Soap?

So the latest craze, it seems, is my generation's addiciton to social media.  Things like Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram...you name it, have taken hold of my fellow earth dwellers, quickly entwining their slight, but strong, tentacles into every aspect of their day.  A status update isn't enough, now we have to have a location and a picture attached to it.  I'm not exactly sure how snapchat works, but my understanding is that people are able to take pictures of whatever they're doing and send it to their friends whenever they want.  I find this incredibly creepy, bordering on infringement of privacy.  The world doesn't need to know (via a cheesy selfie) that you've arrived at work and now you're going to clock in and then you're going to...NOBODY CARES!!!

Call me old fashioned.  Call me grumpy and dated.  Even if I could afford a smartphone, I wouldn't buy one.  Actually, the only reason I even have a cell phone is because it's the only way most of my friends communicate anymore.  Communication....that is what we're trying to accomplish with all this "technology", right?  Because we have these apps on this kind of phone we can now communicate faster, easier, and better...right?  But is communication what we're ultimately striving for, or are we simply trying to be noticed?  Often times I get the feeling that instead of communicating (exchanging ideas/news between two parties), people use social media sites as their personal soap box, yelling out for all to hear, their own opinion/view/philosophy/theory/etc.  Isn't that what I'm doing right now?  Well....shoot!

My fear is that users will take the soap box-freedom thing too far by saying things that they wouldn't normally say in person.  Blurting things out on the internet doesn't require you to be face to face with another human.  You aren't able to see how your words are affecting your readers.  People tend to be harsher with their words online, than when discussing them face to face.  Are we then practicing good communication, or are we merely taking part in a virtual shouting match?  Is your point really getting  across? 

When I first started blogging, I was guilty of this.  I didn't necessarily beat or bully people with words, but I used my blog almost as my own personal journal opened for the world to read.  Trust me, some things are better kept private.  It took a reality slap from some loved ones to open my eyes to the fact that I was making a fool of myself.  My hope is that those of us who do choose to use social media tools will do so, consciously thinking about how whatever they're about to post will affect those who read it.  Be kind with your words, be considerate.  Please also consider that whatever you're about to post might be better accepted by the intended receiver in a face to face conversation, rather than splayed out online for all to see.  I'm not naive.  I know there's a real world out there and life isn't sugar coated, but I don't think it would hurt for us to write as if our moms were looking over our shoulders!

Baking Away My Problems

I head toward the kitchen, stressed out. I've always liked oatmeal cookies and decide to try a recipe that I found in a magazine.  Baking is the release I need right now, being better than reading a book or watching t.v.  Stress is one thing, but not being able to vent it is another cat entirely.  My father is being especially difficult to get along with on this long weekend, and we all know that "when dad isn't happy, nobody is happy".  Mom is grumpy after trying to sweet talk him and has no patience left for me or my brother.  I understand what's going on and am here to help, but she still insists on talking to me like crap.

Preheat the oven, soak the raisins (do I even have raisins?).  The dry ingredients are pretty with the brownish red cinnamon swirled in the stark white flour and sugar.  The wet elements are mixed separately, and then added to the dry.  Their segregation reminds me of how the world works.  We segregate each other, yet when something needs to be done/created, it takes all of us together to get the job done.

I like baking alone in the kitchen.  Mom isn't hovering around, picking out my flaws.  I feel relaxed and let my creative juices flow.  Somehow, I find the energy to clean up messes and tackle the huge mound of dishes, but can't seem to find the time to clean the bathroom.  Typical.  After investigating, dad hints that he would like me to make the blueberry muffins he bought.  Awesome, yet another thing he wants me to do for him!

Okay, clean the mess up from cookies and move on to muffins.  Add water, mix thoroughly.  Drop batter into muffin cups (but not too much).  Set the timer and gather cleaning supplies for the bathroom (yes, I've resolved to clean it after all).  Cookie dough threatens to come back up as I clean the toilet seat.  How scrumptious.  Timer buzzes.  I finish the bathroom and grab the muffins out of the inferno.

Ten minutes later, I've cleaned up the remaining messes, arranged the muffins (rather prettily, I think), and stand in the middle of the kitchen, arms hanging by my side.  Without the stress and anger, I feel rather limp and worn out.  I taste a cookie and decide they probably won't be very good after all.

Awakening

The thunderheads had been building up all day, erasing the "if" and leaving the "when" it was going to unleash the wet drops of water.  It didn't take long, but at last you could smell the rain as it traveled over the road, across the lawn, and up our porch.  The early spring shower was a welcome sight after the icky slushy snow that had been lingering for the past few weeks.

Animals could feel the change in the seasons approaching.  A rabbit dashed from its hole to the security of a fallen tree while two robins sparred in the air.  Squirrels were out, replenishing their depleted winter stock, and the neighborhood dogs paused to greet the new scent of Spring.

Joggers were out running, even though they would consider this weather to be too cold in a couple month's time.  I should be one of them, I thought.  Oh well, another week won't hurt.  Already I'm thinking of the park and of the river.  Pieces of writing well up inside me, awakening from their frosty hibernation.  I write on any scrap of paper I can find, hoping not to lose it.  Life is waking from it's slumber, and it's ready to begin.  Are you?

The Food Chain

The bird said to the worm, "I'm sorry, but I must eat you."
"Why must you eat me?" cried the worm.
"Because my babies are depending on me to bring them food.  Would you have them starve merely because you do not want to be eaten?"
"Would you, likewise, have my little wormlets be stranded without their father?  They too, depend on me for their survival," replied the worm.
"That may be true," said the bird, "but a bird is much more important in the life cycle."
"Is that so?  How do you figure?"
"It's simple, really.  A bird goes around eating all the nasty little pests that plague everyone.  We're responsible for populating fishing ponds and pollinating flowers.  In essence, we create life," spouted the proud bird.
"Only by destroying lives."
"Hmmmph," came the bird's reply.
"Worms also enable life to happen.  We burrow through farm fields, infusing the soil with oxygen and nutrients.  Because of this, farmers eat the crops and are therefore, able to live.  So while you may give life to flowers, we give life to the entire human population."  The worm was just about to wiggle away when the bird stopped him.
"That may be so, but my chicklets are still hungry, and I'm still going to eat you."  The bird stepped forward and lunged at the poor worm.  Just as he thought he was going to be eaten, a loud shot rang out and the bird fell over.
"We'll stuff this bird and have some of that fresh corn on the cob for dinner, son," boomed a man's voice.
"And potatoes with gravy?" came the gleeful reply.

Let Me Fix You

Life's not fair,
It deals us blows,
Brings me down low.

                                      I want to help,
                                      But I can't,
                                      You won't confide,
                                      Keep me on the outside.

I cry and complain,
There's too much pain,
Can't take the strain.

                                      You stumble and fall,
                                      Ignoring my call.

I moan,
And I groan,
I feel all alone.

                                      Let me help,
                                      Let me try,
                                      I'm here,
                                      Don't cry.

The weight is crushing,
I can feel the air rushing,
Out of my lungs,
Into the night.

                                     Just breathe,
                                     Don't think,
                                     Trust me,
                                     I won't let you sink.

Save me,
Please someone,
Hold me,
Keep me steady.

                                     I'm here,
                                     It's okay,
                                     I'll stop the hurt,
                                     And take the pain away.

Falling Thoughts



They were falling, falling like heavy water during a Springtime thunderstorm.  The earth below was saturated, protesting with splattering sounds.  Chilly air clawed at her clothes as she stood pondering a secret waterfall from the gutter.  Was it all just an illusion?  It was hard to tell, especially when reality blended seamlessly with the images from her mind.  Maybe it was a mistake to have acted so brashly, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.  A crow cawed overhead, sending shivers creeping down her scalp.  A bad omen.  For once in her life, she didn't have an answer...didn't know what to do.  The battle in her mind separated her from others.  A solitary life amongst family.  Soft earth squelched between her toes as she strode up the path to the front door.  She threw a glance over her shoulder as she entered the house.  Only time would tell if she had made the right decision.

Moving

Leaves scatter across the front lawn, and I just laugh.  I won't have to rake them this year, which causes an unusual amount of joy to well up in me.  Turning back to the task at hand, I wrap another picture in bubble wrap and stick it in the box with the others.  We're moving in about a week to a town about fifteen minutes away from here.  There's a beautiful tree at our new house.  It looks ancient and leans slightly to the right, threatening to shed its yellow leaves onto the cracked cement below.  This will be a good move.  A time for change, a time to start over, a time to improve.  It will also complicate things, but that's how life works: you give a little, it takes a lot.