5/11/15 - 5/19/15. Each day is the same backward as it is forward. The name of this phenomenon? The palindrome. Works for sentences and words as well. For example:
"ABLE WAS I ERE I SAW ELBA."
^What Napoleon might've said ;)
DAD is a palindrome. MOM is a palindrome. BOB is a palindrome...which makes me think of Weird Al's song by the same name ("Bob") on his album Poodle Hat. Confession time: I thought Weird Al's song "Bob" was just a bunch of random words strung together to sound funny. Didn't realize they were all palindromes.
"WAS IT A CAR OR A CAT I SAW"
^By far the BEST palindrome in that song.
Can you think up a palindrome? In honor of this week, I will have dinner for breakfast and supper, and have lunch in between...and eat sandwiches, because if you make them right, they could just be a palindrome....
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Friday, May 8, 2015
A CHARACTER SHEETName: Beth Overmyer
So, I've been getting rather personal on the blog lately, haven't I? Perhaps I've made a few of you uncomfortable. I know I've been uncomfortable, but some things shouldn't be allowed to grow in the dark. Some things need to be yanked into the light. To be exposed...to, well, the light, to warmth, to growth.
Memoir Mondays will probably continue, but please realize that they're focusing on just one facet of me. We all are three-dimensional beings. I am not all darkness and gloom. OCD and depression may have once ruled my life--and, granted, they still hog a lot of it--but that is not all of me, you know?
This post isn't meant to be defensive, because no one has attacked me or hurt my feelings. I don't expect them to. In fact, it's been quite the opposite. I've seen some very kind support from a couple of people I only know through the web.
What this post is meant to be is a warning. If I'm dragging you down with Memoir Mondays, and I've read and commented on your blog, don't feel like you need to reciprocate on Monday posts. (Don't feel like I'm ever pressuring you to do anything you don't want to do.) I understand that some things make people uncomfortable, and I respect that. Please, please, PLEASE: if these posts disturb you, don't read.
If I cross a line, I'm sorry. I will try to be sensitive.
On a lighter note, I'm rereading/editing some of my MG project, and I must say this: I actually like it again! So huzzah!
Monday, May 4, 2015
I believe that May is a mental health awareness month. In that spirit, I'm posting some poetry I wrote when OCD and depression started wreaking major havoc in my teens and early twenties. Questions are welcome.
I was wandering the vast garden of my mind
when a lowly wren perched upon the ledge of a wall.
“Do,” it said.
So I did.
Again and again I passed the wall, counting the stones
in pairs of threes, no fours and especially no twos.
Yet this was not enough.
“Do!” said the bird, its feathers ruffled.
So I did.
I stepped backwards, counting in threes and fives,
until I thought I would lose my mind.
I counted, I fretted, and again spoke the wren,
now transformed into a jay:
Conditioned to do, I did.
I picked every weed from the crags and the nooks,
and picked and picked until my fingers bled.
Yet this was still not enough.
“Do!” said the bird, now a raven with stony eyes.
I scrubbed each stone in threes and fives,
No fours and especially no twos,
in threes and fives,
no fours and especially no twos.
Waiting for the next command, I looked up at the eagle,
It’s eyes as black as the depths of its soul.
“Do!” it shrieked.
Weary I fell,
fell to the ground,
and pulled out a stone from the cragged wall and threw it at the bird,
now a vulture, and missed.
It laughed and it crowed until I bled
and lay there dead, dead in the soul,
in the vast garden of my mind next to the ledge of a wall.
What in this abyss
But water to choke on
Reckless passions within
My marrow that Christ
Yet dull and jade
Me in the same,
Wrenching the very
Life from my young
Drawing life in surplus
Leaving ice shards in
Which heaves and
Sinks with burning
Of this intensity
Which holds my
Mind in chains
That bind and stroke
The last piece
Of my sanity,
Which He forgave,
This wretched piece,
This anguished creature
Trapped in the walls of her
the rat on the wheel,
the bird in the cage,
the flame ’neath the jar,
the free man in chains,
the firmness in madness,
the hopeful in hopeless
And dullness that ebbs
And the corrosion that builds
And destroys as sanity
And madness crumble
Together in the womb—
And I cannot.
Break, break, break the poet
Tarnished songs ring
Through my head,
Break, break, break,
And broken here I dwell:
My mind in conflict
Within its two-folds
And empty and full desires,
For I am confused
And, though pardoned,
I loose myself
When I try to demonstrate
I am of a simile,
And not whole to a metaphor
In tunnel view.
Friday, May 1, 2015
A very happy May Day to you all (and a happy fifth anniversary to my sister and brother-in-law.) What are your plans to celebrate for this glorious day?
What? You have none? Tsk-tsk! Oh, you're going to see The Avengers: Age of Ultron? This I can totally approve of. No spoilers, please. I might not get to see it until next week :-/
I used to secretly deliver flowers to our neighbors when I was a tween. My friend Melanie, my sister, and I would make bouquets and then set out on a daring quest through open fields and cow pastures to deliver the floral gifts to the widow down the way and then a family of friends a good 1/3 mile away.
The only times in my life that I felt like Secret Agent Woman ;-) We'd duck behind buildings, crouch behind trees. Anyone passing by might've thought we were a bunch of hooligans up to no good. Good times.