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AxeMan was born in the interim between Hitler storming the Sudetetland and the bombing of Pearl Harbor. In 1948, when AxeMan was 8, he and his pals learned how to figure out batting averages. You get up 10 times and you get 3 hits. So you divide 3 by 10 -- voila! .300. Joe DiMaggio, Jackie Robinson, so on and so forth. It also helped him understand why his pops never got drafted to go to Korea (1950-1953). If his old man was born in 1907, he was 43 when the 'police action' started. So pops was no coward, as Axeman had feared, although he did have questions about WWII since his father was 33 when the war started, and coincidently when AxeMan was born.

She never understood me when I picked up the knife thinking I wanted to kill myself never realizing she was my target. Frantically she pleaded with me to unlock the bathroom door my prison protecting me from an act of matricide. Or maybe she did know and in her crazed notion of motherhood was saying yes yes kill me that's how much I love you.

I couldn't do this while he was alive let him know how much I hated him thinking he might know because he hated everyone and might know the look of it. He thought he loved me and he did as long as I towed the line but if I crossed him that was it forever for he had no …

When i saw younger i got in trouble for thinking i knew everything.
since im older, i now get in trouble for not knowing enough.

when i was younger, i thought the only way to learn was through school.
since im older, i now know that school teaches you nothing compared to the lectures of life.

when i was younger, i thought i was going to marry my next door neighbor.
we would play together, run around together, share secrets, ride the bus, go to eachothers birthday parties, he was the ultimate playmate.
since im older, i've realized there are plenty of boys who will participate in those activities...for a price of something your not willing to give up.
and since im older, …

I'm about to start my third year as a high school math teacher. Having a salary rocks. Looking back at my years in college I never felt like I had money. There was that semester where I developed anorexia because I thought it would be cheaper to survive on twizzlers and bagels. There is the trick of constantly ordering water to drink with dinner because it's free. Budget theaters and libraries were key for entertainment.

Having a reliable paycheck, not to mention health insurance, was an amazing change. I continued to live like a college student for the most part except I started ordering something with flavor to drink. The summer after my second year of teaching was fantastic. I chose my sanity …

I was fast approaching the crossroads of life and had come no further at the age of thirty-five than I had at twenty-eight. Well, except that I had, through the school of experience, a little more knowledge concerning life. Starting over at thirty-five, with very little faith to boot, I wondered if I would ever realize my potential and move beyond the pitiful state I was in. Circumstances of the disastrous sort had brought me to my knees and forced me to crawl back to the city of my birth--the place I believed the end of me resided just around the corner.

Of course I'm a writer and an editor. It's inevitable; words are in my DNA! When I was a little girl in New York City in the 1940s, my parents (Verne and Helen Jay) were professional freelance scriptwriters for murder mysteries like "The Shadow," "Mr. and Mrs. North," and "Famous Jury Trials." They often rehearsed dialogue for the scary scripts at our kitchen table -- this was a normal event for me. In fact, I thought everyone's parents rehearsed murder mystery dialogue at the kitchen table...

My Dad started his career in the 1920s and 1930s as a dramatic playwright. Many of his plays, written about strange and fascinating topics, were produced in theaters up and down the East …

It was exactly one month to the day before my forty-second birthday when I received the news. I was sitting on the exam table of my doctor’s office, naked from the waist down except for a giant paper lap napkin and my socks. Dr. S. turned from his monitor to say, “My assessment, C.T., is that you are experiencing menopause.”

How romantic. Could I have been given my diagnosis in any less dignified fashion?

No, apparently not. I mean really, what did I expect? It wasn’t a terminal disease – hell, it wasn’t even contagious. It was simply menopause. I didn't need to bring a family member with me for the devastating news. I just needed to take my pants …

He sat and watched them walking by like a parade, carrying little plastic coolers, pushing baby carriages, a collapsible chair over one shoulder. Echoing through the alley and over little brick houses, music emanated, muffled but audible. He still couldn’t believe this was his neighborhood—these were his neighbors, now.

All over the city sat invitations to various parties and B-B-Q’s. He was ignoring them, not because he didn’t want to see his friends, but because he simply didn’t feel like leaving.

Sometimes being alone meant being lonely, even if it was his own doing.

The sun began its descent, softening the day into evening, as the cicadas began humming along to the distant music. The parade continued, as families rolled by, children …

He sat quietly in darkened room, watching the occasional headlights cut through the blinds, racing across the wall. Beneath the crack of the door, he saw the lights go out, one at a time, his heart sinking with each new patch of infringing darkness. He would soon be the only one left—no one to watch over him. As the last shard of light extinguished and the paternal thud and click of a door closed tight, he began to cry.

He was alone; no one to hold him, no one to protect him from the shadows.

Someday he’d crave this feeling, but for now, he simply cried.

Small, aimless circles.

The floorboard creaked with every anguished step as he paced about his sparse little bungalow. Smoke hung in every room; every corner, nook and cranny. These small, aimless circles always lead him to the same spot, staring at his computer screen, as blank as his gaze. He took (another) drink, and paced about some more, searching his mind for something—anything.

Distractions didn’t work. He thought that maybe if he scrubbed his toilet with all the fervor of an obsessive compulsive germaphobe, grand inspiration might be conjured by the alluring combination of cleaning products.

No dice.

He sighed heavily, and went to the kitchen to fix (another) drink. His brain was quickly becoming a very random modern jazz solo …

I was 16 when the writing bug bit me hard. Getting my poems and reflective essays published in local magazines was encouraging. But as much as I found myself attracted to the idea of making this form of self-expression a full-time endeavor, the thought of letting down my parents held me back.

I halfheartedly prepared for management courses, studied computer networking for a year, and even tried my hand at teaching. Anything but writing.

Ok. Time to ‘fess up. I was still writing on the side. Small freelance op-eds for the local daily; a couple of reports for another national magazine; my journal. Just pursuing my “hobby” as I’d tell mom.

Sneakily, I had applied for a writing position with a publishing …

I grew up in a loving Christian home, things were fine. I was in public school until middle school when we switched to a Christian school. Ironically, this is when things went downhill. I gained friends once i was is seventh grade; it took a year. I started acting out in eighth grade. That year was absolute hell. I was depressed, so I did what my best friend did- I cut. From then on, if I managed to go one day without five more scars added to my arms, it was a complete miracle. No one knew. I swore ever few words, I drank, I looked to guys for comfort in the wrong ways & ended up with broken heart after broken heart. My parents …

As we're all aware of, there are actually emotional effects on account of acne. On top of those noticeable red bumps on your face, there are effects of acne that may not simply be healed by any product or acne remedy and that's the emotional scars left by acne. Well, no medical doctor or any specialist skin doctor could offer you the top advice to this problem on acne.

According to scientific studies, acne is very common when one is on his teenage years. For teenagers experiencing the pains of acne, it is most difficult to confront the social impacts of acne. There are actually these marks of humiliation, hopelessness as well as self-pity. It ought to come as no shocker that the best …

I had become a fan of To Write Love on Her Arms on facebook and they sent out a call for six words to describe hope and pain, two emotions I'm very familiar with. A little over 2 years ago I tried to take my own life. During the time since my "incident" (as some family members call it) I have tried not to think about it. If I share my experience with anyone else, it would feel to me as if I was just retelling someone else's story. I felt like a had to distance myself from the whole thing. I wouldn't allow myself to get close to what I felt that fateful night, or the darkness that clouded my mind …

Ever get the feeling that you are just going to be lonely till you find that right person? That just having the most amazing friends and family just isn't enough sometimes. That you feel lonely even though there are so many people in your life that love you no matter what happens to you in life. I wonder, does that feeling ever go away? Do those feelings make you hold onto people that came and went? Does the feeling of loneliness make you pick the guy or girl that just happens to be around rather than wait till the right person picks you up?

We shouldn't have to wait around for love to pick us up off the ground. We should be strong …

I'm attempting to find if this is working or not. I've registered and confirmed by registration by clicking on the confirmation e-mail welcoming me to the site etc...but whenever I try writing something I'm being told I'm not logged in! So I decided to use this as my story and see what happens when I try sending it. If you do receive it on your end and you don't mind too much, could you just reply with 3 words.."we got it"...that way I'll know just to ignore the "your not logged in" funky funk!

It was gray out. The sky was darkening all around as we drove through a wasteland of urban sprawl shopping malls just outside of San Antonio. We were heading back home to Austin after another event – setting up lights for a young New York couple’s million dollar wedding reception at a Spanish mission in the Hill Country. Seven straight days of work in the grueling heat. My body and head were heavy with fatigue. Storm clouds threatened on the horizon as Jimmy drove the white sedan, pushing the pedal and breaking the tired silence between us, “You ever heard of ayahuasca?”
“No. Why? What is it?” I said, staring blankly into the distance.
Somber looking cars passed by in the opposite direction in a …

Baby's been here for what? 4 months or so? And poo if I don't still feel horrible! I love that little rolly polly, but I am so down right now. I mean I talked about it to my Dr. and since I'm breastfeeding I'm afraid to take meds. I swear I'm getting sad for no reason at all! And wanting to rip my husbands head off for no reason makes me feel even worse. Poo and Depression!

When you’re a child, you dream of the many things you wish to become as an adult. A dancer, a chef, an astronaut, a nurse… I wanted to be a librarian, among other things.

I remember getting so excited about buying my next scholastic book and rushing home, just so I could line them up on my bed and create my very own library/book fair. I would put on my dad’s reading glasses and throw on his blazer and clip my hair up, opening the doors to my very own customers, who happened to be my family. With monopoly cash in hand, they would all step inside and look through my selections, which were categorized by genre. At first, I didn’t know what that …

What do you call the people that you see everyday or people that you talk to everyday? Is there a difference between the people that you will constantly talk to and the ones that you just say hi to walking down the hallway? Do you label them friends or just people that you happen to go to the same school with, like acquaintances?

When I think back to my earlier years, one of the first memories that come to mind is the moment I made my first batch of friends. Now, I don’t exactly remember the how or the why for that matter but I definitely do know I was in kindergarten. Kind of cliché, I know, but isn’t that where most long and …
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