Posts tagged frustration

Dinner’s Ready!

 

Frustrated at not being able to get into the chipmunk’s hole, the bobcat sniffed around founding a “secret” entrance underneath a log. She could worm her way into the chipmunk’s den. Dinner’s ready!

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Overcoming Frustration

Frustrated that the prompt word didn’t inspire her, Alice erased her Trifecta entry once again. The funk had now set in. As she gave up, the suddenly realized that she has achieved her goal.

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If You Can’t Say Anything nice…

Grandma looked at me sternly, as I stomped into her kitchen, mumbling in a voice I did not think she could 78260103hear. “That stupid Melonie!” I muttered. “She thinks she is so perfect, queen of the world!”

I grabbed a cold Coke from her refrigerator. Its pale green bottle made my mouth water after a tiring day at the high school.

Grandma stood up and walked over to me. “What is the matter with you, young lady? You know what I have always told you. ‘If you can’t say anything nice about someone, don’t say anything at all.”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t think of anything nice to say about Melodie!” I exclaimed. She is a bully, she teases kids that don’t have as nice of clothes as she does, or aren’t as pretty, or popular. I hate her!”

Grandma pulled up a chair beside me and sat down as I picked up my drink. The checkered tablecloth held a wet spot where the drink had moisture running down its side. I found myself using my index finger to trace the circle, over and over. I knew Grandma was right and she had told me, over and over not to speak badly of anyone since I was a little child. I as ashamed.

Who was this Melodie treating like that? Grandma said to me, her hand on my shoulder.

Everone.” I said with a hiss in my voice. “It especially bothers me when she picks on kids who already have low self-esteem or can’t buy nice clothes. I wish she could spend just one day not being ‘Miss Rich and Beautiful’ and learn what it feels like.

I though of Grandma’s quote about not saying anything at all if you can’t say something nice. I couldn’t imagine myself going up to Melodie and saying what Grandma suggested. It just didn’t seems strong enough somehow.

Then I remembered a quote I had read in literature class, just that day. I recalled days of sitting in the warm breeze on the beach and writing things in the sand that were bothering me, and watching the waves crash in and take them away. I decided to do something a little bit more my style. I Tomorrow, I would write a note, fold it, and put it on her desk before she came in. It would say something about her attitude and she would not know who had said it. It had come from our literature book, just a few days ago. I liked it, I had made a point to remember it because it reminded me of Grandma’s saying. It said, simply,

If you must speak ill of another, do not speak it, write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”
by Napolean Hill

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An Evening at the Theater

She pranced across the stage in her delicate blue taffeta dress. “So arrogant,” he thought. Her dance went on and on it seemed. Then with a twirl, she began to call out in song, as if she was some sort of sparrow. He shook his head in disgust, thinking of the way she had treated him at the party the night before, how she had turned on her stilettos, her diamond necklace swinging around with her. He had waned to grab it and choke her after the loud comment she had made about his brother.

So what if she didn’t know Richardo was his brother. He hated her FOR him. Her arrogance wasn’t just a part in the play, it was real. It was HER.

“BOO.” he shouted, as the audience turned to stare at him. “BOO!” he laughed this time. You are such a fake, a liar. How can you project yourself with such beauty, when you are so ugly inside!”

He got out of his seat, scooting down the row and stomped out of the theater. It as quiet as he walked out into the lobby. The he heard it-tears. He peeked back through the door and saw her collapsed on the stage crying.

The audience was peering around, wondering if this was somehow a part of the play.

He laughed and walked out the door. “Let her figure out how to handle it,” he sneered and hopped on the next train back to the village

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Haunting by the Rain Gods

On the 3rd of July, somebody prayed for rain. As usual, it didn’t quite work out like they hoped. On the 4th of July it rained 10 inches, rivers flooded, land was washed away, band new flooring ruined, shrubs, bushes, trash stopped up gutters. The next day, it rained, and the next and the next-maybe a while the sun would come out, people would start to clean, but then it would rain. Insurance companies are elated-this is the mountains-no one has flood insurance!

A week later-its raining buckets, bridges washing out again, yards and golf courses are lakes, banks caving off again. I’m quite sure the rain gods are haunting us! Could someone put up a stop sign, or build an arc?

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Beebeesworld-such as it is.

Has the sun risen, once more amidst the constant storms, clouds, ominous warnings that life will not be easy or fair? Or is this moment just another tiny window, opened only for a microsecond to make me think that for even a moment my life will be like other people’s seem to be-like life should be? I believed-was taught to believe. Afraid not to believe that hard work brings about success more often than failure. Earnest prayers prayed for years and promises I have kept for years are not trashed along with my life and so much of what I have worked for.  For once, have I done something small that will not crash and burn before it even gets off the ground?  Only time will ‘. and I am deeply afraid of the answer, considering the way I have been treated in the past.

Nothing can fix the wrongs I have endure, the losses I have suffered, the pain that is my life, yet, still, I cling to the imagination that somehow, things will at least work better from now on.  That at least my efforts will be acknowledged.  That simply waking up will bring another crisis or closing my eyes in hope of sleep will not bring another nightmare, leaving me waiting for its interpretation and ultimate reality?

I wait, anxiously, fearfully to see, knowing that the scars will still be there, the pain simply part o who I am and must always e. I envy those whose trivial complaints ruin their lives, yet pity them for their ignorance of what life could be.  Beebeesworld, such as it is, continues for now, like a child, still hoping for fairness, honestly a damn break. To be continued-I hope.

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My Resolution

“So,” Mr.  Shelburn smirked, as he swayed by my desk, already overloaded with work that accumulated during the holiday. “What is your New Years Resolution?”

I forced myself to breathe in-slowly. I was seething inside.

“Sure,” he laughed, glancing down at the mass of papers that seemed to clutter my desk already.

“Hmm,” I sighed, looking up at his arrogant grin. “You want a resolution? “ I stacked the pile of papers, crumpled them into a  wad, then merrily tossed them into the trash can.

“My promise is to realize what is REALLY important in life, and do away with the rest.”

Suddenly, everyone smiled.

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