Rough Day

Yesterday I had a rough day. Not the real kind of a rough day where folks feel very very sympathetic towards me. Maybe they'll find it funny. But it was rough for me.

So here is what happened:

• Tossed and turned all night so got up really late. For me it is 7:00 AM. Then I rushed out to work.
• Tried to apply makeup during the drive but my lipstick literally broke. I was lipstick-less all day. And the lip gloss was nowhere to be found.
  
• Ran into a ton of traffic. What takes me 30 minutes, took me an hour and a half.
• Called my Mom up on the phone and right when she was going to tell me some really juicy stuff, her phone batteries died. So the suspense almost killed me.
• There was some kind of motivational conference in Austin. So the traffic was horrendous. They should have stayed off the road I take but they didn't. Il Bastardo!
• Someone I know planned on attending the "motivational" meeting. But when she heard that over 12K people showed up for it, she said that it was motivational enough for her not to go. Why did this irk me? Because it made me laugh. And I did not want to laugh!
• I had a spat with my friend Carol. I was complaining/whining about how I only get about 20 hits a day on my blog. I can swear that at least 15 hits are from me! And did she care? Was she sympathetic to me? Did she feel my pain? Oh no. She smiled and said, "that's ok. Keep blogging. It could be worse. You could get no hits at all."

Ouch! Woe is me!

So Carol, are we on for lunch today?

Pixel Fiction: 1

What is Pixel Fiction? Essentially my friend Carol wrote half a story on her blog and tagged me. Kinda. So I have to complete the story.

Here is the previous part of the story. Read it first.

The following is what I came up with

You Had to See her

You walk for miles. In cold, harsh weather. But her memories warm your heart. You keep going. Clinging to the little red box in your fist. The gun feels cold in your jacket. It pokes you. But you keep going.

You had to do what you had to do. You want her. She wants you. She needs you. You remember her face as she smiled at you. And came close enough so you could smell her perfume. Her eyes spoke volumes. They said what her luscious mouth could not. Your fingers tingle at the thought of her mouth.

You walk for miles and then finally see a light. Her home. And she is alone. The bastard is not with her and will never be. You have taken care of it. Now she is free to be all yours.

You run towards the light. You cling to your gun just in case. You hope that the blood on your shoes has dried. You hope that she does not notice the blood. You pull out the gun. You hope and you hope.

You ring the bell. She doesn't answer. So you pick on the lock. And break in. You place the little red box on the coffee table. You hear a man’s voice. He has a gun. And he wants you to put your gun down.

You turn towards the voice and shoot.

Suddenly you are warm from your own blood oozing out. You fall on the floor and try to reach the red box.

And then you see her. Her eyes tell you that she is all yours as you fall asleep.

___________________________________

My friend Carol came up with this plan and it was much harder than what I anticipated. For one thing, I don't remember writing in second person. It is usually I or him/her. I also don't write much dark stuff. I don't have much experience with it. But this was a fun project. There were so many possibilities! I am sure I'll go back and think here is what I could have done better... If you have suggestions, let me know!

The Rose

A month or so ago, I was working on a photo essay. I had the story and I needed photos. Six pages of content and six photos.

No problemo.

Except one page was titled "dilemma". How do you take photo of that? I asked my photo mentor Carol what to do. She suggested many options amongst which was a dictionary and a rose.

I had a dictionary. She had a plastic rose.

She "loaned" me the plastic rose. My husband was out of town at this time. So I spent weekend taking photos in various rooms of my home, wrapping up the project and posting it.

When my husband came back, he saw the rose and asked, "What's the plastic rose doing in our bedroom?" I explained to him.

Had I been efficient, I would have given back Carol her rose. But I forgot about it.

After a few days, the rose made it to my car. My intentions were to give it back to Carol. Good intentions are awesome.

My husband made another trip and came back and saw the rose in my car. "What's the plastic rose doing in the car?" he asked. He had completely forgotten my project by now. So I explained it to him again.

Last week, I finally took the rose from my car to my office. Carol works with me and I wanted to give it back to her. See what good intentions I have?

I ran into an executive type person on my way and he asked, "What's this rose about?". I mumbled something incoherent and ran to my office.

So the rose is on my desk now. My good intentions are starting to be effective. Except everyone thinks I am this crazy lady walking around with a plastic rose. And wondering who gave it to me and why.

Carol, if you are reading this, can you please remind me to give you back the freaking rose? Not that I am not grateful to you but this is tarnishing my impeccable reputation.

And yes there really was a photo essay.