I can hear her

I can hear her, I hear her thoughts, I hear her when she speaks.
Therefore I know what she wants for our birthday.
Uh huh, I said OUR.
We have the same birthday - in case you hadn't already figured that out.
Not by design. I am younger than Cat, and us sharing a birthday is just one of those weird life things.
So, this year, our birthday is on the most awesome of dates. A once in a hundred years special awesome date.
Twelve Twelve Twelve.
How fuc'n cool is that?

It won't happen again in either of our lifetimes.

Celebrating this year seems like something that really should be done.

If you ask Cat she'll say she wants the impossible for her birthday this year.
But she won't say anything else.
I know what she wants.

This year has been quite the roller coaster. The really bad tossed in among some very cool stuff. It's gotten to the point that when something horrendous happens Cat waits to see what the good to follow will be. Guess that's one way of getting through it. (She really is a Pollyanna, rainbows an' all.)

But because this year started with awful news, her plans have changed drastically. All thoughts of travel stilled. Any planning for her birthday celebration shelved.
I know this and I understand why - but this date is the only one she'll get in her lifetime (our lifetime) - it should be celebrated, and not because it's such a cool date but also because it's a very special birthday.
She does think about doing something about her birthday but she doesn't get passed the thought.
The potential guest list shrank by one very important person when Mike died suddenly a month ago. Another thing that makes celebrating this year that much much harder.

Despite all that, I know what she wants.

She wants to see her work come alive.
Crazy?
Maybe.
It's what she's always wanted.
Cat does see what she writes as a series of video clips... but what she wants is to be able to share that with everyone else.
Tapping into what she sees and being able to project that for all to see would be amazing.
The other night she was trying to sleep, but couldn't because she was thinking seeing and hearing her lines delivered by actors who really and truly grasped who the characters were. Watching as the world she created came to life. Taking us from the page to the world.

In her head it's kinda like a pop-up book with real people. 

It's probably quite a strange thing for a writer to want. She doesn't write screen plays, she writes novels and short stories. Why would someone who doesn't write screen plays be so enamored with bringing a world to life?
Maybe because she writes what she sees?
Maybe because she writes what I show her?
Maybe because Cat has always written to entertain herself and originally wrote to fill a gap in her own reading material. Now there is a gap in her viewing material. Everything she loves to relax and watch gets cancelled... maybe that has something to do with it?
Whatever the reason, it's what she wants.
So now you know why she only answers with "the impossible" when asked.

I doubt she will celebrate her birthday this year. I think too many people will be missing from the party.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

The things that pop into my head aren't always, um, well, they aren't always 'normal'. I think we can all agree on that.
But they're also things that tend to help me see beyond what's going on in front of me and discover underlying issues/causes/shit. More than once the things I've 'seen' or 'heard' have solved cases.

Sometimes I get to thinking about heroes, and this has come about because of an interesting 'hallucination' - I don't know what else to call it, so we'll have to go with that.
Occasionally I get the sense that what is lacking in life (not mine per se) is heroes.

It really is.

I'm kinda overrun by heroes or the potential to be heroes, in the people I am surrounded by day in and day out.
The biggest heroes in my book - law enforcement personnel, fire fighters, anyone in military service, and paramedics. Thinking about my days... I'm surrounded by those very people, and they are every day heroes.

Which makes me wonder why I see the things I do and no one else does. It's not for lack of flesh and blood heroes. Maybe it's the best way for information to present itself, I don't know. I do know that occasionally the 'interactions' amuse me.

This happened recently. I'm not going to use his name, we're going to call him C.

C grinned and leaned on the wall behind him. "You think you can do this without me, go right ahead."
"I'm sure I can. No doubt some other insufferable hero will pop out of my subconscious. You're not exactly alone in there you know," I replied, keeping my tone as even as possible considering the circumstances. Even hallucinations have feelings, or so I'm starting to understand.
"I figured," C said.
"So play nice or I'll replace you." I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets as I went to walk away but stopped when I heard C laugh.
"I wasn't not playing nice. You have to appreciate the trouble I go through to get your attention." He moved away from the wall and took a step toward me. "You don't always listen."
I nodded. Fair observation.
"And you need to appreciate how close I'm coming to a complete psychotic break," I replied.
"Point taken."

And then like a good little hallucination (okay not little and probably not that good either, I doubt a smile like his comes from leading the life of an angel.) he disappeared.
It was somewhat refreshing to have him disappear and not see his features melt and become Mac.

It's kinda creepy when that happens.
Yeah, that's the creepy bit. :-)

Addiction

Something happened to me recently which reminded me I'd come along way but not yet far enough.

I died.
(Someone helped, it was an unfortunate incident that turned me into a target and ended in the capture of a hospital killer.)
So, anyway, I was dead for a few minutes. Prior to the whole being dead thing I'd experienced a vicious migraine and had noticed some holes in my memory. (Which probably led to me being a tad mixed up.)
I woke up to see Kurt at my bedside. Not a surprise, he brought me back. I knew that. What I wasn't ready for was what happened a few hours later.
Everything was a tad out of whack. I was still missing things... I couldn't remember my child or Rowan. I struggled to remember my brother and father. Yet, all memories that pertained to work seemed intact. Odd.
I argued with Kurt over missing memories. It became heated on my part. I was restrained... but not until after Kurt ended up with quite a magnificent bruise on his jaw. Not my finest moment.
After that, I slept for a while. I don't know how long.
When I woke Kurt got me coffee... and I asked for a cigarette.
A cigarette.
I don't smoke.
I haven't smoked in a few years.
He obliged.
I nearly choked to death and quickly realized I don't smoke any more.
Obviously it hasn't been long enough because my default was to smoke.
Or is that always going to be there?

I gave up after realizing I was an addict. No one really talks that much about smoking being an addiction. It is.
Thinking about it now I was no different to any other kind of addict. Everything revolved around cigarettes. I needed to have a full pack available at all times or panic would set in. I didn't go to movies or anything else that required me to be smoke free for any length of time.
My life was not my own. It belonged to my addiction.
I hated it.
I quit because I hated it. I quit because I never ever wanted anything to have a hold on me like that again.
You know it's bad when you'd sooner stay in bed than face a morning without cigarettes.
I kicked it.
It was not easy. I used patches because there was no way I was going to break free from the addiction without help.
I had to completely change how I did things. I threw away my coffee cup - because I associated that cup with smoking. I got a new cup. I changed my routines. I cleaned everything. And made sure there was nothing left that smelled of smoke. And I accepted I was an addict and that I could never smoke again. For the first few months I kept away from friends who smoked and I ate a ton of sugar free mints.
I can now be around smokers but not for long periods.
I will never consciously smoke again. Why? Because I'd have to go through the whole quitting thing again and quite frankly it's not easy. (Yeah I know, nothing worth doing ever is easy.)

If I can give up, you can too.
It's a one day at a time thing. It's all about getting to know yourself and dealing with triggers.
And the best thing... once smoking was gone from my life, stress diminished.
Really.
The thing with smoking is... I smoked when I was stressed (and for every other reason under the sun) but smoking increased my stress levels by pumping more shit into my system.
You know what?  Taking a few deep breaths (instead of lighting the cigarette and taking deep breaths) actually helps reduce stress.

Shocking isn't it?

Easier to just not start really, isn't it?

Welcome home

Welcome home. (From killerbyte)

The sun rose, night fell away

Revealing sadness and mental decay

Bloodstains and body fluid are all that remain

The one who did this was totally insane.

A chandelier sways in the wind

Crystal drops swirl and spin

Rainbows dance upon the walls

Falling on the bloodstained floors

Police tape glistens in the sun

A reminder, forensics aren’t yet done

The body count began at one

We get the feeling there’s more to come

A chandelier sways in the wind

Crystal drops swirl and spin

Rainbows dance upon the walls

Colored patterns on bloodstained floors

Don’t look too closely my distant friend

The picture here is your twisted end.

- Ellie Conway and Mac Connelly.

This is the most recent poem sent...

 

On “Welcome Home”

Daylight does not always reveal

What we wish to see or feel

That which was pristine and clean

Now blood stained and obscene.

A chandelier sways with the wind

Crystal drops glisten as they spin

Rainbows dance on walls and doors

Falling then to blood stained floors.

“Do not Enter.” tape shines in the sun

Forensics job is not yet done.

The one who did this to my home

Will be shorn with my finest comb.

A chandelier sways with the wind

Crystal drops glisten as they spin

The mess you leave for me to clean

Will be repeated in your final scene.

Uncle Bill.

 Also, don't forget to enter this dead easy competition. Connor is giving away 3 digital copies of killerbyte on Sunday evening.

Trust me, you want to win and read the book... then you'll fully grasp how hinky getting poems based on poems Mac and I wrote is. Getting a bit jumpy!!

This is making me very glad I have moved to somewhere 'off the grid' and have a state of the art security system...and am in the process of replacing weapons - just in case. (Exploding houses destroy a lot of stuff.)

There is a big hole...

Since Monday I have had all manner of thoughts rolling around in my head. Many of them are for the family of a very very good friend of Cat's who died suddenly. His family lost a loved son, brother, and father.

I'm writing this because not only was Mike a loved friend of Cat's but he was also my biggest fan.
Seriously, no one that I know of connected with me like Mike did.

I have a violet, a single violet. I picked it from a civil war cemetery near a battle field. Every time I see the violet, pressed, safely under a protective cover, I smell gunpowder, sweat, blood, and horses. It all mixes together with a soundtrack made from courage, fear, and pain.

Mike got that.

He understood exactly what I experienced standing on the battle field and how chaotic the sounds and images were and how I struggled to make sense of them when in reality I was standing on an empty field.

He also got the other stuff that I can't explain, (and Cat can't explain), the way I exist in reels of film that only Cat can see and why the stories have to be linear and why Cat can't change what happens in them.
I have a feeling that Mike is kinda like Mac, and he didn't go far.

I think they're quite similar in a lot of ways. Their uncanny ability to know things they couldn't possibly know and to reach out at exactly the right time and the fact that inside they were really both still 14 year old boys - with senses of humor to match.

But they've both left this plane for realms unknown and I wish them a safe journey.

Catch ya on the other side, dude.