Life in progress


#SoCS – Motion

The motion of the ocean…

Why isn’t ocean spelled “otion”? Ah, the English language. It makes no sense.

When I was little, maybe 5? 6? years old, I asked all the adults around me (and I actually remember this) why you didn’t write a number like thirty-four out as 304. Because that’s how you say it, right? 30 4. Thirty four. None of the adults understood what I was saying. They just told me you couldn’t do it. Nope. No way.

(Adults had no imagination when I was a kid.)

But NOW …

There’s a house in my neighbourhood. It’s an old house, but it was sold, and the new owners painted the red brick white and snazzed it up. (I liked it better the old way, but there you go. It’s not my house.) Anyhoo, when they screwed the numbers back on the front of the house, they put up these HUGE things in sleek silver.

The number on the house?


And it pisses me off.


What happened to that innocent little kid with an imagination?



The only way you can know if the actual address on this house is 34 or 304 is to look at its neighbour. (It’s 32.)


Someone who has my brilliant imagination took it to a ridiculous(!) extreme and stuck it on a building.


Just thinking about it makes me mad.

So back to motion…

(So I can stop thinking about that poor old house.)

What’s the saying? Things in motion tend to stay in motion, or something like that.

That’s my brain. Thank goodness. These days at least.

The tinnitus hasn’t stopped, not for a second. It SCREAMS at me in the morning when I wake up and every single time I think of it during the day. But when I stop thinking about it? I don’t notice it.

So if I can concentrate on something … really concentrate on something … I get relief.

Brains in motion.


Running away from zombies.

And that’s where I get stuck for the night.



2019-2020 SoCS Badge by Shelley!

This not really serious post was brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Find the prompt here and join in!


#SoCS – Optimism

Normally, I’m a very positive human being. I like to find the bright side in everything, if there’s a bright side to find. Most of the time when I find something good out of something very very bad, I keep my mouth shut, because whatever it is I’ve found would seem insensitive. I remember once making the mistake of saying to someone whose car had been damaged in an accident that at least the guy in the body shop made some money … You can see by this how far I stretch.

But, in contrast, sometimes my imagination takes me to worst-case scenarios where even I can’t find something good. And that’s actually where my stories come from.

Imagine, for instance, something terrible happening (no one dies!) that affects everyone. All the banks close just before Christmas, for example. No one can do their shopping, and only those with cash can buy groceries. No good can possibly come of this, except, maybe for a villain!

I often write dark stories, and the strangest thing about it is that they’re driven by my optimism. I’ve wondered for years where my odd tendency for writing horror comes from. I think I just figured it out.

Thanks, Stream of Consciousness Saturday Sunday. 😛

Oh, and speaking of SoCS, I did write something on my fiction blog last night, for the first time in ages. Click here to read it.

This very very late post is brought to you by SoCS. Click the link to find all the other amazing entries!


SoCS – My Roots

I often wonder where my ideas come from. My stories seem to come out of the ether, as do the characters in my fictional works. Sometimes I’m inspired by something tangible, like a picture, a song, or another story or even a line I’ve read – sometimes it’s even a passing thought, like “what if?” But no matter where it comes from or what I do, it ends up twisted. And I swear to God, it’s not on purpose. It happens. My fingers take me places I can’t, and don’t, imagine… kinda. It’s hard to explain, because of course it’s coming from my imagination. But at the same time it seems to be coming from elsewhere, like a voice whispering in my ear.

So now that you think I’m nuts…

I have to wonder how much of it is genetic. My father was a creative guy. He made up stories, he played the guitar, his wit was extremely quick. (I’m sure that’s where my eldest son gets his wit from, though his dad (my ex) is a funny guy too.) I wish my father had lived long enough to tell me more of his inner thoughts. No father in his right mind would tell his adolescent daughter about the darker side of his thoughts. It would be fascinating though, to understand whether there’s anything to these twists that are more from my background and less from the ether.

Unless, of course, my father is the one whispering in my ear.

This second creepy SoCS post of mine this week comes to you via this post: Join in the fun! It’s not all creepy – I promise!

SoCS badge 2015


Insane or just a vivid imagination?

Okay, bear with me for it seems that perhaps no one saw my angry rose quite the way I did.

I drew you a diagram.

Here’s the original:

dead roseangry


and here it is again with my mad paint skillz added:

click to have a closer look... if you dare

click to have a closer look… if you dare

Now look at the original and tell me you can’t see the crazy-assed disembodied-headed dead rose that’s still sitting on my kitchen counter waiting to eat me for dinner.

Seriously, you can’t expect me to deal with this insanity alone…


If Dogs Could Fly

Do you see the dog?








If dogs could fly, would they get trapped in trees? Would they chase sticks thrown by the wind, and drop them in the clouds?

If dogs could fly, would it be considered lucky, like a bird, if they pooped on your head?

If dogs could fly, would it be easier for them to lick your face? Would they sit on the roof, like Snoopy, to sleep?







Do you see it now?