ITS OVER

Here it is the twilight hour and I have not yet started my conversation. I’m making a stab at it now. So many things running around in my head. Where to start? Well, I know how important a good night of sleep is. I didn’t get one last night. The dog had to go out in the middle of the night. I had a time getting her back in after. She wanted to play games and play hide and seek. I had to put my boots on to see what her problem was. Dogs are so silly sometimes. A shovel had displaced itself against the deck railing. She had lots of room to get by but not so in her dog head. The fresh winter air stimulated me enough to keep me awake for hours. Surprising how much wakefulness can make your muscles tense up. I’m still stiff and achy from it all.

I have no more detective/crime books to read at the moment. I had time to watch the snow flakes falling around the Buddhas this morning. It was such a delicious restful moment. I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Why must I get my head into a book or the Internet first thing in the morning?  Why not take time just to sip tea, look out at the world and wake up and feel my own body?

I hope I can smarten up and rid some of my addictions. I am working on my life, on what I say I would do. I’m reading on how in Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself. I’m understanding more about the law of attraction. I can’t explain myself though at the moment. My glass of wine is doing me in. It’s a difficult concept and not merely just asking for what you want. Maybe tomorrow, when my head is clearer, I can explain. What I know is that it is a breakthrough for me.  It is helping me drop some of the habits of being me. I see that ‘habits’ have kept me stagnant. I’m like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, waking up to the same day over and over. I want that to be over. What better way to exit than having Roy Orbison sing me out?

 

 

IT’S OVER

Here it is Wednesday and time for the parade of stories from the Friday Fictioneers.  We like to concoct tales of 100 words or so from a photo prompt.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here’s my story of exactly 100 words.  I’m opened to any constructive criticism.  I’ll try not to take anything personally.  🙂 

PHOTO PROMPT – © J Hardy Carroll

PHOTO PROMPT – © J Hardy Carroll

 

The letter trembled in her gnarled fingers.  She knew its content. Still her heart hammered and her hands shook.  It was as if he could come back and give her misery.  All these years she had shovelled his history beneath the layers of her consciousness.  He was buried but not dead.

He haunts her always, though sometimes just barely beneath the surface.  She is tired of him popping up at her.  Today she is putting him to rest.  She dares to look into the enevelop bearing the Royal Mail postage.  Registration District:  Merton.  Cause of death: Smoke inhalation.

It’s over.