WRITTEN SEPTEMBER 2010

The Perfect Shot
Shaking knees, sweaty palms, back stiff from sitting perfectly still. I feel none of this. Somewhere, deep in my subconscious mind, these sensations register, but all I can focus on is the target. I raise my 300 Winchester Short Magnum rifle up to shoot, the weight of it familiar in my experienced hands. Broadside, staring me dead in the eye, stands the biggest deer I have ever taken aim at. Everything comes down to this one moment, the chance to prove myself. And I am terrified.
My Dad and I have been frozen in the hunting stand all afternoon, watching for any sign of decent game. Our morale seems inversely related to the clock as minutes trickle by. I had hoped that today would be the day that I have been practicing so hard for, the day that I would finally get to kill my first buck, putting my name on the chart with the real hunters. I glare at the peeling, green paint on the walls, tugging on the ear flaps of my annoyingly itchy camouflage hat as I marinate in disappointment. All of a sudden, a large, brown-gloved hand grasps my elbow and begins making sharp, enthusiastic gestures towards the window behind me. My Dad, using our special father-daughter sign language, signals for me to turn around slowly so as not to awaken the rickety old stool I am perched on. Excitement floods my veins on taking in the sight beyond the small window. My chance has arrived! Standing next to a patch of prickly pear cacti off to the side of the dirt road, grazing on dead grass, is the most tremendous buck I have ever seen in person. Defying gravitational laws, he raises his gargantuan brown head from the ground to reveal antlers of thickest bone, spread out wide like a pair of arms beckoning me in. Fourteen spikes of pure glory, pointing up to the heavens. As we watch him eat, he makes a teasing pattern through the weeds. Closer, farther, a bit closer, a bit farther; he taunts me.
The sky turns orange while my nerves begin to set with the sun. Finger poised on the trigger, I await the perfect, opportune moment to squeeze. My hands grow numb in the icy air and my left foot sleeps, encased in its knee-high rubber boot. My bodacious new best friend stands picking at his corn, and taking his sweet time about it, still over two hundred yards away. All visibility in the ever-purpling night sky will soon be lost, taking this wondrous opportunity along with it. It’s now or never. I pull hearing protection muffs down over the ear-flaps of my hat and secure the butt of the rifle against my right shoulder, the barrel protruding out of the pane-less window. I spy my quarry through the black spotting scope mounted atop the gun. Oh, he knows what a prize he is. My Dad crouches over and whispers, “D’you think ya could make that shot?”
BAM!
To this day, I still swear that I heard him say, “You better make that shot.” Regardless of whether it was the stifling power of the earmuffs combined with the flaps of my wonderful hat, or simply my selectively permeable ears, I am glad that I misunderstood him. Twelve years old, shooting from two hundred and thirty yards away, at dusk, straight through the heart, I finally made my perfect shot.

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Witnessing Feline Depression

Today, I went to Pet's Mart, or Pet Smart if you wish. I was originally there to observe turtles, but of course the adoption cats caught my eye. Oh, the sympathy for mammals runs strong in this one! I am a dog person through and through, but my heart absolutely broke for Punkin, Liam, and Leah. Darn my family and their sensitive allergies! That will be me one day, sigh, so much to look forward to. I can't wait to be out on my own. But it will be a long time until that day shows its face. When it does happen, I WILL ADOPT EVERY ANIMAL IN THE SHELTER.

HEY

It's my birthday.

and

i

am

so

happy

!

I Found This Today; it's over two years old

ginger ail and ailing bodies

Current mood:apathetic

its the warm gun he's been clutching for hours, thinking, always thinking.
sweat on his brow, the bullets are loaded. cold feet when it's ninety degrees?
no, fingers itching to pull the trigger, yearning to free his troubled soul. the clock is a bomb ticking until the final explosion.
a moment of certainty, a minute of doubt.

another failure.






yeah this was dated march18 2009
go young me

these all make sense to me....except 35

1. A Congregation of Alligators

2. A Cauldron of Bats

3. A Sleuth of Bears

4. A Flutter of Butterflies

5. A Clowder of Cats

6. A Coalition of Cheetahs

7. A Harem of Chimpanzees

8. A Quiver of Cobras

9. An Intrusion of Cockroaches

10. A Consortium of Crabs

11. A Murder of Crows

12. A Convocation of Eagles

13. A Battalion of Falcons

14. A Business of Ferrets

15. A Skulk of Foxes

16. A Tower of Giraffes

17. A Horde of Hamsters

18. A Thunder of Hippos

19. A Cackle of Hyenas

20. A Shadow of Jaguars

21. A Bloom of Jellyfish

22. A Court of Kangaroos

23. A Conspiracy of Lemurs

24. A Risk of Lobsters

25. A Scourge of Mosquitoes

26. A Wisdom of Owls

27. A Prickle of Porcupines

28. A Nursery of Raccoons

29. A Maelstrom of Salamanders

30. A Shoal of Seahorses

31. A Shiver of Sharks

32. A Hood of Snails

33. An Audience of Squid

34. A Cream of Turkeys

35. A Pot of Water Buffalo

What are people? congregation? crowd? wal mart?

Work of This Morning

A Tale of Disappointment: varied quotes that have stood out to me

Once upon a time
Fore score and seven years ago
On a midnight summer’s eve
Wherefore art thou, Romeo
Love’s true kiss
Heads Carolina, tales California
Keep your lamp trimmed and burning
Eyes are windows to the soul
To be, or not to be
Peculiar, how very peculiar
What we have here, is a communication problem
No second line
I’m incredibly hypocritical
If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all
Water; water everywhere, but not a drop to drink
Come down, dip your thumb in water and place it upon my tongue
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure
I think in riddles, speak in prose, write in poems, and love in color