Psychic Dreams

Sure, this is not The Dream Dimension blog anymore, but I just love talking about dreams. I don’t know what’s going on, whether it has something to do with getting older changing my brain chemistry, or if it’s just one of those things that could never be explained. For some weird reason, my intuition has been getting a lot sharper lately, and my dreams have been symbolically telling my fortune, for the near future. Christa has read a little about dream psychology. When I told her about my dreams that are not exactly reoccurring, but have reoccurring themes, she told me that it’s not so much what happens in your dreams that have meaning. It’s how you feel, during the dream.  

It’s normal for anyone to have a future premonition in their dreams, every now and then. I used to have them, maybe once every so often. Here are a few I remember very vividly.  

In September of 2004, the very night that I moved in with my long-time boyfriend, Billy, I had a bad dream that he turned into a complete asshole who was impossible to live with. This was not a master psychic prediction. I just wanted to deny what was coming. Billy was a self centered, verbally abusive jerk at times, but he wasn’t pure 100% asshole. We had a lot of happy couple moments together. 

a lot of his behavior problems was due to his functional schizophrenia, which means, he was able to hold a job, drive, run aronds, and do all domestic tasks like a normal person. He even had a normal social life. He just had problems with delusional thinking, and he had an annoying habit of speaking in metaphors. He also sometimes brought up memories that never happened, and accused me of things I never did. Why did I date him? I had a shitty self esteem, when I was in my twenties. We had gone through ups and downs for four years. It was dysfunctional, but at that age, I wanted to believe in the whole soul mate thing. I was excited about moving clear across the country, to Hackensack New Jersey, with him. It was a new adventure. We were finally going to live together, and start our life together, without his clingy, controlling mom coming between us. She was not 100% pure asshole either. There were times when I enjoyed her company more than Billy’s, but I was relieved that she decided to stay back in Florida, and move in with Billy’s brother. 

Then low and behold, my dream was right. I learned the hard way that, the only reason why we stayed together for four years, was because we weren’t living together. After only a week of living with him, I couldn’t wait to get the hell back to Florida. 

In February of 2007, I had a dream about another ex boyfriend, named, Luis. He was in a hospital bed, with IVs and stuff, attached to him. In the dream, I apologized for how I broke up with him, and for being such a bitch. The next day, when mom answered the phone, it was Luis. He and I hadn’t spoken for almost two months, so this was a surprise. He was in the hospital, calling from his hospital bed. The parents and I were shocked to find out that he had cancer. Like in the dream, I apologized for all that I had put him through. I was so glad to have had the chance to make amends with him, before he passed away, the following July. 

In the summer of 2008, when I was getting enrolled into community College, I had all kinds of zany, but negative dreams that warned me that College wasn’t the right choice for me. Sure enough, my attempt at community College was a disastrous failure. Mainly because my neurological disability made it impossible to get assignments done, in a sensory overstimulating classroom. It was the same reason why I was a C student, all through school. I just had the hope that maybe being older and more mature would somehow improve this problem. 

A year or so later, I had dreams that Gina had a brightly glowing flower growing out of her belly button. I came to the conclusion that this symbolized pregnancy. Then, in 2012, she gave birth to my adorable nephew, Jaden, who is also our parents’ one and only grandchild. What’s funny about this is, he’s a very bright kid, with an IQ of 160. And he always had this thing with belly buttons. 

Another one that spooked me as much as the Luis dream, was a few dreams about my old friend from high school, Kate. I don’t remember precisely what year I had these dreams, maybe 2010, or 2011-ish. At the time, Kate and I had lost touch, back in 1998. In the dreams, we got back in touch again, but our reunion was short. We soon discovered how different we were, compared to when we were inseparable 9th grade BFFs. Then our relationship always went cold. These dreams always ended with me feeling crappy about the situation, and wanting to make things right with her, and hang on to our old friendship. So  I would go to her house, but then find out that Kate had turned into a lifeless, warn out, ventriloquist dummy.  

In October of 2013, Kate and I really did get back in touch. But our reunion ended coldly, in January of 2015. We got into a disagreement on FaceBook, and the claws came out. I would say neither of us was right, but she thought I was an immature psycho. She too had cancer, and she didn’t want the last few months of her life to include immature psycho bullshit. So she unfriended me, and cut me out of her life. 

A month later, I found out, through another friend, that her coldness had turned to compassion. Here she was, near death from stage-4 cancer, and she was praying for me. This was four years ago, but I’m getting choked up as I type this. I was deeply moved, and wanted to make things right with her, but I lost her phone number, when I changed phones. My friend tried, several times, to give me her number, but all these glitchy things kept happening between his Android, and my I-phone. Then she died, in May. So it was too late for any apologies or good-byes. Up until then, I didn’t realize that the dreams about Kate turning into a inanimate puppet were  symbolic premonitions. 


Within the past few months, I’ve been getting symbolic dream premonitions, almost back to back. Once the foreseen real life situation happens, my sub conscience moves on to the next near-future situation to warn, or reassure me about. 

In February, I had dreams that had to do with going through a situation that terrifies me, and seems like it would be impossible to get through. Then miraculously, I get through it, and everything works out, in the end. 

A few examples: 

I dreamt that the family and I were traveling by jet, somewhere. We were all getting comfortable in our seats, when a flight attendant came up to me, and said that the plane was too crowded. So I had to be moved to an outside seat, on the wing. I know that this situation would be totally impossible, in real life, but anything could happen in a dream. 

Mom and Gina were already sitting on the wing, when the flight attendant escorted me to my seat. But there was no seats, and no seat belts either. A bright red railing, that barely went up to my knees, went around the edges of the wing. This was all us wing passengers had to hold onto. While I was scared as hell, mom and Gina acted like this was a perfectly safe way to travel. They were sitting on either side of the wing, with their backs against the railing, happily blabbing about healthy dinner recipes. I was seated next to mom, with my back against the railing too. 

As the plane was taking off, I turned around, wrapped my arms and legs around the railing, and held on as tight as I could. The lifting off feeling was so realistic, and so was that funny thing gravity does to your mind, when you look down from a dangerous height. I gripped tighter, with all four limbs, and pinned my arms in place, with my head. I had never been so scared, on a dream plane ride before. Meanwhile, mom and Gina were still as relaxed as yoga instructors, as they talked about the beautiful view below. I looked down, but my vision blurred, and the view looked like greenish-brown fuzz. I felt so helplessly vulnerable, surrounded by 30,000 feet of open air. This flight was going to be two hours long. I wondered how I was going to get through it, or if. The plane picked up speed. I tensed my whole body up, and clung to the railing, for dear life. Then I felt my arms and legs getting clammy. I was so terrified, I wanted to cry. 

Then the attendant came back out, and decided to let me have my original seat back. As I took his arm, I suddenly was able to walk along the wing, with super-human balance. Then I was back in the comfort and safety of flying the normal way. I was SO happy.  

In another dream, the family and I were somewhere in New York city, and we were taking a GrayHound bus back to Florida. The bus wasn’t going to be there, for another few hours, so we had plenty of time to wander around. The GrayHound station was part of a ridiculously huge building that had a mall, several dozen bars, and all kinds of other noisy, crowded places. There was even a quiet room, far away from the human traffic congestion. Dad took me there, and promised that he’ll come back for me, in a few hours. 

This quiet room had soft lighting, and was more like a study room. There was desks and chairs all around, complimentary computers, and even some familiar visual aide equipment. I had my Mac Book with me. So I parked at a desk, and got to writing. This was the perfect time to work on my book, because the quiet room was empty. Then some other lady came in, who seemed even nerdier than me, and disturbed my peace. She put on an irritating educational musical about DNA, on her I-pad, and didn’t use headphones. I was really annoyed, but I’d rather not get into confrontations with total strangers. Especially not in New York city. So I soldiered on with wrestling with my brittle sense of focus, one typed word at a time. 

Dad came back, but it wasn’t time to get to the bus yet. He and mom had realized that we were in the wrong building. Our bus was scheduled at another GrayHound station, in a building that was across this 30-lane, death trap highway. So I took his arm, and we headed out with the rest of our party. Before crossing the 30-lane death trap, we first had to walk across a parking lot that seemed to go on for eternity. It suddenly started raining. Then my right sneaker shredded to pieces, all by itself, and so did my sock. The family didn’t want me to walk the rest of the way, with one bare foot. So we went back to the building we came from, and went to the mall. Our bus was leaving at 6:00 PM, but once we were in the mall, we realized that we hadn’t been keeping track of the time, as good as we thought. It was 5:30 already. We had only a half hour to help me pick out a new pair of sneakers, and then hurry to the other building. The mall was a chaotic confusion of stores upon stores, and millions of people. Luckily, the first store we walked in had the right pair of sneakers for me. As I bought them, waiting in the check out line, and paying for them, was unnaturally sped up. Like God hit the Fast forward button. Now that I had new shoes on, it was time for us to hall ass, but then it hit me, “Oh, shit! Stupid me left my Mac Book in that quiet room!” 

The quiet room was on another floor, far off in a different wing of the building. Luckily, we didn’t have to hurry there ourselves. Some kindly force of nature tele transported us there. But once we were there, my computer was gone. I was crushed. I hated myself for being so flaky. I was so anxious for us to get to the correct GrayHound station, that I hurried away without my best friend. Mom, dad, and my sisters told me to wait right there. They were going to check if this place had a lost&found. The quiet room was empty again. So I took this opportunity to search every inch of it. Hoping that maybe somebody just moved it somewhere, but it was nowhere in sight. 

I was about to cry, but then dad came in to tell me the great news. We were at the correct building, after all. There was a minor communication mix-up, and my computer wasn’t lost or stolen. The luggage handler guy found it, and packed it in my suitcase. I don’t know where our luggage had been, through that whole dream, but now it was safely loaded into our bus’s luggage compartment. The bus driver needed to take a break. So we weren’t going to be leaving for another twenty minutes. This gave us plenty of time to take any last minute bathroom breaks, before the trip. Everything worked out in the end. I felt that same strong, thankful, happy, relieved feeling, as I did at the end of the jet dream. 

Then I dreamt that I was a little girl, but a completely different character, in a completely different family. I was the only child too, which felt odd. We were visiting relatives, but staying at a hotel. Our visit was long enough to go past my bed time. So I slept in a spare bed that was in a hallway, for some dream nonsense reason. These different parents of mine were finally ready to leave, sometime after mid night. 

On our way to the hotel, my parents got lost. We drove all around this unnamed city, until 3:00 AM. I was too anxious to sleep through the drive. Then dad discovered a different rout to our hotel, but it went through a rough neighborhood. We were in the slummiest of slums. Dilapidated shacks were cramped together, in clusters, on each block, and they all had the same flimsy looking front steps. There were no yards, just bare dirt. Garbage, and all kinds of other filth, was strewn everywhere. No lights were on, in any of the shacks, but this neighborhood was all lit up with bright white streetlights. The thing that frightened me the most about this neighborhood, was that it was full of angry kids. 

These kids were all between the ages of eleven and fourteen, and of different races and ethnicities, but they all had the same tough, mean spirited attitude. They were all running a muck on the streets, cussing, trash talking each other, and beating each other up. I was so scared of them. I sank down into the back seat, where I would be below the windows, and stayed still and quiet. What made it even more scary was that, because these kids kept going in the streets, my dad had to drive through this hell-on-Earth very slowly. And for some reason, my parents wanted to keep all the car windows open. I feared that, at any moment, these nasty kids were going to jump onto our car, and come in through the windows, and attack us. Or they might throw trash, and hawk loogies into our car. Then I heard one angry boy scream murder accusations at another boy, and now I was in fear for our lives. 

It was disturbing to see so many kids out on the streets, unsupervised, at 3:00 in the morning. Something told me that their parents, and none of the other grownups in their lives, ever gave a damn about them. And that they acted tough and mean spirited, because they believed it was the best way to survive. Then my fear turned to compassion. I also realized that the kids never even noticed us, even though we were the only car driving through their neighborhood. It was like we were invisible to them. Or as if this brightly lit slum was only a figment of ghostly residual energy.  In the end, we made it safely to our hotel. And my heart was once again, full of thankful, happy relief. 


I believe that those dreams had to do with my anxiety about babysitting. On the same weekend my parents had plans to go to St. Pete, to help nannie out with house repairs, Gina had to do a house call massage. Carlos was going to be in Daytona. So I promised Gina that I would look after Jaden. I promised Jaden too. While the rest of the family tended to our garage sale, Jaden and I had fun, hanging out in my room. We watched Tiny House Nation, and talked about Minecraft. He also had fun going on my Elliptical Trainer, and then jumping off, and belly flopping onto my bed.  Jaden has been in our lives, for six years, but this was the first time he and I had an hour or two of aunt and nephew quality time. It made a good impression on him, and he actually requested that I would babysit him. I was very flattered, but terrified. 

The last time I babysat was almost 20 years ago. Lucky for me, it was a very well behaved, eleven-year-old girl. She was content with watching Rug Rats cartoons, and doing arts and crafts stuff. At the time, I had enough eyesight to enjoy these things with her. She went to bed, at her own bed time, and she even cleaned up after her dogs, when they had diarrhea accidents. It was the easiest $20 I had ever made. 

Twenty years later, I was set to babysit a high-energy, six-year-old boy with a fickle attention span. Toys and fun activities only hold his interest, ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and I was to keep him entertained for four hours. On top of all that, all the things he likes to do are visual, which are things I would suck at. There’s only so much Tiny House Nation, Minecraft discussions, and Elliptical stunts that he could do, before being miserably bored. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep the fun going, and he would regret choosing me for a babysitter. I pictured him crying, and wanting me to call his mommy. I was also anxious about being fully responsible for a wild child, when I can’t see. I thought about, what if he gets into something, and gets cut or injured. What if he trips and falls, and cracks his head open. What if he loses his footing on my hard, wooden stairs. Would I know how to do the himelick maneuver correctly, if he chokes on his lunch? All these worries, and many more kept ruminating in my brain. 

Then when babysitting day came, everything worked out surprisingly great. After he had his fill of Tiny House Nation, and the Elliptical, we made homemade play dough, played Battleship, and then I showed him my Tap Tap See audio descriptive camera, on my phone. The thing was out of order, and it kept describing things that were nothing like the things I was taking pictures of. When Jaden held up an unused light switch plate, my phone said that it was a men’s black crewneck shirt. When I took a picture of my blue hair, my phone said it was a black and white, floral bed spread. This cracked Jaden up. He wanted me to keep taking pictures, to hear what out-of-wack thing my phone was going to say next. 

When babysitting duty was over, Gina gave me $50, and she helped clean the cornstarch mess me and Jaden made, when we were making the play dough. Like in those dreams, I felt very thankful, happy, and relieved that what seemed impossible, all worked out in the end. After that, I stopped having those Extreme anxiety dreams. Then my sub conscience moved along to the next situation to warn me about.  


Everything has a cause and an effect. This simple, universal law of motion induces a chain reaction. Some chain reactions are intelligently coordinated. Like how trees grow seeded fruit, which animals will eat, and pass the seeds through their digestive systems until the seeds come back out, pre-fertilized among animals’ bowel movements. Then the seeds can go on to germinate, and grow into new fruit trees, bringing more fruit to animals’ future generations. Keeping the cycle of life in motion. On the other hand, some chain reactions are caused by senseless stupidity, and their effects are tragic. 

It started with two mature aged men who were acting way below their years, while getting drunk at a sports bar. After too many beers and shots, they got in an argument about whose favorite basket ball team was the better one. The argument was funny, at first. Then wisecracking trash talk about each other’s basketball teams lead to exchanges of insults. The insults got more and more explicit and belittling until one threatened the other that he was going to follow him home, and beat his ass, and then fuck his girlfriend. The other challenged him to go ahead with this threat. They left the bar, still cussing one another out. Then they got in their cars, and headed toward their city’s hugest intersection. 

They passed each other, several times, shouting insults through their open windows, as they did. One through empty root beer cans and fast food garbage at the other’s car, which pelted other cars instead. There was much angry horn honking and explicit shouts from other drivers, but the two drunken rivals were too focussed on their battle to take notice. They caught up with each other, driving side by side. The other taunted the garbage thrower, by showing him the pictures on his phone, through his driver’s side window. They were pictures of a naked woman’s breasts, butt, and crotch. He shouted to the other that the pictures were of the other’s girlfriend. The other lost control of himself, and lunged across his passenger seat, intending to open the door, and punch the phone out of his rival’s hand. As he intended this, he carelessly swerved his car into an on-coming RV in another lane. The drunken rivals realized too late, that they had reached the intersection. The impact of the collision caused a chain reaction of other collisions. The guy holding the phone panicked. In his drunken state, he stupidly thought he could simply back up his car, and flee the scene. This caused a bigger, more violent pile-up. 

A retired couple’s bucket list Orlando dream vacation was ruined. Twenty-three people were injured, which caused multiple chain reactions that started with unaffordable medical expenses, insurance problems, an increase in debts, family drama, stress, grief, depression, anger, trauma, struggle, abusive self medication, rifts in relationships, and a horrific memory that would replay itself in accident victims’ and witnesses’ nightmares. Two among the injured twenty-three were flown by helicopter, to the nearest ICU, where they eventually died. 


It was only a little after nine O’clock, on a Friday night. Daphne Morgan and her friends were on their way to another friend’s house. They were all looking forward to trying out his new HD virtual reality gaming system. This friend’s parents were away for the weekend. So he got one of his other friend’s twenty-three-year-old brother to buy plenty of beer, wine coolers, and vodka for all the under-aged drinkers who were coming over. Daphne and her friends were expecting this night to be a blast. The thought that her life could suddenly end, never would’ve crossed Daphne’s mind, on a night like this. She didn’t have even the slightest intuitive bad feeling that she would be leaving this world, at 1:06 a.m. 

Daphne was a high school sophomore. Like most teenagers, she assumed that she had a full long life ahead of her. She lived in the present. Her friends now, seemed like they were going to be her clique of friends forever. And having to be an independent, responsible adult seemed like something she wouldn’t have to worry about until the far-off future. Another school week was thankfully over, and she and her friends were relishing in the carefree, Friday night feeling. They talked more excitedly and laughed at a fuller volume, about all things interesting in their teenage worlds—school gossip, rappers, celebrity Instagram pics, and their knowledge about virtual reality games. Also, like a lot of teenagers, Daphne had her I-Phone with her, and was multi-tasking. Bouncing back and forth between her conversations, and Twitter. She never would’ve imagined that her last words would be a tweet, commenting on her distant cousin, Monique’s picture post. 

Ouch! That sweater’s a little loud. But the barrettes go with it. Cute pile of hair#1982 

It all happened too quickly for Daphne’s mind to comprehend. A sudden hellish noise explosion of glass, metal, brakes screeching and shrill voices. The impact from the front of an SUV smashing into the side of the car, where Daphne sat, was too quick for her to feel. The whole right side of her body, from her hip to her collar bone, was severely crushed, causing fatal injuries to her liver, lungs, kidney, gall Blatter, appendix, and intestines, but she felt no pain, or had no awareness of it all. Too Daphne, after the hellish noise explosion, she slipped away into silent, black nothingness. 

Seconds later, it seemed, she felt kind of awake, but not quite. Nothing but dark gray fog was all around her. This fog became patched and streaked with beautifully lit colors, like festive fireworks. But these fireworks didn’t boom. They sounded like musical notes from every instrument. The notes didn’t come together and make a song, but their music sounded happy. Nonsensical images appeared within the musical colors. Some made nonsensical noises, as they floated past Daphne. The Conscience and sub conscience within her living brain was shutting down. Through it all, she heard snippets of what was going on around her. People’s voices, a heart monitor and respirator, and her mom and little sisters crying. She felt a distant awareness that she was within a body that couldn’t move. And that she was in a hospital bed, bound to a life support system, and surrounded by doctors, nurses, and her bereaved family. However, she felt a strange sense of detachment to it all. Like she no longer had any association with the hospital and the people in it, or even her own family. Even more strange, this sense of detachment felt peaceful and very calming. It also felt normal. As normal of a part of human existence as eating and sleeping. It was her first time experiencing this feeling, yet it felt familiar. As though she had gone through it, some distant time ago. She lingered in this colorful, musical haze of detached calm for a little while until something told her, like an ancient instinct, to let herself go, completely. She didn’t need to wonder how. It was an act of will that felt as natural as exhaling. 

The music and colors, and all awareness of hospital surroundings disappeared. She was gently floating upward, surrounded by crystals that glowed and glimmered with brilliant, silver-white light. Her peaceful calm instantly turned to the most intense happiness that she had never felt before, while on Earth. All the joy brought on by every childhood Christmas morning, and birthday party, combined together, couldn’t match up to this heavenly level of ecstasy. She also felt pure and flawless, but not in any conceded way. Like the faults she had, during her life on Earth, didn’t matter anymore. 

Then each crystal of light grew in size until it became a movie-like projection of a memory. All the memories came together, fully surrounding her in a beautiful mosaic of sentiments, fleeting phases, lessons learned and taught, joys and hardships, and all the thoughts, words and actions that made up Daphne’s life. It was a track record of her every living minute, but there was nothing creepy and Big Brotherly about it. Seeing people that she hadn’t seen in years, and re-living things in the past, that she had completely forgotten about, was the most amazing thing she had ever experienced. Even though not everything on her track record was good. She re-lived every time she was mean to someone else, every time she hurt someone’s feelings, or made an embarrassment out of herself, or when she was moody and bitchy. Still, this didn’t take away from the amazement of it all. Something told her that she is forgiven. The message was all feeling, and no words. Like she had an invisible best friend made of pure, unconditional love. Then the reality of it all finally hit her. 

“Did I really die?” she asked the mosaic of memories. 

“Yes”, the unconditional love seemed to say. 

A dark haired woman in a blue gown suddenly appeared beside her. She took Daphne by the hand, as the memories became crystals again. Then the crystals parted, like beaded curtains, and  they glided weightlessly into a room made of the same glimmering, silver-white light. Once they were in this room, the woman let go of her hand, and turned to face her. She looked like a remarkably beautiful human, accept that her fair skin had the same brilliant glimmer as the surrounding light. Her blue gown sparkled and shined, like Celeste you’ll ocean water, but her hair fascinated Daphne the most. It was long, curly and black, but its blackness somehow glowed like the sun. Something that would be visually impossible on Earth. The woman’s eyes were mirrors that reflected Daphne’s blissfully happy face. “I know you have other questions for me.” she encouraged. 

“Am I ever going to see my family again?” Daphne asked. 

“Of course,” said the woman. “You can see them as much as you’d like to.” 

“Are you an angel?” said Daphne. 

“Yes,” said the woman. “In one perspective, I am. I’m also part of God, and I’m part of you too.” 

Daphne thought that all angels have wings. She didn’t think that an angel would talk like a modern person either, assuming that everyone in Heaven spoke like the people in the Bible. “Why did I have to die, when I’m only sixteen?” she wondered. “I didn’t do anything with my life yet, or become anybody.” 

“Yes you have,” said the angel, giving her a gentle smile. “The somebody that you had become, was Daphne Skyler Morgan, and you did a lot with your life.” The angel’s mirrored eyes became portals that somehow drew Daphne inside them. She was suddenly in the living room of a house that she hadn’t lived in, since she was four. It was night time. Her parents were sitting on a worn-out, second-hand couch, watching wrestling, and eating pop corn. Her mom was heavily pregnant. John Sina and Randy Orten entered the ring, and her parents got more and more riled up, as the match went on. They jumped around the living room, whooping and clapping, and fist pumping until the excitement of it all made her mom go into labor. “You grew and developed in your mom’s womb, into a healthy baby who made your parents so happy…” Daphne saw herself as a newborn, being held by her parents, who were crying tears of joy. She was back inside a life reviewing, except that the projections that surrounded her, came one at a time. “You learned how to walk and talk and eat and sing…” The angel wasn’t with her, as she floated through these images, but she could hear her reassuring voice, narrating it all. “…Then you took an interest in construction…” Daphne saw herself as a two-year-old, feeling proud of the Lego sky scrapers that she had built. “You wanted to cure all sadness, by hugging the whole world…” Still two years old, Daphne saw a brief phase where she wanted to  hug everyone and everything she saw, from visiting relatives, and the mail man, to house plants and the laundry basket. All while giving them whatever compliments she knew how to say. Daphne floated through dozens more of her fleeting childhood interests. Like when she joined Girl Scouts, and raced go-carts, and attempted to start a pop group with her friends. As one image after another continued passing by, Daphne realized that she did do a lot, during her short life, but it wasn’t stuff that really mattered. She had lead an average, mundane life, with no special accomplishments. She didn’t do anything to make a difference in the world, or at least in her own community. Her heavenly bliss was darkened a little, by regret. She had taken her life for granted. If she knew that she was going to die, at sixteen, she would’ve started a charity fund, or donated her allowance to St. Jude’s hospital, or the Smile Train. Rather than spending it on things for herself, like clothes, nail polish, and going to the movies. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be so fickle with her interests and hobbies. Instead, she selfishly made her parents spend hundreds, maybe thousands of their hard earned dollars, on toys, projects, lessons, and club memberships that she often lost interest in, within a few months, or a few weeks. She would’ve made her mom happy, by keeping her room clean and tidy, instead of making fun of her mom, for nagging, and getting huffy. She would’ve made both parents happy, by not allowing herself to get C’s on her Report card, because she slacked off in the subjects she resented. She would’ve helped her elderly neighbors out, by doing yard work for them, or running Aaron’s for them. Instead of seeing them as too old and boring to be worth spending time with. 

“I did a lot of stuff, but I didn’t do things that really mattered,” said Daphne. “I wish I didn’t spend so much time being selfish and lazy, and goofing off.” 

“Everything you did mattered.” said the angel’s voice. 

“I hung out with my friends, and spent too much time on Twitter, when I should’ve been out there, making a difference in something.” said Daphne. 

“Everything you did matters,” the angel said again. Daphne’s life review was suddenly replaced by thousands of images of things like, church food drives, Mother Theresa, charity address labels, Dr. Martin Luther King, websites for social programs, Albert Einstein, T-shirts for fund raisers, The Beetles, and countless other images of people and things that made a difference.   “People have a misconception that they have to do something great and memorable, to make a difference on the world. Something that gets noticed, and shows results, and gets feedback. Something that has its own website and phone number, or community event, or newsletter. It’s unfortunate that people feel lowered in self worth, if they don’t do something that will make a noticeable difference. They feel that they need to make their mark on the world, and leave behind a legacy. It’s always a wonderful thing to do, to start charities and organizations that could help improve others lives, or to invent something that would help clean up the environment, and so on. But if you didn’t do anything of this sort, during your life, it doesn’t make you any less important or less significant to the world. The truth is, that everything you do makes a difference, whether it’s big or small. whether it’s talked about all over social media, or goes on unnoticed. An act as simple as turning a page in a book, could make a difference.” 

“How?” Daphne laughed. 

“Deciding to read the next page means reading a new set of words. Reading a new set of words will change the thoughts simultaneously going through your mind. This change of thoughts can alter your mood and brain chemistry. This alteration can have an effect on how you interact with other people, after you’re done reading. Then how you interacted with them can effect how they interact with others, and the chain reaction of cause and effect goes on and on.” 

Daphne smiled at a memory from two years ago, when she read a badly written comic book that was so stupid, it cracked her up. When a friend called, so much laughing put Daphne in a bubbly mood. As she and her friend talked, her bubbly mood gradually lifted her friend’s melancholy mood. The uplift helped her friend bounce bak from his latest troubles, and get through his shift at McDonald’s, which encouraged him to stick with his job. Then because he kept his job, he was able to save up enough money to help pay for his beloved puppy’s heart worm treatment. Then the sickly puppy was able to grow up into a healthy dog. The chain reaction would’ve been completely different, if Daphne decided that the comic book was a waste of time, and turned it back in to the library, before she finished it. 

“Yes, now you get it,” said the angel. “Everything you did in your life made a difference.” The flurry of images changed again, to images of mundane to spectacular, to natural to microscopic chain reactions going on all over the world. “Everything that every person, plant, animal, and micro organism does with their lives makes a difference. Everything on the world is linked together by the non-stop chain of cause and effect, and back to cause, and so on, making differences every nanosecond of every day.” 

Daphne felt a slight pang of guilt, at the thought of all the negative chain reactions she had probably caused. 

“Yes, you had done things that caused bad chain reactions, but everybody and everything that lives on Earth does. There’s no preventing it, no matter how good you try to be. It’s part of the challenge of living. You’ve done a lot of bad things in your life, Daphne, but you’ve done many, many more good things. You were a fantastic person with a positive attitude, and a heart full of honest, good intentions. That’s why you’re hear.” Then Daphne was pushed out of the portals in the angel’s eyes, and was standing in front of her again, in the room of silver-white light. 

“I get the whole, making a difference thing now,” said Daphne, as the angel took her by the hand again, and lead her through one of the room’s walls, which opened up, like brilliant, silver-white curtains. “But I’m just wondering, if I had to die, before I had the chance to graduate high school, and go to collage, and find a career, and get married, and have kids and stuff. Then what was my life purpose?” 

“The same purpose as everybody else’s,” said the angel, as they started down a long hallway. “Whether someone is a grocery bagger, a world famous movie star, a person with severe autism, or a person who does a lot of getting out there, and making big differences in the world, the sole purpose of everybody’s existence is to live and experience life.” They were now walking down a hallway made of vines that were covered with pastel colored roses. pleasantly warm sunlight peaked through gaps between the flowers. Something told Daphne that it wasn’t sunlight she was seeing and feeling. It was God’s love. God loved her, and God loved the short life of Daphne Skyler Morgan. Her former existence no longer seemed like it was lacking. She now felt greatly honored to have experienced her life on a world so amazing and fascinating, and teaming with diverse wonders and walks of life. A world full of art, music, education, different languages and food recipes, holidays, and the making of constant discoveries. The love and thankfulness in her heart emanated warmth and light that beamed back at God. 

The hallway ended at a very plain and ordinary looking wooden door. The door opened, and there was Daphne’s great-aunt Kit. She was the aunt of her grandfather, on her mom’s side of the family, and she was Daphne’s favorite relative, growing up. Kit looked like the stereo typical, boney old lady, but she acted more like a big kid. She was always into all kinds of fun and  creative hobbies, which Daphne was welcomed to participate in. Every time Daphne and her family visited Kit, she always had homemade candy and ice cream ready for them. When Kit died from a stroke, at the age of 91, Daphne took it the hardest. She grieved all through her summer break until the starting of 8th grade, and a crush on a new boy snapped her out of it. Now here she was, reunited with aunt Kit, less than three years later. 

Kit and Daphne greeted each other with big hugs, and an exchange of girlish gushing. Then Kit handed her a homemade caramel filled chocolate. The candy was sweet, creamy, and super rich. Tasting just like how Daphne remembered it. The angel joined them, as they entered a joyously festive, crowded room. The room had no walls, and no ceiling, and it seemed to have no end. Where walls and a ceiling would be, there were millions of different colored lights. The most beautiful, up-beat music filled the room, and so did the sounds of happy conversations, laughter, and singing. This was a welcoming party for Daphne. She spotted a banquet table that looked long enough to stretch across Florida. Every single one of her favorite junk foods, sodas, and coffee drinks were spread out on it. Among this spread, was all 54 kinds of candy that aunt Kit used to make, and all 80 flavors of ice cream, shurbert, and sorbet. 

Aside from aunt Kit, Daphne reunited with other people that she thought were gone forever. Her next-door neighbors from her early childhood were there. They had both died from age related health problems, Daphne’s first best friend, who had died of leukemia, before they finished kindergarten was there. Her fifth grade math teacher, who also died in a car accident, was there too, and many other familiar faces. Relatives that passed away, before Daphne’s limited living brain could retain memory of them. And there were people who she didn’t know had died, because either she, or her family had drifted apart from them, years ago. All of the family pets she lost through the years, were there to greet her too. It was so exciting and reassuring to know that she never truly lost them. They were here in this rhelm, all along, ready to meet up with her, when her earthly life was completed. 

Daphne danced, without experiencing tiredness, sore feet, or getting out of breath. She ate and drank, without feeling overstuffed and bloated. She played with her pets, and met ancestors who came from time periods further and further back. They had lots of fascinating stories to tell, about the past. Everybody at the party, including Daphne, shared their knowledge and wisdom that they gained, from their earthly lives. This knowledge and wisdom intermingled with the beautiful, up-beat music, and all the colorful lights, and delicious tastes and smells of the food. It intermingled with the dancing and singing and laughter, and the unearthly level of happiness that flowed through everything and everyone at this welcoming party. It all became one with God’s perfection and unconditional love. 


Daphne Morgan’s body was cremated, and her memorial service was held, the following Saturday. Daphne attended her own service, just out of curiosity. She wondered what people would say about her, and if she made any positive difference in their lives. Aunt Kit came with her, and so did a couple of ancestors. Going from one rhelm to another was as easy as blinking your eyes. All they had to do was will themselves to be back on Earth, and at Daphne’s memorial service, and they were instantly there. No going through tunnels or portals required. Daphne didn’t even feel any physical sensation of traveling. 

It was a sunny late morning. The service was held at a non-denominational church that Daphne and her family had stopped attending, two years ago, because of her dad’s work schedule. Mom could’ve taken her and her sisters, but mom made excuses about wanting to spend Sunday catching up on house work and paperwork. The truth was, she didn’t want to have to wake up early, on a weekend morning, anymore. Daphne’s family attended church, more out of habit, just because generations of both sides of the family always attended church. Her parents never put their hearts and souls into their faith, or taught Daphne and her sisters to live the Christian way. While in Heaven’s rhelm, Daphne was told that going to church is the right thing to do, for a lot of people. However, one doesn’t have to go to church, to become a truly spiritual person. 

Daphne watched all the people filing into the church. Most of her classmates were there, and some teachers. Several relatives showed up, including cousin Monique, who had flown from Virginia. All of her friends and their families were there too, including those who were in the car with her, during the accident. They were all out of the hospital, and wearing casts and bandages. The girl who was driving the car was the least hurt. The impact just banged up her left foot, and the left side of her face. 

The friend who hurt the most was the one who invited them over his house, that night. He felt like the lowest piece of crap in the room, believing that Daphne’s death was his fault. After the big crash, the friends who were able to reach for their phones, while being squished in a partially crushed car, texted him about the accident. As the terrible night went on, they texted him updates on how each of them was doing. They texted him about Daphne too, but they tried to make it sound like she was OK, just unconscious. He saw the pile-up on the news, and had a gut feeling that one of his friends wasn’t going to make it through the night. after he got the text that Daphne died, he spent the rest of the night, playing the most violent, gory VR game that he owned, and binging on beer until he passed out. 

Feeling his depression and self loath made Daphne almost want to cry. She wanted so badly to get it through to him, that her death was not his fault. It was the two drunk drivers’ fault. She tried to comfort him, by sending him God’s peace and love. She could feel that he felt this, but he chose to deny it, and ignore it, because he felt that there was no good reason to feel peaceful. Kit reassured her that he was going to have a rough journey ahead of him, but he would make it through. 

Daphne felt awful for everybody at her memorial service. Especially her family. Her mom wept the whole time, and her dad struggled to choke through a sentimental speech about his favorite memories of his daughter. Her poor sisters stayed seated in a front pue, locked in a daze. A lot of the attendants spoke of their memories about Daphne, which had her deeply touched. The only thing that bothered her about this, was how they kept mentioning that Daphne’s life had ended, before it even began. Daphne knew now that, not only was this a misconception, people have another misconception that there is a set rule on how long people’s lives should be. And that children are not supposed to die before their parents. This is not true. Not everyone who is born on Earth is supposed to live until a ripe old age. It’s the same reason why, not everybody who is born on Earth, is going to get married, and have three children. Or why not everybody who is born on Earth, is going to have a successful dream career. Everybody’s life experience is meant to be different, including how long or short each life experience is. We are all interconnected, but our life experiences being individually different keeps this interconnection, and its causes and effects moving, changing, growing, and living. 

Daphne knew now, that death is another misconception. When people go back to God, after they die, they become one with God. God is the purely positive energy that shapes the universe, and binds all life together. The force of nature that makes stars and planets move, and gives all life its intelligence. God’s love is what motivates everything to keep going. To keep growing and experiencing and learning. To keep life restoring itself, after life is lost, and to keep re-creating. Daphne’s life wasn’t snuffed out or robbed from her. Her physical life just came to an end, at a time when it wasn’t expected to, which caused a lot of pain for others who are still experiencing their lives. Daphne wished she had a way to get through to all the saddened people in the church. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t dead. She had just morphed into another type of life. She was part of God. Part of everything in the world around them. Part of the energy that makes flowers bloom, and baby birds hatch, and who orchestrates ways to answer people’s prayers. 

As the memorial service was coming to an end, Daphne, aunt Kit, the ancestors, and God conjured up God’s love, and filled the whole church with it. Daphne was pleased to see that people were smiling. Her parents stopped crying, and her sisters snapped out of their daze, and realized that they were hungry for tacos. They all knew that this feeling of happy peaceful calm was from Daphne Morgan. It comforted them to think that her spirit was there, and she was thanking them for a beautiful service. 

She followed her family, as they walked back to the car. They were smiling, and talking animatedly, as though they were leaving a shopping plaza, instead of a funeral. Daphne was happy to see this, and happy about how easy it was to see her family, any time she wanted to. She thought about the welcoming parties that would be thrown for each of them. Then they would all be part of God together, and live beyond the time when the sun novas, and the nova’s minerals and gasses would disperse into the universe to create more stars, worlds, and more life. Life that would keep going on, by the power of God’s love. 

Always Take Good Care Of Your Eyes (a public service announcement)

The Renaissance Festival had come to Tampa. My parents and sisters decided that it would be fun for all of us to go. I was going to pass this off, at first, because I thought it might be boring for me. Too visual. I pictured myself just standing around, while the rest of my family had a good time browsing the souvenir shops, taking pictures, and watching the shows. The family convinced me that it wasn’t going to be boring. They said that I might enjoy just being outside, in a different setting. “You still have all the sounds, and the smells.” mom reminded. I appreciate sounds and smells, and all, but I just don’t get all stoked about them, like blind people are supposed to. And why is it that, when people remind me that I could still enjoy the sounds and smells, they have to emphasize the two sensory names, in a story-time tone of voice? Like sounds and smells are whimsical and enchanted. 

I changed my mind, and decided to go. I thought, maybe it would be fun, for old time’s sake. We used to go to the Renaissance Festival in Largo, every year, when me and my sisters were little. It was an Easter weekend family tradition that we stuck with until me and my sisters were in our twenties. The last Renaissance we went to, was back in 2003. 

I used to love it, as a little kid, and as a teenager, because I had decent enough eyesight. I loved the costumes, and the silly mid evil themed comedy shows. Browsing through all the handcrafted jewelry and knick knacks and novelty gifts was lots of fun too. And so was buying things that I didn’t need, but I had to have, because they looked cool. The festival in Largo, used to always be held in this beautiful area that had lots of gigantic ancient oak trees. The trees really added to the atmosphere, and brought on a mid evil-time-period feeling. Then after the festival in 2003, all the beautiful oak trees were torn down, and replaced with a parking lot for a nearby library. Even in my twenties, when my eyesight went to shit, I remembered still having a good time. It had been sixteen years, and this was Christa’s last weekend with us, before she has to go back to Panama. Going to the Renaissance Festival meant a lot to her. For some reason—maybe it’s because of aging, or because she and I were total boozers, back then—Christa didn’t remember the festival of 03. My memory of it isn’t the clearest either. I remember that we had fun getting loaded off of beer, looking through zodiac necklaces, and getting into some naughty lip locking, with the Tortuga Twins. My eyesight has gotten a lot shittier since then, but I decided to think positively. As long as I had a drinking buddy, things should turn out great. 

My other sister, Gina, can’t drink like she used to, because she’s a mom. Her husband, Carlos, and their six-year-old son, Jaden, was coming with us too. This was going to be Jaden’s first Renaissance, which made it even more special. 

When we got to the festival, there were so many crowd rocking events going on. More than at the festival in Largo. There were tons of souvenirs to browse through, and they had some bad-ass shows. Like the Wheel of Death, which is a giant sentriffical force mechanism that this crazy guy does stunts on. In another show, this woman did some amazing acrobatic dancing, which also looked very dangerous. And of course, it wouldn’t be a Renaissance without a jousting show. My family had a blast. 

As for me, I wanted to kick my own ass, for not sticking with my decision to stay home. My source of amusement for the afternoon, was mostly listening to crowd noises, and smelling fried food, Swisher Sweets, and horse shit. WooW! What a rush! I also got to do a lot of standing around. Sometimes I walked. Oh, yeah, and there was this one part where I sat on the ground. Maybe that shook things up a little. The highlight of my day was eating 3,000 calories worth of festival food, and at least getting a nice beer buzz. I did pass off the thrilling opportunity to fondle some leather armor. Oh well, my loss. 

When dad asked if I enjoyed the Renaissance, as we were leaving, I was totally honest. I felt bad that he wasted his money on buying my ticket, and I wanted to pay him back for it. I had to also apologize for not having a good attitude about being happy about the senses I’m still blessed with. The simple pleasure of just being among different surroundings didn’t rock my world either. I really admire those blind people who can honestly get fulfillment out of experiencing the world through their other senses. It’s adorable how some of them could get all inspirational and spiritual about it too. To me, it’s like eating a small apple for dessert, and trying to get into imagining that I’m eating a double-chocolate cookie. I write books for young people, but I don’t think I’m good role model material. Especially not for young blind people. I’m sorry, but without eyesight, the world is boring as fuck. Longevity runs in both sides of my family. So I’m probably going to have to put up with this, for another fifty years. Yay. 

So my message to you is, remember to take good care of your eyes. They are more valuable than all the gold in the world. Eyes are put under more stress than ever, in this digital age. So take eye vitamins, religiously. Take eyedrops, after exposing your eyes to irritants, such as pollen, cigaret smoke, and badly polluted air. Always wear polarized sunglasses, when you go outside during the day. Even if the weather is cloudy. Get your eyes checked, at least once a year. There’s a creepy disease called glaucoma, that can sneak up on anybody’s eyes, no matter your race, gender, or gene pool. You don’t want to find out that you have glaucoma, when it’s too late, and irreversible damage has been done. Always wear a helmet while riding a motorcycle, or regular bike, or at any other outdoor activity that has a higher risk of head injury. A head injury might result in a detached retina, or damage to the visual cortex of the brain. 

While you’re taking good care of your eyes, cherish the privilege of having normal eyesight. Appreciate all the ugly sights in the world. Without them, you couldn’t appreciate all the beautiful ones. Indulge in taking too many pictures, or taking forever to browse through a store. Just because you can. Draw, paint, make silly faces, and make videos for Youtube. Learn a new dance move, fly a kite, study architecture, study computer graphics, study astronomy, forensics, cosmetology, plastic surgery, automechanics, microbiology, archaeology and meteorology, learn how to decorate cakes, get your pilot’s license, get your motorcycle license, go birding, do word searches, keep tabs on the moon’s phases, become a ship captain, get elaborate tattoos where you could admire them, play darts, do 800 piece puzzles, scuba dive, play carnival games, play board games, play all the sports in the world, see magic shows, do virtual reality sky diving, go to museums, Indulge in spending a little extra time fixing yourself up, in front of the mirror. NEVER pass off the opportunity to see a 3D movie, or a meteor shower, or famous  far away places. And be grateful that you can drive, as stressful as driving can be. 

The fully experienced world is such a spectacular place that I could only pine for. There were times I felt i could sell my soul to Satan, in exchange for a complete earthly life experience, in a normal physical body, with five normal senses. 

At least I can indulge into the constant flourish of stories that live on the inner world of my imagination. I have all of my normal senses in there, and no humbling limitations. I can do what I want, when I want, and go wherever I please. I don’t have to deal with having to settle for less, or having to accept what I can’t control. I’m in control of EVERYTHING there, like I’m freak’n God. Writing is my solace, and my blessing. Writing gives me a purpose that I actually like. It’s like my best friend, my child, my pet, my spouse, my job, and my lord and savior all rolled up into one. Best of all, for my situation, writing is time consuming, hee hee hee.       

Freddy?… Are you still here?(a true story)

Freddy was supposedly a former husband from a past life. According to a taro card reading, I had a past life in high society England, sometime during the 1700s. This Freddy was a friend of my family, and much older than me, but I was arranged to marry him. After we were married, we fell in love, but this love became dysfunctional. It was loyal and unconditional, but more in a toxic codependent sort of way. We were as wrong for each other as a curious toddler and an oleander bush, but we couldn’t stay apart. 

When Freddy died, he became Earthbound. Death came too soon for him, leaving him with unresolved issues that he wouldn’t get over. When I died, I let go, and embraced heaven, and then I moved on without him. But he caught up with me. 

He was unchanged, while I was in a different life. In a different physical form that no longer looked or talked like the woman he was married to. And with a different family, in a different time and country. However, he still had feelings for me, but in a twisted, Sleeping with the Enemy kind of way. He appeared in my life, when I was 15. According to the taro card reader, Freddy chose this age, because I was fifteen when we were married. 

Ever since then, Freddy has been a coming-and-going presence in my life. I could accept that he might’ve never been real. A hallucination, or perhaps a part of me that I perceived as having a totally different identity. psychiatric disorders do run in my family. On the other hand, I never had an issue with hallucinations. 

At the time when Freddy came into my life, I was really into song writing. Melodies and lyrics were constantly springing into my mind, like they were a never-ending bumper crop. I was also obsessed with Freddie Mercury. Freddy convinced me that he was him, which got me to believe that my obsession with Freddie Mercury had conjured up his spirit. Even though I thought this was Freddie Mercury, my first encounter with him didn’t get me star struck at all. This guy seemed awfully familiar to me. Like I had already been in his company, a trillion times before. There was no introduction, and no getting-acquainted small talk. We just fell into wisecracking conversation, as though he was someone I hung out with every day. I had chalk-thick cataracts, as a kid. So I couldn’t tell whether or not if he looked anything like Freddie Mercury. The British accent was enough to convince me who he was, and so was his weird outfit. Years later, I found out that his outfit matched the description of how wealthy men dressed, during the 18th century. I didn’t think anything of it, because entertainers dress weird all the time. 

Freddy latched on to me, like a shadow. Hanging around me, whether I was at my boarding school, at home, and even while I was at other people’s houses. My family and friends knew about him, and he was somehow accepted. Nobody advised me to see a psychiatrist, or advised my parents to take me to one. People acted like it was perfectly normal for a teenage girl to claim that a spirit was hanging out with her, in her room, and going to school with her. While in school, nobody minded that I was doing things that looked completely schizophrenic. Like pulling out a chair for an invisible person to sit with me, in the cafeteria. Or holding on to an arm that no one else could see, when Freddy was sighted guiding me somewhere. Or the time when a boy I knew, named Donald, was playing Micheal Jackson, during a bus ride home. Freddy, who was in the seat next to me, started making fun of both Donald, and the king of pop. I laughed my ass off, but of course, everybody else on the bus just saw me laughing my ass off at an empty bus seat. the bus chaperones, and the other kids just laughed with me. Then everybody forgot all about it, on the bus ride back to school. The other kids didn’t pick on me, for acting insane, and my little social life carried on as normal. It was as though Freddy had an influence over their minds too. 

I thought he was really cool, and fun to be with, but also kind of dorky. He had a silly, corny sense of humor. I was never sure about what age he was stuck as. Sometimes he acted like a teenager, and other times, he acted as though my parents granted him joint custody of me. He comforted me, and told me things I wanted to hear, during times when I hated my life. And he seemed to understand me, better than anybody else. So I didn’t suspect that there was anything dark about him. He lead me to believe that he was there to mentor me with my music. This encouraged my delusional thinking that I was destined to be a famous singer/songwriter. I felt so blessed to have a celebrity spirit as a new best friend, and musical mentor. Someone who would pass the torch of artistic greatness to a new generation. I felt like such a “chosen one”. 

Being my mentor was not Freddy’s intentions at all. I was gullible, and at a very impressionable age. I had a naïve, ferry tale way of believing in my grandiose dreams. I was also a loner, and the typical troubled kid with a bad attitude towards a lot of things. This all made me easy prey for him. 

He wanted me to love him, devotedly and unconditionally, inside and out. When I did, my love wasn’t enough. Love turned to worship, and worship turned to brainwashing. He didn’t show me that much love in return. When he did, he acted like he was just doing me a favor that I obligated him to do. I was so spellbound that I looked past this. Even a few seconds of Freddy’s undivided attention seemed better than winning the Power Ball. I picked up on the vibe that he got his jollies off of having such a power over me. He liked to make me miss him, when he would disappear without warning, for a while. He wanted to feel me pine for him. He liked to have me constantly fantasizing about being with him, and fixating on how great I thought he was. I knew that he was power tripping, but I was too under his influence to care. 

Although I considered Freddy to be the true love of my life, I was still a flesh and blood, Horney teenager. So I dated real guys. According to Freddy, none of my boyfriends were good enough for me. He always criticized them, and made fun of them. One boyfriend claimed that Freddy was harassing him. I believed that Freddy acted this way because he loved me. 

Freddy became my lord, shepherding me to the dark side. Being brainwashed, I believed that I didn’t belong in this life. I belonged with him. I belonged TO him. I contemplated suicide, because I was willing to give everything up, to become one with him. I felt that this world wasn’t worth living in, anyway, because it was no longer graced by Freddy’s living presence. 

Part of me knew that this relationship was sick, abusive, and self destructive, and that part of me wanted to fight back. I felt owned. Like I had stupidly given up all rights to my mind, heart, and soul, and signed them over to Freddy. By the time I was eighteen, I felt that enough was enough. I wanted back what was truly mine. 

One day, I was so desperate to fight him off, and save my soul, that I snuck off campus during school hours, and sought refuge in the nearest church. It was like being in a Christian themed movie. The streets were busy with work day traffic, but every time I was about to cross a street, the traffic cleared away. As though God was clearing my path, so I could get to church. Then I just-so-happened to have walked in, just in time for Monday morning mass. Participating in the church service gave me some temporary comfort and reassurance. I met a group of sweet old ladies who saw that I had a visual impairment. So they let me know when I was supposed to sit, kneel, or stand. When the service was over, they invited me to have coffee and doughnuts with them. After I thanked them for everything, and we parted ways, I wasn’t ready to face school authorities yet. So I walked to the fifty foot cross, which towered over a sitting area. This sitting area was part of a bayside walking trail, near the Florida School for the Deaf and the Blind campus. I prayed and meditated there until my ass got too sore from sitting on a hard bench for so long. So I got up, and just wandered around the areas of St. Augustine that I was familiar with. The Christian movie plot continued, as one of my classmates and the mobility teacher found me. When they questioned me about where I had been, I just lost it. I wasn’t going to flat-out tell them, “Some crazy English guy, in a ridiculous poofy wig, is out to take my soul!”, but I cried out loud, in front of them. My classmate, a boy named Charles, just-so-happened to have a Bible on hand. He didn’t push the issue about wanting to know what was wrong with me. Instead, he had me hold his Bible, while he prayed for me, right there on a public sidewalk. Then I got in the teacher’s car with them, and was driven back to school. When the school called my parents, to inform them that I had gone missing, my parents felt a strange peaceful calm feeling. Like angels were telling them that there was no need to panic. They were looking out for me, and everything was going to be all right. I didn’t get punished for skipping school. Instead, the school fixed me up with an appointment at the Child Study Center, which was an on-campus counseling place for students with behavior problems. Then this Christian movie ended with me making it through the rest of the school year until I got my diploma. However, the nightmare wasn’t over yet. 

I won’t get into more detail about it, or else this blog post could go on for another fifty pages, but I plan to write a book about it, sometime after I’m finished with my Hecctrossipy series. I’m thinking of calling this book, something like, The Celebrity and the psycho Ex Husband. Long story, uhm, a little less lengthy, I did eventually realize that Freddy wasn’t who he said he was. Later on, he did a 180, and decided that he wanted to go into the light. 

When I ODed, it really affected him. He was remorseful about all the hell that he had put me through. He was finally ready to get over himself, and his unresolved troubles, and get his shit together. He wanted me to believe that he honestly loved me, and that he wasn’t truly evil. One afternoon, when I was minding my own business, watching Dr. Phil, in my room, he interrupted my show to say good-bye. He gave this whole heartfelt good-bye speech, promising that he would stop medaling in my life, and that he wants nothing but the best for me, and a bunch of other sap. By this time, I felt completely cold toward him. I wanted him to fuck off, and NEVER come back. 

Then the dark curse of his influence on me, was lifted away. When I thought back to the days when I was brainwashed into loving him and worshiping him, with such mindless passion, it no longer made me feel violated, or enraged, and scarred for life, like it had before he left. The memories of the hell he put me through had no affect on me at all. As though it was nothing but a bad dream from long ago. This was proof that he really meant what he said. Still, I trusted him as far as I could throw him, which of course, I couldn’t throw him, since he wasn’t solid. 

Some years later, when I was living alone in my own apartment, I watched a documentary about Queen, called something like, The Days of Our Lives. I wanted to compare the differences between the real Freddie Mercury, and his disturbed imposter. I was satisfied with what I saw. From the time that the show was over, and all through the next day, my whole apartment was filled with an angelic, peaceful feeling. That’s when I knew that Freddy had rehabilitated, and was fully converted to the bright side of the spirit world. So I welcomed him back into my life. 

He really had changed for the better. His personality was sweetened, and more mellowed out. The most drastic change was, since he was no longer earthbound, he stopped hovering around me, like a shadow. My encounters with him were fewer and far between. I could no longer see him, and communicating with him was more like communicating with a spirit, rather than being like having conversations with another living person. 

What didn’t change was, he still acted like a protective, second dad, when it came to the men in my life. He was very supportive and encouraging, when I confronted an issue I had, with a guy who was involved with one of my most traumatic experiences. All while everybody else ridiculed me. He also supported my choice to cut ties with a life-long friend. 

This former friend had harbored unrequited love for me, for many years. Whenever I turned him down, he reacted like a frustrated two-year-old. Time would go by, and he’d try to put the moves on me again, only to get turned down again. It was a pattern with us. Then he thankfully found love with someone else, and got married. So I thought we were cool. Meanwhile, I had a friend with benefits that I had stupidly grown attached to. When that relationship ended, I was a wreck. My friend with no benefits had to hear earfulls about my heartache, during our phone conversations. Still married, he tried to move in for the kill. I thought this was a very manipulative move. Attempting to win me over, when I was so emotionally vulnerable. Time didn’t make me have a change of heart toward him. Once again, I turned him down, and he reacted like a frustrated two-year-old. If being my friend wasn’t good enough, then we might as well not be in each other’s lives. I felt that his side of our friendship was fake, and Freddy agreed. He assisted me through the technical steps for unfriending this guy from FaceBook, and blocking him from my phone. 

Whether he was evil or good, Freddy never approved my choices of boyfriend or lover. Sadly for me, he was always right. Recently, I had a spooky thing happen that got me wondering if Freddy was still around, being all disapproving and protective. 

I still see my old friend with benefits, sometimes. We’ve had an on again-off again, on again-off again, on again-off again thing going on, for the past four years. He’s a really sweet guy, but I know that we’re not right for each other. I’m not stupidly in love with him, like I was four years ago. But I still enjoy his (eh hem) company. However, I’ve been trying to break things off with him, for the past year, but I keep stalling. 

The sexual part of our relationship often feels like it’s getting old. We’re both piss pot poor. I can’t drive, and he can’t afford to get his license renewed, and he especially can’t afford to buy a car. We live three counties apart, and we both have busy lives. If we want to see each other, we have to check with each other’s schedules. Then he has to make reservations with the door-to-door public transportation, which commutes across multiple counties, but is not always on schedule. We used to throw around the idea to make plans for a Rendezvous at a hotel, but I can’t picture that working out. Trying to get our iffy transportation to drop us off at a hotel, in synchronized timing? Yeah, right. Also, we can’t afford a hotel stay. At least not a stay at a decent one. So we hang out at my house. My family is always around, so we can’t really get into it. Having to be careful and quiet is just not hot. I prefer to have him come over, when I have the house to myself, but that rarely happens. Going to his apartment is no option. That place is more cram-packed with people than my house. 

I had talked about these complaints with him, several times, and told him that we would be better off keeping our relationship platonic. But he has a way of making me still want him. A couple Saturdays ago, my family was talking about their plans to go out of town, to visit the grandma and aunt, and spend the night there. I decided to stay back, not wanting to pass off an opportunity to have the house to myself. I texted my FWB about it, and told him to come over, the day my family leaves. 

The following night, I had a dream that I was hanging around at some sort of multi-purpose recreational park. There were horse races going on, and a horse show, and a few other events. When I took a seat in a metal folding chair, a pony came up to me. I could sense that this pony was male. He was a really trippy looking guy. His Maine and tail, and even his long fur was all streaks of rainbow colors. In the dream, it was normal for ponies to be rainbow colored. When I petted him, his colorful fur was silky and lustrous. I couldn’t stop petting him and hugging him, because his soft fur felt so cozy. Then I saw his ears perk up, and felt him go tense. At first I thought he was getting excited, because he heard one of the races about to start. Then he growled, a low, threatening sounding growl. I thought this was weird. Ponies don’t growl. I looked around to see what he was growling at, and saw a golden retriever slowly coming towards us. This dog was male too, and in the dream, I knew him. He was a laid-back dog, who was very overweight, and had health problems. I was happy to see him, and I wanted to pet him too. I tried to reassure the growling pony that the dog was no threat, but the pony didn’t listen. He went into a rage, and lunged at the dog. I panicked, as he attacked the dog, kicking and stomping all over him. Then the angry pony galloped away. The dog was completely unfazed, as though he didn’t notice that he had just been viciously attacked. 

The dog seemed to have symbolized my FWB, because he has a laid-back personality. And he’s overweight, and has health problems. The fluffy rainbow pony seemed to symbolize Freddy, because I remember how fluffy he looked, with that big stupid wig on. And he does have a colorful personality. Being that the dog was unfazed, after being attacked, and the pony galloped away, I thought this meant that Freddy was going to change his attitude about the men I choose to be with.. Perhaps the dream was his way of telling me that the FWB and I have his blessing. 

Then perhaps not. 

Days went by, and FWB didn’t text me back. The day before my family was leaving, I finally got a text from him. He couldn’t return my text, because his phone suddenly got all messed up, and it had to be repaired. He also said that, even if his phone didn’t break, he wouldn’t have been able to see me, because he caught a nasty yeast infection… 

Truth, or a figment of mental illness, the two Freddies put together became the inspiration behind my Leeandro Paul character. The famous singer/song writer/musician who becomes the leading villain, in my Hecctrossipy series.  

Blue Hurricanes (a short story)

  I watched every single person on Earth die.  

  Yes, armageddon had finally come true, but only for humans. It wasn’t literally the end of the world. Animals and plants, small, large, and microscopic, survived through the whole ordeal just fine. And of course, so did I. 

  This world wide mass humanacide all started with tropical storm Daisy. Daisy was far out into the ocean, and seemed to be non threatening. However, this was hurricane season in the eastern United States, and any freak weather disaster could happen, especially when the whole darn atmosphere is all chemically imbalanced.(thanks to people) Nobody ever expected Daisy to power up so quickly, gaining speed and strength in 27 minutes, and then zooming strait for Florida, as though it deliberately intended to. Then Daisy, now a Category 2 hurricane, raged through most of Florida. It happened so frighteningly quick, people in high-risk areas didn’t have time to get prepared, or evacuate. A lot of Floridians tried to evacuate, but they only caused a lot of angry honking gridlock.  Many others decided to stay where they were, and ride out the storm. 

  The state of Florida became one big thumb-shaped insane asylum. There was panic, and religious hysteria, and riots, and road rage. Ugh, you know how people are. 

  Then the insanity multiplied a thousand fold, when it was noticed—not just in Florida, but by meteorologists all over the world— that hurricane Daisy was glowing. The glow was an unexplainable shade of bold, deep royal blue. Now this REALLY ruffled humanities’ feathers. Folks like scientists, meteorologists, satellite operators, and even psychic mediums were scrambling their brains and putting in all their efforts to try to figure out what the hell was going on. They couldn’t. 


I didn’t want them to. It would’ve only made all the global panic so much worse. 

Although,, it was amusing to hear people’s imaginative theories on why hurricane Daisy glowed blue. Such as…, Some thought the strange glow might be from Florida’s millions of city lights reflecting off of humidity and air pollution, and that this reflection of light showed within the hurricane.  

  Some feared that the blue glow might be a toxin, and the  freak weather was a bio-terrorist attack. 

  My favorite theory was the silly heads who came up with the idea that, maybe when Daisy was out in the ocean, she sucked up a whole bunch of blue ocean water, and  bioluminescent algae. 

Then the global drama exceeded all the more.

  The next day, hurricane Daisy had multiplied. Two more fully formed Category 2 hurricanes came swirling out of Daisy, as though she was literally a “she”. A living thing who became a mother. One hurricane offspring headed north, traveling towards Georgia and the Carolinas. The other headed south towards Cuba. Then low and behold, these hurricanes also turned glowing blue. Oh, the mayhem this caused. Boy, did I get one heck of a splendid reality show, starring a cast of billions…  

…And the plot only thickens. 

The mother hurricane’s offspring multiplied, producing four more blue hurricanes. Then those four produced eight more, and those eight produced sixteen more, and so on. Within a span of four days, these blue hurricanes covered most of Earth’s sky. While on land, people of every country and language ranted and cried out questions, such as… 

“Is God punishing us?” 

“Did  so many decades of destroying the environment  finally catch up with us?” 

  “Is this part of a top secret, government science experiment?” 

“Is this the coming of Judgement Day?” 

“Did everything going wireless somehow screw up the atmosphere?”

“Why is this happening?” 

  All over the world, there were floods, landslides, and power outages. But all and all, the blue hurricanes’ mass destruction was minor, compared to most normal hurricanes. 

  On the fifth day, a terrifying epidemic started. In every country all over the world, people were dying in their sleep. With every passing hour, dozens, then hundreds, then thousands and hundreds of thousands were falling asleep, and never waking up. 

  While this universal tragedy was going on, these freaky hurricanes were exhibiting a fresh new mind boggler. Those still living, saw occasional bolts of bright turquoise lightning. 

By the sixth day, 1,234,683,429 people had died in their sleep. 

A majority agreed to the conclusion that the air in Earth’s atmosphere had turned toxic. Many made foolish, but thoughtful attempts at survival, by foraging hospitals, and medical supply warehouses, for tanks of oxygen, and oxygen masks. Some even found access to science laboratories, and toxic waste removal facilities, and gathered hazmat suits. Surviving security guards and police officers didn’t arrest anyone for this, or do anything to stop them. Nobody anywhere cared about things like, burglary, and how much of the stolen things will insurance pay to replace. The only thing that people cared about, was to stay alive. 

People everywhere put their cultural and religious differences aside, and prayed together for their lives, and for the lives of their remaining friends and loved ones. 

By the seventh day, all 8,798,765,936 human beings were dead. 

The mystery of the glowing blue freak hurricanes had remained unsolved… 

Only to those 8,798,765,936 members of the human race, that is. 

The one simple answer to people’s bazillions of questions was: This was all an alien invasion. 

There was no mysterious deadly toxin in the air. So many hurricanes going on at once, made Earth’s air cleaner than it had been in centuries. It was the aliens that did away with humanity. 

  Every science fiction geek’s worst nightmare had finally came true. except that this alien invasion was more like a sneak attack, but it wasn’t much of an attack either. There was no battle. So it was more like a sneak swiping. 

  Humanity never saw what was coming, because these mass murderers are beings made of pure energy. Not any kind of electrical energy. Or not the common universal energy that people gave all kinds of different names: vibes, chi, reiki, curses, mojo, the force(speaking of sci-fi) These beings’ energy doesn’t exist on Earth. 

  The beings, their space crafts, and everything inside their crafts was made of this energy, which they can easily manipulate at will. This powerful, interchangeable, self sufficient energy couldn’t be perceived by any of the human senses, while in its natural form.

  These beings don’t go by any particular name. they’d gone by countless names, as they lived on worlds all over the infinite universe, within their lifetimes. Lifetimes that could last millions of Earth years. 

  The sneak swiping started with Tropical storm Daisy. Their space craft, which was invisible to humans, landed just on top of the storm. They used their craft’s powerful energy to speed up the storm, and turn it into a hurricane. Then they steered it towards Florida, making their invasion appear to be part of hurricane season. 

  The energy of the craft and the energy of Daisy fed off of one another until craft and hurricane merged together as one. Becoming one with the solids, liquids, and gases  that make up the human perceptible hurricane, made the space craft partially materialize. This was what caused the hurricane to glow blue. 

  Then two more of these undetected spacecrafts came to Earth. So the first batch of invaders conjured up two more hurricanes for the other two groups to use. So then these other two groups of invaders did the same merging their crafts with the hurricanes, making them also glow blue. More and more crafts came, and formed into more and more blue hurricanes.  

They used the strategy of merging their crafts with Earth’s hurricanes, so they could cover over all human inhabited land in as short of a time as possible. A whole Earth’s sky crowded full of hurricanes was the best way to make humans want to stay put in their homes, or huddled up in other places that seemed safe.  This only  made them a whole  lot easier to target. 

The craft powered hurricanes were kept no more powerful than Category 2, because the beings didn’t want them to get too destructive. If they wanted Earth for themselves, of course they weren’t going to trash the place. The damages done by the blue hurricanes were easily reparable. at least to the invaders. 

  Once they accomplished covering all of Earth’s sky, and discouraged the human majority from venturing out of safety. It was time for the killing to begin.

  The beings released their deadly devices from their craft/hurricanes. If human eyes could’ve seen this, it would look like the glowing blue hurricanes were raining translucent giant black spiders. The spidery legs of these devices could easily burrow into human heads, and gather up all the thoughts, dreams, memories, and many other awesomely complex things that make up the human conscience. Once the conscience is firmly gripped by all legs, the device could remove it from the human’s body. Then the human is dead. This was why all humans painlessly died in their sleep. 

  The turquoise lightning was another merging of energies. The beings merged with Earth’s lightning, and used it to beam down to land. What appeared to be turquoise lightning to people, was really hundreds of thousands of these beings beaming down all at once, in the same location. 

  It wasn’t the human race that they wanted to get rid of, in order to take over Earth. It was the humans’ living consciousness that they wanted to remove. So they could take the humans’ physical bodies for themselves, and then take over Earth.

  On the seventh day, all dead bodies had resurrected. All the hurricanes died off, and uncovered a refreshed, pure blue sky. The energy made spacecrafts were easily recycled into many other useful things. Then the resurrected humans carried on with their new lives. 

 Unlike humans, these beings can live with or without their consciousness being imbedded in a solid physical body. However, for better energy rejuvenation and longevity, it’s necessary for them to live within physical forms, every 10,000 or so years. Once they take over the bodies, they live as the physical beings for the rest of the beings’ natural life span. After that, their energy is reinvigorated, and they go back to living as forms of pure energy.  

Now I’ll explain why I just sat there, and watched this happen to humanity, and didn’t do squat about it.

I am the collective consciousness of everything in nature, and the intelligence behind creation and destruction, and the endings and beginnings of all there is and all there will be, in every single universe. 

I was also known as, “God” 

When it came to the human race, I did what was necessary. 

By doing nothing. 

  I watched every single person on earth die, but it was only the death of the human race, according to the 8,798,765,936 souls who were forced to exit Earth.  

Then I watched every single person on this earth come back to life. It was a win/win solution for both species of beings.  While the energy beings were getting recharged, as they lived in the stolen human bodies. They used their knowledge gathered from thousands of physical life experiences all over the universe, to improve earth and humanity. For example, they eliminated disorders, like autism spectrum disorder, and learning disabilities, which were getting common enough to become a threat to the future of humankind. They cleaned up and repaired all of the damage that was done to Earth’s environment. They also rewired the stagnant human temperament, and changed it to no longer being self centered and egotistical, and with no more social rankings of gender, race, and status. Best of all, those who had stolen young human bodies, lived on to reproduce. Then after the energy beings left their old and warn out physical bodies, the improved human race continued on existing. 

  If I stopped those energy beings from invading and taking over Earth: Those 8,798,765,936 original members of the human race wouldn’t have had there lives cut so unexpectedly short,  which would’ve been a good thing for a majority of only them. Then, as more generations would’ve been born, humanity would’ve remained set in its ways. War, greed, corruption, and intolerance would continue on with its vicious, repetitive cycle. Humankind would slowly and sufferingly drive their own species into extinction. After their demise, billions of lives among other species would suffer the consequences of human’s senseless actions. And Earth would’ve become a hostile, gruesome living hell.  

This was all set in motion, by my most basic law of nature. It’s the reason why Earth has a food chain, and why stars and planets can’t be created without other stars dying first. 

In order for life to continue, life has to be taken. 

 Cyber Paranoia

I went to catch up on Twitter. Seconds after I opened the app, a pop-up came, asking if my e-mail address was still my current one, and if it isn’t, it offered an option to update my address. So I don’t lose access to my e-mail account. I was like, “What the hell? This is odd.” I never do anything with Twitter, through my e-mail. So I went to close the pop-up, but there was no “close” button. And no button that said, “cancel”, “dismiss”, or “not now” either. I had two options for getting out of this window. Confirm that the address they had is still the one I’m using, or update my address through them. But through who? I didn’t think this message was from Apple or Google, because it had no alert tone. And it didn’t have a “cancel” button, like Apple or Google pop-ups do. I suspected I was being targeted by a scammer. 

Sometimes, when you close an app, and reopen it, a little while later, annoying things go away. Like when you accidentally tap open the wrong option, and you get stuck there, or the app gets all buggy. I assumed that this would work with getting rid of this stupid scam window. So I tried it, but it didn’t work. I tried it several times. Still, the suspicious window stubbornly refused to let me get into Twitter, unless I gave it what it wanted. 

Meanwhile, since I couldn’t catch up on Twitter, I caught up with friends on FaceBook. Everything was going all Lah-dee-dah until I decided to explore the FaceBook menu, which is like  a whole other vast universe. It was fun to open up all the unfamiliar options, just to see what they were for. The last unfamiliar option I opened, is called Town Hall.

Town Hall allows you to get connected with your local government, but first, you have to confirm your location. I wasn’t interested. So I hit the “back” button, or at least I tried to. No matter how many times I swiped through everything on the screen, and no matter how carefully I poked around the top lefthand corner, I could not find the “back” button. I swear, it was like the button totally disappeared! Was this a trap? A way for the local powers-that-be to force me to allow them to know where I am, at all times? I finger-searched the screen, a few more times, and still found no possible way out of this Town Hall window, except for confirming my location, to connect my phone to the government. 

Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe I wasn’t being targeted on Twitter, and Google just changed their pop-up alerts. Maybe there is a “back” button in the Town Hall window, but my voiceover couldn’t see it, for some reason.  Either way, I was afraid of what could happen, if I surrendered to these windows. But if I didn’t surrender, who knows how long they would block me from Twitter and FaceBook! AAAHHH! 

Problem solved. Sorry, scammer. Sorry, government. Or sorry, whoever is out to get me, in my delusional paranoia. You can’t mess with me, when I’m armed with the power to reboot my phone, ha ha ha ha haaaaaa. 

Ooo! I got an idea!I’ll start blogging, for a third time!(The Conclusion)

This novel of mine, that I wanted to get out there, has since been divided into two books—HECCTROSSIPY 1: The Legend of the Land,  and HECCTROSSIPY 2: The Legend of the Land Lives Again.  These first two books are the beginning of a YA fantasy series that takes place on a preindustrial planet, called Velva Leena. This first part of the complex, plot twisty story includes things like, unique psychic abilities, crime, romance, hints of apocalyptic things to come, hellish alien weather, and lots of extra terrestrial soap opera drama. 

The story takes place at a tropical paradise called Continent 15. (The people on this planet number their land, instead of naming it.) Religion doesn’t exist there either. However, Velva Leenans do believe in two faceless, genderless entities that share their world, and are in charge of its creation. Jumellica is the positive side of creation, and Jyoseppy is the negative side. 

Legend has it that, long ago, Jyoseppy got tired of sharing Velva Leena with Jumellica. So it created a monster called the hecctrossipy, who could double the strength of its dark powers. Jyoseppy and its hecctrossipy were going to drive Jumellica out, and claim Velva Leena for themselves. Long story short, the evil entity and its monster had the powers to conjure up violent storms, fire, tsunamis, and other kinds of chaos and destruction. But they were out numbered by those on the good entity’s side, and their power was no match for the power of everybody’s love for Jumellica. So the hecctrossipy was destroyed, and Jyoseppy had to step down, and accept that it needed to coexist with Jumellica, for its own good. Velva Leenans believe that, if one entity rules their world, without the other, it would throw creation off balance. The lone entity’s energy would ware out until the entity dies, and Velva Leena would die with it. 

It’s 8,000 years later. By now, the hecctrossipy is believed to be only a myth. The story about it has become similar to a children’s fairy tale, and part of Continent 15’s culture. Every year, the Hecctrossipy Festival is held. Celebrating Jumellica’s brave Warriors, who defeated the hecctrossipy, and saved the world. It’s really just an excuse to celebrate. Nobody actually believes that there was really a hecctrossipy, unless they’re mental. In some versions of the tale, the hecctrossipy’s last words before it dies, is a threat that it will come back to life, someday. But nobody in their right mind would believe in that. It’s just a children’s bedtime story… 

There’s so much more to the story than that. Too much to one-finger double-tap blogs about, on my phone. So I started blogging a dream journal. 

Why not? Dream journals are easy. There’s no extra exertion on the brain, because the sub conscience does all the thinking. Then all you have to do is write down what you remember. Dreams are such a fascinating adventure into the unknown, where you often don’t know what outlandish thing will happen next. The Dream Dimension blog was so much fun to write… 

For the first couple of posts. 

I had the WordPress log-in uninstalled from my computer, thinking that it was useless. Fortunately, the mobile version was easier to work with, than it was the year before. Each blog took about 1 to 3 hours to one-finger double-tap, but I was used to taking longer at completing something. If more than 3 hours went by, and the blog still wasn’t finished, I saved the draft, and finished it the next day. I used Dictate too, which kind of helped move things along. Depending on how cooperative and not hearing impaired the thing was. 

It wasn’t long before double-tapping those blog posts were taking over my life. So I invited an old friend from high school, to be a part of The Dream Dimension, thinking that it would be nice to have an additional wild brain to take over for me, when I wanted to skip blogging for a week. 

My friend, who went under the pseudonym Indigo Moonflower, has an awesome imagination. She writes fan fiction stories on What Pad, and was in the process of writing a few cool sci-fi stories. Plus, her dreams are more vivid and outlandish than mine. So I was happy that she agreed to be a part of the blog. Christa and I gave her the information she needed to log into my WordPress account, and she was all set. 

Then nothing happened.  

After about a month of blogging, I started resenting it. At the time, I also had the idea that responding to other bloggers’ posts was impossible, because digital devices have a tendency to bring out my inner bimbo. All I had to do was, go to the Reader, on my WordPress app, and see all the same blog posts that had came in my e-mail. Then hit the “like” button to like someone’s post, and hit the “comments” button to comment on someone’s post. DUH. Instead, I tried to connect with other bloggers through my e-mail, one-finger double-tapping style. The text fields that popped up, for writing comments, and for logging into WordPress were very touchy. Every time I did a one-finger left-to-right swipe to read back what I wrote, the text field would collapse. Then I’d have to double-tap it back open. The user name and e-mail address I typed in was always somehow wrong too. So I got all frazzled, and gave up. 

One day, when I was having a hell of a time getting my latest dream post finished, I stupidly changed my blog, on impulse. Trickling Tales it was called. The idea was to post short stories, one or two paragraphs at a time. This change only lasted one post. I was too sick of doing such tedious, time consuming work that was going nowhere. I decided to quit blogging again, and put more time and effort into the Hecctrossipy series. I had already started working on the next installment,, and my pitiful struggle to be a blogger was slowing down the book writing process too much. 

So I killed The Dream Dimension. I deleted the name and tag line, and took down every post. Then I made it hidden. I didn’t think I would get back to it, ever again. Three or four months after i killed my blog, Indigo Moonflower was ready to make her debut. 

Now it’s not even a year later, and here I am, blogging again! The Hecctrossipy series is up to book 4, but the first book hasn’t even found a publishing home yet. I’ve been told that literary agents are more impressed, when they see that you ar  actively involved in blogging, and other social media sites. 

Good old Christa has came up from Panama to visit, for the month. Every time she visits, she helps me, and the rest of the family with our technology problems. Last week, she reinstalled my WordPress log-in, and taught me how to write a blog post, on Pages, and then copy and paste it onto WordPress. I actually was able to do it! Now I can blog, without getting a spastic back, achey butt, and adhesive thighs! I can’t thank you enough, big sis! 

I decided to have this third-time-charm be a normal blog, but with a short story posted, every once in a while. A completed short story. Now that I know what I’m doing, I’m excited to finally go out into the blogging world, and meet other writers, and all kinds of other blog people!… 

Oooo!I got an idea!I’ll start blogging, for a third time!—Part 1

In April of 2016, my sister, Christa, insisted that I should start blogging.  Blogging is a great way to get my writing out there, and get a following, she said. It worked for her. She writes a blog about delirium, dark fiction, and digital marketing, and is the author of the Sick series. She also lived way out in the mountains of Panama. Without blogging, nobody, other than family, friends, and her clients would’ve known about her series. Now she has an audience that spans across the globe. So she was fully confident that blogging should work for me. However, there was one big honk’n problem. 

I was technologically impaired. 

I had an I-Phone and a Mac Book Air, which is both accessibility user friendly, and idiot user friendly. Being a technological idiot, at the time, I didn’t venture beyond mastering the most basic of computer skills. My mistake! I didn’t know anything about how to write a blog, or how to connect with other bloggers. Then there’s the visual details, like adding pictures and videos and themes, which I can’t do, because blindness is one of my disabilities. So I argued that blogging would be a terrible idea, for me. Christa pressed on, insisting that she would take care of all the visual and technical details. All I would have to do was, write the blog. I felt that I should pay her for her help, but she insisted that I don’t. Now I was even more leery about this idea. 

First of all, Christa already had a mile-long to-do list, every day. I didn’t feel comfortable with my blog becoming another priority that she would have to squeeze in some time for. Second of all, when people do you a favor, free of charge, and out of the kindness of their hearts, and they tell you that they don’t expect anything in return—Don’t believe that they honestly mean it. People will always expect something in return, no matter how humble they try to act. I know this, because in my situation, I often have no better choice, but to ask others for assistance with, like, 500 things. 

Below is a list of what people expect in return, when they do you a favor, or when they offer to do you a favor, just out of the kindness of their hearts. 

1. Unlimited patience. Don’t be pushy. Just because you’re ambitious about wanting something done, don’t expect those who are helping you to feel the same way. If this gets frustrating, just grin and bare it, and don’t let it show. If you can’t hold in your frustration, be extra careful about how you express it to the ones helping you. Otherwise, you’ll come off as being too demanding. Don’t remind people that they promised to do you a favor, or don’t ask them when they are going to do it, more than twice a week. If you mention it more than that, you’re being too demanding again. 

2. Be gracious at all times. Be grateful for what others do for you, no matter what. Don’t utter a single complaint, or express dissatisfactory. If you must, then do it with careful politeness, and apologize for your negative honesty. Otherwise, you’ll come off as being spoiled and childish. 

3. Always put the agendas of those you depend on first. Never be self centered enough to expect, or even hope that people will help you out of the kindness of their hearts, according to your agenda. 

People have been helping me, and doing me favors, out of the kindness of their hearts, all my life—and I still screw up on giving them what they want in return. 

Christa, who is also highly talented with computers, reassured me that doing her 90% of the work for my blog would be easy. So I was convinced enough to at least give blogging a try. She installed the WordPress app on my phone, and set up my account. Then I was ready to get blogging. But I had to figure out what the hell was I going to blog about!? 

Christa suggested that I blog about my life, and I was like, seriously? At that time, my life was mainly about reading, writing, and going to the gym. What would a blog about that be called? The Cure for Insomnia Blog? I thought about posting a new short story, every week. Or starting a story, off the top of my head, and just seeing where it goes, post by post. Then I thought of being The Dead-Broke Book Blogger, only reviewing new or recently published free books from I-Books. (Apple Books) So many ideas… Then a million life distractions + nine months came and went. It was suddenly January of 2017, and I hadn’t done squat with my WordPress app. Then a cool idea finally came to my overly imaginative brain! 

The 20 World Scavenger Hunt Challenge! It was a story about five teams of young alien scientists who  .     compete in a scavenger hunt, where they have to travel to twenty worlds, to find all the items. I wanted to make it like, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy meets South Park, with a different episode every week. Once I got to working on it. the setbacks started lining up. 

The I-Phone’s voiceover isn’t designed for blind or dyslexic writers. Well, Maybe it’ll work just fine, for people that write haikus or very short poetry. People who don’t use voiceover, tap each key on their phone’s keyboard, once, to type them. People who have to use voiceover, have to double-tap each character, and every space. Double-tapping letter by letter, to write a full story episode, was agony.   Also, unlike with the voiceover on my computer, the phone has no way of letting me read line-by-line, scrolling up and down. I had to carefully poke the screen, and have the phone read the small sentence chunks that were under my finger tip, if I wanted to read back where I left off. The other choice was to do a one-finger left-to-right swipe, and have the voiceover read what I wrote, from the very beginning. 

It was time to try dictating the blog, but I had to work around my brain’s behavior. Stories come out easier, when I’m typing them. Trying to dictate them, off the top of my head, is an awkward struggle. The phone’s dictate worked wonderfully. Yeah, it heard me wrong, every once in a while, but it always read back what I dictated. So I wrote my first episode on a Pages document, and decided to have the computer read my document back to me, and I would dictate it into my WordPress app. Then just my luck, Apple said that it was time for my phone’s software to be updated. Once I updated it, my voiceover stopped being reliable with reading back my dictations. I tried my new plan, anyway, but it was back to doing lots of screen poking, after bathroom breaks, or zoning out. 

Christa had also installed a WordPress log-in shortcut into my computer, but I procrastinated with using it. The computer version of WordPress seemed all complicated and confusing, compared to the mobile version. But by now, I was desperate. once I got in, things were not as complicated and confusing as I expected. Then when I got to typing a post—stinkeroo! It was awful. WordPress for the computer was even less accessibility user friendly. Or at least, less voiceover user friendly. Every time I typed a letter, the voiceover informed me which font WordPress used, before speaking the name of the letter. It was like, “Twelve point Merryweather, steel gray, T, twelve point Merryweather steel gray, h” I tried to type faster, to make it stop repeating the font, but that only made the voiceover stutter a lot, which was really annoying and distracting. Also what was annoying and distracting, was that, for some glitchy reason, voiceover announced every minute that my draft was being autosaved. So I gave up.     

When I confided my woes to Christa, on Skipe, she came up with a new plan. I would simply write each episode in Pages, and then send them to her, spell checked, of course. Then all she would have to do was copy and paste them into WordPress. This new plan started out great. The 20 World Scavenger Hunt Challenge episodes were getting posted, and I was gaining new blog followers with every episode. This was so exciting. My writing was really attracting attention, and winning people over. There was hope for me, yet! The heavenly light at the end of the seemingly endless, career-and-aspiration-failure tunnel was drawing near! 

Then Christa and I had a squabble. 

From the beginning, she had advised me to keep my blog posts short. The first couple of episodes were too long. So we agreed to divide them at certain points. We also agreed to have one episode posted every week. I wanted to keep the blog’s timing consistent. Just like I figured might happen, her workload, and the million other things she had to do, left her no time for my blog. So she was a little over a week late. So I admit to letting my patience slip a little. Then once the new episode was posted, I was surprised to find out that she shortened my already-shortened episode even more, and without telling me first. So I flubbed up with being grateful for what’s given to me, and I gave her a hard time about this. She had her reasons, but I was all artistic-person stereotype, and I decided that this blogging thing wasn’t going to work out. You know how it is, creative people. Your work is precious to you, and when it’s left in someone else’s hands, you want them to handle it in a certain, specific way. Right? 

Come to find out, my writing wasn’t so fetching after all. The only reason I was getting followers was because Christa did all the extra push-ups to get others to read my crazy-ass blog. Boooo! I suck! I had attempted to put in some push-up effort, myself, but I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I promoted my blog, on FaceBook, and then promoted it again, on Messenger. I went through the list of 60+ FaceBook friends, and gave each of them a simple message that just said to go to (This was two years ago. I don’t remember exactly what the old site title was) Yeah, I know, that was a spammy thing to do. Two FaceBook friends had read the blog, and returned my message, with a thumbs-up emoji, but neither of them became followers. My other sister, Gina, had shared my blog posts, on FaceBook. I got some likes, but no additional followers. 

Christa had also admitted that re-editing each episode was hell, because there were a lot of nonsense alien words with inconsistent spelling. This was all the more reason to want to quit. The last thing I wanted was for helping me to be stressful. 

Another year went by. It was spring of 2018, and I had finished my first full-length novel. My author/editor friend, Jo, had edited my book, (I paid him, of course.) and he and Christa helped me with perfecting my first query letter. I know that, getting a book published doesn’t make the magic happen. It’s still up to the author to promote it, and get it out there. But if you don’t have any “connections”, and if you can’t afford to pay for your advertisements, what’s the best way to get your book out there? Social media and BLOGGING! By then, WordPress had made some improvements. So I decided to give blogging a second chance, and came up with The Dream Dimension.    Then disaster struck again…