Let's get it all out in the open

[highlymodestcake-blog]

Arguing

It’s always pretty hard when you discover a new trait about yourself. Especially if it’s one you’re not very proud of. Don’t bury the lead; a flaw. The last few weeks I’ve slowly and haltingly realized that I seem to really enjoy instigating arguments. Why? No fucking clue. It could be connected to a myriad of things going on in my brain. Something in my past led me to this current behavior. Something in the last four months has triggered it, maybe. I haven’t even started studying for my psych degree so I’m sure I can’t formulate a satisfactory answer. I’ll certainly fucking try, though. 

It’s more likely connected to my low self-worth, now that I actually sit here and examine it. I dislike who I am. I feel that I’m obnoxious and annoyance to those around me. (Which then connects into my relationship/men issues. But that’s for another time.) Do I start the arguments as a mechanism to show them that part of me? A roundabout way of saying, “Hey, I’m all sorts of fucked up. How is it at all possible that you like me?” 

No one has been listening to me, it seems. My friends still talk to me, the man I like continues to send cute little hearts in most of his text messages, my child doesn’t cry or scream in terror when I come near. That means something, right? Might be time to actually take it to heart. 

I’ll change the message then. From “I’m all sorts of fucked up, please see it and confirm my fears.” to “I might be pretty fucked up but there is some great stuff mixed in there with it.” I’ll stop instigating arguments. (as much, at least. I’m not known for my dedication to life changing decisions.) There it is. 

[highlymodestcake-blog]

Ghost Trees.

This was inspired by those cool biodegradable urns that eventually grow into trees. 

The forest spread out ahead, the trees sitting silently in their manufactured lines. A fog hung over the tree tops. Light from the setting sun filtered in through the fog, casting a purple and orange aura around the trees. Jared Dunn felt his breath catch in his throat. If he were artistically inclined, he would have stopped to paint the scene. A base layer of blacks and greens. Wisps of grey ghosting over the top limps, the purple and orange mingling, distorting the view. It would have an almost…

Jared searched for the proper word as he moved into the trees. He was careful to walk directly between two rows, arms up, palms facing out, as he walked. Fingertips grazed rough bark as he moved. Jared wondered how many other people had done the same. Not many were fond of touching these trees. It was bad luck to touch the graves of the dead. 

Ten minutes passed until Jared found the tree he had been looking for. There were words and a symbol carved into the trunk of this tree. Ellen Shrab. His fingers caressed the name. He hoped what he’d heard was right. He heard the rumors one night at a local bar, not long after he’d moved here. He’d never cared about it until now. Once Ellen had died.

It would look like the type of place to summon a god. His mind flashed to the painting he’d imagined. It wasn’t quite the words he’d been looking for, but it described it accurately. It would look like the words a  god would sweep out of to lay a perilous quest at the feet of a mighty adventurer.

With the scene painted in his thoughts, he set his backpack on the ground and began his preparations. Four candles were placed in a semi-circle in front of the tree. Acrid smoke rose up from the matches as Jared lit each one. He looked up to the horizon line. The sunset had disappeared. The sky was now filled with bright stars. The light of the stars filtered down through the tree tops.

Jared turned back to his bag. The rest of his supplies were pulled out and arranged within the area of candlelight. A leather-bound notebook, a video camera, and a small, silver wedding ring. He set them down in no particular order and then sat cross legged in front of the tree.

A look at his watch put the time at 8:15 p.m. Jared pulled his sweater tighter around him. The breeze had picked up. He wished he’d brought his heavier jacket. Ellen had always called him a bad judge of weather. He never wore the appropriate clothing for the season. A pain flared in his chest and tears pricked his eyes. 

The forest was now pitch dark, except for Jared’s small circle of candlelight. He stood now, his hands shaking as he pushed himself up. Everything he was about to do, was theoretical. He couldn’t guarantee that it would work. In all likelihood, he might walk away from this injured or maimed. He may not walk away at all... It was a risk worth taking. He just had to ask one question. One question; one answer. That’s all he needed to move on.