Thanksgiving: I’m Thankful…

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Things I’m thankful for:

I’m thankful there are amazing people working to create projects that will not only entertain but educate the public on issues that have been disregarded for too long by the general public. I’m thankful for the amazing men of Astoria Entertainment for creating Thunder Road and inspiring a movement to raise PTSD awareness. I’m thankful to Charlie, Steven and Matt for working so hard and believing in a cause that is so much more than a movie. I’m thankful for being able to contribute and support something that has become more than just a fundraiser. I’m thankful for every one of the amazing people I’ve ‘met’ working on this campaign, each of you has inspired me more than you will ever understand. I’m thankful for the opportunity to learn about organizations like Honor Courage Commitment, Hico’s Hero and PedalAgainstPTSD who are trying to make a difference and the amazing people who are working behind the scenes of these organizations like Andy Nguyen and Kevin Campagna.

I’m thankful to the creative minds whose written work gives me so much to aspire to. For my favorite sites: The Rebelle Society, The Belle Jar, FANdemonium Network and TheReporterandTheGirl, thank you for writing with honesty and passion. I’m thankful for the opportunity to share the stories of others, thanks to Chris, April, Robin, Nikki and Jason for being open to letting me write about your amazing and special selves. And thanks again to Nikki and Jason for having enough faith in my writing to ask me to join them in an exciting new endeavor.

I’m thankful for my family which I know I don’t say enough, they are the touchstone that keeps me grounded and can’t imagine who I’d be without them. I’m thankful to my friends both old and new who support me throughout my many trials and celebrate during my successes. Thanks to my favorite support team: Sheena, Katie and Layne. I’m thankful for the opportunity I’ve had to attend some amazing events including multiple conventions this year. During my travels I’m ever so thankful for the people I’ve met both the actors and the fans. And especially the fans who’ve become friends. Thanks to Libby who has inspired me more than I thought one person could. Thanks to Jenn who’s amazing blogging efforts astound me each week. I’m thankful for the opportunity to spend time at the conventions with Charlie Bewley who I can’t thank enough for giving me the opportunity to be involved with Thunder Road, and I’m thankful for the support his fandom has given to me, especially Bewley Fans. I’m also thankful for the amazing love and support I’ve received by the incomparable fandom of TeamMattDallas especially his fansite: MattDallasOnly, you have all been so amazing.

I’m thankful for the opportunity to share my thoughts in a public forum, and I’m thankful that anyone cares to read them.

I’m thankful for so many things I couldn’t possibly share them all, but hopefully you’ll share what you’re thankful for too.

Happy Thanksgiving!


“he’s seeing my…

“he’s seeing my soul, my fears, my fragility, my inability to deal with a world which I pretend to master, but about which I know nothing.”

Taken from Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho

Fiction: Reflection

I wrote this years ago but it’s still one of my favorite pieces:

English: A piece of cameo jewelry.

English: A piece of cameo jewelry. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Staring out the window she remembers: the summer, the laughter; all of it was gone now. When had this happened? When had she become so isolated? She tried to pinpoint the exact moment her life had changed but it was like walking underwater. Her mind was blurry; she found it hard to remember things. Yesterday they came to visit; well at least she thinks so. Today she thinks she will go to the gallery, she hasn’t been in weeks.

She wonders how will she wear her hair? He always liked it loose. When they first met he said it was her hair that had attracted him, He said it reminded him of the fields of wheat, because of its golden colour and how it would sway in the breeze. How long ago had that been?  She hoped he would be at the gallery today. As she continues to stare out the window she thinks of the past, she notices the leaves are beginning to change. It’s fall already, she thinks, why did summer pass so quickly?

The summer always reminds her of him. He was a painter, she always loved artists. He had dark hair and the palest blue eyes. She always thought that he should be the model instead of the painter. She told him that once, all he did was laugh and told her to sit still as he painted her. She wonders why he hasn’t called, surely he must have returned by now. When did he say he was coming home? She shakes her head, she can’t seem to grasp her thoughts, they’re swimming and something is hovering in her mind. What is it that she’s forgetting?

She thinks that she should start getting ready; she feels she’s been sitting at the window forever. As she rises from her chair she’s surprised that she feels dizzy. She hopes it isn’t the flu. She begins to walk toward her vanity; she stops, looking at her room. When had she rearranged it, she begins to feel tired. I must be coming down with the flu.

Sitting down at the vanity she picks up her brush. She turns to face the mirror, she gasps. Staring back at her, mouth gaping is a stranger. She absently reaches and touches her face; the reflection does the same. But this can’t be true, what’s going on? Her mind is frantic. The person in the mirror isn’t her, she searches for answers. She picks up the brush and throws it at the mirror but even through the shattered glass scene peers the vision. The face is similar but how can it be? That face is old, wrinkled and yet it seems to look like her. She collapses causing a photo to fall to the floor near her cocoon body. Her shaking hands reach forward, she sees that they are withered, she screeches and collapses again sobbing. On the back of the photo is written,
“summer 1925”.

Strained Relations

When so much emptiness rests in a crowd
My heart weeps for a time that never came
If my resurrection comes in the wake of their destruction
My happiness is not worth that cost
Short lived, unfulfilled, will I ever be enough
No longer together, isolated, insulated
Reaching out in faceless crowds I find comfort
Without a home, I’m lost
More to me than myself
Forsaking everything, meaning nothing
It doesn’t matter

Personal Poetry – Strained Relations