Why, oh Microwave,
Is my platter so hot?
My food’s edge is smoldering,
Yet the center is not.
Your micro wave power,
Is impressive indeed.
But fully warmed chowder
Is what my mouth needs.
My fingers are seared
From touching this bowl,
My flesh you left blistered,
And my dinner, left cold.
We’ve all seen these commercials, I’m sure. “Are you feeling less than fresh DOWN THERE?!” Down there. Because we can say penile forty-seven times in one 30 second commercial, but God forbid anyone say vagina. “Is your hoo-haa smelly?” “Do you have swamp rot of the nether region?”
Yes, we’ve felt less than fresh at times. It happens. It happens to the best of them. Sometimes down there just isn’t up to par in the freshness department. But why do these commercials always take place at the beach or something? Let me state something right now, on behalf of all humans. Do not-repeating Do Not-go to the beach, public pool, or any such equivalent if your womanhood is feeling unclean. Please. We do not want to share your unfreshness. No one wants to stew in the crotch rot of others. (Maybe some people, because I’ve seen things-bad things-and there are sick people in the universe.) Just stay out of the water, for the love of your fellow humans.
I’m not judging. I’ve already said it happens. The CDC wouldn’t recommend it, though. And neither do I.
We ladies know how it is. We don’t always discuss it, maybe only in certain company. But it happens. The vagina is a complex organ, okay. Unexplainable shit happens in that area. It’s especially confusing to non-vagina owners. If you have never owned a vagina, do not try to understand one. I don’t understand that bitch, and it’s mine. What the fuck is happening down there sometimes?
I also want to share something with non-vagina owners on behalf of all vagina owners. Click Here. Learn it. Live it. Love it. It’s not that difficult. Y’all can find prehistoric ancient cities buried under the ocean, but you can’t find that shit. It’s not that hard. There’s a diagram and everything.
Godspeed on your trek
across the boggy quagmire.
May the weight of your mortal coil
You’ve been emancipated.
Exit the lightlessness.
Match your tormentors.
No longer be a victim to anguish.
Clutch the dim radiance
filtering through the fog.
Struggle toward its source.
Pass the souls that are adrift
and that do not know they are irrecoverable.
Ignore the tortured souls’ calls.
You are not one of them.
May warmth surround you.
Do not concede to the cold.
Witness kaleidoscopic ambience.
Are you there?
In 1998, Robin Williams was in the film What Dreams May Come based on Richard Matheson’s novel of the same name (released in 1978). Coincidentally, the novel is about a man who goes on a quest after his death to rescue his wife from eternal torment following her suicide. As most everyone is aware, Robin Williams was found dead August 11, 2014 of apparent suicide. He battled addiction and depression. Richard Matheson died June 23, 2013 of natural causes. Maybe they will meet in Summerland.
I’ve waited until nearly the last minute to renew my domain name here on WordPress. It isn’t that I dislike their services or anything, it’s just that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue to pay for a service I’ve barely used.
It’s all me. I just haven’t been writing lately. Not blogging. I have been writing. Writing and submitting and being rejected and waiting and all the fun crap that goes along with writing. I haven’t been posting many new stories here, and even some of the older ones have disappeared, because they are going off into the wild blue yonder to be read and sent back with a note that says, “We really like your creation, but a) it’s not fit for our magazine b) we don’t have room for it in our magazine c) we don’t care d) we hate you. Kidding about those last two. The “we don’t care” usually is communicated by the lack of communication at all, meaning no response whatsoever. No one has ever said they hate me, at least not in a rejection letter.
To say I was at any time disenchanted with the writing world would be inaccurate. I knew and still know the game. Magazines, agents, and publishers are inundated with material. There’s a reason it’s called a slush pile. To say I write as often as I should be would also be inaccurate. I don’t. I procrastinate and get distracted by life in general. I come to choose sleep over writing. Trust me, there was a time when that was not the case. But I’m still trudging along, although slowly.
I’ve thought of self-publishing, been encouraged to, even. Why don’t I self-publish, you ask? Well, the answer is simple. That arena is also inundated, simply over-saturated. Not only that, but it takes money to do it right, and I simply have none. That’s a lie. I have some. But, it’s already been allocated to things like food, shelter, and making sure my son is supplied with the things he requires for his medical condition.
So, I suppose that’s that, then. I renewed my domain here at WordPress because I want to keep writing, and I’m too lazy to go about changing all of the links everywhere on the interwebs to a different address. I also love spam comments, apparently. Kidding. I don’t like spam.