Tag: reality

This is the new that

Sun is the new mon

March is the new June

Wasps are the new bees

Soy stands in for cheese

Quick is becoming slow

Sugar’s the same as blow

Love is the new disdain

Pain is still a pain

Moon and wasp


Not so nice twin

What if I’m not the real me? What if I am the doppelganger who shows up at the places that I frequent and unnerves my friends?

What if I’m doing crazy things to sabotage my life?

I’ve never run into myself in the grocery store. Do I even have a husband? What if he’s his Doppler?

Can we know ourselves? Is any of this real?

The next time I look in the mirror I’ll ask myself some hard questions. I will get to the bottom of this.


I’m worried about Kinsey Millhone

Detective novelist, Sue Grafton, died on Dec. 28, 2017. She wrote the “alphabet series” of books featuring a private detective named Kinsey Millhone. I have listened to every book on audio read by Judy Kaye from A is for Alibi to Y is for Yesterday. I love Kinsey Millhone. She’s the type of gutsy, independent woman I wish I could be.

Sue Grafton’s death reported on CNN

I read that Grafton’s last book in the alphabet series was to be Z is for Zero, and because her family said she would not have wanted a ghostwriter, Y is the end of the line. I have never liked the idea of a ghost writer continuing where a novelist left off, so I’m okay with no Z.

The thing is, I have this feeling that Kinsey is out there in the fictional Santa Teresa, California waiting for something to happen. She’s waiting for Sue to write a new adventure. Maybe she goes over to her landlord Henry’s apartment and talks to him about their next steps as he busies himself in the kitchen baking bread. I know she and Henry are not real, but they are kind of real. Aren’t they?  I want them to be okay.

Yep, I might be slightly crazy.

I almost want to write some Sue Grafton fan fiction. I won’t do that. This world belongs to Grafton, not to me. I am considering developing a fantasy for myself that puts me in Kinsey’s world. I don’t really relish the idea of going back to the 80s in this fantasy. Would I go back as an awkward teenager or as me of today? Who would I be in this world?

Maybe I need to write my own female detective who happens to be a Kinsey Millhone fan.  She might have a bit of a Stephanie Plum vibe too.  Janet Evanovich had better stay healthy!



A man named Loyal

I had a friend whose husband was named Loyal. He’s the only person I’ve with that name. According to one source, the name Loyal peaked in popularity in 1890 when it reached 555 on the list of top 1,000 boys’ names.

That friend and I lost touch after she moved to New York to be an arts administrator. That’s one small story in my life. I’ve met a lot of people over the years. I bet that you lose contact with the majority of people with whom you’ve been socially acquainted. If you move away from your hometown, friends from childhood slip away. I sometimes wonder how my next door neighbor is doing. We called ourselves best friends when we were 5, 6, 7, 8. My family moved out of state, and that was that. I heard she majored in Math in college. I would have never taken her for a numbers person. We probably would have drifted apart if I hadn’t moved. Who can know?


Is the Autumn of the year a time when we tend to ruminate on the past?  Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve lived a thousand lives. It seems as if the places in my dreams are spots I have physically inhabited. There’s a dream I have where I find possessions that I hid away in an attic. It always seems so real that I expect to come across the items in my waking world.  I keep asking the universe to tell me what is real and what is not. I probably know, but don’t know that I do.

A Live Journal Post from ’06

Bruck wall and hand illustration. 
Oct. 2nd, 2006 at 11:11 PM

I wish that my life could be fiction.

I wish that all of it was made up because this reality is hard.

This reality is wonderful and I embrace it.

But it’s so difficult and so absurd.

All meaningful things are actually meaningless

and all that is nothing

is everything.

I pressed my hand against a brick wall today to test its solidity.

I was hoping to push right through but I couldn’t prove it wasn’t there.

I saw structures made of steel and glass and brick reaching toward a blue sky.

It all seemed real.

If it is.

Then, why?

Reading, Listening, Writing

I recently listened to the audio version of a novel called NOS4A2 by Joe Hill. You can find the synopsis on Wikipedia. I liked this book a lot. As I listened, I had the thought that this could be my favorite book of all time. I don’t know if that says a lot, because I don’t consider myself to be a heavy reader. I do consume a lot of audiobooks. Sometimes I feel like listening to a book is kind of cheating. Does that mean blind people are cheating if they listen to a book instead of read it in Braille? What about blind people who don’t have the use of their hands? I think that if the words from the book somehow make their way into your consciousness, you have consumed the content of that book. Reading is not supposed to be a competition.

Anyway, in NOS4A2 there was more than one reality. The main character was able to ride her bike across a covered bridge and go where she needed to go, usually to find a lost item. She was able to create her own reality that was just as real as the one the rest of us know. I think we can all do that to some degree. I think I have done this.  I beleieve that just about everything I have wanted out of life has come to pass, or is in the process of becoming a reality. I don’t know a lot about The Law of Attraction, but that’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about.



So reading books about alternate realities makes me want to write my own book. I’ve been in the business of thinking I want to be a writer for years. I’ve done more thinking than writing. I’ve written a couple of short stories that could be categorized as “Magical Realism.”  I’ve begun writing a book and then quit it. Maybe I’ll try again when I’m 50. That’s only about 5 years!  Yikes, I’m almost 50!

I could declare that I will endeavor to write more. I will build a writing practice. But let’s get real. Declaring it in a blog post won’t make it so. I’d say I’ll probably start doing it when I’m ready to do it. Can I be okay with that decision? Can I stop calling myself  a failure if I haven’t accomplished X, Y, and or Z before a certain age?  Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of time, but really I might have 50 or so more years to go.


Living in a Cartoon

I just watched “G.I. Jeff,” episode 11 of Season 5 of the sitcom Community. There have been a lot of Community episodes that take place in alternate realities. Sometimes I like them, sometimes not so much. I really got a kick out of “G.I. Jeff.”

The show takes place in the world of the G.I. Joe cartoon series, circa 1985-86. Joel McHale’s character, Jeff Winger is called Wingman in the cartoon.  What’s really going on is that  Jeff is unconscious in the hospital, and he’s created a life for himself, and his friends in the cartoon. You can read the show summary here.

So after some animated military action in which Wingman manages to kill a parachuting Destro, the group is imprisoned. It urns out that Destro’s death is the first in this universe. Abed’s animated character, Fourth Wall is in the adjoining cell. He concludes that Jeff has constructed this fantasy because he’s in a medical crisis.

I really don’t want to describe the entire episode in this post. What I want to do is talk about the idea that having a psychotic break to escape life’s harsh realities seems kind of appealing to me.

That’s stupid I know. I understand that there are people who live with conditions like schizophrenia whose lives are not so wonderful. I don’t want to have a psychotic break. I just want an alternate reality that I can disappear into when the going gets rough.

You know what? I can escape. I’ve been escaping all of my life. All I have to do is recede into one of the many fantasy worlds that I’ve created. The next step  would be to make these worlds more real by writing about them. If I had the time and work ethic, I could probably have a few novels and several short stories under my belt. If I could meld my wish to escape with my desire to be a writer, I could maybe do something great.

I’d say I’m going to set some writing goals, but I’m not going to. Maybe the time isn’t right. I’ll just keep thinking about it, and then take action in my next life.


A cartoon me from Bitstrips
A cartoon me.

When I Wake

I find myself thinking about magic
As I drive on the streets of this little city

I find myself wondering what is real If anything

I dream in my sleep
Circuitous dreams

When I wake it feels as if I’ve worked something out
Solved my own unknown mysteries

And when I wake
I talk softly to my sleeping self
Without knowing that I do

And she (that self) gives a little guidance
Points to where the magic is