Below is an example of writing fiction in the genre of memoir or a journal entry. This is all made up, folks, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental!
Fall has come, and it is only ten days til Halloween, my favorite holiday for many, many reasons. There is a shortage of pumpkins this year, but I have manage two or three. I am going to try to carve a Jack O Lantern this year, but not an elaborate one. I want the pumpkin of my youth, glowing on the front porch. My pumpkin vines are not having much luck, and the weather has been mad.
Nearly 77 today, and too sultry for almost late October. Last week, highs in the 50s, and very cold, and a rabid, insane storm last night that pounded us.
I love trains, took a short ride on Amtrak last week. I would gladly ride it from one coast to another. All these things remind me of my mother; we would have been canvassing fall festivals and antique shops, and organizing the Xmas stash by now, heading for Marshalls and TJ's to make up the slack. I wouldn't feel sick as if I would implode, and someone would remember me at Xmas, too.
She is only memory, now, as if she never were.
She was right when she said that when I lost her, I would have no one. Now, it's Dad and me. My husband has his own agenda, his own interests, his own family I'm not high on the roster. The holidays are a night mare, and the Feloni family Xmas awaits me, where I learn what else my drunken whore of a sister in law has barred me from. I wonder if my brother in law will show up in a skirt again, or if they are even together. I wonder what zinger my mother in law will fling at me like feces, if I get into the house for two mins before I run out for my life.
Other than the dog, I wonder if anyone will speak to me at all, and why my in-laws prefer people who have stolen from them, abused them, taken advantage of them, to us, who work all the time, and drop it all to help them when they need it.
It was fine till I married their son, aka, their indentured servant and chauffer.
One piece of holiday advice, never ride with my sister in law, poster child for Ashley Madison, aka, Aunt Zima; she is soused to the point alcohol has replaced her blood.
My goal is to try to learn to accept things as they are, and to deal with the holding pattern of my life right now. Being the sole provider of elder care is hard enough;doing it cross country, with two families to worry about here, one on the coast, and one in Europe that is trying to drain my dad financially is too much.
"Me" is not a word in my vocabulary. Not that I want much, a walk in the leaves, a day trip to look at foliage, to watch the reds and golds that haven't fallen from the trees no just glow, but fairly vibrate with color in the cloudy skies. I'd like to buy some mums, even if it is late, to write a Xmas list, get a flu shot. I'd like to take down shelves and rearrange the things on them, sleep without worry, draw, work on shadowboxes and needlework, finish that Anne Boleyn novella I've been writing.ow,
Now, I send packages for holidays, and pay other people's bills when I can to keep them home. Roles do change. I've a thousand things to do before I work, or get to my desk. I'm so tired.
Our son worries me, and I may have to homeschool. With good reason. My dad worries me; and dear MPD, you are completely incompetent, and have violate your own laws. Can you spell hearsay boys and girls? You deserve what happens to you. The DPR will earn more, soon. And Miss Heather Douglas, of an assumed name of Hope Creek, well, you too can talk to DPR about assaulting the elderly at 847 23 d avenue, as will that beastly, behemoth of a woman who is your accomplice at 851 23d Avenue. Shame on you!
I hate to see October go; it is my favorite month, but then again, 2015, barring my mother's death in 2008, is the worst year of my life, with no doubt.
Here's to 2016
No comments:
Post a Comment