There are clothes tossed about the floor. My clothes, my floor,my bedroom floor. This isn’t the way things should be. This isn’t how I live or how I have been living for the last three years. Things get picked up and put away. Everything in order. My sleeping chamber a place of peace and tranquility. My haven within a haven.

Now everything is scattered about. Trashed. It isn’t so much the clothes. Although they are annoying, more annoying are the shoes. How is it that shoes never make their way back into my closet. They have homes there. Each and everyone of them a place, a home of its own. Still they are constantly wondering about. Just like the clothes now adorning the floor.

But I just can’t think with the smell you create. It makes me want to flee every time I come home.Into the room, I dash as soon as I get home spaying air freshener and get out of my work clothes. Then I drag  myself back out to the shed and get the machete.

Everyday, I chopped another bit of you off.  It has been quite difficult to dismantle you this way. I’ve had to boil some of you and break the bigger parts down with a hammer. Most days I am so tired afterwards, I barely have time to scrap you out from under my nails before bed. But rest assured, you won’t be a bother for much longer another couple weeks and I will have my room back and you will be returned to the earth. One doggie bag at a time.

Sometimes I….

Sometimes I write bad poetry and sometimes I write stories that don’t make sense.

Sometimes I just write and write for hours in my head. Lately, I have been working really hard to set a schedule up for myself and it hasn’t been working really well.  I did good up until last Thursday and then I fell off the writing wagon last Thursday and didn’t get back to it until today. Writers must write and they have to write things that sometimes scare them and push the boundaries. Something that I haven’t done a lot of in my own writing. I have tried to stick to safe topics so as not to offend people especially the people I love.

I have tried to be a pillar of strength, but really feel most days like I am falling apart and the duct tape isn’t sticking anymore.  This past weekend, I looked back after a phone call from Momma and my sister, Tish, that I realized that my strength doesn’t come from being strong, but each and every time I got myself back up and kept going.

So I am back at it, but with a difference. I am going to write the stories I see around me. The ones that have been pleading with me to finish them. The ones that scare me.  I will be finishing my April Page A Day posts and then going back to work on next book along with other projects. I want to have it finished by the end of summer and begin the editing process.  There are two or three more books, I have notes for but I am going to focus on the one that began this journey.


Pizza (April Page 12)

Dear Gluten-Free Pizza,

Please don’t tease me any more. Please don’t make promises that you are going to taste great or that I won’t be able to tell the difference. Seriously… I will know even though we both know that I can no longer have real pizza and don’t quite remember the taste of it.

I do know however what good food tastes like and please believe me that I will know the minute that I take it out of the oven if it is going to be good, bad or I can eat this.

Please let your pizza, be good. I am not asking for great. I would like a crispy crust and not to have to eat the pizza just because I pay ten dollars for it. Cause I will eat it because even my gluten free diet is not a health fad.  When I eat gluten, it makes me sick. It isn’t a fashion statement and I am not rich.

So please have done your job.

Thank you,


April Page 11

In the mix of all that life offers, it is easy to get caught up and go along for the ride. Seven hours in a math class today and my brain was real and truly fried. It crispy and crunch and best served with tarter sauce.

We all get caught up on the roller coaster of life. Sometimes it is fun. Tonight with wine in hand, I was dancing again. It wasn’t the wine, but the way that today ended that inspired the dancing. Freedom and safety cause me to start dancing. And also to sing. I don’t do enough of either these days, making a living and staying a head of the bill collector’s girl.

The spring for me is a time for balancing and balancing, a time to figure out what I need to bring into my life.  This spring, I feel the need for clarity. There are a lot of things I want and need.

Sometimes the two get confused. Sometimes, they seem like they are the same thing. Maybe they are.

Maybe by taking moments to breathe, we can figure out the difference.

Generosity (April Page 10 )

The sun in April is already blazing, burning your tender alabaster skin to the color of freshly steamed lobster.  Hustler or vagabond, it doesn’t matter. Your need grabs my attention before you speak. You stumble over words in a quest for assistance.  Just three dollars, an odd sum and one likely to garner you a larger bill in any case.

Your cause is just.  A child, ill and in need of food. Just three dollars between you and the goal.  Three dollars is all you ask for. Your target, a woman, not too old or two young. Someone likely to have children and not yet over whelmed or maybe just in deep enough that she can see the desperation in someone else’s voice.  It is there. In your voice, in your question, desperation.  It doesn’t matter if your story is a lie or the truth. The desperation is real and thick in the air between us.

Reaching  into my bag, I don’t even wait for you to finish your plea before I but the money in your hand. I look only for a moment, lingering for just a second on the crisp twenty and then it is yours.  You talk for a moment, I answer your questions, hoping you will listen, knowing that the chances of you seeking assistance where I direct are slim. Still, I spoke the words meant for you and say my peace.  Grateful you haven’t thank god for my assistance.

Smiling as I go. It wasn’t a Christian thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

And I know by the laws of the old Gods that if you were lying and took my money, then the trick is twisted against you.  Enjoy the web that you have woven.

If you’d like more information on Lucinda’s work subscribe to this blog, follow her on Twitter or like her page on Facebook.  Her new novella, Blood Child is available on Amazon.

April Page 5

Whether it is a cold or my sinuses, my body has been sending very direct messages. You are sick. You need to rest. Why aren’t you resting? Sleep, you need sleep.   Oh and by the way, until you give me what I want food will lose all favor. 

And it did. Well mostly, I just didn’t want to eat the veggies. Freshly steamed veggies. Warm and crispy veggies that I normally devout just lingered there while I went for second and third helpings of mashed potatoes. I was really tempted to go get a milkshake, blowing all the lovely work I have done in the past week with my diet.

My body wants sleep and rest. Not to be up and at work. It wants more than a day off. It wants less stress and more … just more. More of all the things, I like to do but don’t get a change to do because I am working all the time. I am not sure if I really want to spend the next six months working on my math certification when there are other projects and goals.

I wanted it because I thought I would be able to translate my love of math into the change I have been looking for in my life.  I wanted an easy out. No such luck. It would have been nice. Well, not really since it would have caused all sorts of other change and in the end might not have done what I wanted it to do. Secure my income base and work more on my passions, writing and gardening.  Spend more time with family and loved ones, here and in Virginia and New York as well.

I am still going to work towards the math certification. It is something I always wanted.  I gave up on being a math major in college for a couple of reasons.  The first was it got a whole lot harder than it was in high school.  I didn’t make the transition well.  I didn’t really have to study in high school and going to college, my math classes jumped up a level that I wasn’t expecting. There were lots of other pressures going on all at the same time and let myself get distracted from my course work.

I failed to ask for help until it was clear that I was way in over my head. So I got a D that first semester and the one after that. Soon a switch in majors was on the way.

The second thing that killed it for me was my instructor although kind and willing to help was that he lacked passion for subject. A grad student who was assigned to teach Freshman, he did his job, but he didn’t know how to teach. He did practice problems and reviewed with us, but there wasn’t anything engaging about the class.  Mrs. G, the veteran teacher, that I had yesterday engaged with the class.  She took time to explain and answer questions, adjusting her tone and going back and working problems.  It was really amazing to watch.

The last reason that I gave up on it was my own self-doubt. It ate and me and I allowed it to tell me that I wasn’t good enough. This has been something that has plagued me for years. For many years, I thought while I was intelligent I just didn’t have the brains to get it. Cognitively, I could tell you that there is difference between talent and skill. Skills are developed and talent may be intuitive but it takes skill to refine. Emotionally, however, I thought if I wasn’t good at something after a little bit of practice, then it wasn’t for me. I would go on to something that I was good at. Pretty silly since I never developed anything for a long time except for my writing.

I gave up on getting a degree in math many years ago for a lot of reasons. I don’t regret the choice because it led to some many other wonderful things. Still, I feel like getting my certification in math would go along way to complete something that I gave up on thinking that I just wasn’t smart enough to do it.  Turns out, I am smart enough to keep on learning.

April Page 2

I bring things on myself. Stress and anxiety over things that either could have been prevented or that I have out of habit made a mountain out of instead of stepping over. Karma comes and does it job as well from time to time, but most of the time I  do its job quite well enough on my own. Karma doesn’t have to bother to make house calls at my residence.

I know I am not alone in this or there won’t be the market for the tens of thousands of self-help books and hundreds empowerment seminars.  I know that change must come from with in myself and that no book can give the change I need in my life.  Still, it is tempting to think that if I read this book or take this class everything will finally be alright.

It feels like I am alone. All alone the only human being on the planet over thirty that doesn’t have everything already figured out.

Sad really.

Reality however is completely different from perception. And it is perception that shapes the individual’s reality.  None of us as a result are living in the real world. I feel at times like I was sold a bill of goods as a child. Work hard and everything will fall into place.

Things have fallen.

Nothing fitting into the pegged hole it has been assigned.

They have tumbled and twisted themselves.

And now I have to pick them up. I have to pick myself up every morning before the sun comes up and take my dog for a walk.  It is work to convince myself that it is worth it.  That in the end, there is a pay off.  A healthier body and mind as well as a happier puppy.  There is also a trade off.  I can’t stop. I can’t ever stop. I have to continue to work on my health.  There is no stopping. If I stop walking Luke, eventually he will take matters into his own paws.

There is no day off from life.  Sure you can hide in your bed for a day. Pretend that there is nothing outside of the confines of your comforter but eventually you have to get up an pee. There is no way around it.  Eventually you have to get up and keep going with life. It doesn’t stop when it is too hard or too much.

Life doesn’t care. It simply doesn’t give a …. bad word about it. It continues onward and upward without any regard to who is feeling down at the moment.

Sometimes I think that this or that is too much. An expression that I absolutely hate when my students use it and has completely saturated my mental vocabulary. Work is too much. The house is too much. The electric bill is too much, well that is almost always the case.  Life is overwhelming. It is unrelenting and is never going to stop progressing forward.

It is simply in its nature.

Let it do its thing and don’t take it personally.


It isn’t trying to be mean or rain on your parade.  It doesn’t even understand that your is day for a parade.  It has been marching since the beginning of time.

March with it or get out of the way.

But, do not blame it.

April Page 1

After a wonderful week off and trip to Virginia, I crawled back to work yesterday. My mind and body are still exhausted from the trip and the unfortunate adventure I had one the way home.  Instead of the normal ten to twelve hours that it takes to drive from Virginia back to Florida, it took fifteen hours to get home.

The trip started out fine.  I was making good time and taking breaks as needed to give both myself and Luke breaks from the car. We made it to South Carolina and then everything slowed down. We got off at one of the first exits on I-77 and found a Shell Gas station.  The car’s gauge was nearly on empty. It was five-thirty.  My gauge was also dangerously close to “E” as well.  I swiped my car at the pump anticipating the meal that I would getting down the road in a few minutes.

The transaction cancelled.

I tried again, concentrating on my breathing, working everything I know not to panic.

The machine commanded me to call my card company.  I  checked my balances and went into the store thinking it was just an error on my part, ignoring the warning. Maybe I didn’t enter the pin correctly.

The clerk looked like he was having the third worse day of his life. Misery reeked from his pores.  My nerves were rattling my brain. How was I going to get home? Sure, my folks could deposit money in my account but they won’t be able to do that until tomorrow. How was I going to get home? How would I pay the extra rental charges if I stated an extra day ? Where would I spend the night? I couldn’t pay for a hotel with seven dollars and some change.

He told me to swipe.

I swiped.

And it declined.

I muttered something and walked out the door. Trying not to run to the car. Luke looked sympathetic

The bank operator comes on the line. How can I help you? She chimes at me.

I tell her. And she checks my account. It is open and active.


“It looks like there is a merchant error. You may need to wait two hours and then try your transaction again.” Her voice trying to maintain its little ray of sunshine.

Two hours?

Two more hours on the road? That would put me home at two am or later. I plead my case explaining the desperation of the situation. I was just about out of gas. I needed to get home, tonight. Why couldn’t I use my own money?

“Let me transfer you to the fraud department.” She earned points for not sounding happy to have me off the phone.

Fraud ? Oh, lord not again.  Two years ago, my account was compromised and a month long nightmare ensued. The fraud operator comes on with a thick accent.  He repeats what the first operator says and then adds something. I can go to another gas station and try my transaction. Another gas station? I only saw the one coming off the exit, but maybe there is another one down the road. Are you sure it will work?

“Yes.” He said rolling the word around for a moment.

I ask again. Repeating the desperation of the situation. I am seven hours from home. Seven hours away from anyone that can deposit money in my account. I have my precious Luke in the car. I am not sure where I could pull over and feel comfortable sleeping on the side of the road.

Again, he says yes.

I hang up, my nerves don’t. One mile, two miles, three miles and then another mile. There is a gas station on the left with one pump open. I don’t know why this one pump is so important to me, but I am so grateful when I slide into the space next to it that I thank heaven for it. Luke has been hanging in the backseat. He doesn’t even try and get out of the car. His eyes are sad and unsure.

I go inside like I was told. Nervously waiting to see what is going to happen when I get up to the clerk.  There are six or seven people ahead of me. People seem to aggravated that there is a line. They complain bitterly about it.  The two clerks work through the line, trade off smiles and pleasantries with the blank faces of the junk food/ caffeine addicts that head out the door with exasperated sighs. I’m next. It is time to swipe. Hands shaking, heart racing I swipe.

“Do you want the receipt?”

“Yes” I reply startled and relieved.

Victory is achieved a few minutes later. My nervous refuse to surrender.  Twelve hours later, I pull up to my house. My body aching and just wanting everything to reset itself. My nerves finally surrendering to the pull of my own bed.