Dragon's Journal

It's not easy living alone in a time that is not yours. Once a mighty, powerful beast-- now chained by a society that wants to keep me beaten down. And though the chains upon my legs and neck are invisible, they are binding all the same. And I know that I'll never break free; I'll never fly. My wings are broken and my spirit is crushed under the weight of my captor's chains.

My cave is falling down around me and the water has been dried up for over a year. Food is scarce and what little I can get comes at a high price. Day and night they try to take my cave, they try to beat the will to live out of me. But I sustain, and survive the best I can.

I toil my life away, my feet and back ache, but I work consistently, and yet it is still not enough for them. Through sweat and tears, I put one foot in front of the other, but day by day I grow more weary. A heart once strong and full of dreams and love is now just a vessel filled with pain and despair. I long to be free; I long to fly.

I look upon the heavens and let out a mournful cry, but get no reply. I am alone, perhaps the last of my kind.

Fire has turned into nothing more than mere smoke-- and dreams into ashes. The chains tighten around my neck threatening to choke out my very existence.

 I used to have dreams of another dragon, one of light like a bright star on the horizon. One that would one day come and break these chains that bind me--one that would free me from my oppressors. But now my nights are restless, I sleep little and dream no more. I grow old and weak as my enemies grow stronger, and soon the last dragon will be a passing thought in the minds of those who remember of a time when dragon wings spread gracefully in blue skies and shined with the promise of magic and light in an otherwise bleak world. Afterall what is life without magic? Without dreams of what could be? What is a land without dragons?

Dragon's Land/Flying with Broken Wings-- a WIP.

RIP RAY BRADBURY

I had no idea of Ray Bradbury's death until I read Rhoda's blog
http://glitter-n-gore.livejournal.com/13155.html

I have no words to convey the feelings I have on losing this great writer. Though, it's been a while since I read one of his books, he has always been and will always be an inspiration to me. God rest his soul.

Bradbury 1920-2012

Tormented Soul

         I have lived a million years. I have loved and lost; I've lived and died many times over. I watch the world as an outsider, always keeping my distance. My mind reels at the cruelty and evil that abounds before me. I pity the victims who have been mistreated, abused, and unjustly accosted. I do not put myself in the victim category, but I can sympathize.

I watch from afar, lovers hand in hand, affectionate hugs-tender kisses and I cringe at the sight, seeing only the pain yet to come. I wonder when they will know of its sharp sting. I am saddened to know that they will one day feel the pain in which I've felt.

Innocent babes, God's children. Once rocked and basked in their Father's love.

 Souls of purity. I ponder on why he chose to cast them down into a cold, relentless

world of little compassion and unthinkable evil. Pure, loved souls suddenly subjected

 to pain, hate, greed, and despair. I don't have the answers, I just watch and mourn as

 these souls are twisted and molded into something else.

        I have strayed from God; I have been lost. I have wandered the world alone,

seeking  answers that will not come, looking for shelter, but finding none. I have been

beaten and tortured. I've faced death and evil many times, some battles I overcame

bearing the scars and the bitter-sweet taste of victory—some I did not. Some of me has died,

or

 gotten lost along my travels. I seek a way to fill in the missing pieces, but the holes

are too vast and the wounds run too deep. Am I a victim of this cruel world?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Many bad decisions and wrong  paths taken have led me to

where I am today, much blame rests upon my shoulders. It weighs me down; my

 legs often feel as if they are made of lead as I search for the light. Always seeking,

 always praying. I am, after all, God's child. The light is before me, I just can't see it; I 

can't get myself clear from the darkness that shrouds my soul, my heart, and my mind.

I close my eyes and see no dreams. Only remnants of the ones I buried long ago. Sometimes they prod at me, trying to come back to life. I force them back into their cold graves where they belong. I have no room for them in my life and they will not tease me as they've done before. My heart is steel and I wear my armor proudly. Not invincible, but less vulnerable as I was in my youth. I'm a warrior—a survivor, and I carry on with what strength I have left. Hardened by life, but a heart still soft and gentle when it comes to family, friends, and children.

I fight armies alone; I hold the world on my shoulders. Enemies come and I stand my ground, even when I'm attacked from all sides. Sometimes the battles are won—sometimes lost. It's the way of things, but a way that I'm well accustomed to.

I look upon the mountains, the sky, the trees, and the moon for answers. I look towards God, and sigh, for I know that I am unworthy. I relentlessly seek a path that will lead me to peace, contentment, and understanding, but I am blind so I travel in darkness. I wish to bring light, love, and joy to others, but the way is unclear and beyond me. Sadness veils my heart--despair clouds my mind.

Upon knees, I fall and weep at my own sins. I cry out to God, begging for his forgiveness and mercy. My strength is drained and it's a struggle to rise again, to fight the overpowering urge to surrender—to give up.

The sun rises; the sun sets. I stare up at the moon; it repels the darkness. And I breathe again.

I've seen tell-tale signs of kindness, truth, compassion, and even love. So, I go along my way-- seeking, searching in chance that I may stumble across it or catch a glimpse of such things again before I die.

Dreams poke and prod, I shove them down. I walk tall, though I've been battered and am weak. I walk alone. Watching, seeking, grasping for something unknown.

         I am a warrior- I am what I am, but I'd rather be a babe of purity basking in my

Father's arms.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KcRl1p2waM&list=FL5RjogWbE035lOannv6ZhEg&feature=mh_lolz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tH2w6Oxx0kQ&feature=mr_meh&list=FL5RjogWbE035lOannv6ZhEg&playnext=0

Post Apocalyptic Survivor?

Do you picture yourself as a warrior? A Daryl or perhaps even a Shane? (The Walking Dead) or Eli (Book of Eli). Are you carrying a sword and hacking off zombie heads, even though you never wielded a sword in your life. Or maybe you're an expert marksman and shooting them between the eyes, even though you've never even owned a gun. Will you be the one to outwit, outman, and outarm the cannibals or the rebels that are after your food, water, and your life? Of course you will be, because you're just cool like that.

But in all reality& (nonreality) if zombies rose from the depths of death, or an epic virus spread across the nation, or in the case of global nuclear warfare- most of us will be the first to die, or a lot of us would be the zombies. But what fun is it to imagine that you're a corpse or a slow, dead-brained, walking heap of rotting meat?

Would you, if you were like one of the perhaps twenty-five percent that live, search out others? Safety in numbers. Or would you be the bad ass loner that feels that others only hinder your survival? Would you share what little food you had or help someone who is surrounded by enemies? Or say, "Screw that!" Would you even shoot someone in the leg to insure your own escape if necessary, or unnecessary (yes, a Shane reference, just gotta love that guy unless you're the one he shot in the leg and got left for zombie bait).

But who do you think has the best chance at survival? Maybe someone in the military? After all they are trained for combat. Or maybe someone who lives in the mountains away from society? The only problem is, is that they won't know what's going on and ignorance isn't always bliss when a zombie is standing over your bed. A cop? A killer? A trained assasin, or maybe a stealthy ninja?
Or maybe you?


I imagine that I'll be kick ass with my sword and dagger (yes, I have those). Have I ever used them? er...no, but that matters not because I'll instantly become the greatest swordmaster, warrior, and zombie slayer ever because I have a big imagination. Cower in the corner and become zombie bait?! I think not. hehee, I'll no doubt be one of the first to die, just a pile of bones on the corner. Not from zombies, war, or nuclear fall-out, but from the loss of the internet. I'm pretty sure I won't survive that.

How do you picture yourself in a post apocalyptic world?

*novel research*

and well hell, just for the fun of it. :D

Happy Mother's Day

Want to wish all you mothers out there a Happy Mother's Day. I hope it was a good day for all of you. :)

I spent the day with my darling daughter. Now that she's grown and married I don't get to see her nearly enough. Memories dance in my mind of when she was young and it's hard to think of her as all grown up now. And my boy is also married and now has two children of his own. Strange how time passes so quickly and we don't even know it. Seems as if they'll be young forever, then you wake up one day and they're graduating. Then before you know it they're married, out of the house, and having children of their own. And it makes us old, or at least we feel that way.

I remember a small hand in mine, bedtime stories, a smile, tears, monsters in the closet, the sound of little feet, the laughter, the questions, the giggles, eyes wide in awe at something new, first steps, bedtime denials, funny things they said, a hug, a kiss, a cherished moment caught on camera, watching them as they slept, worrying when they were hurt or ill, a tug on my pants, dancing and singing, school plays, and a constant stream of mom? mom? mom? mom? These are some of the things that I'll always remember and cherish. And then came the teenage years, but lets not spoil the moment. :D

And while I am not the best mother in the world, they are my world.<3 I hope they know that I love them and that they forgive me for my mistakes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYHT-TF4KO4&feature=autoplay&list=FL5RjogWbE035lOannv6ZhEg&playnext=8

Return to the Hospital

To catch some of my blog friends up on to what's been happening with me...

I got really low on blood before my scheduled surgery and could not wait, I had to go back to the home of the horrible coffee. A day in and still they could find no blood for me. My bloodtype is common, however I've had so many transfusions that the anitbodies/antigens no longer match any other blood.

Second day in- blood drops from a hemoglobin of 5.9 to 3.6. Nurses, doctors all seem worried. They keep asking for names of relatives and telling me to stay awake. That's all I remember. They move me into ICU. I remember seeing my doctor at some point in time, but don't really remember what was said.

"Am I dying?" I ask.

"You're bleeding out," says a nurse. "We have no blood for you. Do you have any relatives other than your daughter?"

"I'm sure I do," I say and I'm out again.

I wake up in the surgery prep room. I know this room well. People stop and ask what I'm doing back there again. Only one month since I had been in here. I'm afraid. I'm thinking that surgery is a bloody affair and I have no blood to spare. What if I bleed out on the operating table and die. Am assured however that I'm bleeding out more by the minute than I'll ever bleed in surgery. It's emergency surgery or death. Anesthesia guy is nice, they are all nice. He goes through an artery in my wrist to try and find some blood to do a blood count. A blood arc he calls it. It's painful even with the deadening. Someone says that I'm holding at three for now. I'm wheeled into surgery.

I wake up mad...fighting...don't know why, don't know where I am. Trying to get some kind of mask off my face, but hands grab mine and hold them down. I go under again.

Next time I awake, I'm in ICU. Blood techs are working day and night trying to match my blood. They've contacted Dallas and Houston blood banks. Called in extra people to help search. The following day the nurses are more relaxed around me. Two units, possibly three, of blood have been found. They start the transfusion. After my body excepts one of the units I am taken out of ICU and returned to my room on the third floor. Where eventually three more units of blood are found due to the diligence and hard work of the blood technicians.

I tell my doctor..."you people sure do panic easily."

He says, "Yeah, I tend to do that when my patient has no blood and is dying."

"Pfft," I said. "I still had at least 3 in me."

"I've seen people die with more than that in them."

"Ha. I'm not 'people' I've been down to 1.5 before and I walked into the hospital to tell them about it. My body is used to having no blood, it wasn't in shock about it."

Anyway to summon up a long post--after more days and nights of severe nausea, a chest infection, respiratory therapy, much soreness, headaches, IV bloating, blown veins, tapped arteries, bad food, good desserts, watered down sodas, nurses' hugs, and a farewell/get well card from the blood technicians I was released yesterday.

And even though I'll always hate the hospital, I owe my life to the dedication of the blood techs, nurses, surgery and ICU staff, anesthesia guy, blood banks, and to my doctor. And yes, even to the cafeteria crew who kept me alive with their desserts. And a special note of thanks for all of you that donate blood out there, without it many lives would be lost each year including mine. <3

And thanks to my kids for being there for me and for taking care of my kitty cats. My son-in-law even mowed my yard while I was in there. He gets special M-I-L points for that. :D And want to thank all my friends at AW, twitter tweeps, and fb pals for all the hugs, get well wishes, and prayers sent up. <3