Embarrassment
Am I Committing Social Suicide?
My boss was telling this riveting story of how she got sick from drinking too much and puked in her handbag so as not to ruin her party dress. The others around me could relate to that. Some had matching or even more sozzled stories on offer.
By Rhea Dyuti4 years ago in Confessions
Hectic Mornings.
Some days I love being a mom of two head strong and stubborn children. Today was one of those days that has us mom's wanting to pull all our hair out and run for the hills. It started with everyone sleeping through three alarms and waking up almost two hours later than our normal wakeup call.
By Heather Rose Pfeiffer4 years ago in Confessions
Family Secrets
~~INTRO~~ How long can one keep a secret? What about an entire family? Most say they can keep a secret and even claim to be able to “take it to their grave.” I must admit keeping a secret for 17 years is quite impressive especially one that was so juicy. One, mind you, that involved an affair that lasted for some time.
By Courtney Watson4 years ago in Confessions
Positives, Inspirations, Pleasures...
It is in the beginnings of the songs, in the midst of its performance on my senses, in the heat that rises in its wake, that thoughts truly reign supreme. Thoughts of how I see my loved ones through the lens of my heart and wisdom and wonder. I see them in every vision that rises before my eyes, in any atom of sight that glows off in the distance, in those far off buildings and sights where in my mind I see things happening, imagining some epic piece of life playing out. It could be at the hands of the fate of the Universe or some chapter in some grand journey. Either way, it is being unblinded to those invisible depths of thinking and perception that Heaven leads me to find. Through the pain that a beautiful instrumental, be it a phone alarm or something I come across in my musical discovery travels, brings to me imagine the loss of losing those loved ones one day by mortality requisite, or sights of them dancing along with me, silly in the grip of society's perceived filter, but a glorious hope of a Heaven--a party...endless even--that awaits us beyond these grips of grief-tinged points of cloying reality. I see them dancing, young and old alike, and I laugh with joy; laugh at how they move and flow with such finesse, and remind me, even, of how larger than age and life those young ones reveal to me in their actions at times. Form may be said to be unimportant, and it all changes, and is transformed forever, but their forms are still of importance to me. My heart and tears ache and flow at the sights of their possible flaws, and my mind sees those things and feels them within the loving filter and system that is me; that is the one who loves them and would take on their pain for them, more than I could and even beyond what is initially prevalent and possible. They are everything to me. Even if there is so much more I could get out of my life, any possibility that involves leaving their physical side or proximity brings me pause and a necessity within to avoid action and to nip it in the bud. You see in movies often that people go through journeys--heading off far from their homes--only to realize that what was most important to them was already there, waiting for them to come back home. Then again, it could be societal conditioning, or the beliefs of others that have overriden those moments of re-reflection and potential for change. Whether it is many manipulating causes that push me to choose to remain in the life exactly as it stands, or perhaps not, here is where I feel obligated to stay, suffering or otherwise. What the hell do I HAVE to go out there for? When all those things that my soul would yearn for if they passed in my absence, are already here and now? It is a continuing attempt at going through a process; of working by the inspiration of self-help materials and leaders, as I mentioned in the companion rant article that preceded this one today. Perhaps it is akin to this writing process, which requires me to fill out at least a minimum of 600 words before I can process this writing exercise, art piece, what have you. How far ahead do we have to write the story of our lives before we can get to the next chapter? After all, we can always write the same characters into our next one, can't we? Every journey has its main players, and secondary characters, and even cameos, all of whom could be present along the length of the saga. Perhaps its time I craft my autobiography in a way: of past, present, and potential future. Who knows? Maybe such a future will come true after all?
By Ad-Libbing With The Z-Man4 years ago in Confessions
Barfing in a hearse, is not as glamorous as you might think.
Barfing in a hearse, is not nearly as glamorous and exciting as it sounds. I will tell you now, the story of how I once had the misfortune of throwing up in the driver’s seat of a hearse, in procession, with a family member in the passenger seat. I write in graphic detail, because of my profession and being a mother of three children, I feel it does you no good, in the interest of the story, to not go into a high level of descriptions of the event. So, consider that your warning and invitation to continue on with the read.
By Lorie stewart4 years ago in Confessions
Caught Out Fibbing
Caught Out Fibbing--another fishy story Like most blokes, I would not have a clue about what I was wearing and when I was wearing it except for only one time in mid-2007. The reason I can state with confidence that I was wearing a green polo shirt with a yellow Gold Coast Game Fishing logo on the left breast side and a Flag of Australia on the right is that I told a fib that involved a similar shirt and got caught out.
By John W Griffiths4 years ago in Confessions
Nonsensical
I closed my eyes and inhaled. A chill from the wind crept into my bones. How much longer is this going to take? I wondered to myself. You see I was never the person who liked attention. I didn’t want to be the center of the room and I definitely was not comfortable with everyone having their eyes on me. But in a moment like this, there was no getting around it. I knew one day I would have to bare this pain. The feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes staring me down analyzing my every move. With each passing second I could feel their opinions radiating off of them like the heat that radiates off of an open flame. To some people this would be one of the most exciting times a person could ever experience. But to me, it was my punishment.
By Talia G4 years ago in Confessions
Letters Never Sent - Vol 10
March 3, 2002 Dear Rita, Let me start with the good part. I wanted to say thank you for inviting me as your plus one to the wrap party for the movie you worked on. The closest I had ever been to being near movie stars was when I was as an assistant projectionist at the movie theatre I worked at in college and that time I went to the comic-con and paid $20 to stand next to Lou Ferrigno, (who you might be interested in knowing, in real life is neither as big nor as green as he looks like on TV). But I digress.
By Bill Arrowood4 years ago in Confessions
Letters Never Sent- Vol 4
February 29, 1992 Dear Kelly, I hope you don’t mind getting letters in Campus Mail from guys you don’t know very well. I am sure, because of how pretty you are you get lots of guys trying to ask you out and stuff. But I am a little shy about talking to girls in person, so I thought I would give this a try. I didn't used to be, I used to talk to girls all the time, not like a smooth operator, or anything, just like a regular operator, I guess, but last year I had an accident with an occilating fan, (it's a long story), and every since then, well like i said its a long story.
By Bill Arrowood4 years ago in Confessions
Midnight Thoughts
Are you ever wide awake in the middle of the night when you know you should be sleeping, but you can’t sleep because your mind is just racing with all the problems you have on a daily? Then out of the blue in the midst of all those important thoughts, something nonrelevant pops into your head. Like something that happened to you when you were in elementary school. That seems to happen to me a lot. Like just the other night or morning, I’m not really sure but I know it was dark out and everyone else was asleep; I was listening to my mediation music with my eyes closed just listening to the relaxing sounds, then a memory of something that happened when I was in the fifth grade came flooding back. This wasn’t something fun or exciting, nope, it was gross. But there it was right there in my head. The memory of when this boy in my class, let’s call him Jimmy, just to save face, had his head facing down with his head in his hands. I thought he was crying or that he had a really bad headache. I kept looking at him and even asked him if he was fine. But there he sat, holding his head, no words, no sounds. Just there.
By VANESSA MARTINEZ4 years ago in Confessions
