My Real Life

April 16, 2012

Frozen – Part 2

Filed under: Uncategorized,Writing — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: , ,

You can read Frozen – Part 1 here.

She walked to the bedroom and opened her dresser.  She pulled out a clean, white pair of underwear and tried to put them on, while standing on one leg.  She found that her balance was not quite returned, and so she sat on the edge of her bed as she dressed.

As she reached back to fasten her bra, she felt an ache in her shoulder.  Makes sense, she thought.

She put on a pair of sweatpants, a too-large Harvard sweatshirt she had pilfered from a college fling, and a thick pair of wool socks. She went back to the bathroom, hung her towel, and looked at herself in the mirror again.

She turned her face to the left and to the right.  She put her hands on her cheeks.  The same.  She couldn’t take her eyes off of her reflection, unsure of how she could look exactly the same as she did this morning when she was so fundamentally changed.

She stared at herself until her stomach growled, shaking her from her reverie.  She turned off the lights and walked the kitchen.  She went to the stove and turned on the tea kettle, opened her tea cannister and selected a decaf tea bag, and set it in her favorite mug.  She then went to the breadbox and selected a bagel, and pulled out a kitchen knife.  She turned it over in her hand, looking at the dull blade and muttered, “This just won’t do.”

She went back to the pantry and moved aside the cereal boxes.  On the very back of the shelf, she found a dishtowel.  She pulled it out and walked over to the table.  She placed it, gently, on the table, and sat down.  Slowly, carefully, she began to open up the towel.  Inside, lay a bread knife.  The sharp, serrated edge glinted in the low light.  She picked it up, turned it from side to side.  She ran her finger along the blade, then, unconsciously, put her fingers to her neck.

She stood, walked to the counter, bread knife and towel in hand.  She placed the towel on the counter and picked up the bagel.  Cautiously, she put blade to bread and began to saw back and forth.  When the bagel was in two, she wiped the blade with the towel, turned to the knife block and slid it into it’s home.

Still fits.

Once she put the two halves of the bagel in the toaster, she sat on the floor, drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and began to rock.

To rock and to finally allow herself to remember.

April 9, 2012

Frozen – Part 1

Filed under: Writing — Amy @ 6:00 am
Tags: ,

So, I’m taking the leap today, and starting my 1st Monday Mini-Novella series.  This particular story is one that’s been rolling around in my head since October.  I hope you enjoy it.

Frozen – Part 1

She closed the door behind her and methodically locked each of the five locks that spanned its length, her fingers shaking almost uncontrollably.

She eased her feet out of her shoes and moved them to the mat, watching the snow turn to liquid and begin to form small pools on the fibers, squinting to see if the water was pure, or if there were any traces of blood to be seen.

Have to come back to that later, she thought to herself. 

She unwound the scarf from her neck, and took a deep breath at the cool air that assaulted her skin, which had been kept warm beneath it’s wool.  Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her coat, still nearly frozen from the blizzard outside.  As she hung up her coat, she caught sight of a tiny smudge of red on the sleeve.  She pulled it back from the coat rack and walked, her feet softly padding on the carpet, to the kitchen.  She opened the french doors to reveal the washer and dryer, opened the lid and dropped in the coat.  She then undressed herself, dropping all of her clothes into the machine.  She poured in the soap, turned the dials, closed the lid and stood, naked, with her hands resting on the machine, head hanging low and choked back a sob.

Her body convulsed in a massive shiver and when it had passed through every limb, she lifted her head and walked, in a daze, to the bathroom.  She turned the hot water handle as far as it would go and stepped in.  For a minute or two, she stood, letting the water scald her skin, watching it turn pink, knowing this wasn’t the way to warm up skin that was nearly frozen.  Knowing that she should gradually warm the skin so as not to do any permanent damage.  Yet, knowing that it would take water much, much hotter than this to begin to thaw what was frozen inside, far below her, now red, skin.

Finally, she added some cold to the formula and as the temperature abated, she reached for the soap and began to lather her body.  Her arms, her legs, her chest, her face, yet always, always returning to her hands.  Scrubbing and rinsing, scrubbing and rinsing.

It had started out as a good night.

One of the first good nights she had experienced in a long time.

She wasn’t sure what had made her say “yes” when her cubicle mate had asked her, again, to go out with her and some other colleagues.

In the past, the “no” had always been reflex.  Yet, tonight, she paused and somehow managed to say “yes.”

And she had been glad she went.

Not happy.

Happy wasn’t for her, she knew.

Happy had been ripped from her vocabulary, from her reality, years ago.

But she had been glad.

She listened and smiled as her colleagues teased each other and laughed and drank and told stories.  They had an obvious camaraderie and she was somewhat comfortable in their presence, something else that hadn’t happened in awhile.

She should have known.

The moment she let down her guard…well, she just should have known.

She stepped out of the shower and vigorously toweled off.  She wrung out her hair, flipped back her head, wrapped the towel around her body, securing it above her breasts.  She used the side of her fist and rubbed a circle in the mirror.

She gazed at her reflection.

The same.

Strange, she thought.  I was sure I’d look different.


Follow the story – Frozen – Part 2 can be found here.

February 6, 2012

If You Give a Mom an Hour

Filed under: Uncategorized — Amy @ 6:00 am

So, as I wrote my post about my brain not shutting off while I was trying to sleep, the other night, I was reminded of the “If You Give a  Mouse a Cookie” books.  Several people commented that that post reminded them of the books, as well.

I decided to go ahead and give a stab at actually writing a post along the lines of the books.

So, here’s what might happen…

If You Give a Mom an Hour

If Dad takes the kids to the park and you give a Mom an hour…

She’s going to want a cup of tea.

She’ll turn on the tea kettle and reach for a mug in the cabinet.

Except, there won’t be any mugs.

So she’ll open the dishwasher that is full of clean dishes, because her daughter (whose chore it is to unload) hasn’t gotten around to emptying it yet.

She’ll pull out the mug, and then spot the dirty dishes in the sink, and decide to empty and reload the dishwasher.

When she’s done, she’ll go to sit down to wait for the kettle, and as she walks to the table, her foot will crunch on a Cheerio.

She’ll grab the broom from the laundry room and sweep the kitchen floor.

As she empties the dustpan into the garbage, she’ll notice that it’s pretty full, and she’ll take it out to the trash bins.

As she walks back into the house, she’ll notice a tricycle, left in a corner of the driveway.

When she wheels it back to it’s spot in the garage, she’ll find her 5 year old’s baseball cap.

She’ll pick it up and take it inside, and up to his room, tripping on a toy on the stairs.

After dropping off the hat, she’ll pick up the toy and take it to the basement, discovering the empty popcorn bowl from the night before.

As she brings the bowl to the kitchen, she’ll turn off the kettle, knowing it’s about to whistle, will grab a tea bag, and will pour the hot water into her mug.

She’ll know it’s too hot to drink, so she’ll turn to the pantry to find something to nibble on with her tea and will find an empty box of 100 Calorie snack packs.

She’ll break down the cardboard and will notice two empty cereal boxes on the counter, so she’ll break those down, too.

As she carries them to the laundry room, where the cardboard is kept, the dryer will buzz, and she’ll pull out the clothes and hang them, quickly, before they wrinkle.

Then, she’ll move the clothes from the washer into the dryer and realize she forgot to get the basket of dirty clothes from her room.

So, she’ll trudge back upstairs and head to her bedroom.

As she grabs the laundry basket, she’ll notice that someone probably crawled into her bed to watch television and she needs to remake the bed.

While she’s making the bed, she’ll step on an empty inhaler that she probably dropped there, in the night, after using it.

She’ll look in her nightstand to see if she has another, and when she realizes she doesn’t, she’ll quickly call the pharmacy to renew the prescription.

When she hangs up the phone, she’ll see her iPad and remember that she was in the middle of a good part in her book (on the Nook) when she fell asleep last night, so she’ll put the iPad on top of the laundry in the basket and bring it downstairs with her.

She’ll load up the washer, pick up the iPad, and walk back to the counter.

Her tea will be just the right temperature for drinking, so she’ll take the iPad and the tea to the living room, and as she sinks into the comfy couch, the front door will open.

“Mom!  We’re home!”

Theme: Rubric. Get a free blog at