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The Destination of My Dreams

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The Destination of My Dreams

By ©Diana Jillian 7/14/15

I seek from where I search to find
The new destination of my dreams
But what I seek is as always blurry
Nothing turns out the way it seems

Once you state your goals out loud
They will never, ever come true
I know it well as it speaks volumes
You can’t fix damage with glue

Becoming a total liquefaction
The Earthquake aftermath
Buried under all that rubble
For someone else’s walking path

I’ll keep reaching until I find that goal
Surely it’s somewhere deep in my soul

Working

I am so torn about what to blog about this week.

I have one shot per week to get what I want out there, and to be able to say it while getting others to notice…sort of.

I was looking at the month of July schedule and tomorrow, Wednesday, I’ll be working almost 11 hours.  I’ll have an hour in between to possibly get myself something to eat…or to just go home for a few to walk my dogs and freshen up my face before going back to work again.

I’ll be repeating the same habit on Friday as well.

I’ve fallen into the trap of “Put me on the schedule as to where other people can’t work it,” kind of thing.

My co-worker is always saying she needs hours because her paycheck just about covers her gas.  But when I told her she should put herself on the shift at nights, she seemed disappointed about it.  She was upset that she would have to work at all.

I’ve dealt with people like these my whole working life.  People say, “Put me on the schedule. I can work it.”  Only later on that week, I’ll be the one getting the phone call asking me to come in for their shift.  In the meantime, they’re on the computer playing Farmville or something like that.

I am indeed torn, but perhaps I will write all of the above.  Right now, I’m working on a blog-fictional-chapter-series kind of a deal thing, and I have already decided to make some rewrite changes.  I mean, after all, it’s not like anyone is really reading this stuff to begin with.

I believe the Universe ignores me most days anyway…Up until the time I say I DON’T want more hours…Then it hears something like I WANT more hours.  Which is so untrue.  I need time for me and my goals.

I dare not tell my goals anymore because I once read somewhere that the minute you speak your goals, that’s the moment they won’t happen for you.

And looking back on all of my goals as a kid…and even now…I think:  WOW!!!  That is spot on!!!

As a kid, I wanted to be a dancer/actress/singer.  As a teen, I wanted to be a CPA.  Then in my later teen years, I wanted a full-time job with the city/county.  I wanted a secretarial job.  I wanted a teaching job to where I get summer and winter vacation time off.

Just recently I wanted to make jewelry and sell it online.  I had a friend that put me to shame.  She makes 10 times better jewelry than I do.  Just when I think I’m being creative, I learn I’m just like everyone else in the world that’s trying to make something of themselves.

My biggest regret was sharing my goals and aspirations of being a writer.  I have no right to be a writer.  I am merely doing what a shrink once told me to do.  Write my frustrations out on paper.

Well, I don’t really hand write anymore, and perhaps that’s why my writing looks like chicken scratch these days.  I can get what I want out faster with typing than writing anyway.  That’s not true.  I can write pretty fast.  I used to be able to write down word for word what teachers were dictating in class.

I write in a mixture of print and cursive handwriting.  Impressive, huh?  NOT!!!!!!

I think…some day…in some way…I’ll be able to sit down and create some new goals….and just learn to keep my big mouth shut about it.

If you made it this far, thanks.

~~DJ

The Empath: Chapter 8

To catch up, here are the links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 8

Saturday, June 20th, 1987

Mary can sense the tension coming from Brave, but it’s not an angry kind of tension.  It’s more of a “I just met you, and we’re soulmates,” kind of tension.

Within a short moment, Ingrid is by Mary’s side.

“Kane,” Ingrid speaks.  “I see you’ve met my cousin, Margaret, and her boyfriend, Jonathan.”

Kane?  Mary thinks.  But he looks so much like Brave in her time.  And where is Stacy?  So many thoughts are wandering around in her mind.  She gives herself a mental shake.

“I’m sorry,” Kane stammers.  “From behind, I thought you were someone else.”

Mary can feel his apology.  “It’s quite alright,” she finally speaks.

“Penny isn’t here,” Ingrid speaks.

“Have you seen her?  I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

“No.  I haven’t heard from her either, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

Mary looks around to see that her mother is really thinking about it.  She looks up to see Jeremiah’s face, only to find he’s focused in on Ingrid’s facial expression.

This is too weird, even for Mary.  What is her purpose here in nineteen eighty-seven?  Of course with every generation, it’s always the same faces.  Perhaps it’s relation, but most times, it’s just coincidence.

She decides to cruise through the crowd and head outside where she can feel jealousy all of a sudden.  She looks around to find someone peering in the corner.  It’s dark outside, and Mary tries to adjust her eyes.  She sighs at the thought of someone being jealous.

The only person that has ever been truly jealous of her is Stacy.  Mary never understood jealousy.  She always thought about her mothers’ words when she always told her that, “Jealousy is a disease for the weak.”  And her mother was right.  Jealousy is indeed a disease, because it’s silly.

Everyone, at some point in their lives, think the grass is always greener.  The truth is, look at your own grass.  It’s just as green.

Mary decides to walk closer to the person, whoever it may be, who is standing behind the pineberries.

As she gets closer to the person, they turn to run.  Mary notices the long brown hair and the snow-white skin.  It’s Stacy.

Mary knows what her mission is, or at least she thinks she knows what her mission is.  She is to befriend Stacy, and get to the bottom of all this.  She is to find out why Stacy brought her back to this time and place.

****

The minute Stacy saw Mary, or who she knows as Margaret, she knew there would be competition brewing.  She saw Kane first, but then Penny got in her way.  And just as she took Penny out of the equation, suddenly this gorgeous blonde, who happens to look a lot like Penny, happens to show up.

It’s not fair, Stacy thought to herself in a tantrum.  All that ever rings in her head is a quote from Orson Welles:

We’re born alone. We live alone. We die alone.”

Just because I live alone, doesn’t mean I’ll die alone, she thinks to herself.  She heads home to devise a plan to get rid of this Margaret once and for all.

****

The Weeping Angel

The question of a thousand dreams
Never turning to what it seems
At least not for her

She dreams her funeral will fill
Those who choose to visit at free will
But she knows differently

God has not granted access to free her of spell
By her shadow is where the dark angel fell
This world was never meant for her

She is ready; has been since being born
This soul she has is tattered and torn
Why has this dark angel not shown kindness?

Gone is what was once a good soul
Replaced with nothing but a gaping hole
She seeks freedom from this plane

Will she ever close her eyes for good?

7/2/15 by ©Diana Jillian

I Was Born a Mom?

I remember my job a few years ago.  I worked with a bunch of work-a-holics.  They were so busy working, they never took the time to eat.  One of them was considered to be borderline anorexic because she was afraid of becoming obese like the rest of her family.

I could remember buying multi-vitamins for them to have.  These people were older than me, and here I was, making sure they were taking their vitamins at least.  They called me, “Mom” even though I am much younger than they are.

I guess I’ve always been a mom…giving out unsolicited advice when I wasn’t even asked for advice at all.

The other day, someone approached me, wanting “motherly” advice.  I didn’t really give much advice, and I definitely didn’t want full detail of it.

Now, with my kid all grown, I really don’t want to be a “mom” anymore.  I mean, I’ll always be a mom to my son, and my fur babies…But I want that part of my life to be over.  I’m definitely not ready for being considered a grandma just yet.

I want to live my life!  I want to do the things I never done because I was too busy being responsible and such.  Does that make me an awful person?

~~DJ