We’ve talked about a lot here so far, but not about some of the iconic scenes in the horror genre over the years. There are so many. One that stands out to me is that infamous scene in The Omen where the maid…well, you know.
I picked this one today because its stood the test of time. I still hear people talk about it to this day and they aren’t even from my generation. A whole new generation has discovered this modern classic.
What are some of your favorite iconic horror movie scenes?
(Sorry, my dark sense of humor is showing itself.)
August is behind us, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that. Life is something I certainly don’t take for granted. When you lose a lot of people before their time, it has a way of making you appreciate waking up each day.
We went through a significant loss while I was away. This event is not something I could just glaze over, no matter how private a person I may be. Doctors discovered around the second week of last month that I had an ectopic pregnancy. What was then explained to me soon after devastated us as a family. There was no way I could go forth with a healthy pregnancy, and my life was in danger.
I had two options. Both of which seemed terrifying to me at the time. Surgery or a chemotherapy drug called methotrexate. We’d already been in the hospital 13 hours with no food or water. My body was extremely weak and my mind was beyond stressed. I was told surgery was extremely risky because they could open me up and find nothing, since I was only 2 weeks along. There was a considerable risk of me bleeding out. The chemo agent didn’t seem much better as it was explained to me because it is very toxic to your system. I had no other options. I have a (then 8, now 9) year old son I have to think about that very much needs me.
We chose door number two—the methotrexate therapy. The first night was hell. I was shaking uncontrollably from fever chills and I was in pain. My entire body was weak while my mind was a complete fog. Things got better as the days went on, but as my condition improved, a sort of guilt and grief seeped into me at the same time.
I’m still going through it. Though some parts of this story have gotten a little brighter. I no longer need chemo treatments. My hormones are stabilizing and starting to taper off where they need to be. My body is still healing. There’s still some pain, and I still have to go back weekly for blood testing until I’m considered fully “back to normal.” There is so much more to this story. The rest is all I’ve got in me for now, though. I’m mostly anxious to get back to work.
We named her.
Somehow we both know it was a girl. It’s the kind of knowing the women in my family that I’ve spoken about here before possess. “Seeing” as we call it.
Her name is Journey.
I’ll save the meaning behind that for some other time. Though, if you’d like some clues, take a look at this past review, or even better play that game. It’s a beautiful experience you won’t regret, I promise. And you know I’m big on promises.
I’m very sorry to say this friends, but I am going to have to take an extended leave of absence from CardCastles. I have some potentially life-threatening health issues going on. I’ll update you when I can.
When I first started out, “Daydreams” was very much a character.
Now she’s just a cloak that I wear to protect whatever little shred of privacy I have left.
I’ve all but exposed my whole ass for the world to see. Most are no longer comfortable with me since I’m not fluffing their egos while being kind and PC. But I’m getting off-track a bit. Let’s rewind to the first half of this before I go any further.
It chirped away. Not a pleasant bell like that of a teeny sparrow, but a manic, repetitive, screeching sound akin to metal on metal. I could almost sense what it was. In fact, in the corners of my subconscious, I think I very much did.
It was a person in my professional network, pointing me towards the mouthes of the displeased.
Displeasure—oh, how I’ve danced with you on and off these past few years.
Passive-aggressive in its nature, though point taken, it stood out like a festering sore on a beautiful face. It’s always a meme, right? No one can pull me aside and quietly voice their grievances. No, it has to be shouted to their entire following, but covertly enough that I can’t expose them. So much so that if I did, I’d look like the crazy one.
This is not the first time.
Or the second.
And I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Oh no, definitely not the last. But I’m not allowed to feel either.
“Oh stop whining.”
“What a butthurt bitch.”
“Quit playing the victim.”
I can hear it now. Loud as ever.
I’ve been more vocal on human rights issues and more. These are some things sadly deemed “political.”
“It ain’t cute, sweetheart.” They said I was shaming people. Well darlin’ sadly, in these times we’re living in, some things need to be shamed.
In the words of someone I’ve always deeply admired that’s been harmed by the very industry I work alongside:
So what’s wrong with me calling these issues out? Why does that all of a sudden make me not your cup of tea? What does my little insignificant voice have to do with your happiness? Why do you feel the need to tear me down in the process?
I thought I was well past letting bullshit like that penetrate me. But it has. Yet again. Especially when these [very public] bashings start to effect my income. (If I showed you the numbers, and how far they’ve traveled downward since about May 2017, you’d cry.)
I’m slowly moving past it. After all, the projects on my desk don’t give a shit who is ripping me apart and why. I had a little outburst over it, then soon after regretted it. It made me look like the asshole. It made me look immature. Though I come from a place where if you don’t respond, you’re a coward. Though in today’s world, if you do respond, you’re giving them attention and that also winds up making you look like an idiot.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Amidst all this madness I had a great conversation with one of my best friends whom I consider like adopted family. He spoke of similar situations with slimy people’s passive-aggressive nature and likened getting rid of such negativity to purging impurities with flames. What a beautiful comparison it was. Like the practice of burning sage—a cleansing ritual.
So I guess what I’m stabbing at in all this is, sometimes we need to purge the ugliness in our life with flames. And no, I’m not telling you to go set shit on fire. (Ya crazy asses.) I’m simply hinting at the notion that in order to truly move up and move on in our lives, sometimes we really need to cut things loose—set them ablaze. One thing I’m learning is it doesn’t matter how many times we feel we have to do this. If we feel the need, it’s probably for a reason. There’s probably another phase ready for us on the other side waiting.
Fever chills. Coughing. Bones felt like thin glass.
I’ve been meaning to catch you all up on things for a while w/ a video diary or something, and yet things keep happening. Every time I sit down to work, or give you a little update here, another something pops up.
Flash forward to today. I finally start to gain some of my strength back. I’m still on the mend, but I finally have the first burst of energy I’ve had in over a week.
I come inside after getting my son, do my household duties, promptly sit down, then open up my folders for work. I’ve got an important project for Matticus & Revis that’s well over the deadline time frame. (Matt & Revis continue to be patient with me & my crazy life and I love them for it.) There’s another something I’m planning with my significant other. Last but most certainly not least, there’s some concept sketches I have to get out to three of my musician friends.
The phone starts chirping away.
I ignore it as best as I can, but in the back of my mind it must be urgent.