Well, today is the day! The one day a year we all come together and celebrate our Independence! Yes, that’s right it is the FOURTH OF JULY! Where no matter where you are in this country, no matter how illegal it is you are going to shoot off fireworks! The day no matter what race, religion, sexual preference we all come together to blow shit up!

However, I always think of the song “INDEPENDENCE DAY” BY MARTINA MCBRIDE!

It is a country song, yet the words, the words are powerful! It tells the story of a woman that was beaten and battered for years that finally won her Independence by setting the house on fire with her husband in it! She may have gone to jail for her actions yet she did it with a smile on her face and protected her daughter in the process. She won her freedom that day the only way she knew how! This song simultaneously makes me makes me cry and gives me a sense of peace!

This song came out in 1993! It came to me at a time in my life where I thought I would never find my Independence! I was 16 and with nowhere to go living under a tyrannical abusive parent that I was sure would kill me before I was 18 and able to leave home. This song gave me hope for a future I had yet to see! A future I hoped and prayed would come sooner rather than later! Independence means something far greater to me than The fourth of July!

At eighteen I left and never looked back! I even said I would never come back no one believed me! Everyone in the small town I am from thought, that I would come running back in a few weeks or months with my tail tucked between my legs a miserable failure!

I never did! Yes, I stumbled along the way and I have been through a lot of educational experiences! Yet, what I found was breathtaking… I found me. I found the strength to carry on and  celebrate my own Independence Day… every day!

Every day that I don’t compromise who and what I am for someone else’s gain, every day that I don’t give in to others despite my reservations, every day that I love and cherish my kids, every day that I don’t raise my hands in anger, every day that I don’t make someone else feel like nothing for my gain that is my Independence day!

I feel for those still struggling and I hope and pray they find their way to their own Independence day minus the fire of course! Yes, we are celebrating out countries Independence from the British today but if you have found your own personal Independence you know as well as I do that it is a daily celebration! To be able to be free to be who you are with no persecution and criticism! To  live life happy that is the dream and that is my Independence Day!

What’s yours?



I have often wondered what the world thought of me.

I wish, to step outside myself and see me the way it does.

To watch the way I walk down the street or run into the arms of my lover. With my stilted gait. Do I really do it all differently, than anyone else does?

I would love to see my hair the curly rats nest that it is, blowing in the breeze on a hot summer day. Would I then see what everyone else sees in its natural cascading waves?

My eyes with their alluring hazel hues. I wonder, do they really sparkle like emeralds at times?

If I saw myself idling in line at the grocery store in my pajama bottoms late at night, Would I cringe at such a sight? Or would I applaud such obvious bravery?

I wish I could watch myself writing. I imagine myself in the midst of a story. I would watch in awe, as my left-hand scrolls across the paper creating something that wasn’t there before. My face lit up with the glow of fantasy. I wonder how beautiful I would seem, following my dreams.

I wonder if I came upon myself crying, shattered and broken. Would I be able to resist running up to wrap my arms around myself to whisper “everything will be okay.”

If I watched myself long enough would I be able to discern the moments the past catches up with me just by looking into my eyes?

Would I be like the rest of the world? Judging a book by its cover. Or would I see the past pains that broke my heart, the past joys I share in my heart? The present and all that I have overcome.

Would I see me as I know me? Or would I succumb to the poisonous way the world views me?

I know this cannot happen. I cannot step outside myself and look at who and what I am from another perspective. I guess I will have to be satisfied in knowing who and what I am deep down inside Instead of the distorted image, they see every time, I look in the mirror.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/wonder/”>Wonder</a&gt;


This is a twisted love story. It’s my favorite kind of love story.
The kind of love story that enraptures you body and soul, the kind of love story that ensnares you in its wicked dreams and carries you away on a black cloud of sin and… the forbidden.

This is a twisted love story, the kind of love story that can only break your heart, that ties you up in knots, that shatters you like glass, the kind of love story that will one day break you into a thousand tiny pieces…if you’re lucky.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that my mother warned me about when I fantasized about real love from a romance novel when I was a child. A true love story cannot be written it can only be…felt.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that I keep coming back to over and over at nauseum, and without fail. It seems… I am a masochist.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that promises redemption but gives no succor for your cause. The kind of love story everyone wants but no one gets. The kind of love story that will kill you dead while you sleep…if you let it.

This is a twisted love story, the kind of love story that is always waiting in the wings but never shows itself, a mere ghost of what the future could have held and you are left wondering…what might have been?

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will tear you down, shove you into darkness, the kind of love story that will seep into your bones take root like a tree and berate you for not being…perfect.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will tear you limb from limb and not be satisfied until you are nothing more than blood and gore. Waiting for the sun to rise again.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will leave the taste of cotton candied rainbows in your mouth and the taste of passion upon your lips, only to have it yanked away in the last moments of…breath.

This is a twisted love story. A story that will make you quiver with delight, the kind of love story that will take you for granted in all the right ways. The kind of love story that will last an eternity, that will shake you to your core and make you a better person. The kind of love that will bring you to your knees and never lose it’s tentative hold.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that will show you the stars when there are none, bathe you in the moons glow when it isn’t glowing, give you a warm fuzzy feeling even when it’s cold.

This is a twisted love story. The kind of love story that is so enamored with itself, you feel the effects long after the thrill is gone.
How do I know all of this, because this is my twisted love story.!

Dreamworld strikes again

I had yet another weird dream this morning! I was living in my old house and I was getting ready to go out for a late Valentine’s Day dinner with my husband. At the end of the month. I was trying to change but my kids kept barging in the room without even knocking.

While I was sans blouse the door opened again and as I began yelling at my oldest for barging in I realized it was not my son. It was my mother of all people. My mother whom I haven’t spoken to in two years (because she’s crazy). Looking as she did a lifetime ago smiling for once and holding a puppy.

Now let me back up here. My husband’s best friend lives down the street from where I live now and one of his three female dogs just had puppies in real life. I fell in love with one of them even though we can’t get one because my house is already filled with kids a cat and a dog. There is no more room for a puppy that will get at least twice the size of my dog.

Yet, in my dream there she was holding my puppy. Smiling ear to ear as if this little black furball was the best thing that ever happened to her. It was weird and then there was suddenly other family members all getting dressed in my eldest son’s room my husband’s sisters and mother, my mother had joined them and after I went to check their progress on getting ready to go I went back into my room and there on the bed was a red teddy. Where did it come from? How did it get here? Then I look up to see my mother standing in the doorway this time minus the puppy. I asked her “did you do this?” She just smiled a knowing smile and I was at this point really freaked out. My mother disappeared and my husband came into the room. Asking about the red teddy and I let him know what had transpired with my mother.

I told him there was something wrong with her obviously and this weighed on me as the dream began to dissolve. You see my mother has never visited me or paid any attention to the man I have been with for the past twenty years. Other than to tell me how hot he was when we first married. Yuck!

She has never even paid that much attention to me since I left home. This dream left me confused and weirded out. Is this a sign that let me know we can somehow restart out relationship and begin again? Or was it really just something I ate? Either way a little wigged out that my mother bought me a teddy to get laid in, and what the hell does that have anything to do with my puppy she decided to keep for herself? All I know is the only other dream I have ever had about my mother plagued me for months. I hope this one will not do the same!

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/restart/”>Restart</a&gt;


If the debt that all men pay is death. Then I say obsession is a sort of living death. The definition of obsession is very limited when you google it. What google failed to elaborate on is the toll a true obsession can take on you mind, body and soul.

Which brings me to the point of this blog today. Oak Island. If you haven’t heard of it then kudos to you. Because once you do I am warning you now, there is no going back. It is a small island off the cost of Nova Scotia that has spun tales of lost treasure that could be historical or mythical for over the past two hundred years.

Men have died trying to find lost treasure. Men have gone bankrupt trying to find lost treasure. Men have spent the entirety of their lives searching for lost treasure. With noone ever finding any real proof that any if not all of the many legends surrounding this island is true. I gotta ask, who would do such a thing?

These stories are so fantastical that you gotta wonder are they true? These stories run anywhere from lost pirate treasure, spanish gold hidden for safe keeping and even the lost ark of the covenant hidden by the Templar Knights. Even more current that a curse was placed on the island. It is said that seven men must die before the island will reveal its many secrets, and over the past two hundred plus years six have indeed lost their lives. Silly superstition or a real live curse?

Right now I am watching a show called The Curse of Oak Island. There are two brothers that have invested their time and money into once and for all discovering the secrets this island holds. You might say they are obsessed. I find it fascinating that fifty years ago the oldest brother at eleven years old read and article in Reader’s Digest about the island and what possible secrets she holds and with that five page article an obsession was born. All I can think is I want to be that writer. The writer that inspired not one but several men to give up everything even their own life if need be in pursuit of that ultimate prize.

I myself have become obsessed with this show. I am no longer watching a movie of made up treasure. I am watching these men devote everything they have to finding the truth. In my time our history. I have learned more about the past just by watching this show than I ever remembered in school. Yes, I want them to find this treasure, yes I want to watch as they uncover centuries worth of history and in doing so possibly change history forever.

I watch with bated breath as these guys risk it all to try to uncover a sliver of proof. That the wild myths of Oak Island are not just myths but actual fact. I am there with them silently as they dig to uncover not just treasure but a piece of history. I have to wonder what will they unearth. Is it the scrolls of one of the most brilliant men in the past or is it the so called mythical ark of the covenant so many have coveted and fought over?

I watched an episode last night a man speaks of possibly finding gold or even something of even more significance. Another guy said, what’s more important than gold?” Because of this show I realize there are two types of people in this world those that seek the almighty treasure and those that seek the truth about humanities past. I never thought of it but I know I fall into the latter category.

I have been on a quest of my own if you will, and thanks to this show alot more questions have come up that add to that ultimate question where do we come from? I am puzzled at the brothers go for broke mentality, but what if they can give us some long awaited answer to our past. Isn’t that worth more than gold? I say knowledge is priceless. If we know where we came from we can know where we are going and we can strive to not let history repeat itself.

We need information as much as the gold and I for one am impressed that these guys are taking that chance. I am there with them in spirit even if I can never get there in reality. I hope for them, me, all of us that they find what in our heart of hearts all of us are looking for. Answers. If you haven’t checked it out. It is on the history channel. Get the app now.


I have a confession to make, I am a lefty! Now I am sure you all have heard the little saying that lefties are the only people in their right mind. While this gave me comfort when I was younger it didn’t stop the barrage of comments that were at times hurtful. I was a nobody in school, I had no friends, I had a bad home life and so it made me a little socially awkward, and being a left-handed person didn’t help matters either.

Nevermind that it had been scientifically proven that left-handers use the right, more creative side of their brain. More of a free thinker if you will. I was still considered the oddball. I was born in the 70’s raised through the 80’s and by the time the mid 90’s hit I was a young adult and graduating high school. Now, this may not seem like a time where people were made fun of for just using their left hand but it was. I was traumatized!

I remember once I was a junior in high school we had a sub in science class, one of my classmate’s father no less, and a preacher to boot. We had this man as our sub for several weeks and  I just happened to sit right in front of his desk. After several days he noticed I was writing with my left hand and actually asked me in all seriousness if I were in some sort of accident that made me this way or was I born this way. Up until then I had actually blown off most of what kids would tease me about but this, coming from an adult, and a preacher no less. It got to me. You see until this moment I just thought kids could be cruel in what they say. Just because you are a little different. However, with this grown man asking me this one single question. The seed of doubt was planted and I began to think maybe there was something wrong with me because I had the nerve to go against the grain so to speak and write with my left hand.

He was not the only teacher that asked me these kinds of ridiculous questions and they all did it in a way that made the entire class sit up and take notice of the left-handed freak. Not good,  when I had been trying to be invisible for the entirety of my school career. As I grew up I realized these people are morons. Even my own mother told me later that when I began learning to write she would swat my hand to try and correct such a deformity, and yet here I am today, left-handed warts and all. Apparently, back in her day, it was a sign that your child was not all there upstairs if they were left-handed. Whatever. I guess she just didn’t want anyone to know about her mentally challenged daughter. Yeah right, “I’m the one that is mentally challenged!”

I stopped caring what others thought of my left-handedness years ago until today that is. I got a taste of the past. You see I have noticed over the years there are a lot of things in this world tailored to right-handed people. Like Golfing, you have to get a special club just to be able to hit a damned ball just over the size of a prune, really. Then there is the bane of my existence the left-handed scissors. I have to have special scissors just to cut a piece of paper. I find it ironic that I was so horribly teased in my first years of school that I made myself learn to use the regular ones, with my right hand I might add. It is one of the very few things only my right hand can do that my left one can’t to this day. I have worked in call centers for most of the past fifteen years, and while there is the dredge of going into your little cubicle every day (just like in a movie). I happen to like it except for one little thing. Every call center I have worked at you use your right hand to work the mouse. While I have grown accustomed to this over time. I now have horrific bouts of arthritis running from the tips of my fingers to just above my elbow. Some days I can’t even lift an empty cup without excruciating pain.

So today I asked my manager if I could get a left-handed mouse for the computer. I know they are out there. She looked at me in horrified shock and asked,”You’re left-handed?” Then proceeded to tell me I would need to get a Doctor’s note in order to get a mouse for my left hand. Really? I don’t know what pissed me off the most the look of utter shock or the whole Dr’s note thing. I mean really we are in 2018. It is not as if I have a flesh-eating virus or something. Yet, this is how she chose to look at me. Wow! Some old feelings stirred for about half a second before I counted to 10 in my head and plastered on a smile I didn’t feel and said, “Okay I’ll look into it.” It just goes to show how much I have grown in the face of such clear stupidity.

I think it is funny that right after high school I saw a bumper sticker that actually read, “lefty’s have rights too”  I loved it and have never been able to find it since then, but it is emblazoned in my mind forever. I will one day have that very same sticker plastered on the back of my car and I will wear it proudly. Remeber without lefties their wouldn’t be such greats as Baseball legends like Lou Gehrig, Joe Jackson, Babe Ruth! Or such phenomenal artists,  as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, or Pablo Picasso. Or such brilliant minds as Marie Curie, Aristotle, or Jimi Hendrix.  These names are synonymous with greatness in human history. These great minds, all used the right side of their brains and while being a lefty is not all that common what few of us there are tend to do brilliant things and become legends of history. I am proud to have something in common with such greatness.

So before you mock a lefty remember he or she may one day rule the world. Because we may be few in numbers but we are a fortress of strong minds.




I saw the most perfect snowflake today. I was waiting with my son for the school bus when it began to snow. It wasn’t much but just enough to say that it indeed had snowed.

There I was minding my own business trying to keep warm by the heat coming through the vents, dressed only in my pajamas when it landed right in front of my face. Attaching itself to my windshield.

For one brief second, time stood still as I gazed out the window at this perfect, fat, flake, of snow. It was as if everything was frozen in that second, Only, my breath puffing out in chilled tendrils of icy fog could be heard.

It was like I had gone deaf, save for the breathing, everything around me was in slow motion and nothing else existed in this moment except for that one perfect, snowflake.

All too soon the second was gone followed by sound, coming back to me in roaring waves as the bus finally appeared up over the hill and my son whispered a quick “love you” before he jumped out of the car and raced to get on it. In a daze, I turned my car around and headed back to the house. All the while contemplating this perfect snowflake.

He held on for the two short blocks back to to the house and by the time I pulled in to my driveway I was convinced he was following me. This snowflake with the perfect form, this snowflake that had me contemplating myself, my world, the universe in that one split second he fluttered onto the glass.

You see I had never really looked at snowflakes before, not a real one. I mean I watched as it landed on my tongue I could feel its iciness spread throughout my mouth. I have walked on snow as it soaked into my feet. I have seen pictures of ornaments and even did cutouts of them for Christmas but never, have I ever actually seen a single, perfect snowflake until today.

I always just thought it had something to do with Science, you know the mechanics of what snow is. Or that it was just another one of God’s little miracles, but to actually see it with my own eyes, took my breath away. I just thought it was little tiny specs of ice accumulated together, but this.This snowflake with all his perfect dimensions. The perfectly structured inner webbing, and the perfect points on the outside of each edge. A design so beautiful it almost brought tears to my eyes, because in that second I knew I was surrounded by the ultimate creator.

This moment was filled with so much peace. I was shaken to my core once I realized it was over. I almost wept over the loss. I carried this feeling with me for the rest of the day. A sort of calm against the storm. I even felt a slight sense of grief after he melted off my window. I just kept asking myself. How? Why? Did God make something so insignificant, so tiny, this beautiful? I was at a loss for words and even after I was home I stared at it sitting there on my windshield an uninvited guest among the dirt and other not so perfect snowflakes. That’s when it hit me.

I began to take notice of all the other flakes and noticed most of them had tiny imperfections but there were more and more that had a flawless design.  I was so enamored with this one perfect flake that I had neglected to notice the other more prominent snowflakes. Each one just as beautiful in their own way. No two flakes where alike, and I began comparing them to mankind and of how no two people are alike, we all have our own soul our own thoughts, our own uniqueness. Some of us may look perfect but we all have tiny imperfections that make up the thing that is us. We are all perfect snowflakes in our own way.

Short, fat, tall, thin. We are all what, God intended. Just as he did each flake of snow that touched our tounges when we were children, have you kissed a snowflake today?  So remember the next time you are down on yourself for not being pretty enough, or smart enough, or wise enough, or perfect enough.  You are a perfect snowflake.





The conversation turned from silly to serious once the demon entered the bar.  Heidi had been biding her time mindlessly flirting with the pseudo elf until her mark finally walked in. She was just about to give up and leave the boring man dressed all in green when suddenly the air ratcheted up a few degrees and in walked the biggest, hottest horned devil she had ever laid eyes on. His picture did not do him justice and judging by the way the women tripped over each other to get to him he obviously had a reputation.

He was so large he had to duck to enter the bar and even then his horns narrowly missed the frame. Heidi found herself damned near salivating at the way his long blond hair brushed against the rippling muscles that started at his neck and just kept going and going and going. She shook herself out of her reverie and downed the rest of the vodka in her glass for some liquid courage before dismissing the human playing dress up in front of her as she walked sensually over to the beautiful devil. It was time to get her game face on. She was a bounty hunter on a mission and she never missed her mark. This guy would be no exception but maybe she could get a little fun time in while she was taking him down in the process.

Gabe sniffed out the bounty hunter the instant his horns cleared the threshold into the bar. She had an odor that was unlike any of the riffraff in this place. While women fairy and human alike flocked to his side as they always did. He zeroed in on the knockout at the other end of the bar. Dressed all in black leather leaving very little to the imagination he wondered where in the hell she was hiding her blade. He scented the cold steel was on her he just couldn’t figure out where. The black leather breeches didn’t reveal her secrets even though they appeared to be painted on. With slits down the sides, he glimpsed her milky white flesh every few centimeters or so and for just a moment he longed to be those damned pants.

Her shirt was no better if that is what you can call it. It was more like a bra covering only her tits while her flat creamy flesh underneath it lay bare for the world to see. An emerald stud in the center of her belly button to match her eyes. Ah, those eyes. A demon like him could drown in those eyes. Thank God he was strong-willed. The fae wanna be next to her would not be so lucky. Speaking of, the guy stunk of human and Gabe felt like bashing the idiots head in for even thinking of touching her. A streak of something akin to jealousy leaked into his pores as he imagined yanking her away from this guys clutches by her long jet black hair and throwing her up against the wall to have his wicked way with her. In front of everyone here.

He shook himself as anger began to course through him. What the hell was that? He felt like a young buck not able to control his appetites. Instead of the 145 years, he actually was. He took a big sniff and then it hit him. The sweet ambrosia smell that could only come from his mate. He began to chuckle at the timing of the universe. He had been alone for all these years and now, the powers that be had finally sent the only person he could be with forever. In the form of a raven-haired temptress that was getting paid to turn him in.

She put the glass to her crimson lips and downed her drink in one gulp. Oh, the things he could do to that mouth. She tossed her hair dismissing the cockroach beside her and turned her attention over to him as she began sauntering over to him with a sheepish grin. A smile broke out onto his face as he watched her body move like a jungle cat stalking its prey. He was almost giddy at the idea of being her prey, but what she didn’t realize is that she was being stalked too. He couldn’t wait to hear her voice as she tried to seduce him into a false sense of security. He would play along, for now. Until it was time to claim his mate that is. A full on chuckle escaped his lips as she approached this was going to make for one interesting conversation. 


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/conversation/”>Conversation</a&gt;