Tag Archives: sad things

Mortification Monday

In which I confess my fears of never writing a novel, not voting for myself for the All-Star game, and pretty much throw a giant pity party.

 

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Bad Poetry Friday

Untitled (July 1999)

It was a rainy Monday

when you told me the news

I was hurt

I was confused

:Things aren’t working out”

I said, “Is there someone else?”

You didn’t answer

just looked away

Funny how I knew the truth anyway

I must have been blind

I must have been deaf

I didn’t notice

until you left

Come back

come back home

Don’t leave me here alone

She doesn’t know you

Like I do

She doesn’t love you

like I do

She may be your angel

but that doesn’t mean my life

should be a living hell

Notes:

Remember that boy from the previous poems? Eventually he broke my heart.

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Mortification Monday

Today’s entry is not quite as heartbreaking as last week’s entry was. And I ask myself, “Am I boy-crazy?”

 

Oct 22 1994

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The most despressing Mortification Monday ever

I’m serious folks, this entry is full of the sads. Forget boy drama, I’m heartbroken over losing another pet and being dumped by a friend. The makings of a middle grade novel, perhaps?

 

Harry the Hamster

 

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Boston on my Mind

The bombings at the Boston Marathon yesterday broke my heart.

That was my home.

That was my job.

That was my race.

I wasn’t there yesterday, but my author friend Carrie Jones was. I couldn’t watch the news last night, the videos were too much. I went mostly silent on social media. I made mashed potatoes with truffle oil and snickerdoodle cookies. I contacted my friends back in Boston to make sure that they were okay.

I tried to process what happened. I cried on the phone with my mom.

It really hit home for me. And as terrible and selfish as it might sound, all I could think was It could have been me.

I lived in Boston  from 2003-2008 before I packed up a rental car to move west and get married. I worked at the Boston Public Library downtown in the teen room for several years. The view from my windows was the Boston Marathon finish line. It was my goal to run it.

Boston2

The Boston Marathon is the hardest marathon to run. Not just because you run downhill for 20 miles and then have to run up Heartbreak Hill, but because unlike most marathons you have to be wicked fast  for it. You have to qualify in a another marathon, and it’s not even guaranteed you’ll run Boston if you do. I am not wicked fast. I’m wicked slow. I was also a half-marathon type of girl, never having run farther than 13.1 miles.

That changed in 2008 when on a whim, I joined up with Massachusetts Eye and Ear and ran for charity. I raised a lot of money in a short time. I over-trained and got injured. Still, I ran it. And it was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.

I won’t tell the actual marathon story here, because it’s not relevant. What is relevant is that I crossed the finish line in 5 hours and 35 minutes.

Boston3

Almost at the finish line.

The thing that hits home with the explosions and timeline of it all is that at the time the two bombs went off, those weren’t your wicked fast runners finishing. Those were the charity runners finishing between the 4 hour to 4:40 mark. Those were runners Like Me. The people at the finish line were spectators like my mom.

After the marathon. Tired and proud and slightly delirious.

After the marathon. Tired and proud and slightly delirious.

Watching the news and Facebook and Twitter updates made me feel so helpless. What could I do 2,484 miles away in Seattle?

I’m certain that Boston will bounce back from this. Chances are, I will too. There’s nothing my adopted hometown is but resilient. We reversed the Curse of the Bambino in  2004 and 2007. We go out and spend an entire day cheering for runners we don’t know, until the last stragglers cross the finish line. We help each other out.

The Wellesley girls offer love to the runners

The Wellesley girls offer love to the runners

 

I know Marathon Monday won’t be the same after this. What was once a giant party will be marred by those two explosions. But marathoners are badass. We run injured. We run sick. We finish regardless of the cost. No one will be able to take those miles away from us.  This is our marathon.

And if you’re still feeling helpless, like me, and wondering what you can do to help, please donate to the Red Cross.

 

Boston, I love you. I’ve got your back.

 

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Rejection Playlist Volume 2, Track 8 “Everybody Hurts”

Rejection is a huge part of being a writer. Most of the time, it’s other people telling you no: your critique group, contests, agents and editors. But sometimes, you have to be the one to say it and it sucks. Saying no to someone sucks even worse that being rejected (at least for me). Sometimes the right choice is the hardest choice and you spend the evening curled in the fetal position on your bed ugly crying while your dogs look at you like you’re nuts.

No is the worst word ever invented.

Thank you, REM, for this:

When your day is long and the night
The night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had enough of this life, well hang on
Don’t let yourself go
Everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong
Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go (hold on)
When you think you’ve had too much of this life, well hang on

Everybody hurts
Take comfort in your friends.

 

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Bad Poetry Friday

The following poem “Comforting Words” makes an appearance in my manuscript Valentine, which was inspired by an attempted murder I witnessed in high school, Valentines Day 1998.

 

Comforting Words c. 2/1998

Forget tonight, the detective said

as memories danced inside my head

It’s okay, my mom spoke

but I still see all of the smoke

Dad says everything will be alright

yet I can still see the gunman’s eyes

You are not alone, the Pastor cried

but I am alone, with the gun and with night.

 

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Mortification Monday (three days late)

July 21,

I hate parents. Or at least mine. No one tels me anything. I’m in a foul mood today. It all started with my sister not going to Learningwell with my dad. She is a super brat. I mean it. The rain hasn’t made my mood any better. We had to drive super brat to learningwell and pick up my dad. He’s going with my mom to her doctor’s appointment. And on top of that I miss Baron. Why did he hafta die? Lord I miss him like the grass misses the rain, like people miss each other, if you see what I mean. I loved Baron. He was the dog in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD! I mean it. I’m home alone. It’s just me and KC, my cat. Well more for later.

Love,

Danielle

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Mortification Monday

July 18th, 1993

Dear Diary,

This morning when I awoke I realized that never again would my dog, Baron, wake me up with his wet nose or would lay on the floor next to my bed during storms. It’s good to remember the past. But nothing will change the fact that I miss him. We’re gonna get a puppy sometime. No other dog will ever be like him. I loved him. I still do. There’s a hole in my heart where he was. I cried myself to sleep last night. We are in our van from our spur of the moment trip to Jacksonville, FL. My dads idea. Had fun with Chris and Aunt D and Uncle R. Shopped.

 

Love,

Danielle

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Mortification Monday

Warning! This is a sad one.

July 17, 1993

Dear Diary,

It started off as any day except no writer’s camp. I stayed home. Mu mom had been up with my dog all night. He was having problems. My mom called the vet and made an appointment. I let my dog Baron outside for a few minutes every hour. Or at least tried. After two hours he wouldn’t move. I worried, panicked, and was upset. My mom came home shortly and then took him to the vet. When they got back my mom was crying and Baron was limping really bad. My mother sat me down and explained what was wrong. Baron was going to die. He had bone cancer. I cried as we dragged an old sheet and fed him cookies. I cried in his fur and hugged him. Nothing I did would prepare me for what was gonna happen. 

My mom called my dad at work and asked him to pick up my sister. They came home at almost 4. I spent time with Baron until they came home. My dad and sister came home. When my mom broke the news to my sister, she started crying, So did my dad. She wanted to know who would share a birthday with her and play with her. Tears streamed down my face. We took pictures and said our goodbyes. My parents drove to the vet with baron. It was different without him. This morning my mom called the vet. Baron had passed on.

Love, Danielle

July 18, 1993

Dear Diary,

This morning when I awoke I realized that never again would my dog Baron wake me up with his wet nose or lay on the floor next to my bed during storms. It’s good to remember the past but nothing will change the fact that I miss him. We’re gonna get a puppy sometime. No other dog will ever be like him. I loved him. I still do. There’s a hole in my heart where he was. I cried myself to sleep last night. We are in our van for our spur of the moment trip to Jacksonville, FL. My dad’s idea. Had fun. Shopped.

Love,

Danielle

Notes:

Baron was a German Shepherd. He was an amazing dog. I named him after my grandmother’s German Shepherd, Baron, when I was three.

Me, age 7ish with Baron

Me, age 7ish with Baron

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