Can You Spell Psychosis?

(all entries on this blog are my original works and protected under copyright)

Peter, NO!

Time for a nice long rest, little Jilly.

Peter, please, let me handle this. I know you; what you're capable of. You'll get us all in trouble, I know it.

Dear Jilly, don't fight me. You wouldn't let me help when she cut down your rose bushes. I've listened to you complain incessantly about her for 7 long years. I almost prevailed when she poisoned little Froofy, but that damn Dr. Rosenthal and his meds turned you into a zombie. She plans on sabotaging Keiko, does she? Do you honestly believe she doesn't have plans for you, too?  We both know that you're not capable of doing what needs done, so off you go, Jillian. Sweet dreams...

*******

I have roughly an hour before the final stage of the bee begins. These old schools are too expansive; opposing stairwells on each floor and so many rooms and cubbies make finding her a worthy challenge. Where to start? Think, Peter.

Genius, I thought as I headed for the basement. Much better than trying to make a karate chop to the larynx look like an accident.

It's good to be back. Jilly and the others are stifling. Morals, ethics - blech. Peter. The world needs more Peters.

Of course the janitor's supply room is unlocked. Would fate have it any other way? Peggy. The image of her smug face distorting in agony made we wet. The delicious irony that she'll be outed with lye...

*******

I found Peggy in the waiting area cordoned off for the contestants. Keiko was summoned away for a telephone call from a secret admirer.

"Congratulations to us," I said as I popped the cork on the bottle of sparkling apple cider. "I'll never forget this day. To the spoils!"

"To the spoils," Peggy almost shouted, as she raised the plastic champagne glass to her lips.

"Wait!," I exclaimed suddenly. I wanted something to cherish of this moment, so I hurriedly pulled out my camera.

"To you, Peggy," I chortled. "Long live the queen bee!"

I swear she was enjoying her own orgasm as she once again rose the congratulatory drink to her mouth. I waited for her to finish, knowing that she only had a few more seconds of consciousness before her agonizing death throws began.

"I'm so sorry Jillian couldn't be here. Allow me to introduce myself," I gloated peevishly.

"My name is Peter. P-E-T-E-R. Peter."

Someone Left My Cake Out

May 23rd, 2014

I remember sitting in my chair, staring out the front window at nothing. The pros and cons list I worked furiously on hours ago still wear worn on the desk in front of me. Self love victored over religious fervor.
I suppose the voice that picked fame and fortune over sacred duty knew what I could not fathom. How could I know that the girls from high school I walked home with on that lovely fall afternoon were part of a cult? If I had made the other choice, would I still be knocking on doors, handing out pamphlets, and preaching the world would soon come to an end?
17 and naive. Maybe I could incorporate that into the new album I’m working on. Perhaps Janis faced a similar crossroad. Note to self: set lunch date with Janis.
Ronetta looked nothing like my school chum from back in the day. She looked like one of my old sofa cushions when the vacuum cleaner salesman sucked all its air out. Oh, the thought of me having cankles and wobbling like a weeble gave me brain freeze.
35 years have gone by. What if I had chosen her religion? Which of those years, if any, would have me fleeing the cult? After all these years, Ronetta would barely speak to me. I know they shun people who don’t believe as they do. What kind of a life would I have had inside and out of those religous prison walls? Would my kids hate me or love me? OMG, what if I’d raised them as door-knockers? There’s no way my guys would treat me like the dead if I left…or would they?
Giving myself a good slap on the cheek, I quickly replace those what ifs with all that I have; all that I am. I loved the Fame school, trips to The Village, strolls in Central Park, getting high and making love…all chronicled in my first Top 40 song. My first stint on Broadway, performing before thousands. How could I not hear the applause night after night, and seeing standing ovation after standing ovation? And now another Grammy nomination. I really am blessed.
Nothing could stop that 17 year old from attaining her dreams, and no amount of introspection would change the outcome of the last 3 decades. I love being free.

A Timely Cent

May 23, 2014

I've seen that penny before. Everything started to spin as I stared down at the lone penny in the otherwise empty room. I couldn't take my eyes off that penny. I knew this was a deja vu moment. The universe was giving me another chance.

 Tucker was not my type, but I was lonely and he was a challenge. 47 and still single, or so I thought. He was actually 60 to my 41. 2 years later we're engaged and searching for the perfect house to buy - together. Tucker, Julie (my doe-eyed child from a previous blunder), and I would nestle in Marina Del Ray. Tuck and I were hell bent on flipping real estate together, so our first home purchase had to be a fast money maker.

 Yes, I'd seen some disturbing aspects of Tuck's persona, which I quickly fluffed off. 'Everybody has faults,' and 'no one is perfect', as my Pollyannic psyche would constantly remind me.

 And now, this penny staring at me; its copper tentacles reaching out, grasping my head, shaking loose the hypnotic trance from a seriously disturbed relationship. 'WAKE UP. WAKE UP,' the gleaming coin seemed to shriek. 'Pay attention now, and get out while you still can.'

 I've been here before, I just know I have. My knees buckled and I clung to consciousness. The importance of this event was not lost on my nearly catatonic brain. Unseen forces would either applaud or shake their heads in disgust depending on my actions once I came around.

 Neither Tucker nor the real estate agent realized what happened to me in that room. We continued with the walk-through. I really liked this house. It needed a lot of work. A 3 bedroom ranch with an in-ground pool; 2 desirable traits for a quick resale.

 I know what he's going to say, I thought as we were almost out the front door. He's going to say exactly what he's said on the last umpteen houses we've looked at in the last few months. 'This isn't the right one,' he'll mutter.

 Immediately Pollyanna jumped on my shoulder, wagging her prim and proper finger at me: "You don't know what he'll say this time, now do you? Don't be judgmental. Give him a chance. This time it's different. He'll surprise you."

 This time was different. I had the penny this time.

 "Well, what do you think?" Our growingly impatient broker was trying his best to make a sale.

 I looked at Tucker. No surprises there.

 "Could you excuse us for a few moments, please? Tucker and I need to talk."

 I steered Tuck back to the room with the penny. "Well? What about this one, Tuck?"

 Always calm and cool, Tucker looked at me, and I knew, I KNEW, and I was so glad I chose this room to have it out with him.

 "This isn't the right one, Cammie."

 "OK, Tuck."

 I turned and went for the front door. Tuck was right behind me, resting his protective arm over my shoulder; his confidence rested in my perfect obedience to his will.

 "I want to make an offer, Jim." I could feel Tucker's eyes boring a hole into the side of my skull. His grip on my shoulder tightened menacingly.

Jim said we could fill out the forms in the kitchen, and started back toward the house. Tucker was not pleased.

 "What are you doing, Cammie?"

 "This house might not be the right one for you, but it's the right one for me."

 With Pollyanna nowhere in sight, I didn't give Tucker his usual due. I left him with one immediate goal in my mind: making sure the penny went with the house.

 

 

Who's On The Ledge?

May 18th, 2014

Why can’t I have a whole hour for lunch like Joan does, I say to myself as I rush out the door of the Highmark building and head towards Jefferson Street and my favorite deli. A lousy half hour, that’s all I get.

As I race walk down the sidewalk, my thoughts quickly turn from distress to curiosity. A throng of people are gathered around the old book store. Every single one of them is looking up towards the roof. I know from previous experience that you can’t run and look up at the same time, so I paused to see what the fuss was about. Someone was standing on the upper ledge! 

Nearing the crowd, I heard the crackle static of a two way radio. A man’s voice came over loud and clear: “Jumper has been identified as Maureen Whittier, 2918 W. State Street.”

Mom? I felt the blood drain from my face. My mother is the jumper? This can’t be happening.

Nothing mattered except getting up to that ledge. “Officer, officer. My name is Kelly Whittier. My mother is Maureen Whittier. Please, I have to help her!”

Grabbing my elbow, he led me into the building. “Look, miss, we’ve got a serious situation here. You need to keep a cool head. Don’t do or say anything to upset her. I’ll be right behind you.”

I can’t believe my mother wants to kill herself. Why? I couldn’t come up with a single reason to justify her actions.

As we closed in on her location, something just didn’t feel right. I recognized my mother’s sweater. I know what was off. It was her hair; it didn’t look real. And she looked somehow bigger.

“Mom,” I croaked weakly. As she turned towards me, the initial confusion turned to utter disbelief. This wasn’t my mom. This was my DAD.

“I’m sorry, Kels,” he blurted. “I can’t live a lie any longer. Please forgive me, Kelly dear. Forgive me.”

This was my daddy. The same gut feeling that something wasn’t right took control of me, only this time it told me to act now and speak later. I lunged for him, grabbing his blouse collar, and hauling him backwards off the ledge into safety. Stroking his makeup laden face and holding him tightly, I became the parent and he the child.

“Oh, Daddy, I love you no matter what. We’ll get through this together. You and me. I love you forever, Daddy.”

Pirate Map Writing Exercise

May 8, 2014

Nothing. I can do nothing. Is this pirate hell? I might be dead, because I haven't taken a breath for a long while now.

What have I done? Murdered me captain and best friend, that's what I've done. And for what, this so-called treasure?

All my remembered days I've been a pirate. Sailed the seven seas. If there was a pirate of the year award, I'd have won it every time. If there was a sexiest pirate alive, that'd be me. If you looked up pirate in the dictionary, you'd see my sexy, pirate puss looking back at ya. I'm king of the plunderers, that's what.

Then I found the map. The map of maps. The map with the big X marking the booty of a lifetime. So me, me best mate, and me captain set sail.

Somewhere along the way he showed up. The bad pirate. He wouldn't let me be. No sir, bothered me night and day til I gave in to his plotting and scheming. Kept saying 'you deserve the treasure all for yourself, Jimmy boy. What've they done for you but clung to your bootstraps?' It wasn't til after the deeds were done that I finally got him out of my head.

And now this - dare I say - treasure? If I could breathe I might cry. In my hands is what must be the cruelest joke ever played on a man of the seas. One bloody piece of paper with these words:

"Dear Pirate friend. Congratulations. You have found the greatest treasure on earth. This is your chance to redeem yourself from your pirate sins. Whatever you've done to bring you here, all is not lost. Your eternal life is in your hands. Make 10 copies of the map that brought you here. Take the copies to the 10 worst pirates you know. Your reward is sharing this treasure with the worst sinners on earth. May God have mercy on your soul."

Blimey.

Angry Letter To An Inanimate Object Exercise

May 1, 2014

Dear Screw,

You've hurt me for the last time. Your unprovoked attacks are too much for me to bear any longer.

I can't believe I fell once again to one of your late night ambushes. No more! It's over. O-V-E-R. What did I ever do to you? Yes, I've had to put you in your place time and time again. Maybe you'd have a case if your name was on the lease. Too bad for you, buddy. Your groove is long gone. You've got to go.

Feeling not even the least bit sorry,

Your EX-ROOMIE