An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Do imaginary friends count? Those voices you hear in your head. The characters you see only in your mind and when you try to put them down on paper they become recalcitrant They have their own thoughts personalities their own quirks which you didn't assign to them. This is their story not yours not anymore. They will see it through to the bitter end through hell and high water but not according to your plan, no matter how hard you shepherd them onto the track. Are they still your friends or have they become your worst enemies?

Paint with words try to describe how I feel Not very easy to start even more difficult with a limited palette. You can do much with the basics   Color theory complementary colors to make harmony. red and yellow make orange yellow and blue make green blue and red make purple black and white make gray. I have more than I think.     But I must plan this composition the shades, the tone, the light even the subject matter to make the painting pleasing to the eye.     From the underpainting to the final draft every brushstroke is stifled: for I need to ensure your sensibilities aren't offended.

Two become One Two sides of the same coin Why do you have to choose one over the other? Why is one so much better than the other? Nothing is static nothing lasts forever What comes up must come down. What lies low rises to new heights. Either you're good or you're bad you're a hero or a villain but a villain is a hero according to their own story. Rules are too narrow definitions are too brief History is set by the victors Truth can be set by the outlaws.

Yes, you can't see me your peripheral vision Just out of your sight Unease but you can't figure out where it comes from. Rage out of nowhere harsh words, angry thoughts evaporate when you leave Oh not all the time can't be predictable, after all some days are normal Pendulum swinging from one extreme to the other stay away, stay away Call your ghost hunters call your priests and holy men I laugh as they flail. Just out of your sight and my presence will haunt you smiling until you go mad.

Tap the crystal ball predict what people would like Should I do this or that? Follow the crowd. See the numbers go up and down day by day, likes and dislikes. What will be popular with them? Will I get noticed? Those little arrows that go and down Tied to how much you like yourself. It's hard to break the chains. One eye on the others. What do they I have that I don't? Why can't I be seen? Be yourself, do what brings you joy. Easier said than done. It takes an inner strength Confidence in your words and hopes. And sometimes being at peace with yourself makes it all worth it.

Alone in the studio the paintbrush speaks the music swells the sound of the tumbler as rocks turn into jewels. The vase throws itself onto the potters' wheel the arrangement of flowers please the eye and the mind the smell of the food wafts from the kitchen and whets the appetite. Every stitch lovingly made every warp and weft in patterns. Pixels make people laugh and amaze others with their resolution. These are all reflections of the artist's mind heart and soul. Lovingly created and lovingly shared as an expression of creativity within.

Extend the olive branch Not in surrender but in peace time to rebuild time to reset together. The conflict is hard enough But what comes afterwards can be just as difficult It is naive to expect things to go back just the way they were. Life has changed it leaves an indelible mark not only on your body but on your very soul you cannot rest as easily just as you cannot trust. It will take time and effort on both sides to live in harmony years, decades perhaps centuries No quick and easy solution.

I have to believe that all of this is worth it. I have to have faith that events happen for a reason. That every decision you make splits the universe into realities. In the dimension next door I am happy content healthy. All the time that I spend improving my lot here influences whatever branches are connected there. All the trials and the heartaches the disappointments the abject sadness are stepping stones to a brighter future not just here but through the universe. The beacon brightens here and elsewhere. And when I die I see how my decisions no matter how minor affects so much unseen.

The vibrant colors of a civilization gone by hidden for centuries for thousands of years uncovered by careful hands. It reveals a way of life that was only preserved by the songs and stories from bards long ago. The images of relaxed parties peaceful home lives traders on foot the ordinary day to day not too different from the modern. All of these people lived breathed loved died and faced all sorts of challenges and triumphs like anyone else. No one can be certain what they thought or believed so why do some today hold them on a pedestal and assume their goals aligned with their own?

Object of affection or is it obsession? It's hard to tell does he really love me? Or am I just the latest one in a long line of broken troth. He promises me the world showers me with gifts. He appears at my home and woos me with sweet words. It's hard to say no when everyone insists I am so lucky. Perhaps I can salvage a sliver of hope. Perhaps I'll keep my head.

  Two strings dusty and unused for a very long time. Not a great quality they told me but it should suffice for someone who is just starting to play. What matters to me is that it is a connection to who has played before. The blood that runs in my veins the tunes that used to float through the air. It will take me years. It will take a lot of practice. "Headless chicken" screeching until I get the bowing and the fingering just right. But the joy is in the journey In the discovery and the challenge I hope my ancestors smile even if they might cringe as I take baby steps into perfection.

I stare into the Light Nothing stares back. I can't see should I have faith in what should be there even if my vision is clouded? Do I trust blindly in fate or destiny or in higher powers beyond my understanding? Or should I only depend on what I can see or hear or touch or feel or perceive and just in the tangible? I cannot see past the blinding glare therefore nothing is there? Are they mutually exclusive or can there be a compromise? Do I have the time to contemplate all of the possibilities and ramifications if one or the either or both are the truth?

I don't feel angry anymore. It's almost expected. When I need you it's only at your convenience. When I talk to you, it's just an irritation. You have your own priorities. Work, children, money, spouse in that order. I do everything that you don't want to deal with: child care, appointments, bills all the things that interfere with doing what you want. When I'm in pain I don't bother saying so because life must be without any conflict, any problems. It's something you can't control so it's something you can't handle. And you wonder why I don't smile anymore.

Name a generation where there have been happy days and tranquil nights but there have been dark shadows and horrible events that shatter the spirit and the illusion of paradise. The old tell stories the new want to make their own new ones. What wisdom do they need to go on their journeys? So then the cycle repeats and they point their fingers at each other the young don't know anything the old have nothing more to say. But both have their trials their toils, their suffering Those who come before set the path for those who come after turn after turn And it only becomes obvious in retrospect at the threshold of the gate from generation to generation.

( "Write about a woman named 'tomorrow'" prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) At the edge of reality not quite formed not quite there Tomorrow waits for her time on the stage. Yesterday has already made her curtain call and joined the ranks of those who have had their time in the sun. Today commands the stage captivates Her audience hands out favors on a whim makes her displeasure known with no rhyme or reason. Tomorrow recites Her lines in her mind. It has to be perfect. Yet her performance hinges on what Today does and on what Today leaves behind. She must improvise on the results left to Her. Some events are preordained others are left to hilarious chance. For now She watches and She anticipates Her time in the lights and She knows full well another ingenue also named Tomorrow will follow in Her footsteps.

 ( "Write the symphony of a thunderstorm" prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) The thunder sneaks up on you. At first it is a low, caressing rumble barely heard, but it sends chills down your spine. You know it's approaching but how or when is still unknown. And then it comes closer gradually louder The winds no longer silent no longer pianissimo Anticipation builds More instruments join in the fray Bass grows louder the rattle of rain the pounding of hail a steady tattoo on the tin roof above. It holds you in its thrall you can't sleep lie awake until lightning flashes thunder crashes It announces its arrival with a chaotic chorus A cacophony of sound that doesn't care for subtlety. Its climax reaches a point before it dies down races to its conclusion with softer chords as it passes on into blessed silence.

  Lawful Good: "Cool motive, still murder." Neutral Good: "It's murder, but he was a bad person." Chaotic Good: "He was a bad person, why is murder a bad thing if it's morally right?" The champion of ethics. Lawful Neutral: "Murder is against the rules. I don't care what your reasoning." True Neutral: "I don't really care, keep me out of it." Chaotic Neutral: "I should be free to do what I want, including murder." Middle ground of self serving. Lawful Evil: "As long as it's within our law and order, murder can be justified." Neutral Evil: "I can sell you information for the next murder, pay my price." Chaotic Evil: "I murder to watch the world burn." The dark side of 'freedom'.

He dances with other women a fandango in front of the band fast paced, skin to skin riffs and improvisation adapting to the rhythm and tempo an intricate puzzle each and every time the partner is different. She looks on forlorn a sorrowful dirge in the corner. What do they have that she does not? Her clothing is plain her eyes no longer sparkle The booming bass hurts her head No one encourages her to step out and shine. A mismatch made in hell He simply follows his nature Craving excitement, novelty nothing stays the same. A wanderer from place to place from person to person love is so fleeting, life so short. How much will it take before she walks away? There is another world right outside the door. Only obligation and morality and her own stubborn pride. It's not as if anyone really cares. It's not like he really notices.

All waiting no one wants to be seen head down eyes averted no one wants to be recognized You don't know me you didn't see me Waiting to be called to final judgment.  In our own thoughts In our own world too tired of fighting the good fight to spare a glance of sympathy empathy solidarity. We have it worse than the others If I have to suffer then so do they They are the enemy and they will treat us the way we treat them or so we think. Then we all wonder why there is no motivation to help each other other in this cruel world. It's because we think there is absolutely no good reason.

Nothing to it but to do it Talk is cheap action is what shows your true intentions. You can explain every step of the process in great detail it doesn't count if you just sit on your arse. Please don't lecture me as if I'm five and I'm so naive I cannot comprehend what is before me without your bounteous wisdom! I am not blind I am not deaf Don't treat me as if I'm an idiot. You want to make yourself clear not to be misunderstood by rambling on every detail But have you stopped to consider how the other person feels? Of course not you accuse others of insensitivity yet you do not take my feelings under account. It does not apply to you. So don't be surprised if I just nod and smile and listen with only half an brain I may be a captive audience but don't count on me respecting what you say when you insult my intelligence.