Internal Hurricane!

News! News! A Storm is a brewing.

A hurricane?

Wow.
Entertaining to hear the frantic spiels of newcomers to Eastern North Carolina.

The Sky is falling! Gather your nuts, young squirrels!

Introduction of a drama queen and a local:

Possessed

There are some things in this world that happen that just seem illogical, impossible, mythological, or just plain nut job.

I'd throw being possessed by the devil in that category, despite my strong belief in the Bible. Some of those stories just seem slightly over imaginative to my naturally cynical mind.

I mean, How many people have you met that were possessed by the devil?

And don't say, "Your Mom".
Or Your own mother...

Serious here. Really? The Devil.

I can make some crazy sound affects--I'm quite talented actually, but I can't fake the devil's noises.

I had no clue what that sounded like...
Until...

My last year of college.
Man, You learn so much at college.

Yes, One of five catholics on campus; I know about garlic and vampires, and holy water can melt anything evil and pop the suckers into thin air.

Who am I kidding?!
I was horror struck and yet amused when I walked into my 8man suite to hear from 6 girls barricading the bathroom door, "Don't go in there, funny noises are coming out of there."

"Hmm, that's not uncommon", I say.

"No, Lindsey is talking in strange voices on the toilet; it's not her at all.", Sally says.

Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?

"Wait, what? I want to hear; that is so cool. Let me get my cross and some holy water.", I say.

I proceeded to extend my ear through the bathroom wall, but the praying warrior freaks (aka: SEU RAs) came to the rescue.


Sometimes, I wish I could sound like a babbling baboon when I pray too. They spoke intimidatingly fast and furious; loud and ferocious--they scared us all into our bedrooms.

Couldn't stop the roommate and I for very long!

We took up the Cross! Literally.

And we went around praying in every room (made an X on the bathroom door). I pretended I had holy water and robotically sprinkled it on all the beds. Don't want a devil in our beds...

The whole time, I couldn't stop thinking...
Why, How tragic! The devil possessing you while sitting on a toilet!

Opportune time, I guess.

Some might think it was a bad case of diarrhea or Salmonella.

In this case, I had my doubts about her sanity in the first place.

But when I heard her--I knew it was the Devil.
No Denying it.
She was Possessed.
And did I mention?
On the Toilet?

I don't know what happened to the Devil; I didn't see it go into a horde of swine, but it was gone in a few hours.

I fell asleep to the incessant praying RAs.

The possessed girl went home forever. And we got a new suitemate.

No more Toilet Ghosts of "Christ"mas Past.

Beware, the Devil is out there. Next time you're on a toilet; I'd say a prayer...

"The Help"

I saw "The Help" this weekend and can't help to think how similar Eugena and I are.

I can't help but to think how similar our society is. You're probably thinking, I'm going to preach on the blatant racism, but I'm skipping that topic.

I'm more addressing the annoying trait of society that advertises that every woman needs a man and if you don't have one there's something wrong with you...and you can't possibly be happy.

I am Single.
I feel Fulfilled.
And I'm very Much Satisfied with who I am and who I am in God.


I tell people this occasionally, and then I smirk and knowingly await the oncoming predicted response.

It comes, just as expected, on par.

"Oh, you'll find a man one day; he's out there."

It is said as if my previous statement was perceived to be some self-deprecating diatribe--as if I was looking for some sympathy vote, or if it was said, on my part, as some rationalized emotional booster.

Are we Living in the 50's?!

At 26, I'm surrounded by married women.

Anytime I go out with a boy, the reaction is equivalent to the latest gossip of "The Baccalaureate."


"So, Who is he?"
"What does he do?"
"What's his last name?"
"Does he believe in Jesus?"

Apparently, I will never be so interesting to talk to as when I have some kind of potential husband material to hunt down.

It consumes the focus of their conversation with me, until I throw the guy in the gutter.

Then, well, the next best item of conversation, in which, I am rarely involved, is about furniture, what shade of curtains to hang, and what's the best kind of diaper to use on their new arrival.


You know, worldly stuff.
Exciting.
Adventurous.
And Life-Changing.


Have I missed something?

Is my life supposed to be about finding a man?
And living to satisfy said man and his family?

Sounds so narrow-sighted.
Sounds like a half-life for me--unfulfilled.
Living short of what I'm made for.

Oh yeah, so many girls, living the American Dream.



I'm out to Find MY Purpose--not merely a man.
Now That's Exciting.


PS. If you are married; live life with a purpose...with a partner.

The Escape of Amedei Wilson

Welcome back me! Sorry for my absense. My return is due to two weeks off from life commitments, yay!

Anyways, since last visit I have been scattered brain writing--mostly short stories that for a long time I had no idea where they would fit in the whole scheme of my book. Well, things are looking good folks--clarity has entered my world (and no, I don't need those mind drugs like in the movie "Limitless).

I do have several starts, but I'm leaning towards this one (just a set-up to the story). An intro...for you. I don't want to give it away just yet, but tell me what you think with the little I have, for your reading--do you want to read more?

Basic Info for you: It is a fantasy/sci-fi set in a futuristic/altered Morehead City, NC. Young Adult perhaps?

Book Title: The Escape of Amedei Wilson.
Chapter Title: Operation: Meeting

Glade Garrison likes to pretend like she’s not the boss, but she ain’t fooling nobody. She’s the oldest of Outfit 7—the Shepard Street kids on the block. Glade is fifteen and has a pimply face of a twenty year old on a twelve year old body, meaning to say; she is a gangly thing that looks like she doesn’t quite know how to walk. Yet, this girl has power; power of the mouth—power of young hearts. Her poor little brother, Calder, just can’t stand tall against her (although, physically speaking he does) and he certainly rarely gets a word in edgewise. He sure is a goofy looking guy; a little chunky and hairy, and probably much smarter than he looks. They both are sort of the hosts of Outfit 7—they have the perfect hangout house with the indoor play room—not to mention, Mrs. Garrison is the most humorous, friendly nut job and Mr. Garrison is the town’s favorite PE teacher. The other two houses are just regular, boring, two bedroom cottages, only fit to merely sleep in, and the owners are just normal parents with normal jobs.

Glade, is in fact, hosting a meeting today—a very important meeting. Well, at least she thinks so.

“Guys, take a seat. I just received a verbal from Twitty and his gang.”

“Please tell me we’re not going to the other side of the tracks again; it’s so abysmal,” said Valerian.