for a free night, where she could get at a screwdriver. The last, but most important, in Melodi's mind, was disinfecting the blade. The cutting, the bleeding, the scars, Melodi could handle. Getting sick? That was something she had no time for. To Melodi, grades were a way of life. Any grade less than a solid "A," was unacceptable. She could not fail, and that's all there was to it.

Melodi continued to stare at her reflection, wondering. Wondering why she couldn't connect with herself. Wondering why she couldn't connect with anyone, period. Wondering why she was placed on Earth...just to suffer. Stock-still, Melodi looked at every inch of her body, that she could see without shifting.

She took in her face first. Her eyes were too wide set. Not to mention the wrong color. They needed more lashes, and less eyebrows. Her nose was too flat. Maybe she would have surgery, get a little pixie-like nose. Her cheekbones were not defined enough. She definitely needed to go on a diet. Gaining weight was not an option. There was nothing she could do about her pasty skin. She'd try and accept that, at least until she heard of some new treatment. And why did her face insist on growing hair? That would be taken care of, as soon as she turned 18. Her hair, her pride and glory, was frizzing. It's ebony sheen, was disgustingly off set by the mass of spit ends.

Melodi's eyes traveled down to the upper portion of her frame. Her shoulders were too wide. She looked like a football player, and she didn't even need the pads. Her neck was too long. Say noting about the mole on the left side. Although, admittedly, it makes it easier for the chopping block. Where were her boobs? I, truly, think they may have become inverted. However, thanks to Victoria Secret, she didn't have a great fear of being seen, in public. Push-ups work wonders!

Her eyes traveled lower. Looking at her stomach, she new she needed to loose weight. A size 2 was unacceptable. Again thinking about her 18 birthday, she couldn't wait to get her belly-button pierced. Most of the girls in the sophomore class had theirs pierced. Her mother was just a prude.

Her vagina, in all its naked glory, was disgusting If she allowed herself a choice, it would be covered. But, no, her entire body, must be examined, evaluated, and worked on, every day. There was no exception. She stared at it. Wanting to change it, but unsure what she wanted to change it to. Penises were even more ugly. Did she need to have either? Nasty.

Finally, the last region of her body came into the view of her critical eyes. Her legs need sun. They should not be more pale than a ghosts' entire body. She tried to argue with herself, saying that it was mid-February, in northern Minnesota. Yet, she didn't care. That was no excuse. There are no excuses for being less than perfect. Her feet, were, quite frankly, monstrous. Size 9.5. She was seriously considering following a tradition she'd been hearing about in history, where women had their feet clubbed.

Melodi let out a sigh, as she turned away from the mirror. The arms she had, were not a part of her. They were disconnected. Like her spirit. She did not analyze them. They were not hers, why waist time on them?

As she looked through her clothes, Melodi chose specific ones. Clothes that were in complete contrast to how she was really feeling. Clothes that she knew would piss her parents off, and turn the males on. Clothes that made the statement "I am a sexy, capable, woman. I am fun-loving, and free-spirited." She chose a tight, low-cut, lime-green sweater, and black and green, striped pants, which made her look like she'd just walked off a fashion magazine. Her shoes were black, platform, heals, with a, slightly, rounded toe. Her under-garments, from Victoria Secret, were a matching, black-lace, set. The last, article she picked out, were hose. She almost groaned when she grabbed the thin, black, pair. Melodi hated hose, but looking sloppy was, quite frankly, unacceptable.

After taking great pains to make sure everything was unwrinkled, on straight, and caught her curves in the correct places, Melodi did her hair. It was still damp from her shower. Inky, as the night sky, and down to her hips, Melodi's hair could be called her "Pride and joy," if she were aloud to have a pride and joy. She brushed her hair to a high gloss, than twirled it into a bun, leaving strategic tendrils out. After spraying it to a starch, Melodi moved onto her makeup.

If she tried, Melodi could find something bad about her complexion. Excluding the color, she was quite fond of it. It wasn't overly dry, or greasy. She had few blemishes, so few in fact, that she could count any she'd had on one hand. Blush, eye makeup - including liner, shadow, and mascara - and a little gloss, and she was on her way. Her face painted, her smile fixed.

* * * * *

When Melodi got to school, she was seething. Anger gnawed at her insides, trying to overcome her seeming peace. How could they? How dare they? I already had no privacy, and now... Now they think they have the right to go onto my computer and read my files?! The bastards! What I write is private! Melodi, paused, interrupted by Ang, a friend. She gave her hug, envying Ang's ability to wear what she wanted. Ang, was accepted for who she was. What was more, she wouldn't have cared if she wasn't. She was her own person. Ang was in a Sox t-shirt, and jeans. Hair brushed, but messy. No makeup, and tennis shoes. "Hey, Hon! Did you get that Bio assignment done?"

"Nope...I was so tired last night, that I crashed, and drained my brain all night in front of the tube."

"Haha! What are you going to do?"

"What I always do. Steal, copy, and improve on yours."

"Figures." Melodi had already pulled the assignment out of her bag, and was handing it over before Ang even finished. Sometimes she wished Ang would actually do her own work. "You're prob. going to get a better grade than I, again. I hate you!" She joked.

Ang snatched the paper from Melodi, turning away as she did so, "You know you love me!"

“You know it!” Melodi called after her, then whispered under her breath, “Bitch.”

With just 20 minutes before class started, Melodi had to get going. She was stopped periodically along the way, with ass-grabs, homework-helps, and even a rare, actual, conversation. Well, actual on his part. Melodi actually did a lot of nodding and smiling. Apparently, she now had a date to the homecoming dance. The guy, now her date, was such a prick! She just wanted to die.

Finally, Melodi made it into her bathroom. The one, the only one, she would use at school. Unlike the others, this one was rarely used. She, hustled into the largest stall, feeling it fitting that she identified with the stall. It was different than the rest, but for all its uses, was the same.

Melodi placed her bag on the ground and standing up, reached into her pocket and took out a small package. She removed the wax paper that held the item she was looking for. The item she craved. The item that held the power to take away all her pain. Her razor blade. The same one she'd worked so hard to get. Sharper and slimmer than a knife, Melodi hid it within a few carefully made "envelopes." She never wanted to accidentally get a cut, so Melodi tried her hardest to make sure an accident was avoided. After every use she would re-wrap the blade in five layers of wax paper. Since she started wrapping them, there hadn't been any accidents.

Looking down at the razor, Melodi's heart cried out for relief. It cried for perfect acceptance, from her. Yet her head demanded perfection in every other aspect of Melodi's life. She was not to let up on her goals. They were worth every physical, and mental, scourging. Her goals were her life.

Melodi lifted up the cuff of her right sleeve and, razor in hand, slashed across her forearm. She left a representative of her pain, her drive, and her endurance for attaining her goals.

* * * * *

A 75 year old Melodi stared into her mirror, one last time before getting dressed. She glanced at her body. Wrinkles and scars marred her body, yet she new, as she had for the last 50 years, she was the most beautiful woman she could ever want to be. She'd filled out, but she'd stopped being afraid of her weight long ago. Melodi, finally, at age 24, had come to terms with the fact that mistakes were inevitable. And, she'd learned, even she was allowed to make them. More importantly, however, she'd learned, to allow herself to do so. Mistakes were a way of life. You can't learn, if you can't make a mistake.

Melodi slowly shook her head as she turned from the mirror. All those years spent trying to make myself perfect, wasted. And still, beauty thrives in me. And still...

Let Me Free!!

Trapped, the walls are closing in on me;

Trapped, my breath is coming faster;

LET ME FREE!!

Trapped, sufficating - slowly dying;

Trapped, chains of iron hold tight;

LET ME FREE!!

Trapped, pain blinding - can't see the exits;

Trapped, ropes of fear binding me;

LET ME FREE!!

Trapped, by my own mind;

Trapped, by my self-hate;

TIME TO FREE MYSELF!!

Grandma Proofing

My house has never been the “cleanest” in the world. It's not even up there with the top ten cleanest houses. No, on the clean scale, my house has always looked like I had five children lurking somewhere. This would be great, if I had five children, or even one child for that matter. But I don't. No, I don't even have a roommate to blame the mess on. Nope, my mess is just that. Mine.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't like my home like this. It has driven me bonkers since the fourth month I've been here. I happen to be going on three years now. It's just, I never have the time to clean it. So, what do I do? I invite my Grandma for a week. Need I reiterate, my Grandmother! Not that I don't want her here, it's just that...well...she might have a heart attack if she were to see my house (in it's present state, of course). I can see the headlines now, “Murder by Mess,” or something like that. Today, is Friday, she's coming on Monday. Monday, as in two very short days from now. What have I done? Bring me a fainting couch, I think I may have a use for it in the very near future.

I called my best friend, Yemi. Now, Yemi is very yummy. However, as a best friend, he is unattainable. Ah yes, his name. It's a bit odd, for a blonde, blue eyed, pale faced man to carry the name of Yemi. Believe it or not, he's from Africa. I'm not kidding. His parents are missionaries and they let the tribe name him. Thus, Yemi. I met him almost ten years ago, at church, when he moved in with his aunt and uncle. At that time he was a pimple-covered-sun burnt teen. Add large, unattractive, glasses to the picture and man have you got a piece of work. I'm not even going to go into detail about me, but let's just say...we befriended, matured, and got a sense of fashion together.

Oh! Right...my house. While he was driving himself over I went to the coat closet to pull out my books. On my way over, I not only tripped over a basket of clothes, but also stubbed my toe (on something buried deep in a pile of who-knows what) which lead to a series of hopping...that of course had me hopping on something hard. Which had me then leaping head-first into the open closet; knocking the not-so-neatly-stacked boxes and books onto my head then my lap, and ending with the boxes spilling their contents on the floor.

This is how Yemi found me. Books covering and surrounding my person, my high-pitched yelps making it to his ears before he even got a chance to close his car door. I heard him chuckle as he opened my screen door, and I must say...those books were looking like very good missiles by that point. After seeing my glare, he tactfully kept quiet as he came over and unburied me from the book cave, I had managed to put myself in, and then helped me maneuver to the couch.

After convincing him I wasn't going to die from the bruises that were already appearing in random places on my showing skin, not to mention the covered skin, Yemi and I got my six bookcases from the basement. Err, rather, he got them from from the basement. I was, um, helping by directing him where I wanted them. Well...I didn't want to break a nail! No, actually I refuse to go into my basement. No, I'm not going to explain why. No. Well...um...no. Back to the main story. Yemi put them together, and was about to help me gather my books, when Kendra called. As in his girlfriend Kendra. His very “I want you to do this...no, don't do that...why are you friend's with her?” girlfriend. He looked at me while on the phone, his expression a mixture of sadness and apology. I shrugged and went back to rescuing my tornado struck books from their deadly piles. Yemi talked for a bit longer; I ignored him. I didn't even even turn when his phone closed. Even when I heard him carefully traverse through the “no man's land” of genre grouped books, I pretended he wasn't there.

I looked at Yemi as he crouched beside me, “Sorry, I...” he started, but I wouldn't let him finish. I pressed the fingers of my right hand to his lips, “I know,” I interrupted his excuse for her, “I can do this by myself. You take care of Kendra. I'm sure your assistance in helping her pick out her newest purse...or whatever she needs you for...is very important, and you must save her from making a very wrong choice. It is, of course, your sworn duty as a boyfriend.” Dropping my hand from his lips, I studied my hand as if just seeing it. It's dusky hue taunting me, reminding me of why Yemi was with Kendra and not me.

Yemi placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, snapping me from my reverie. “I really am sorry.”

I shook my head, “No, it's fine. I'm fine. You go. Call me later.” I smirked, getting in in one last blow, “You're so whipped.” I forced a giggle and went back to work. Seemingly ignoring him as he left, but really feeling every footstep tread a path on my heart.

After I heard his car leave my driveway, I took the book I was holding, and forcing myself not to throw it, sat it delicately in the pile of similar books. I slumped back into the edge of the bookcase behind me. How can I clean this, on my own, before Monday? And why was Yemi with such an evil woman?

Forcing myself to get up, I snaked my way through the books, the piles of clean (and dirty) clothes, past the old take out boxes and bags, through the wall hangings still waiting to be hung, into the kitchen, Going to the refrigerator I yanked open the freezer door, and pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry's New York Chocolate chocolate chip, grabbed one of the last clean spoons from the drawer, and made my way back to the living room. I flopped myself on my, only half covered in clothes, couch. Settling myself into the cushions, I sighed and flicked off the lid. “Mmmm.”

Finishing the pint, as I'm getting ready to go back to work, I realize...I can't clean on an empty stomach! I needed some sustenance. So, I called Jim's Pizza down the road and ordered a Canadian bacon, sausage, and mushroom. 45 minutes; not too bad. I reached over, picking up one of my latest novel purchases and started reading. I promised myself I would clean after I ate.

40 minutes later, the pizza arrived; I ate over half of it. What? It was good! Anyway after finishing my meal of wonderful pizza, I, of course, looked around the room and promptly fell asleep.

* * * * *

Waking up in a state of shock, I realized I had slept all night! And not just that, I had still not done a stitch of work! My air came faster and shorter. What, oh WHAT am I going to do? Calm down, girl. Breathe. I took a deep breath. “Hoooo,” and let it out. Now, it can't be that late in the morning, can it? Never mind that the sun is almost fully in the sky. Taking a look at the clock almost sends me into another panic attack. It's 11:30! I don't thing I've ever slept this late...since college. Granted, I just graduated a month ago, but honestly who checks the details?

Leaping from the couch, I landed on the book I was reading last night, that just happened to be hardcover. I howled in agony, as I fall back onto the couch. Even as I examine injured limb, I pledge to not let this mess get the best of me. It really was a moot point that I still had a ton of boxes to get unpacked and out of the house. Never mind the mass quantities of clothes needing to be washed, folded, and put away. And the moldy food in the kitchen can wait just a bit longer.

After whining to efficiency about my foot, I leaned over to pick up the offending item. For a minute or two I thought about hurling the book into the next room, but not really knowing if I would make it that far I thought better of it, and instead just place it on the couch. Grabbing the leftover pizza, I realized with great sadness that it had been out all night...and should technically go in the into the trash. I stuck it in the fridge. Hey, it could could have survived.

* * * * *

Now, it's back to work and back to organizing my books. Being the semi-anal person that I am, I decided that if I'm going to put my books on the shelves, I might as well do it in some organized manner. After clearing a path from my living room to my “coat” closet, I try to pick up the first box of books I came to. I grunt, and groan, then I wonder who the idiot was that packed these boxes so full, after choosing 20' boxes in the first place. Remembering that I was the idiot, I debated climbing into the closet, and never coming out. However, the fear of being lost in a sea of books, again, made me rethink that option.

Instead, I unloaded the books right next to the closet. Unfortunately, I can't find any large flat surfaces to use for organizing my books. I sigh; this is going to be a long day. Looking at the phone, I debated with myself about calling Yemi again. Then chose not to, figuring he would call if he wanted to help. That is, if Kendra was willing to let him out of her sight. I looked at the box I had just started to unpack, figuring I had removed enough weight for it to be manageable, and pointing my finger in it's direction I scolded “Alright, you, I'm the boss around her...and you are moving over there!” Just for good measure, encase it hadn't understood where it was going I pointed into the living room. Leaning over I tried to lift the box again. Didn't budge. One more time. Utter failure. Alright, we'll try it butt down. “Grrr!” Success!

After all 10 boxes of books were in the living room...including the extra books I had taken out of each to make them manageable to lift, I went into my bedroom to get more of the books I'd acquired within the last three years. There were only 30. If I hadn't had so much school, I'm sure there would have been more. Anyway, I went back to the piles I'd started last night...fantasy, romance, classics, Christian, horror, mystery, drama, and non-fiction. At that point I realized I was hungry again...but had just “booked” myself into the room. I put the horror genre onto the shelves to try and clear a path.

Having finished separating and putting a small selection of books away (alphabetically by author, of course), I barely had the energy to get to the fridge...but I made it. With the utmost care for the many items collecting on the floor. Then I realized, there would be no better time to clear out the fridge, than when I was making myself something to eat. Opening the door, I noticed something that eluded me when I had shoved the pizza in there. The smell of moldy...something. “Ugh!” I slam the door closed, and decided Chinese take out would be the best option.

After placing my usual order, with my usual Chinese delivery place, I maneuvered my way back to my living room. This time choosing to plop myself closest to the front door, in my plush-outrageously-orange chair, I picked up one of the books that had caught my attention while I was separating them and started to read. Entranced in the enthralling tale of a historical Russian world, everything else seemed to disappear I am literally transported back in time, and over the continents until I am jolted back to reality when the doorbell rang. I was so startled that I dropped the book. Then realizing just what had brought me back to reality, I grabbed a $20 from my purse and jerked open the door.

“Grandma...er...” I stepped out onto my porch as I tried to keep her from the “death view” “..hi.”