vanelyreborn

[vanelyreborn]

~☆♡OHMYGOODNESS♡☆~

Okay, so it's not going in the book, but I'm putting it on this blog because I'm writing it so it's technically my work.

I am doing a rewrite of the song "I'm Just a Kid" by Simple Plan called "I'm Just a Cat" and so far it is freaking funny!

My plan is to use tiktok to record the song one verse at a time using the karaoke version of the song and the baby voice option so it's more like the cat is singing it. Then set it to video of my cat and just hoping it all blends.

Why am I so excited about this?!

Uh.... because it's comedy gOld, that's why!

[vanelyreborn]

I had one of the worst dreams of my life last night. I'm still having a difficult time stopping the tears & I've been up for about half an hour. Does anyone else have a difficult time convincing themselves that they're back in reality after having horrible dreams?

It was a stereotypical "zombie apocalypse" situation with an added dosage of The Purge &, for some reason, I ended up as the "alpha" of the group. I had to shoot several people who didn't deserve it. In fact, none of them had even turned yet. A couple of guys I killed were posing a hint of a threat but I felt so much obligation to adhere to a zero tolerance mindset that I didn't even hesitate. I felt so numb when I killed these people. One of them was a young mother of 3 small kids. Her husband was beginning to turn & demanding that we let them in. It was too late for him. I had no choice. People in my group were trying to pressure me into killing her kids, using "logic" like "We don't have enough supplies to provide for them" and "They just watched you kill both their parents. They would just be traumatized for the rest of their lives anyway". I was trying so hard to appear hard hearted in my hesitation so they wouldn't see me as weak. I told them to shut up, but only so the 3 kids would see me defending them &, hopefully, calm down. I pulled everyone yelling at me aside & agreed under the condition that I comfort the kids, make them feel safe in their last moments, &, with the help of one other person (because I can only hold 2 guns & they had to go at the same moment so none of them would have to see a sibling die. Someone else had to pull the 3rd trigger), I would sneak up behind them & shoot them in the heads. It would be over in a couple of seconds.

While I was stewing over this in my head and trying to process what I had to do, some teenage girl in the group got sassy with me over something. Not even in defiance of our plan with the kids like you would expect from a story like this. She was just that one bitchy, spoiled character who refuses to cooperate & complains about everything. She pulled that "I don't have to do anything you say, you're not the boss of me" card- in much more colorful words, of course- and I fucking LOST it. Like, I gotta kill those sweet kids and THIS BITCH gets to stay?! And I could feel eyes on me waiting to see if I would buckle like a coward or put her in her place like the leader they expected me to be. So I picked her up by her hair, threw her down onto the wood floor, bashed her face into the floor a few times- all while screaming at her like a mom reprimanding one word at a time between each belt smack. One thing she had been doing that pissed everyone off was flaunting. Just pawing at everyone like she was in heat. Imagine Shelley the nymphomaniac from AHS Asylum with a superiority complex that makes her THINK she's Cher from Clueless. All she had on was a slinky, upper thigh length shoulder strap dress. I ripped it off her, dragged her to the door, opened it, held her up by her hair, & offered her up to anyone or anything that could hear me. I don't remember how I worded it, but she was terrified. Ignoring the begging spewing from her bloody face, I pulled her close & said "Do you get it now, you little twat? Do you have any more fucking confusion about who is in charge here?" She whimpered a weak "No, I get it, I'm sorry. Just please don't put me out there."

I threw her onto the floor & slammed the door then yelled at her some more. "Good! I hope the fuck you do, because you & I both know you don't deserve to be here. And for the next 3 days, you are not to say a single fucking word to anyone here. And if you do, and they don't punch you in the face, I will shoot them dead! You will not put your hands on another person here for the rest of however long we are stuck in this place. If you do, I will shoot you in the fucking face! Do you get me?!"

"Yes" she sobs.

"Does everyone else fucking get me?!"

Surrounded by shocked, agreeable faces, I finish with "Good! Now go put on some clothes that don't make you look like you came here for a two dollar blow job & don't ever give me reason to have to even look at you again!"

And this whole time, I had been stressing out over Andrew. He & one other guy had gone to gather supplies & it was starting to look like they weren't coming back. It felt like several days had passed & I felt like I had no reason left to exist if he didn't come back. He would die before he would abandon me so that was the only logical explanation for him being gone this long. I wanted to kill everyone exCEPt those kids, then put a bullet in my own head.

I snuck off to the bathroom, locked the door, sat down on the edge of the tub, and burst into the hardest cry of my life. And I don't know how, but I managed to do so almost silently. Once I was able to compose myself, I washed my face & forced myself back down to numb. I held on to the door knob for a few moments before turning it. I knew my life would shift forever once I opened the door.

I didn't know the man who'd agreed to help me. I didn't want to. My soul was about to die and I couldn't have taken someone who mattered with me to see it happen.

But as soon as I stepped into the room & reached behind me for the guns, I woke up.

Andrew has already assured me that I'm safe & I can always count on him being there. And I'm not delusional enough to think any of it was real. But it was so emotionally draining to calm the jumbled mess of emotions consuming me.

Bright side? At least now I have potential book content.

[vanelyreborn]

~☆♡!Name Change!♡☆~

(yes I already posted this but I rewrote it and it wasn't up long enough to get noticed the first time)

I'm changing the name of the book, branching out on the theme and content, and working harder than ever to accomplish publication. Let me explain....

I wrote the mushroom pairing, linking together the poem and its source which was initially meant to be a private journal entry. I loved it, but I knew that it would be the only one of its kind if I tried to fit it in the book. Once I was finished with it, I felt lost without a pen in hand. Like the bummed out feeling of November 1st letting me know Halloween is over. On a much smaller scale, of course. But I had put so much of my focus on writing and blending them. And, as satisfied as I was to read and share them completed, I was in a funk that it was over and I needed another prompt to pour myself into.

I remembered something I started at least a month or two back about regret and read it over to see if I could build on it. It was really just scribble about a moment of affirmation and only felt profound until I got lost for the words needed to finish it. So far, thankfully, I have been right in assuming that a rewrite of Regret would be worth a shot. I'm having a difficult time with a conclusion that stays on point without rambling too much but I've always had that issue. Good thing about that is that I have a lot of material for content in unfinished pieces. I've gotten a little infatuated with the process of writing these pieces over and over again, each time, making improvements until I'm satisfied. From Numb to New was merely a frustrated rant I wrote in the middle of the night until the words themselves helped me pinpoint what made me feel so compelled to start it.

I realized, however, that these entries may be good practice for improving the quality of my writing, but I was neglecting the book. The material is good for me, personally, because much of it is me having stern talks with myself or reminding me of my worth and purpose. The words are bringing all my neurotic, jumbled thoughts to life and I'm starting to know who I am for the first time. But it doesn't fit with the theme of the book so I have nowhere to blend it in. How can I fill the book with content if I'm stuck on a side track?

The idea began a couple of nights ago. Andrew was on call and I got to ride along with him and took my notebooks with me to work on Regret. I blurted out a sudden thought about making a series of partner pieces like i did with the journal entry/ poem duo about the balance of a mushroom and why that feels like a reflection of us. I was throwing the idea together in that moment so details were far from being worked out. It sounded like a mess of an idea to me, but he thought it was great. Partly because he was just glad to see me smile and get excited about something considering how I've been feeling lately. Plus, he's biased. But he always means the words he chooses when letting me know that he's proud of what I do and how determined I am to see it through to the final pages. I struggle so much with how creativity crushing it can be when not taken seriously. He never dismisses my ideas or tells me what he thinks I want to hear just to appease me. Validation from someone who was simply saying how they felt and didn't even realize they were giving it can be highly motivating. Not being patronized like I'm a four-year-old presenting a picture she colored without going outside the lines is so empowering.

So, as I was working on what must have been the 5th rewrite of Regret today, I thought of a way to give these pairings their own place. Lyrics, Limericks, Lillianisms, and So-called Poetry will now include pieces I write to reflect on or represent the lessons I learn through a self rediscovery at least 15 years in the making and finally taking shape in a way that allows me to be proud of myself.

As for the other reference used for the new name; The symbolism of a lantern and the metaphor comparing it to the light a person offers in our darkest moments always defined our connection so well that I started collecting various lanterns to decorate our wedding and, eventually, our home. From early on he would say that I was a light guiding him out of the dark. And he most certainly returns that sentiment when I struggle with the pits I fall in.

The theme of some of the pieces I'm adding prompting the name change will be lessons I learned from influences that, upon reflection, I realize were also sources of light when my outlook was dark or my knowledge was lacking.

I'm hoping for many, if not all of these entries to be paired with corresponding poetry, lyrics, limericks, or haikus. Lessons and Lanterns will blend just right, not only staying on theme, but also flowing nicely with the rest of the book's current title.

I scribbled several options for the new name, changing the order and trying to convince myself that the length wasn't absurd. And unless I cave under the pressure of the my usual fickle, indecisive impulse to change my mind when noticing a different perspective, I believe my favorite has been chosen.

"Lyrics, Limericks, Lillianisms, and Poetic Lessons from the Lanterns of Life."

I think I love it. My content options have expanded, the book will have a new and enhanced purpose, and if this pattern continues, I'll be brought to life along with it.

I hope you'll keep watch because I'm finally starting to conjure up motivation and make progress. Regret is so close to complete and From Numb To New is in need of a lyrical partner. I even have a short list of entries waiting in line to be written. Some are just quickly jotted prompt ideas but a few are far enough in that they hold their own purpose already.

I know this was lengthy so I appreciate that you took the time to notice.

Have an excellent day and be good to yourself.

[vanelyreborn]

I FINALLY FINISHED REGRET!!!

[vanelyreborn]

~☆♡!Name Change!♡☆~

I'm changing the name of the book, doing new things with the theme, and working my hardest yet to make this a reality. Let me explain...

I wrote the mushroom pairing, linking together the poem and its source which was initially meant to be a private journal entry. I loved it, but I knew that it would be the only one of its kind if I tried to fit it in the book. Once I was finished with it, I felt lost without a pen in hand. Like the bummed out feeling of November 1st letting you know Halloween is over. On a much smaller scale, of course. But I had put so much of my focus on Mushroom and, as satisfied as I was to read and share it completed, I was in a funk that it was over and I needed another prompt to pour myself into.

I remembered something I started at least a month or two back about regret and read it over to see if I could build on it. It was really just scribble about a moment of affirmation and only felt profound until I got lost for the words needed to finish it. So far, thankfully, I have been right in assuming that a rewrite of Regret would be worth a shot. I'm having a difficult time with a conclusion that stays on point without rambling too much but I've always had that issue. Good thing about that is that I have a lot of material for content in unfinished pieces. I've gotten a so enamoured with the process of writing these pieces over and over again. Each time, I make improvements until I'm satisfied. From Numb to New was merely a frustrated rant I wrote in the middle of the night until the words themselves helped me pinpoint what made me feel so compelled to start it.

I began realizing, however, that the entries may be good practice for improving the quality of my writing, but I was neglecting the book. The material is good for me, personally, because much of it is me having stern talks with myself or reminding me of my worth and purpose. The words are bringing all my neurotic, jumbled thoughts to life and I'm starting to know who I am for the first time. But it doesn't fit with the theme of the book so I have nowhere to blend it in. How can I fill the book with content if I'm stuck on a side track?

It hit me when Andrew was on call a couple of nights ago. I got to ride along with him and took my notebooks with me to work on Regret. I had the idea to make a series of partner pieces like I did with Mushroom. I was throwing the idea together in that moment so details were far from being worked out. It sounded like a mess of an idea to me, but he thought it was great. Probably because he was just glad to see me smile and get excited about something considering how I've been feeling lately. Plus, he's biased. But he always means the words he chooses when letting me know that he's proud of what I do and of my determination to see it through to the final pages. He never dismisses me or takes the easy way out by appeasing me with what he thinks I want him to say. Unprompted validation from someone who was just saying how they felt and didn't even realize they were giving it can be highly motivating.

So, as I was doing what must have been the 5th or 6th rewrite of Regret today, I thought of a way to give the journal entries their own place.

Lyrics, Limerick, Lillianisms, and So-called Poetry will now include pieces I write to reflect on or represent the lessons I've learned through a self rediscovery at least 15 years into the making and finally taking shape in a way that allows me to be proud of myself.

As for the other reference used for the new name; The symbolism of a lantern and the metaphor comparing it to the light a person offers in our darkest moments was something Andrew made me aware of by saying, since our beginning, that I was his light guiding him out of the dark. And he most certainly returns that sentiment when I struggle with the pits I fall in. This defined our connection so well that I started collecting lanterns to decorate our wedding and, eventually, our home. I think I have more than 20 by now.

The theme of some of the pieces I'm adding prompting the name change will include lessons I learned from influences that, upon reflection, I realize were also sources of light when my outlook was dark or when my knowledge was lacking. I'm hoping for many, if not all of these entries to be paired with corresponding poetry. I got excited when I had the moment of clarity showing me that lanterns and lessons blended perfectly. Not only staying on theme, but also flowing nicely with the rest of the book's current title. I wrote down several options for the new name, changing the order and trying to convince myself that the length wasn't as absurd as my paranoia told me. And unless I cave under the pressure of the my usual fickle, indecisive impulse to change my mind when seeing a different perspective, I believe my favorite has been chosen.

Lyrics, Limericks, Lillianisms, and Poetic Lessons from the Lanterns of Life.

I think I love it. My content options have expanded, the book will have a new and enhanced purpose, and if this pattern continues, I'll be brought to life along with it.

I hope you'll keep watch because I'm finally starting to conjure up motivation and make progress. Regret is so close to complete and from Numb To New could use a rhyme filled partner. I even have a short list of entries waiting in line to be written. Some are just quickly jotted prompt ideas but others are far enough in that they hold their own purpose already.

I know this was lengthy so I appreciate that you took the time to notice.

Have an excellent day and be good to yourself.

~☆ Lillian ☆~

[vanelyreborn]

(written Sunday, June 7)

What does a writer write when there is such conflict between the seemingly dire need to create and the utter lack of any solid prompt? There is no clarity my mood. I have been in such a hollow, sunken place in my head lately. Especially today. Awkwardly burdened by unpredictable, involuntary spells of dread-like negative emotion. Crying in view of anyone is so humiliating. I have no interest in or patience for the shame of self-pity or the condescending attention associated with pity from others. The whole world is in a state of chaos right now and no one wants to be bothered with a cashier who's drama followed her to work like a parasite and has her fake smiling through salt water filled eyes. And I have zero clarity when trying to define a rational cause for my ridiculous gloom. There's something wrong with me besides the obvious. There's a lengthy archive of valid reasons that I might feel broken or drained of the motivation to keep fighting present in my life right now. But I have, not only an awareness that bigger things have tried to shatter me and failed, but also a strength to stifle the impulse to let adversity pollute my conviction. Beyond that, I have Andrew fiercely encouraging me to resist the temptation to give up.

Whatever this is seems so much heavier. I feel consumed by this. And the confusion over the source is just feeding my fear of it. I'm back in that dark place again. I'm not delusional enough to deny the venom within that darkness. But in the past, it has always held me close and given me consent to collapse and wallow in a lack of regard. It presents itself as charming and makes forsaking my survival instincts look like a comforting embrace. It beckons me when I'm weak like this. It mimics the night that I adore so much and seems so genuine in it's attempt to convince me that what weighs me down is not the curse that plagues me, but the energy I spend on optimism, the effort I make to ignore the curse, and my naive confidence that tenacity's reward is certain.

In the dark I feel enabled to yield to a theory claiming that my prize will be attainable if I simply let go of my supposedly misguided will to fight for it and allow everything to crumble so that I may rebuild from the debris. Conditioning tells me that I should be offended by this romanticized fantasy of a Phoenix allowing itself to burn for the sake of an awakening or renewal because it's such an unrealistic, easy way out disguised as a solution. I'm blindly accustomed to resisting such inflated promises and I didn't come this far to only go this far. What if every ounce of courage that I've been able to conjure is wasted on my fire? Will I simply burn and lose everything?

But what if my perspective is blinding me? What if the darkness is not dark at all and my light is waiting on the other side of the flame?

I'm already aware that I've been trudging through another majick mirror passage in which my main goal is to self clarify what has always defined and shaped the true me and sever my attachment to things I clung to based on opinions or identities of others. How can I know that my eager attempt to take a structured, disciplined route is not based on someone else's ideal path? How do I know that my goal of avoiding a stubborn approach wasn't what was deceiving me, leaving me trapped in the ironic epitome of that stubbornness? If the darkness was the scapegoat then I have been shunning my own redemption. It's highly likely that the so-called venom within the shadows is there by my doing. I may just need to take responsibility for my foolish stockholm-like dependence on the roller coaster of theatrics parading as evolution fuel.

But how do I now sieze this faint but highly valued gift of clairity? To deliberately self-destruct would crush and insult all collective effort made. Focus must be on the renewal not on the fire that made way for it. To forget that will mean all was done in vain and I'd rather let the flames reduce me to hot cinders permanently than take the toxicity of fraud into my life's next level. How do I surrender obediently to a blaze I had convinced myself to avoid for fear of my own demise? How can I erase the belief that being consumed will be my end and replace it with faith that I will instead be cleansed? How can I idle calmly on the balance between letting go and trusting that there will be a solid place to stand when the fire has subsided? How can I know that the cinders won't betray me and leave me in the dark?

I won't have these answers until I decide which theory to trust and leap for the one I choose. But I do have complete confidence in the mirror gate process. Having to face the worst, most toxic parts of who I am to my core and holding myself accountable has always been a kind of cleansing ritual that, incidentally emulates that of a Phoenix fire. I'll simply have to let myself be guided by the comfort of familiarity in that.

From numb to new? .... I'll take it.

[vanelyreborn]

~Mushroom~

Shelter of clout above me, I'll be the stem that upholds

You ground me so firm that I'm steady. But never to crush or be cold.

You harbor from every direction against any ill willed intent.

And shade out the threat of exposure, capped over frailty so dense.

To see nothing less than a treasure in your courage through threat of ruin

Is a bias I'll not contradict. For you'll always live up to the plume.

But strength does not remedy weariness. Some days the crown needs repose.

A peace from a docile, serene place of rest as tenacious as a nourished root growth.

Your stem has a creedence of vigor. Grateful to tend to her task.

Assured by your piety, andor, and grit. Such fealty is rarely so vast.

Like that of a mushroom filtering out the toxins that ravage the soil.

Our fortitude drives out the scourge of mishaps and the leech of our hardship recoils.

Your hand cupped over mine as I'm at your back shows the balance of mutual rule.

The weight of your reign is compliant to yield should you need time for strength to be pooled.

You allow me a limit to how broad I must be to shoulder you when you are spent.

All the while making clear to diminish my worth or belittle is not your intent.

A mushroom is majick. A portal's aide. And a balance of reverence and pride.

You shelter, I stand. Or if need be, we break. And emerge from the fall side by side.

[vanelyreborn]

Why We're Like a Mushroom

A journal entry that inspired a poem.

I was never a big fan of spooning. In the past, I always felt like I was better off sleeping alone because I couldn't sleep if I felt cramped or pinned down. I wanted to be selfish with the bed. To stretch out corner to corner.

I refuse to directly compare you to anyone in my past. There is no comparison between you and the obstacles I wasted time on. But with them, I felt like I was obligated to "be big". One of the most refreshing things about you is that you are pretty much the opposite of what I had been accustomed to. With you, I get to want what I want to want as opposed to what my life's timeline and conditioning told me to want. One of the many ways I know that you're better is that you never were and never will be the underdog that I was self-trained to have a soft spot for. I developed a toxic pattern of choosing soft, damaged partners to make myself feel stronger and avoid admitting how weak I really felt. But it always backfired on me because my hang up with needing to be needed made me a pushover. And again, it was never what I wanted. It was something I felt obligated to choose in order to maintain this fake version of myself. And it made me feel so big every time. Not fat. It wasn't a shallow feeling. It wasn't about attractiveness. But the built-in obligation to be the emotional support for weak, baby men disguised as tough guys made me feel too large. Not manly, but sort of "butch". I never felt allowed to see how small I really am until you. I hated feeling like the big spoon. I wanted someone stronger who would allow me to be more fragile and delicate without making me feel weak. Someone who would appreciate my support and shelter it as if it was precious and necessary for his own survival. But not to the point that he couldn't maintain his own dominance. I don't want to be in control I just don't want to be belittled and oppressed.

I thought of all this the other night when you did that thing I love so much of reaching around behind you and looking for my hand so I'll wrap my arm around you. You cupped your whole hand around mine. I was the big spoon but only because I was at your back. I still felt small and sheltered. Your hand around mine proved, not only that security, but your need for me as well.

And in my head, in that moment, I saw a red topped mushroom with white spots. The stem crucial for supporting the cap. The cap, like a canopy, sheltering the stem. Never weighing it down or crushing it. Simply nurturing it and leaning on the support.

So yeah~ now we have to have a mushroom garden to go with our lantern collection.

We'll be a really well lit fungus. 😄

[vanelyreborn]

Just finished a poem based on a journal entry about why Andrew and I are like a mushroom. It started out as something comical but now I've devoted so much to it and like it so much that the poem and the entry are officially being added to the book.

I'll try to post both by tomorrow. I only have mobile and I've minimal patience with this tiny keyboard so it depends on how soon I can get enough privacy to use voice text.

[vanelyreborn]

~ Lillianism #5 ~

~ Of learning to appreciate one's employment regardless of the challenges...

" The worst day here is still better than the best day unemployed. "

[vanelyreborn]

I swear I'm still writing. I just keep getting started on new thoughts before finishing the previous ones so now I have several unfinished things. But they're in the works & headed this way soon.

[vanelyreborn]

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The light after a storm

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