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Mind Travel

By Ashley Smith All Rights Reserved ©

Adventure / Mystery

Prologue

Life is a series of events, events that take us to many places. Through these travels

we experience many peaking moments only to crash into the lowest gorge. The lowest

gorge I have ever seen was The Royal Gorge,

One day I am hopefully to get a promotion, to have a place where in my opinion I so rightly belong; and although I desperately do not want to, I will spare you of the details; the details of a series of jobs. But I am not bitter, no not me, I say with a note of snarling sarcasm, so much so I have to include it into… the, well, umm, my book?

Yes my book, the book of Brook, what a brilliant title… what a brilliant title indeed. As she sits typing endlessly away on her lap top relaying thoughts that mean nothing to anyone back and forth in her mind, like a tennis match of sort. Jasper, her oldest girl sits sweetly playing with red and blue blocks while her daughter Prudence runs from one end of the lawn to the other streaming bubbles along in an alarmingly steady stream. She pauses which should be briefly to light some incense, so as to arouse her senses, but this tiny task seems as to take forever. The litter box is starting to smell, and she dreads the trip to the store to purchase more. This unfortunate fact is partly because she no longer likes to venture into large grocery stores and also because she spent 80 dollars on clothing, and it looks as though she obtained nothing at all. She paused again, lit some more incense because she had to find her phone, a desperate search in fact hoping that it was him… only to sit and find the phone on the desk where she had been sitting in the first place, and then she learned of the horrible stench her Hitler reincarnation left… he is actually really sweet and she likes to think he looks like Charlie Chaplin anyway. It was then that HE called, he that is so stupid and mean and retarded…. I mean, why why can he not love her, why can he not love me? Note to self a book that turns into a journal then back to a book, like she writes the painful things referring to a third party… or the book reminds her of a time in her life and her mind starts to venture off, and then she gets back to the book!!!!! Now that we have that sorted out, we can begin. Hhm, she clears her throat and begins to write, then the thought occurs to her as she listens to Michael Savage speak she gets distracted by the bridge that has cars blowing up. She then searches, and Fox news has decided not to heir the news in place of dancing with the stars or who the fuck can dance or whatever show the government has put on to suck the creativity out of the intelligent…. To be creative and intelligent, a person could rule the world. Damn her grandfather does not want her to have a job because it is for poor people, because she will lose all her connections and it will pull her out of her fast track to success. Except, for they underestimate the fact that she is not one to go quietly into the night, that she has found her voice and she intends to use it. He is there and her stomache turns into knots. He is with her, talking…. Laughing… doing disgusting things which sicken me. I hate him. She hates him, we all hate him. God how I wish I could fuck someone right now, but my house is too messy, I almost said her house but I stuck with I. Uck what has become of me? I fuck to feel better, anything to dull the pain; the loneliness; the need to get dick. I mean what is wrong with a woman just wanting to fuck someone? It breaks my heart to think of him with her, but when I think of him I think how much better I can do. That is not it though, for me there is no one better. Is there? And why in the fuck is the bridge collapse still not on the news? And why has she yet to eat? I hate everyone, I hate society and it’s views, it’s ways and it’s hypocracy it’s stomache churning wretchedness. Forget this. She is lying on her nearly ducked taped together, yet surprisingly overstuffed and comfortable couch, with her legs in the air…. farther than a month ago, because she has been swettin to her own beat, with a purple dildo shoved into her…. Well, you get the picture. Her laptop displaying the only porn she has had to get off to for the past two years on the floor, and her fingers dancing between her nipples and her clit. Damn , she pauses to think…. Hank says I think too much! Ok, seriously what? Who in their right mind does that? And what is with the daily dose of porn lately anyway? And why do I call Hank when there is no reason for me to, or Hector, or anyone for that matter? I mean damn guys suck. Is it too much to ask to be adored, I mean seriously? I would settle for a good reliable fuck, but the problem is the reliable part. How hard is it to be my consistent fuck buddy? Be there when I call, why is that so much to ask? I mean, now what am I going to be reduced to? A girl who randomly fucks bar guys because I really need a good fucking? Sometimes I feel as though I am addicted to sex, but not like a psycho or anything…. It feels good to fuck the pain away, and it feels good to fuck. I mean it feels good, so what exactly is the problem anyway? Yeah if I had someone steady it would be great, but if not…. My toys will only carry me so long…. Plus do you know how expensive batteries are? Today is her last day at the Herald. This job taught her what she wanted to do in life, and how the “corporate” world operates. She was like a newly adopted child on their first Christmas, she learned how to design ads, build them, sell them, she became a professional photographer, wrote an article, got several photos on the front page, started a company, and made numerous friends. But for what? She was passed up for every job she would have been suited for. And now, and now, today is my last day. Today! I sit in my shorts, shirt, and pink fuzzy bathrobe almost paralyzed at the thought of walking into the place of such a short stay with so many memories, well it is not so much the fear of walking in, as the thought of walking out. I do not want to walk out, but I can not afford to live otherwise. What else am I supposed to do? The new job will be ok, and give me time to go to school and to learn things I guess. Plus, I will have money. Lot’s and lots of extra money and a secure place to live and a billion times less stress. How could this not be a good thing? God has a plan, I just have to shut up and listen. “ I do not need to know the plan, I do not need to understand, I know that God has a plan.” Ok, time to check my myspace (she says with a lisp like the little girl with braces on south park as to note the nerdiness of it all) and then makeup, chi, teeth, and work.

Yesterday I was an advertising assistant at a newspaper and today I am a property manager at Random Storage, this reminds me of what my Mammaw used to sing when I was young… que sera sera whatever will be will be the future is not ours to see que sera sera. Man, that is good… I think I shall make it my myspace quote. At the herald Becky learned about herself, who she wanted to be and what she wanted to accomplish. She felt at home there, in her element and confident. Now she has been reduced to a blue collar idiot who sweats and has aching muscles at the end of each day. Adderall, where is her adderall at anyway…. The world is a much more exhausting place without the aid of her ADD medication. Sitting at the computer remembering back she notices all the happy times the newspaper held for her, but to no one else can she convey this to. Que sera sera Becky.

Becky got an odd phone call this morning, she got a call from Mrs. Hetty, now she loves Mrs. Hetty, and had the good fortune to play taxi for her while her foot was broken. During the trips from Green Farms and back I got to know Hetty very well, and she got to know me. She is an amazing woman who is loved by all and giving and smart and sweet. Well, since my days and her days at the paper we have not spoken much. She called, I love it when she calls, but then she mentioned something about using people. The thing is, I am starting to see how certain people may see that I can be perceived as using people…. But it is not like that at all. I do not think, at least I hope. I started talking to Betty because I was driving her, I started talking with Auto because he needed a ride, I started talking to Marian because she needed someone to tie her in to people at work. I never gained knowledge from Sam and Sadie; however, Sam is brilliant and does not give herself nearly enough credit and Sadie is letting her parents skewed views of life keep her from reaching her potential. I know that, because I know how my family is and what their views have unintentionally done to me. Ugh, look at the time, already been yelled at by Rick and have to get ready for the daily grind.

Here I am at 4720 Ave H, my new apartment my new home my new job with my baby cat; who is not allowed to be here, except that I can not live without him and that is unfair because he is good. I am hungry and sleepy and tired and sore and I have to move more stuff. I have a headache, but maybe that is due to the fact that I am talking to my family, that Rick is coming back from his romantic getaway, that I have a cat that is not supposed to be here, that I have to go to work tomorrow, that all I want to do is smoke a joint and watch movies, that my stupid photography discs will not work, that I am only getting 300 dollars for my photo shoot instead of the 460 dollars I should have made, I feel like crap. This book has been a long time coming, crazy not crazy, sane not sane what the fuck ever. I am me. I need to know who I am. I have contrasting views on life at the moment, I do not know whether I need to get Rick out of my life so that I can remember who I am and find myself or if that is just a ploy I use to push people away. I do not know if I should try and maintain the social relationships I have attained or to throw them by the wayside and begin anew, or for that matter, not to begin at all. Perhaps I am an over analytical bit of crazy that needs to use what I have, shelter myself, and make use of my talents. Realizing that she has to live, Brook remembers back to a movie she saw… oh, just last night. The movie was called The Dog Problem, right now I have a cat problem, which again is beside the point. I do not want to see people. I do not want to talk to people really. I just want to write, and sleep and watch movies, and sleep. I feel as though I have not been able to really rest in years upon years upon years. Change is hard, oh so very hard. My point, that got lost somewhere between differentiating between a dog and my cat is that I am a writer, I need to get a grant and seclude myself and write. People do that, WRITERS do that, and my true friends and family need to accept that and love me for me. There we go, they need to love me for me. Also, I enjoy living alone. Everyone in my “cursed” family is afraid of ending up like the rest; alone. Somehow, the fact that they are afraid of living alone all but ensures the fact that they will indeed sercum to their worst fear. Breaking the family curse is simple, be on your own for 1 ½ years and struggle, cut, cry, and ultimately claw your way back to the top. I am, and have been proven to be a very intelligent woman with tons of potential. Well, I am tired of having potential and I would like to put it to good use. Side note, I want to be a person who comes up with the ideas for other people to enact. Perhaps I would like to be someone that does that at a magazine, I know I have seen it done on television at least. Back to the point, do you ever wonder who titles movies and television shows? Mostly movies I believe, but there could be a perfectly good movie, an exceptional one in fact, but the title is so dumb it gets completely passed by. I hate that. For instance, and not even in actuality is this anywhere close The Dog Problem is an amazing movie that may have changed my life, but the title is hard to remember. It is a brilliant yet simple title, but damn if it did not take me realizing how I could not remember it to finally do so. Brook watched this brilliantly simple movie in silent revelry, if that does in fact mean in awe and sadness and greatness and a sense of peace with the universe. Perhaps that night Brook became whole, the photographer does a lot of fucking and the writer does a lot of nervous fidgety talking, both filled with this great potential, one more dominant than the other, one more timid, but more of a mind, they are two extremes of the same person. I used to be two extremes of the same person, but now I am me. I am not sure if the rest of the population noticed, but they enter and exit each others lives as though they appear from no where, although maybe it was not meant to be interpreted as such, I did. I am those people at my most extreme moments and my entire life I have only known how to be extreme. It is too much of one or not enough of the other, never a harmonic balance, never at peace, meshed and serene. Did I tell you that James is dead? That I have been listening to the same Three Days Grace CD ever since the day he died? Before I knew he was dead I think? Also, the night he died when I was going to sleep I went and found my clinging cross and went to sleep with it. I went to sleep with the cross and the cd on!!!! What does it mean? Also, James and I happened to have sex while drunk and he died July 18th …. For some reason, August 24th is coming to mind. Oh, I deducted it with the aid of Mariann, who I have not talked to since I quit the paper, because we left on the trip the weekend after… Or July 1st, ouch it hurts to remember. I waited for James to call me back all day that Friday because I wanted to hang out with him instead of go to New Orleans, or at least see him again before he left. Be with him, touch him. Kiss him. God we kissed great together. It had been a long time coming. He was shy, I was shyish … I remember the sex was awkward because we were drunk and I was insecure. I woke up lying next to James, but stupid Rick had to come over in the morning even though I told him I was busy or sick, oh… I told him I had to go to work early and I left the deadbolt locked, but he found out that I did not go to work and came banging on the door to make sure I was ok. Suspicious, now that I think about it, especially when he would not let me into his house when I was drunk as hell and let me drive home. He did something wrong, but I do not care that he is fucking Lacey. It would be ok, because he needs to experience life and see what is out there. But James, my sweet James… who the fuck does Rick think he is interrupting the story of sweet and beautiful James, not so much the story but my story.

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