Reffy's Imagination! :P

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(Oops! I got muse-y! Heh. Wrote this without knowing where it would go and without really guiding it.)

The Travelling Mind

Are you ready, dear reader?
To come on a journey with me?
To see what we could possibly see?
To traverse the unknown?

Then hold tight, dear reader.
For you shall see with my company.
Breathe in, and out, and steadily now.
Feel your every cell, down to your core.

What do you see, dear reader?
More importantly, what do you feel?
There is a thought there, you see it?
Go ahead and touch it.

Is it soft, dear reader? Fluffy and tame?
Or is it fierce and strong? Red with spikes?
Does it curl about your arm, like a snake in a tree?
Or like a feather alight on a curious wind?

What does the thought say, dear reader?
Should you pick it up and follow it?
Would touching it hurt? Or be nice?
Would it deliver that which you want?

Go ahead, dear reader!
Tug on that thought!
See where it goes!
See why it does!

But be careful, dear reader.
Be heedful with wise, bright eyes.
For a thought can be dangerous,
Like a lost infant’s delicate cries.

You want that thought, dear reader?
You want that desire? To make it yours?
It will give you happiness, unending?
Then follow it with un-crying eyes.

I shall wait here, dear reader,
For your inevitable return.
For chasing thoughts and desires
Is merely just that – unending.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Messy Hair Child



I cannot do anything with my hair. It doesn’t listen to me, or the hair-spray, or the curling irons. Instead my brown mop just sits atop of my head on a slight tilt and watches the world go by, while the fringe parts try to get in my eyes. Then again, it’s no wonder that I always have messy hair! People always exclaim, “Jenny, your hair is so messy!” or “why don’t you do something with it?” I cannot help but look at them funny when they do spout on. My hair is always messy because my head is constantly in a different place.

Just last week I visited the elephant on the moon! The poor guy had a cold. You would not believe how difficult it is to get an animal that is nearly thirteen feet tall to stand up! I thought he would crush me at times. I had to borrow entire ship sails just so the poor thing could blow his trunk and, of course, some of it got in my hair, but it couldn’t be helped really. He asked that next time I visit could I bring him some more tea. Who’d have thought that an elephant would like tea? It takes a whole old fashioned metal tub and sixteen teabags just to make such a drink viable for the wrinkly old guy.

Then last night! I was in the jungle with the Uzamp. They are difficult to describe really because they look ... well, they look a bit ... there really isn’t an English word for it! They are mostly human, if you discount the extra limbs, and the extended nature of their heads. You’d need to “pull a Jabberwocky” and make up words that don’t exist in the hopes that it could convey the image.

There, in the jungle while hunting the Enzu with the Uzamp, I got mud and twigs caught in my hair. The Enzu; the rarest creatures of all! It was barely visible by the midnight moons and with the Enzu being transparent it made the job all the more difficult. We found it in the end using the chocolate bar that had half melted in my pocket. I thought the alien species looked like an undercooked, slimy egg but I never told the Uzamp because of the sharp and pointed objects they wielded!

Let’s not forget the lost amulet in the sea either. The one the stupid old bitch dropped. That took a while to find. I know there isn’t such a thing as stranglekelp outside of “World of Warcraft” ... but I honestly think somebody should be telling that to the seaweed! It got in my hair. Why on earth she dropped it overboard without knowing its true magical properties is beyond me.

So, I think I shall keep my insanely messy hair, thank you very much! I’d much rather my head be in different places with the Uzamp or the elephant or somewhere else entirely ... than here to sort out the tangle and appear pretty!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(Doesn't require comments ... this is something rather personal! Shared because it is still a beautiful story and with a beautiful meaning and perhaps some healing happened in writing it.)

The Elephant Gem



I will never throw away my elephant. It’s a moth-eaten thing really and nothing amazingly important to look at ... but he’s my elephant with his slightly crooked trunk, matted fluff with balding patches, and bump-filled body where the stuffing has been squashed. He will always be my elephant.

I will never forget the reason behind why he is so important to me. It sounds silly now, thinking about it, but it means so much more to me. I wouldn’t even expect you to understand. Talking as a twenty-six year old and as somebody who, long ago, should have put down toys.

It all happened one Christmas, when I was just entering my teenage years. I was the oldest of my siblings and this year I was failing to get excited about Christmas. I’m not sure what happened, exactly. The Christmas the previous year was wonderful! That year I was excited to put up the decorations and help make mince pies and I looked forward to the presents. This year, however, it was fast becoming just another dull day.

Sure, I would get presents, but I didn’t exactly want anything either! Do you remember being young? Where you used to circle everything in the toy magazines and hope your parents see it? That new Barbie doll or Monster Truck! Or roller-skates that promise to flash as you roll! I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t know what I wanted. There was nothing in particular that I knew I must have.

I tried my best to fake excitement. I didn’t want to let on that I just wasn’t looking forward to it. I even went about putting up the decorations with a forced bounce in my step. The others seemed to be much more excited than me, even with my big song and dance about things. It just wasn’t fair. I felt like a love-sick-pup that had just lost its favourite bone to chew. I began to bug Mum and Dad about what they’d gotten me for Christmas, in the hopes it would spark that interest again. I was desperate to have that thrill back.

Eventually, one Sunday evening during dinner, they relinquished to my constant pestering:

“What have you got me for Christmas?” I begged again before using a roasted spud to soak up some more of Dad’s thick gravy. He made it from the juices of the roast every Sunday and it was always amazing.

Dad visibly sighed, “An elephant, alright?”

I paused in waffling down my food, bemused. “An elephant? You’re lying.”

Dad didn’t even look up, “Nope. I definitely got you an elephant!”

Feeling the irritation I push on. “It can’t be real.” He could have at least helped me get excited!

“It is.”

“So then where are you keeping it?” I think I’ve got him now with this retort.

“In the garage,” Mum suddenly joins in. Curiously I start to wonder if they really do have me an elephant for Christmas ... a real live elephant – but I know it isn’t possible and utterly impractical, and aren’t there rules against that sort of thing?

Continuing the interrogation in the hopes either of them slip up, I push on. “So what have you been feeding it then?”

“Hay ... haven’t you seen the trail it’s been leaving on the floor?” Dad speaks with a mouthful and Mum nods vigorously. Everybody at the table is watching the discussion whizz back and forth like a tennis match.

Eventually I give up the grilling session and finish my meal. Over the next week or so I bug them again, a million times over, and the same reply always comes back, “I’ve got you an elephant!” I remember now being so thoroughly pissed off with them. At the time I didn’t quite see the blessing in disguise, but I am getting ahead of myself in this story now!

On Christmas day I was woken up by my siblings, who came charging into my bedroom at the crack of dawn. They were still excited about the presents and the special day ... and I still wasn’t! Despite all my efforts that sparkle just hadn’t returned. I hadn’t even woken up early to open the stocking Dad always prepared for us. If my sisters and brother hadn’t come barging in I expect I would have slept right through until at least nine.

It was my sister who found the elephant first. His trunk was poking out of the top of the stocking. She exclaimed about it and even hauled it out to show me. She opened my stocking for me. Bleary eyed I could only just look at the grey mass that had been shoved in front of me. It was definitely an elephant ... not an alive one, thank goodness! But a stuffed grey elephant.

I’ll admit now that I cried a little. He was the softest teddy ever and he hugged just right. There wasn’t anything bad about him. He fit between my chest and arms perfectly, while one hand – the finger and thumb – could rub the smooth inside of his ear. My siblings got bored and went away, after I told them off for waking me up, and I went back to bed to snuggle with my new toy.

That’s all “Neffalump” was back then ... a toy. As I said, I couldn’t see the blessing back then. The truth is something far deeper than grey mottled fluff and black beady eyes. For the first time since I can remember, and now that I think about it – for the first time EVER – my parents had cooperated on something. They’d worked together ... and for me. That’s what this is all about now. It wasn’t about saving Christmas for me or a new toy. It was my parents doing what they should do. They were happy, in that extremely short moment and for about only two weeks, they could smile and joke together. They both had a common goal. I sometimes wonder now if that was how they were as teenagers together and not as the grown-ups they ended up as; both completely lost and alienated.

Even though I was barely a teenager I knew all about their relationship and the strains. They could never work together on anything. Dad was always out at the pub, to come home smashed, to roar and scream and throw things about. Mum had “friends” who were quite obviously more than just friends. I knew it. The siblings didn’t ... but I did. I wish I didn’t but that would make me a different person today, wouldn’t it? She would lie or manipulate and make Dad seem the enemy. There were so many things that were wrong that it seemed no right could ever happen. Every night I would come home from school: worrying about exams, zits, friends and keeping them as such, and what I would find at home. Dad would be at the pub and Mum busy on the internet talking to her “friends.” So I would have to start the dinner or help with homework or try to sort out a problem for my siblings. Being the oldest isn’t easy.

Everybody needs that little gem to hold on to – when things seem so utterly bleak. The thing that shines out against all that could possibly be wrong. The thing that promises that no matter how bad things could possibly get, or how horrible, or violent: that blessings can still happen.

It just happens that my gem is a stuffed toy elephant and he will never leave my side.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

The Prince slammed his fists on the table, “I want him dead! I want his head on a spike outside the gates. No man touches my sister – especially not a beggar like him!”
I could see the Prince was fuming. His cheeks were flushed fully red. “It could be arranged ...” I replied barely audible.
His attention was secured with that small sentence. “Do it. No matter the cost!”

---

It doesn’t take much for a job to go wrong. No matter how lightly you could creep, or how sharp your blades, or how honed your skills; things can still turn ugly. Then you must be ready to run. The assassin’s life is like walking a tightrope with nowhere to turn but downward to death – so you learn to balance or die. I balance and know when to run.

---

The blade passes clean through his neck. His body slumps forward. I catch it and lower it. Silence is my only friend. The guards outside are unaware. The body gurgles as blood spreads before my feet. Unwillingly I take a step back, the velvet soles of my boots smothering the sound. The deed is done and the pay packet mine. Killing the only thing I can do with expertise.







(I ... dunno >.> was attempting a 3x69 for the mag - its a fun flash thing. Three different stories at only 69 words each - but I'm not sure on it. Think it might be crap! But there ya go. Assassin's definitely aren't my inspiration-clinker!)

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(Snicker - Word War that has been cleaned up, editing, and finished as a Flashy. Mostly practice, partly boredom, purely giggles. Think it might be slightly cringe-worthy to read ... I know it was to write!)

Custard-Cream's

Knees-clenched, I rush to the bathroom. Two hour meeting about over-head costs; ugh ... I knew I shouldn’t have drunk that many coffees. I knew it would go straight through me but they came with custard-cream’s!

Shakily I turn the corner to the bathroom, nearly slipping on the tiles – damned shoes! Adrenaline and urgency surge my body.

The door is shut. Red words read: “occupied.” I swear silently before risking an impolite knock. “Hurry up! Busting!” harshly spoken.

I feel embarrassment creeping into my cheeks. My bladder reminds me it’s at bursting point: a filled water-balloon that sloshes with every movement. I resume the silly knee-wobbling and cross-footed dance, hoping to stall the requirement. I can do without this!

Still dancing I hear the flush sound. I risk another knock and hear the muffled reply. The lock begins to shift just as the warm liquid starts to spill down my leg, soaking into my expensive trousers, to finally emerge on the floor in a growing yellow puddle.

Laughing stock of the office – I run and don’t look back, ignoring the stink and wet feeling.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(Lulz - more inspiration! Another Six-word to add to my collection >.> Which I shall post here! >.>)



Condoms: protection against dreaded Chelsea Tractors.

Opinions: often varied and often wrong!

Red words: "Occupied." Oops, too late!

NEW:
Childhood sweeties victorious over drunken partying!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

(Largely unedited - real life story. Mostly a vent, actually!)

Fuck! Really got to get moving! I glance at the time again while my fingers dash over the keyboard to say goodbye to the friends I am talking to! Rush! Rush! Rush! Well, if you’d have gone right when it started ... or perhaps hadn’t wasted time on the computer! I look at the clock again just as I shut down the computer: quarter to seven. Only an hour and fifteen minutes left in which to give blood. It will only be an hour by the time I get there!

I shove on my hiking boots – the most comfortable pair of shoes I own but also the most irritating to put on because of the lace up thing. At least I’ll be able to walk quickly with these on. Second item is the black jumper which I zip up. I know its going to be bloody cold out.

The bird squawks randomly, making me jump again. I’m not jumpy normally but she’s developed a game of trying to both piss me off and scare me. I look over at the cage to see her almost grinning while she clings to the side of the cage. I don’t have time for this – Move it!

I grab up the paperwork on the bed, my bag which goes over my head and onto my shoulder, and toss another sweetie shrimp into my mouth for chewing. The door is wrenched open as I’m still trying to get comfortable – I wonder now if I should have styled my hair rather than leave it fluffy. Just as I pass by the cage to exit the bird yells once more. My nerves are rattled, again. She’s changed the wall she was clinging to. Did I tell you that she can now shit outside of the cage? It’s the rankest thing I’ve even been witness to and I’ve seen a lot! It isn’t normal shit either ... it’s this putrid green slimy runny thing that lands with a sloop.

I have enough time to throw her a scowl as I slam the door shut. Quick feet make easy work of the stairs, albeit it loudly thanks to the hiking boots – herd of elephants, and soon enough I’m pulling my coat – got it from Prague, proper hiking coat and excellent at keeping out the cold air! It’s got all sorts of vents for it you get too hot and the perfect pocket for holding junk!

You’ll never make it on time. Should have started writing that novel. Tell people where you are going. It’s dark. Did you pick up the book to read while waiting? ... Fuck! The book! Back up the stairs I go, open the door, not bothering with the light, bird chatters again but I don’t jump ... nearly pick up the book I just finished but luckily I’m not that stupid. Door is slammed again and I’m back down the stairs, wishing once again that I didn’t bugger up my neck so badly last night with the head-banging ... and while I think about it I also discover my legs hurt as well! Yeah, but it was fun!

I can hear the start to Coronation Street. They’re all in there again. The family I live with. The one that doesn’t do anything apart from watch soap-opera’s! Love them to bits but damn they need a life. The daughter is complaining once more about her work ... I don’t see why she stays there sometimes but do what one must, I suppose? It looks cosy in there but totally not my cuppa. Much rather be upstairs talking to people who don’t really care about who kiss who and who stabbed the other!

Tell them where you are going, Jenny. It is dark out. What if you get into trouble? What if you get attacked or mugged? Just yell it out. Still should have started that novel ... stupid man in the pub! “Going out, giving blood – back soon! Bye.”

I can hear the confusion behind me as I hurl the main door open and closed and fumble for my keys. You so know they didn’t hear where you were going! What was the point in that. Where are your manners? Doesn’t take much to go in there as say bye, you know! Yeah – but that would have involved actually interrupting the complainer and stepping inside the already packed room. They don’t give two shits anyway! And I’m twenty-bloody-six for fucks sake! I don’t need to prove to them that they should be worrying where I am at midnight or whatever.

Keys go back in the bag and within seconds I’m stomping off down the street. The sky is just turning from that deep blue to black, and I can see the hint of stars above – although the orange glow from the street lights detracts from the effect. Still, it could be considered romantic. I train my eyes ahead and focus on breathing and the feeling as I start to pick up speed. It feels good to get a nice and well timed stomp on. I can feel my thighs starting to burn and my breathing pick up. The frigid cold night air whips around my face, messing up the new-do – which is alright because it is short so it cannot get too bad! Should have styled it this morning – I knew it! Just a little gel. Need to train it not to have a parting any more, or some bullshit. Isn’t that what the stylist said? Fuck if I know! I just wanted something easy and that dried quicker because I hate waiting around.

I turn the corner. The gradient picks up a little. I have a silly smile on my face and take a deep contented sigh just for the sake of it! Why the fuck not! The air tastes good. I can smell some of the beach. I dig my hands further down into the pockets to keep them warm. Should have brought my scarf! A new thought joins the multiple voices already in my head. It becomes a mantra with each footstep. “Doing something good! Giving blood!” Yep! Better than most of you people out there! I’m actually walking near half a mile to split a vein and save somebody’s life! You hear that world? I am Saint Jenny! Bow before me! I shall share my red-stuff ... the oh, so, vital stuff to save somebody! I am brilliant. Doing something good. Doesn’t take much! Making merit – don’t they call it something like that? Even if it only gets used for experiments ... Hey! Who knows! Maybe they’ll find a cure for something using my little donation! I am a goddess!

I bumble into the centre. It’s a hall connected to a church and always a bit bleh. I hand the lady at the desk my paperwork and here comes the usual questions:

“Have you given blood before?”

“Yes,” this gets so monotonous each time. Mind you last time was near five years ago. Wonder if they’ll have trouble opening up a vein again. Hello bruises! Sympathy vote!

“Eaten today?”

“Yes – lunch in the pub.”

“Did you drink anything?” She seems almost irritated that a donor was having a drink: Ha! I’ll show her.

“Tee-total, thanks.”

“Made an appointment?” Is that an evil grin I can see?

I hesitate in my goddess moment. Didn’t even get enough time to pretend to shine a brilliant gold. Buggerit. “Nope. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” evil grin again, “but it’s about three-quarters of an hour wait. That alright?”

Fuuuuuuuuck! Forty-five minutes? It isn’t even that busy in here! Just open up the vein already! You want blood and time ... should have made an appointment you moany bitch! You even wrote it in your diary, Jenny! No excuse. “Sure. Got reading material.”

The evil grin is replaced by a nice enough smile. “Good. It shouldn’t be that long and it goes by quickly! Take this and read it – here and here, please.”

I take up a seat and don’t really bother to read the leaflet. It’s just the usual junk about the tests and the routine and not running a marathon or drinking after donating. Instead I settle down for the long wait and shrug off the bag and coat.

I turn towards the new book: Tom Holt “Someone Like Me.” I’m a bit worried about trying another Holt. The last two books from him were a little lacklustre but I’m willing to give it a try. I get two pages in and already I’m hooked. Holt did first person! First time I’ve read him doing something that isn’t third person or has to do with gods or pantheons! Impressive ... and holy crap it is dark. Not entirely sure what the alien things are or if they are a demon or something ... sound a bit like cats with tusks but mean cats.

I’m so deeply engrossed in the book that I don’t notice sour-secretary approaching. “Done reading?”

I jump. Maybe I am just jumpy? “Uh, yeah, thanks. Done.”

Completely out of focus and somewhat in a day dream I pass over the leaflet. I don’t notice if she says anything else or has a grumpy reaction because immediately I am back in the book. Time slips by. Various people are called up and those with appointments pass me on the waiting list. I don’t care. I’m still doing my bit and right now I get to relax and read my book. What is the rush! Ha.

“Jennifer Delaney?” The smallest voice calls me up. Still with my mind in book mood I get up out of the chair unsteadily and make a clumsy grab for my bag and coat. The lady leads me to a private booth for the consultation and the dreaded iron test.

“Hello, my name is Claire. I’ll be your consultant for the day. Please can you give me your full name and date of birth.”

Sigh, freaking formalities! Do you really think somebody would impersonate me to give blood? What kind of sadist freak would pull that kind of shit? Honestly! I’m me – definitely me! Nobody else! “Jennifer Allison Delaney, third of August, nineteen-eighty-four.” I almost sing it which I’m sure probably pisses the junior nurse off but she doesn’t show it. She probably didn’t even notice.

“Good. Did you read the booklet?” She begins checking out my paperwork and squiggling her signature in several places. I take the moment to take a look around. From where I am sitting I can see the other people waiting, the machines, the people in the other booth, the booklets – please don’t make me read those, and the dreaded vials of blue and green fluid with a sharps container.

“Yep! Uh, you might have some more questions – I lived in California for a while and was born in South Africa. Yeah. Sorry.”

“That’s fine. I’ll get the staff nurse.” She gets up and leaves. I notice, for the first time since my mind took a while to come back to earth after the book, that she is a rather comely nurse. Round and squishy looking. I cannot help but think that she should have been a chef instead. I would trust her food!

Sigh. Every time. Every fucking time. I’ve given blood before – just open the vein! I could be at home right now. Still should have started that rewrite or maybe a new flash. Wonder if everybody has seen the poem that just got published? I pick up the book again, tempted to start reading, but just before I can “Dave” the staff nurse joins me and asks the same bloody questions. He signs me off as not deadly and eligible for giving blood: Duh!

Claire is back. “Which arm do you normally give blood with?”

Now we’re getting somewhere ... and my confidence has decided to go on leave – without warning me. I begin to gabber on nervously. “I, uh, usually my left, I guess. I have shy veins. Normally they have trouble finding it.”

She takes out the stabby-stab-stab blue pen for the iron test and takes my right hand, middle finger. Out comes the wipes and my finger is scrubbed. “Oh, I hate this bit. No offence, because you are really nice. In fact, I don’t much enjoy this at all – any of it! But I like doing my bit, you know?”

I look down and she has the pen against the side of my finger. Oh fuck this is going to hurt – please don’t let it hurt! *Click* The pen goes off and I feel the stab, although admittedly it isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be! Ha! Wimp!

Nurse Claire, who I’m getting attached to now we have shared so much, takes up a little plastic pipette and suckers up some of my vital red blood while she squeezes it out of my finger. “Ahahaha! Vampire – jeez, how much do you need? It’s okay. Take more. Make sure you leave a little on my finger so I can get sympathy vote back home. Perhaps if you can make it bruise too!” I laugh again.

The filled pipette is squished and emptied into the blue vial of chemicals. It’s the dreaded iron test. To make sure I have enough iron in my blood so they can take my donation. The blue vial is for women and the green for men – although I’ve never fully known why. I’m guessing it’s because of the different hormones! The blood should sink to the bottom if it has enough iron.

“Sink! Go down! Sink! Sink!” I urge it, knowing I usually fail here.

I watch my little drop of blood immediately float towards the surface. Buggerit!

Nurse Claire tries again, squeezing out some more blood and dropping it into the tank. Once again it floats to the top. I try my luck, “No, no! Look it sunk at first, look? It is sinking now.”

“Sorry. If it breaks the surface then it’s a fail. Rules. Did you want to run the haemoglobin test?”

I’m already pulling up my sleeve for her. “Open that sucker up. Yes, I want to run the test. I usually have to anyway! Three holes for the price of two. I want to give blood.”

She gives me a strange look but hauls over the equipment anyway. She straps my arm up and cleans up the arm, in the most professional way. “Don’t forget I have shy veins.” The worry returns. I hate needles.

“That’s okay. Can you open and close your hand?”

“Sure! Come on veins. Stand up for the nice lady. Look, can’t you just take it from the back of the hand. Those veins stand up more.” I see her almost roll her eyes. Moments later she plunges the needle in. My leg starts nervously bouncing and I’m holding my breath. I cannot look away. It hurts more if I don’t watch the needle physically dip into my arm. Fucking huge needle as well! Still, the nurse is luck and she finds the vein immediately – HUZZAH! My dark red claret splashes out into a new little vial for holding. She takes a little slide and puts it on there before plugging it into the machine.

Finally she removes the needle in my arm. “Can’t you just leave it in there? They’ll only have to stick another in the other arm for the blood-giving thing.” She doesn’t answer.

“We need it to register at one-hundred and twenty-five.”

I’m praying.

“One-hundred and twenty-four. Sorry.”

My hear sinks and my face changes for nervous-cheery to fucking-thunderstorm. You mean to say that I walked all of that way? Took a hole in the finger and arm? Waited all that time? FOR NOTHING! Oh, fuck you. Fuck you right in the ass. Stupid blood! Stupid iron test. I hate you.

“You sure you can’t take it?”

“Sorry.” She hands me a leaflet.

“It’s probably because I’m vegetarian now.” My fury is booming and my cheeks flushing red with anger. Cannot even give blood because of my stupid iron levels! All of that and no saving anybody! They’ll even have to throw away that little vial ... fuck this monkey shit!

“Oh, you’re vegetarian as well? That’s really good! One-hundred and twenty-four is really good for a vegetarian. Means you are eating the right things. At least you aren’t anaemic!”

“At least you aren’t anaemic!” It is like a slap to the face ... I went to give blood and all I got was two stabs and a fucking leaflet. Brilliant.

[Jackal]

.... Oh well. You'll be safe when vampires do invade the world at least.
But wow, one hundred and... that sucks >.< It's just one away from being acceptable!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Dude - you can see why I was so pissed! One freaking point! All of that and one point away ... and the leaflet just feels condescending >.> I was just going to vent about it but then it struck me as a good excuse to write a story instead :] Stretched my fingers a little and hopefully broke the pause I was stuck in.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

((Attack of sudden inspiration! Seems to be happening a lot these days >.> And I'm more than happy to oblige! This was a real insight I had today turned sorta-poem. Enjoy ... ))

Memory Lane

Do you remember your favourite childhood sweet?
And how you used to eat it?
Dolly mixtures. Shrimps. Flying saucers.
Did you peel off the chocolate first?
Did you play with the marshmallow insides?
Coca-Cola bottles. Rhubarb and custards.
Or chew until it gummed up your teeth?
Candy sticks that you pretended to smoke with?
Wagon-wheels. Chubba-Chups. Love Hearts.
The eewy-gooey juice from the filled bugs!
That got all over your small fingers and stuck in hair.

What happened? Where did that small pleasure go?
When did you grow up?
You sit now in a bar, drinking beer.
Your belly hangs over your belt.
The hair on your head thins.
Your eyesight dims.
And you wonder.
Beer costs more than those simple candies,
Yet it doesn’t give you the same pleasure.
Reality spins out of control.
Your feet stand on another planet.

Next time ... when you do remember.
Don’t pass the pick-n-mix shop.
Don’t go to the pub.
Don’t think sweeties are just for children.
De-evolve!
Stop a while, my friend.
Join me.
I’m eating flying saucers as I did aged eight.
The candy dust are the aliens!
I delight as they stick to my tongue!
Be a child a while. It doesn’t hurt!

(WIP six-liner: Childhood sweeties victorious over drunken partying!)

[Injin]

Next time you go to get blood taken for any reason, eat a few bagels. It helped me when I was giving blood last year.

Also, great stories Reffy!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

<3 Injin :] Thank you for reading my drivel!

Bagels? I dunno ... Think I naturally have low iron levels. They always have to do the haemoglobin test on me >.> I should have passed this time considering the iron uptake before and during the day! Oh well. Got a letter recently telling me I get to wait 3-4 months before I can try again. (Ass-holes don't realise I'm trying to save lives, I guess!)

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Mar 24, 2011 14:55:30 GMT -5 Jenny (Reffy) said:

<3 Injin :] Thank you for reading my drivel!

Bagels? I dunno ... Think I naturally have low iron levels. They always have to do the haemoglobin test on me >.> I should have passed this time considering the iron uptake before and during the day! Oh well. Got a letter recently telling me I get to wait 3-4 months before I can try again. (Ass-holes don't realise I'm trying to save lives, I guess!)

A lot of women have low iron levels, especially at certain times because their body loses a lot due to their. . . unique physiology.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Thanks, Zovo :] I wasn't "leaking" at the time of donation (and hadn't in the weeks before) ... At least I'm not anaemic! Just irritating that I couldn't donate then.

Considering reworking the sweet-shop poem thingy. It just isn't quite right.

[Matteo ((Taed))]

Mar 24, 2011 14:55:30 GMT -5 Jenny (Reffy) said:

<3 Injin :] Thank you for reading my drivel!

Bagels? I dunno ... Think I naturally have low iron levels. They always have to do the haemoglobin test on me >.>

DId they find unusually high levels of copper? Maybe you're slowly turning into a horseshoe crab.