He gave me a side glance, a quick evaluation to see how I was going to handle it. And when I was just fine, I saw his eyes widen only the slightest increment and a tiny smirk mar his lips. He was trying to hide the fact that I had surprised him. He didn’t expect me to come out on the other side without some embarrassing display or reaction; instead, I came out looking like a pro- calm and steady. Bring it, little boy. I got...Read More
Author: Jen Busfield
Sometimes you just need to sit there and let the wave pass. If they ask you how you’re doing- lie. Say, “just chillin;” and they’ll let it go. Don’t mention the heat, the roaring flame; the desire of evil doings- the absolute lust of mischievous actions, the thoughts acting like life-oxygen and making you crazy. A blase, “Nope. I’m good,” will suffice every...Read More
Last night, I had a little much. Is there such a thing as a “little” much- maybe, I should just be honest, it was much. And it was good. So, last night, I had much good. And somehow, I kept it mostly together. It was definitely not all together- but mostly. No one turned me in, so I figure that means it was a successful night. I was the last abed. Everyone else turned in- and me? I was nervous that my legs wouldn’t carry me towards the tent; in fact, I was worried that they would never really work again. I figured that I was enjoying a successful run of sitting in my borrowed lawn chair and watching the fire turn to embers- why try something new? And so, I sat; and watched the world around me turn monochromatic (except for the red embers). There were all sorts of shades of gray- and I thought, “isn’t that so much like life?” I sat and listed to the wind pick up and shake the tree limbs and rustle the leaves; and I thought: “This is truly the most amazing melody I’ve heard in quite sometime.” And then it happened- I knew that my legs were going to be just fine. I just needed to prod myself from the chair to the tent. But I stayed a little longer, and...Read More
I think to warn them: to print a custom t-shirt or get a tattoo on my forehead. They should know what they are getting into when they desire me, to befriend me, to seduce me. But then, if they think they’re smart enough to out-wit me, to turn my head- then they should be able to read the signs. And so, my thought turns to uncompassionate vapor, and I breath in the woody, musky scent- like an incense. They should know better than to fool with a black magic woman; and if they’re fool enough to think they’ll survive unscathed, so be it. I will enjoy the...Read More
So, I’ve tried cutting my right arm off before. In fact, in the past, I’ve very decidedly made a stand- I took the knife, sliced through my skin, cut through the bone, and let my arm fall from my body to the ground. I’ve looked at it sadly as the blood oozed into a puddle around the violated area. I’ve even gotten to the place where I’ve turned by back to the forsaken arm- a symbolic act of a purpose to move away from the arm. But, I am always scared to actually leave it behind. So, I turn back to it, pick it up, dust it off, and do my darnedest to reconnect it at all costs. And that’s what I’ve been doing- But not this time. I’ve made the cut. I’ve turned away. And I am trying to take consistent steps away; trying to forget that my right arm is an invaluable...Read More
About Me: Jen Busfield
Passionate Mom (son with Autism). Author. Traveler. Blogger. Adventurer. Lover. Foodie. Geek. Picture taker. Silly dancer. Music lover. Latina.