Tag Archives: scary

Just a Touch of … Fear?

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Well, this has turned out to be a scary week at the end (beginning, too, since today is Sunday).  I have spoken many times of my stroke and of the good and bad things that seemed to have come of it.  I still believe it is more of a Godsend than anything else.  There are simply too many joys to be happy about than bad things to worry about.

However, here is a small worry (bigger if you are me).  I last posted on Thursday.  I don’t remember  (could look, I guess) whether I did it Wednesday night and posted Thursday or did it Thursday and posted then.  Regardless, several things have happened since then to worry me a bit.

First off, in checking my email on Saturday, I was surprised to find over 300 emails waiting for me.  Now, depending on the time of day, I can have a bit over 200, normally about 180.  These are mostly posts from all the blogs I follow.  I select and choose and delete down to a decent number each day.  It’s a schedule and I like it.  However, having 300+ emails means I missed a day, possibly two.

When I say “missed”, I mean “lost”.   See, I compress (for want of a better word) time since the stroke.  This means that I have time pass (sometimes days) and I may not think about it having passed.  However, usually, I can, at least, remember the days.  I remember thinking “It’s Thursday”,”It’s Friday” and “It’s Saturday”, however, what I did is a bit fuzzy (esp. Friday) and, apparently, I didn’t check my email on either Thursday, Friday, or both.  Thursday is the most lost in my mind, Friday right behind. That makes sense, but worries me.  Normally, I can think back and put it together; this time I simply can’t without looking at other things like receipts or talking to people.

This isn’t Alzheimer or some such.  I really don’t think I am getting worse.  I did not sleep well on Thursday or Friday.  That really tends to mess with my mind.  I was told that lack of sleep will intensify some of my problems, memory being one.

The real problem is the entire thing simply unnerves me a bit.  I check my email every day with enthusiasm.  I have reminders to do these tasks and I have a set morning routine.  I remember vaguely upsetting this routine, not with emails, but something else I normally check.  I suppose this could have led to the downfall of my schedule and the reasons I “lost time”.

Anyway, does anyone out there have these types of problems?  How do you cope?  How do you handle it once it happens?

Namaste,

Scott

Friday Fictioneers “The Vision” Rated PG13 Suspense / Horror

Rochelle gives us Friday Fictioneers.  My entry below; the rest are >HERE<  Enjoy!!!

Source: PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Reuse License assumed.

The Vision

By Scott L Vannatter – 100 Words

Timeris sat on the old wooden rocker at the pine table on the front porch of his new home. He rocked slowly back and forth. No hurry. Just watching.

The front door across the street was open again. Timeris mentally ticked off the time. This was the fourth time this week the widow had left her front door open. Seven minutes each time. Almost like clockwork.

“I will have to visit Mrs. Appleton soon about this time. Yes, I think I really should make that a point.”

He thought of the fun they could have, well him, she’d be dead.

_____________________________

Namaste,

Scott

Five Sentence Fiction – Villainous “What Evil Lurks…” Suspense – Rated PG13

Lillie brings us a new Five Sentence Fiction topic again; this week is “Villainous”.  My story is after the picture.  The rest are >HERE<.  Enjoy!!!

Villainous

“What Evil Lurks…”

Scott L Vannatter – February 10, 2015

Gerrard stalked through the forest looking intently for his prey under bush, foot, and rock.

His problem was not his intent, but his vision, as his prey lurked up in a moss-covered tree and that prey jumped him as he passed underneath the green canopy.

Hearing the sudden change in noise, Gerrard managed to turn up and draw his blade as the enemy’s dagger went for his own throat.

The blades sunk in deeply, mortally wounding both Gerrard and the surprised villainous personage.

Gerrard managed to look at the dead murderer as his own life slipped away, and he choked out a satisfied sigh knowing that, at least, he had rid the world of the Ripper though none might ever know.

____________________________________

Namaste,

Scott

A Little Clowning Around with History

Taking a short night tonight.  This article is rather long at 3 pages, but it is a fascinating account.  So, for your enjoyment and knowledge:

The history of the Scary Clown

Namaste,

Scott

The Titanic was Nothing…

I was reading August McLaughlin’s post, The Blurt Diaries #2: A Broken Breakup  and her challenge at the end was to reply by telling your worst breakup.  I realized that my very worst breakup (marriages not included) was worthy more of a post, and so, decided to do this one.

After my first divorce, I got back into the dating scene by attending “Parents Without Partners” (PWP).  It is a good social group in which members all have children (living with them or not, little or not) and are now, at least, separated.  You pay a small monthly due and, for that, you get to attend meetings to share, go to events with your children, and go to dances and such without your children.  I had a lot of memorable times, and some – I wish I could forget.

Carrie (not her real name, but named for the Stephen King character who you didn’t want to be at prom with) was a guest of a PWP member at a dance on the south side of Indianapolis.  I had just started getting back into things (some new clothes and better attitude) and was having a good time.

We met at the dance and I asked her out.  She said, “Yes,” and I remember telling the mutual friend how happy I was that she had brought Carrie (yes, the mutual friend lived – at least, I didn’t kill her).

Carrie didn’t have a phone and lived out in the boondocks, so, once the date was planned, there was no going back on it.  I bought her a rose (I didn’t know at the time what a single red rose means, so leave me alone!) and left it on the front seat of my car while I went to get her (we met at a public place and she left her car).  I really don’t remember a lot of that night, except that it led to a second date.  That date led on to a third and so on, until we had each visited the others home.

I remember thinking how nice it was that she was so comfortable she fell asleep on my couch early into our dating.  What I didn’t know at the time was she was narcoleptic (fell asleep all the time) and it would be something that would become quite common through our dating.

She had three little children and I got along with the oldest very well.  She and I became friends and that was the one thing I did regret – when Carrie and I broke up, this little girl lost a friend, a good one.

Carrie had me over to dinner once and I learned a lot from that situation.  First, she cooked everything on high because she wanted it done as quickly as possible and considered food as just something that you ate to keep going then pooped out.

Second, she dropped about a quarter of a stick of butter on the floor while cooking.  I remember getting up to help clean and she told me not to, that she would get it later.  What I do know is that when I came over the next week, that slab of butter was in the exact same place on the floor.  “Later” apparently meant before the butter biodegraded into air.

The next thing I learned was Carrie was not much of a housekeeper (yeah, the butter was not enough).  Her house was, usually, picked up, but a lot of that was because she didn’t believe in owning things.  She had very little and rented some of that.  My big wake-up call came when I was too tired to go home one evening, and so, slept on the couch.  The next day, I became so sick I went to the doctor.  I had a fairly good fever and my face was “runny”.  The doctor said it was one of the worst staph infections he had ever seen.  Antibiotics took care of it and I asked Carrie if I could clean up around her house the next Saturday she was at work.  When she okayed that, I bought a lot of cleaning (disinfectant) materials and worked for about 5-6 hours on those 5 little rooms she called home.  When I took the pillows from the couch, I found an entire ecosystem thriving there.  I sprayed and cleaned until they were no more, did the same with the rest of the house, and removed the mouse nest from her kitchen cabinet (yeah).

When she got home, she was pleased, but got upset when she thought I had killed the mouse.  I told her I just threw away the phone book it had decided to nest in and it had left.

I was a stupid stubborn person and still stayed around.  The big trouble started one night when I made a gay remark to her in jest.  She slapped me so hard my head rang a bit and I told her we were done if she ever hit me again.  Her response? : I didn’t hit you.  If I had hit you, you would be on the floor.

That response, coupled with noticing a mark in the ceiling and being told that it was where she had thrown her shoe at her ex and missed, had me, at least, thinking this was not such a good idea (Shut up!  This is why I now say adulthood begins at 35).

Fatal Attraction – oh my!

We watched “Fatal Attraction” one night.  I say “we” but she fell asleep shortly into it.  I bring this up, because, at that point, I remember looking at her and looking at the movie and thinking, “OMG!  It’s her!”  It was just about over.

On July 4th of whatever year that was (I know it was sometime after Pearl Harbor and before the I-Phone) Carrie was to meet my family for the first time at our usual feast.  I picked her up and headed for their house.  It was about an hour drive.

On the way, we began arguing.  It got worse and worse and, about 1/2 way there, I told her we were done.  She told me fine if I would go to see something.  I thought, “Fine, it is finally over.”  She directed me to a small graveyard to show me her mother’s gravestone.  Carrie’s mother had died in the hospital while Carrie was on her way there.  She had not gotten to see her mother and the loss had severely affected her.

She also wouldn’t tell me how to get back to her house and we were in the middle of nowhere.

When the visit was finished, I told her I was sorry about her mother’s death, but it had nothing to do with us breaking up.  She went wild, kicking and screaming.  She told me I could take her home, but she was going to burn all of the poems I had brought for her to read.  Those meant a lot to me, but I knew it was no use talking to her – I had to think.

I remembered she had met my ex once and had chastised me for a long time about how much I changed when around her, letting her bully me and insult me and such.  I decided right there how to handle this:  I became that person again for the rest of the trip home.  I was a miserable little person who had no backbone at all.

I wasn’t the one yelling.

By the time we got to her house, she was screaming at me she did not understand what she ever saw in me and we were done (big surprise).  She went in the house and came out with my poetry, throwing it all over the front lawn.  I quickly picked them up, put them in the trunk of the car, and drove to the family feast.  No one there asked too much of what happened, so I am guessing it was on my face.

You would think that it would be done now and I can close this post, but, NO, not quite.

A few days later, at night, I got a call from my sister.  She said Carrie had been to her boyfriend’s house asking about me and saying how worried she was and how she was going to see if I was okay.

I thanked sis, hung up, locked the door, pulled the shade, and shut off all the lights.  I then sat behind a chair.  Later, she knocked on the door.  She began yelling she knew I was in there and other things my mind, fortunately, has forgotten.  She, eventually, left.  I heard from her one more time after.  She wrote me a letter, which I wrote something back that was totally without any emotion and could not be taken as a desire to get back together (I know this because I had several people at work read it carefully and advise me).

August, I don’t know how this really compares to your story, however, for me, it was a Dante’s trip to, at least, the 5th circle of Hell.  The only story that might top it would be my second divorce – but that is an entirely other post.

How about you?  Any memorable breakups?

Namaste,

Scott

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