#BatFiles 2 – One Distinguishing Feature

I wasn’t sure what to write for this prompt. My life is fairly simple and plain. I wasn’t born during an eclipse like my sister. I wasn’t the first-born in the family, or the last. The only thing that set me apart from my siblings was that I was born with a full head of black hair and olive skin, while they were born with platinum blonde hair and the Irish peaches and cream-colored skin of our mother. siblings

Seriously, our baby pictures look like I came from completely different parents. When mom sent out pictures of me to our family, they called her up asking “Who’s the Asian kid?” I have since then lost my dark skin (for the most part), and my brother lost his hair, but as you can see, I’m still the odd one out.

My siblings are both 9+ years older than me, but that’s nothing special either. My friend Nikki shares a similar age gap between her and her brother. I had an accident when I was a toddler that has left me with a pupil that is permanently dilated, but after the amount of time I’ve spent at the eye doctors this past year, that isn’t all that “wow, really?” either. I know my friends, so I know I’m not the only one who would geek out over the MRI and CAT scan results. Pretty much the only thing that I have encountered that most people haven’t is also something that doesn’t really come up in conversation.

Death dreams. And yes, it’s as ominous as it sounds.

I’ve dreamed of at least six people’s deaths before it happened (No, I would not like one of those special coats that buckle in the back, thank you for asking). They’ve all been family members, or close friends to the family, so it’s not like these dreams can predict catastrophes, but they’ve been accurate enough that when I wake up from one of those dreams, I start preparing to say goodbye. The deaths have all been sudden ones, too, so it’s not like it was a death anyone could’ve seen coming, especially considering I was only eleven the first time I had one. Well, the first one I remember, anyway.

I dreamed that my father was swallowed up by darkness as he was running up the basement stairs. My mother and I were chased out of the house by a flood, and we ran across the street to my best friend’s house, where we got together with his family and floated away to safety, though we left his father behind as well, for some reason.

A couple months later, my father was coming up the basement stairs and a blood clot went through either his heart or his lung (I don’t remember which). He had a seizure, and survived, but later that day, he went to the doctor to get everything checked out, and…well. He never came home. He had another seizure and died on the steps outside the doctor’s office. Nine months to the day later, my best friend’s father died as well.

The last one happened almost two years ago, and the person who died was, as far as we all knew, in the peak of health. If I am remembering correctly, he died of sudden cardiac arrest.

On an interesting note, I have two aunts who supposedly might not finish out the year, and I have not had a death dream for either of them. Not that I’ve recognized, anyway. So who knows how this all works? I certainly don’t, though I would love to figure it out so I can shut it off. Dreaming of people walking away forever, even though it doesn’t happen all that often, is still a draining experience. Especially when you have to live with the fear that the next person you “see” walk away, will be the one closest to your heart.

#BatFiles 1 – Distractions

Ah, what doesn’t distract me from writing?

Right now, it’s this blog. And homework. And DC Legends on my phone, Criminal Case on Facebook, and Homescapes on my tablet. There’s also the new wall going up in my room (long story, will explain later), so there’s moving stuff out of my room, painting, moving the stuff back in.

There’s making sure the kids do their homework and chores before my roommates go on vacation, doing my grocery shopping for the week, and getting ready for my vacation next month (yes, I plan this far ahead). Let me put it this way: when I began writing this, my roommates hadn’t left for vacation yet. They’ve been gone a few days now. It has taken me two weeks to write two paragraphs. Oyvey.

Honestly, with life, it’s entirely too easy to get distracted, and we all know it. I try to make myself sit down and focus on just one thing, but unless I’m really feeling whatever it is, my brain goes “SQUIRREL!” and I end up going down the rabbit hole. On the plus side, I learn so much, because the rabbit holes are usually of the philosophical sort, but on the downside, my writing suffers.

I’ve tried every suggestion I’ve been given to keep myself on track and none of them have worked. I have an app now called StayFocusd, and I plan on giving it a try next, but I already know I’m going to end up turning it off. I hate having limits putting on me. My brain goes all “Bring Down the House” Queen Latifah on me and by the time it’s done having its say, my ass is hanging from a bathroom hook at a fancy country club, and I don’t ever want to have that conversation again, either. So yeah, limits are a bad thing.

One day I will find a way to get my brain to just shut up and let me work, but I’m not holding my breath waiting.

#PhotoStoryChallenge – Lonely Roads

Photo by Radina Valova




“Oh, I’m sorry, have you forgotten how to English? Here: neinnyet, non, iie, bu. Are those any better?”

I looked at Sarah, sitting so prim and proper on the broken down doorstep of a former roadside shop, and sighed. “Fine.” I dropped down to sit next to her and instantly regretted it as my ass informed me that it had found a multitude of rusty nails and sharp pebbles. I grimaced but ignored the pinpricks of pain to focus on the more important pain in the ass. “If not here, then where?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah kicked at the ground, sending a plume of dust into the air. “Anywhere.”

“Anywhere, but here.”

She shrugged.

The customer is always right.’ I reminded myself. Leaning back on my hands, I stared up at the jagged hills lining the road. They tried so hard to look like mountains, but all I could see was a bunch of try hards and failed wannabes. I sighed again and stood up.

“Alright. You win. We’ll try somewhere else.” I shook my head at the grateful smile she sent my way, and headed back to my rental car. I could hear her footsteps as she scrambled to catch up with me. I waited until she was in her own car before pulling off the shoulder, leading her further into the country side.

I suppose, if I was going to pick a place to die, I, too, could think of better places to be killed than on this lonely road.

“Relation-shits” – I love it!

Some solid relationship advice right here.

Hiya friends, welcome back. I’m not really sure how to start this so I’m just gonna jump right in. No relationship is perfect, and the worst thing you can do is compare yours to someone else’s. Whoa, wait…maybe I should back up and start from the beginning. I have a friend who has a girlfriend, […]

via Relation-shits! — The Biblio Feels

New year, Old me.

It’s the New Year, so of course, everyone is making resolutions for the year. Some people are being smart about it, keeping it to things that are actually within reach (looking at you, Nikki ), and to you guys, I tip my hat. The rest of ya’ll are just crazy, and I wish you the best of luck.

Me? My only promise is to still be me. I know better than to try and make any sudden changes, and honestly, there’s not that much I want to change about myself. I’m not perfect, but I am me. I am the product of my life, and I am okay with that.

Now, I’m not saying there won’t be changes (in general), but the changes coming are about me finally getting off of my butt and getting serious about my chosen profession. That means more blog posts (dangit), more writing in general, and less Facebook games when I should be writing (really not liking that one…).

I’ve already gotten started on the more blog posts. I have two more posts about World Building in my queue to get finished, and I have another about Creative License vs. Laziness waiting to be written. There’s life working at a gas station (more exciting than you’d think, believe it or not), and life being a nanny of two kids who are characters all on their own.

For the more writing part, I’ve started work on “Storm Warning” again, and book two in my zombies series, “Blood Runs Black” went live on New Years Day. I’ve also joined the monthly writing challenge over at WritingChallenge.org , along with Nikki over at thebibliofeels. It’s only day 3, but we’re doing well so far. We just have to keep at each other, and that’s not exactly a problem for us.

The Facebook games…ugh. That is the tough one. I really only play one, but then I spend the rest of my time playing The Sims (4, of course) or DC Legends, and those…those are time killers like no other. In fact, I’m pretty sure Time sees those coming and just starts begging for mercy. It never gets any, but at least it tries. The other problem is that when I’m not playing those games…I’m playing Playstation. I don’t have the fancypants PS4, but PS3 has enough games to keep me occupied, and my roommate just added another one (more on that later).

So yeah. No new years resolutions, but a whole crap load on my plate anyway. Ah well. Fun times, amiright?


I swear. Every other year, I see/hear about people participating in NaNoWriMo, and I ask myself “why not?” and I decide to give it a try the next year. Halfway through, my word count is at half of what it’s supposed to be (and that’s if I’m lucky), the feeling of failure starts sinking in, and I suddenly remember “oh, this is why!”

know we’re not supposed to get discouraged. I know that every single word, even if we only write five for the whole month is still five more than we had before, but it doesn’t help. Especially when there are people calling out their word counts, and you can’t help but compare theirs to your own and feel like you’re fighting a losing battle.

I fell into the NaNo void this year. I am currently about 20k words behind, and Thanksgiving week, when the kids will be home from school starts on Monday. I also have two major assignments coming up that same week, and the week after, during the last week of NaNo. I’m not counting on catching up. I’m pretty much making this post to remind myself not to fall for this again. I’m still writing, don’t get me wrong, but I am refusing to let myself feel bad for not reaching the goal.

For those of you who are participating: Best of luck.

For those of you who are so far behind that you’re about to give up: grab a cup of coffee or tea (or whatever) and join me. We can sit together and enjoy the wooshing sound the NaNo deadline makes as it goes flying by.

The things we realize…

It’s interesting how a random thought can turn into a realization about your entire childhood. A couple weeks ago, someone on Facebook posted about how they liked horseradish, and it got me thinking about my grandfather.

In the entire time that I knew him, and I’ll grant you, it wasn’t very long, but in that time, he never asked me to bring him anything. He would ask my cousins, or my aunts and uncles, but never me, and I think I finally figured out why.

To borrow the good ol’ sports analogy, I was born with two strikes against me. Let me explain…

First, my mother.

My mother is easily the most kind hearted person I know. Sometime early in my parent’s relationship, my mom was helping make sandwiches for lunch. My grandfather asked for horseradish on his. Mom, never having horseradish before, proceeded to slather it on to the bread like it was mayonnaise, and gave it to him. Grandpa took one bite, and spat it back out, yelling, “You trying to kill me, woman?!”

That was strike one.

Then, my sister.

My brother and sister are both 9+ years older than I am, and grew up when my family was especially church orientated. When I say “church orientated”, I mean, my father was a deacon, and my mother was a Sunday School teacher. So it was church every Wednesday, twice on Sunday, and every single day during Revival. This might not seem relevant, but bear with me.

Now, my grandfather liked to drink beer. He also liked to sit in his comfy chair, which left him with a problem: how to get a nice cold beer from the fridge…without getting out of his comfy chair. His solution was to ask my sister to bring him a beer.

Remember the thing about the church? Here is where it comes into play, because, you see, the church taught two major things: respecting your elders…and alcohol is bad. So, grandpa’s solution…became my sister’s problem. Alcohol was bad, but so was refusing to do what he asked her to. Fortunately, my sister has always been smart and came up with a solution to grandpa’s “solution.” She brought him a beer from the fridge, alright. But first, she gave it a good shake.

He made it through the unexpected beer shower the first time. And the second. And maybe even the third, I don’t remember how many times she did this to him before his cogs started turning, but eventually, he stopped asking her, and turned to my brother instead.

I love my sister, let me just get that out of the way now. She is the usually the sweetest little thing. However, she has her moments. And when grandpa asked our brother to bring him a beer? Well, she had a moment. She got our brother, three years younger than her, in on Operation Respect Our Elders/Beer is Bad. It eventually got to the point where grandpa would look around, realize that they were the only two there…and get up out of his chair to go get his beer, rather than risk another shower.

That was strike two.

By the time I came around, grandpa decided it was better to change sports than to worry about any curve balls I might’ve thrown him, and – just to be safe – he also wrote my name on all of the benches…with permanent marker. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, of course, I’m surprised he didn’t take a knife and carve my name into the wood.

At any rate, it’s a childhood mystery solved.

[Update] Everything is good so far!

For those who want the tl;dr version, please see the title. Everyone else, please continue reading.

Yesterday was the one month post-op check up. I won’t go into the long ass wait, because it really was a long ass wait (the neuro-specialist was called away for an emergency surgery), but the long of the short (so far) is that I am okay, and doing great so far.

There were a few concerns I had to ask him about though. I was told  that I may experience blurry vision for about a year. That’s all fine and good, but I expected it to mean that, when my eye opened up finally, that it would start off as blurry, and get better in time. Instead, one day, my vision will be fine, and the next, it isn’t. One minute, my vision is fine, and the next it isn’t. Hell, my vision has gone in and out about 3 times while I was typing this. I wouldn’t care so much, since I know it’s supposed to be temporary, but I have classes and work, and I need to be able to read for both of those. So yeah. it’s annoying.

The other issue I was worried about is because the eye they operated on is not tearing up the way it should. I went to watch “Wonder Woman” for my niece’s birthday, and during the sad scenes…only one eye cried. It was a very weird experience. It did it again when we went and watched Despicable Me 3 (though, fortunately, not as many sad scenes).

So I talked it over with the doctor, and he thinks it’s because of the gland they operated on. The lacrimal gland is the tear gland. He says that the gland creates a film of moisture over the eye that helps it to move easily within the orbit, and to see. According to the notes from the surgery, there wasn’t any damage to the gland, but it could be not working right yet because of the trauma around it. So, basically, the gland is either creating a thicker than usual film over the eye, or it’s not creating enough of a film. Either way, I have eye drops to try and help it out. We won’t know if it’s a permanent thing or not for a while.

Other than that, the doc says I’m healing great, and my next appointment will be in about three months.

Next update: holy world building, Batman! I’m in love *_*