A Robert Frost Poem & My Thoughts

The Road Not Taken  

- Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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     When you've been to hell and back it's easy to stay on the same path--the road full of pain--not because you're happy but because it's easy. You've gotten comfortable there. You don't want to be there but the alternative--coming face to face with your issues (or maybe more accurately, your demons)--sounds too scary so you forge ahead and tell yourself you're OK. 

     This works for a while but the problem is you can only keep all this nasty stuff hidden for so long. You can only lie to yourself for so long. It will come up, one way or the other, whether you like it or not. It will rise to the surface and force you to deal with it sometimes in many forms at once. For example, you may be in a relationship and your past unresolved pain is causing problems. This happens to everyone; we all have baggage. But how many failed relationships do you want to go through before you stop and realize that you are killing them? It's never just one person's fault, but too many people blame the other person and don't take responsibility for their own mistakes. It's easy to just move on and find someone new but the cycle will keep repeating itself. 

     Now, count yourself extra lucky if you're in a relationship and your demons are coming to the surface as the bond between you two deepens and your mate is loyal and tries to understand you and work through it with you. This person is a blessing and you should thank your lucky stars! Seriously. Stop right now and say a prayer, thank the universe, whatever you'd like, because so many walk away when the sunshine turns to clouds and the roses wilt. 

     Now comes the hard part. You have been given this beautiful opportunity to overcome all this unnecessary garbage you've been carrying around. You've been given a chance to stop the vicious cycle, to grow and to learn, to heal yourself. 

    Love yourself enough to let it go. Maybe you think you deserve it. You may even think you deserve to be unhappy. I can't tell you how to heal yourself. That's something that is unique to everyone. For me, I began focusing more on my first love, the thing that fills my heart with joy and passion, you guessed it: writing. I started focusing on all the good in my life and stopping to really think about all I have to be grateful for. It's hard. When you're in the thick of it, it's so easy to be self-destructive and turn back to your old habits. But just try. Just say, "today I'm going to try to eat healthy." Why? Because what we eat affects us so much more than we realize. It affects our emotions. Over-processed and toxic foods full of chemicals will make you feel like $%#! so stop putting that in your body! The last thing you may want to do is exercise, but tell yourself you will walk for ten minutes. That's it. Maybe you'll start to feel better and want to keep walking. Maybe you won't and you'll have to force yourself the next day. That's OK. Just keep doing it. Years and years of scientific research on the anti-depressant effects of exercise cannot be wrong. It has been shown to be the equivalent of taking an anti-depressant and with no scary side effects. Yay!

     Basically, stop and ask yourself what you need. Do you need a couple days to yourself? Do you need to set aside time for exercise? Do you need to eat healthier? Do you need to go see friends? Go see a therapist? Whatever it is, you're worth it so do it! We only get such a short period of time on this planet, do you really want to spend it feeling like this?

    You are on a road. You come to a fork in the road. You can choose to walk straight ahead and stay on the same road you've been on for years. You already know what lies ahead. You don't like it but you know what to expect and it is not really what you want but it's comfortable and easy. You may even think you deserve to stay on this road to pay your penance for all the wrongs you've done. OK, well you've paid for your sins enough. It's time to forgive yourself. 

     Turn to your right and start down the new road. It is new unfamiliar terrain, it is rough at first and you find yourself tripping over rocks in the road. Get up and keep going. Because when you look up ahead, you see a clearing and a bright brilliant light peeking between two large trees. It is so blinding that you cannot even see what is there but you have a feeling you should follow it. You want to get to that light. You saw no such thing on the other road. On the other path, you could see what was in front of you for miles and it was dim and gray but it was clear. But none of that matters anymore. You've chosen to be brave and you've chosen to love yourself and give yourself a chance at happiness. While you're walking to try to reach the light, you will trip and fall and get hurt. You will cry and think about turning around so many times but you keep going because you feel that what you're doing is right. You are on the path of healing and you look around and see your friends and loved ones along the sides of the road. They are jumping for joy--literally--because they are so happy for you. They are cheering you on. You start to feel happier and more hopeful. So this is why I took this road, you say. I'm actually starting to feel better. Wow. 

    We have a tendency to stay with what we know. Change is scary. Healing is scary. Letting go of the beliefs and attitudes you've been holding onto for so many years is terrifying, but you can do it. The first step is the hardest. Be brave. Rip off the band-aid and toss it aside and don't look back. You're finding your happy.

Why I Write (Essay - 363 words)

Why I Write 

We all daydream and sometimes our hopes and dreams seem far away and we wonder if that's all they will ever be. We try to make them happen, but despite our best efforts, some just fall through. Writing is my safety net. If something just won't seem to happen in real life, I will make it happen on the page because I need to see it happen. It serves a purpose. Maybe I'm sending this energy out into the universe and making it more likely to happen. Maybe it satisfies me somehow to see it written down and happening to a fictional character.

Writing gives you power. It allows you to create your own world. In fiction, anything is possible. Whatever it is that you want can happen in two pages. I use my characters. I use my stories. Writing is a very selfish thing in the beginning. It is all in your head and you are creating a world with new people and events. My stories aren't about me. They never start that way. The characters pop into my head demanding attention and I don't know where they come from, but they need to be given life. And many times, writing about their struggles, their conflict, their pain, their joy, is therapy for me. It helps me to feel compassion for myself because it puts everything onto the table and allows me to see that I have every right to feel the way I do. Have you heard people say "Would you talk to your friend that way?" when thinking of how you talk to yourself? Sometimes putting a character in your shoes (or giving them some of your problems) helps you to see a situation clearer. I can't tell you how many times an answer appears in the story that helps me personally.

The great thing is that many of our struggles are universal. Most likely, whatever you are writing about is something other people can relate to. So it is not entirely selfish. By making yourself vulnerable and sharing your (or your character's) struggles, you comfort other people by showing them they are not alone. And sometimes, a story is just entertainment. Most often, it is both. My novel is very much set in the real world and deals with personal relationships (specifically, a romantic relationship with lots of very messed up issues) but also has supernatural elements because it is fun to imagine a mysterious, possibly devious person with superhuman abilities.

All the things you can't say--because no one wants to hear it, people are tired of hearing it, or it sounds like complaining or whining--you can put into a story. And this changes everything. It is far more effective to get your point across and really say something if you make up fictional characters and a fictional setting with an original plot. It is safer. It is not as threatening. You can't just shove the medicine down someone's throat. They will fight you every time. Put the medicine in the mashed potatoes. Sneaky? Maybe. But, isn't this what every great artist has done? This is what I strive for. Because the alternative is to go around being miserable and feeling sorry for yourself and that is not much fun to be around. So, purge all the crap and then go out and enjoy your life.

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Short Creative Non-Fiction - 475 words)

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

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Author note: I wrote this in February 2013. Interesting, because it is now 10 years later and I am still #singleAF as the kids say. 

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     Dating can be fun but is mostly confusing. I have learned many things, though. For example, I learned that you shouldn't drink at all on the first couple of dates because you will miss a lot of important things. And pay attention if a guy wears sunglasses a lot. He could be hiding something, like a serious case of lazy eye. How did I not notice this? It was probably the Pinot Grigio. Now before you say, "Elaine, that is just mean," read on. He was not exactly Prince Charming.

     You might be tempted to drink to calm the nerves and get over the first date jitters, but resist the temptation, because you will start to really like the person. He was fairly intelligent with a good sense of humor and good taste in music. So I got my hopes up and thought--as I frequently did in these times--"Yay! We found a winner!" It usually took me three dates to figure out what I assumed most people would see at first glance. I tend to be very picky so I was trying to not be so picky and be more open-minded but after this, I realized I should go back to being picky. See? Confusing. On the third date, I noticed that what I initially thought was a 5 or 6 was actually maybe a 2. Wine will do that to you. 

     Then I questioned myself, wondering if I was just being shallow. After all, looks are not the most important thing. But this was just too much. As Date #3 continued and I tried to make eye contact but could not because one eye was traveling westward and one wandering eastward, I realized I just couldn't do it. But that's not even the whole story. 

     He was incredibly tedious and indecisive in everything and very cheap. (What's that sound? Ah, yes, it's the sound of panties dropping) We went to Publix to buy a bottle of wine after dinner (a dinner I made, by the way. Why do women try so hard? On the third date??) and he grabs three bottles of wine. I'm thinking, "OK, he wants to take a couple bottles back home with him. He's stocking up." He puts them on the belt and stands off to the side, clearly expecting me to pay for all of them. I must add that he did make little comments from time to time about making sure I wasn't a "gold-digger" and that he was looking for a "sugar-momma." I paid for one bottle of wine and told him to put the rest back. He acted like I was over-reacting. I'm like, "No, we came for one bottle. I can't buy three." Oh, and I forgot to mention that he would never open doors but would actually stand back and wait for me to open them for him. Bizarre. I'm a modern woman and all, but really?

     On the second date, he told me how mysterious and alluring I was, how I was so different from any other woman he dated. Please. Are we in high school? He claimed to understand women so much better than other men. He just didn't understand why women were so flaky. They would lead him on then let him down. Maybe it was because they realized what a weirdo you were, but anyway. He, in his grand narcissism, called it "buyer's remorse." He worked this into almost every conversation we had.

     Suffice it to say, I did not see him again. 

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Another author's note May 21, 2023: In the last 10 years, I've been in two serious relationships. Other than that, I have dated many men like the one described above and worse. At the age of 42, I have now accepted being single and am living life to the fullest, enjoying friends, family, animals, and so incredibly grateful to be doing work I love. Not being married and having kids does not mean I have failed. It doesn't happen for everyone and maybe that is because it is not meant for everyone: some of us have another purpose in life, passions that take up all our time and energy. It's refreshing to know that we are not in control of our lives as much as we think. Whatever is meant for you will find you. Stop fighting it and be happy. 

Godzilla and his Spotted Horse (Flash Fiction - 246 words)

     White noise from Sony earbuds floods my ears and my cheap but loud Bluetooth speakers blast “White Noise Black Screen” from YouTube. Being the nice girl that I am, I wonder if the SHHHHHH coming from the speakers is too loud and my young and crazy neighbor next to me can hear it. (I say young and crazy because I had to call the cops within a month of her moving in. She was screaming on the phone to who I assume was her ex. The little charmer was bellowing romantic things such as, “I HOPE YOU DIE!” and “I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF!” and “I HOPE YOU TWO ARE HAPPY TOGETHER!” Such mixed messages.) But then I remember, these people are so fucking loud and inconsiderate. I should not care. 

Approximately eight months ago I moved into this tiny studio apartment—500 square feet to be exact—and it was OK for a while. Frequent creaking came from above me; I figured the tenant upstairs had the fancy laminate floor upgrade, too, so I didn’t think much of it. After all, you can’t get mad at a man for walking, can you? Plus, the leasing agent informed me the couple upstairs was a little “on the heavy side” so it made sense. 

After a while, the noise increased and I heard not only more creaking but loud thuds and crashes. Sometimes it sounded like a mix between a bowling alley, a dog park and an Olympic gymnastics team practicing. Sometimes it sounded like Godzilla lived above me and the noise would be so loud both me and my cat would jump at the loud thuds. The rage I felt inside night after night could only be compared to fire from the pits of hell and I knew the dark circles under my tired eyes were the big loud assholes’ fault. One day I looked outside and saw the neighbors walking a horse. OK, it wasn't a horse but it's the biggest dog I've ever seen. Turns out it's a spotted Great Dane. The classy, obviously intelligent neighbors adopted a GREAT DANE in addition to their other dogs. I couldn't help but wonder how large its poop was. I mean, did they need to take a shovel when they walked him? 

This nightmare ended two months ago when I went upstairs and murdered them. Just kidding. They moved to another apartment in the same complex but a downstairs unit (only took the geniuses a year to figure out they have no business living upstairs). The landlord told me the woman had been frustrated because she couldn’t “play with her dog at 2 am.” No, sweetie, you can’t. Not if your dog is a GREAT FUCKING DANE. 

I had the pleasure of running into the white trash woman when I was checking my mail the other day. She had been loading her white trash car full of her white trash laundry and she pulled out behind me so I drove really, really slow. I’m considering paying the neighbors above them to take clogging lessons and practice a lot at home so they get really good. 

 

The Meow Meow Gang (Short Fiction for Cat Ladies and Gentlemen - 755 words)

Buggy is a pint-sized furball of fierce. She's named after Bugs Bunny because of her big ears and overbite which makes her look like a bunny. She's small but don't let her size fool you. Buggy is all meow and all bite. 

McCatney is a tiger-striped cat from Alabama. Since he was a kitten, he dreamed of leaving his home state and moving to Orlando for two reasons: 

1.       Alabama, the band, has a song talking about “skinning cats.” 

2.       He wanted to meet this famous rodent—Mickey Mouse—everyone kept talking about. 

His friends told him to stop being silly and accept his country cat life, but he had dreams. He worked his way south by jumping on the back of trucks until he reached his destination. Once in Orlando, he met Buggy and the two became friends. But to become a member of the Meow Meow Gang, McCatney had to eat an entire bowl of catnip. He was awake for two days and ended up in a bowl of noodles behind a Chinese restaurant. The owner of the restaurant came out the back door. When he saw McCatney, he yelled, “Shoo! Shoo!” Buggy came just in time and yelled at the man, “Nobody messes with my friend! Meeooww hisss!” The owner shook his head and went inside. 

One day, McCatney and Buggy were hanging out at PetSmart. McCatney looked down at his claws and said, “These are too long. Buggy, distract the workers so I can use this scratching post a while.”

“Right meow?” Buggy asked. “I was getting ready to take a nap.” 

“Yes, right meow,” said McCatney.

“Merr purr,” Buggy mumbled then jumped up on a high shelf full of dog treats and shoved them all to the ground. Then she ran and hid behind a stack of cat litter. A young man walked around the corner and saw the mess. He sighed and cleaned it up. 

Meanwhile, McCatney was hard at work on the scratching post. When he trimmed his claws, he went into his own world. He was in a frenzy, his head bobbing back and forth, low growling sounds coming from his throat. Finally, when he was finished, he laid on the floor and purred. 

Buggy walked over, a bag of Meow Mix chicken-flavored treats hanging from her mouth. She dropped the treats to the floor. 

“You really get into your scratching,” Buggy said as she opened the bag with her teeth. 

McCatney played with a little squeaky mouse, batting it back and forth between his paws. He looked at Buggy. “Have you ever been to Disney World? I hear there's a big mouse named Mickey there. I have to see him for myself.”

Buggy wrinkled her nose and her whiskers twitched. “I haven't met him. But I've heard he's a real asshole and he's really big. You wouldn't be able to catch him.”

McCatney whacked the mouse across the floor. It slammed against a container of cat litter and squeaked. “I like to challenge myself. If someone tells me I can't do something, then I have to try it. Don't you have dreams, Buggy?”

Buggy grabbed hold of a dog bed with her claws and dragged it closer. She jumped in and kneaded the soft cotton for a couple minutes before lying down. “I have dreams of taking a nap right meow.”

“I'm serious, Buggy. Don't you ever get tired of this? Living on the streets, sneaking into pet stores and stealing food and catnip? There has to be more to life than this.”

Buggy stood up again and pressed her paws into the bed. “What are you talking about? Just because you were named after some famous human, you want a glamorous life? This is the best we can do, cats like us.”

McCatney jumped to the top of the scratching post and looked down at Buggy. He raised a paw into the air. “No! We can do better. The street life is no way to live. Somewhere out there is a purrfect loving family who would take us in, feed us, pet us, cuddle us, maybe even take us to see Mickey Mouse!”

 Buggy stretched and yawned. “Come on, McCatney. What kind of catnip have you been sniffing? No one wants us. Look at us.” She looked down at her matted fur. “We're dirty kitties. We're wild. We're street cats and that's all we're going to be. No one would want to adopt us. Now stop being silly and go grab a box of Meow Mix. I'll grab some catnip. We need to go before they find us and kick us out.”

“Alright. Let's bring some food to the rest of the gang.”

Buggy and McCatney walked outside and stopped when they saw a big white van with “Humane Society” written on the side. 

Buggy leaned up against a street post and began licking her paw and washing her face. “These creeps again,” she said. “Driving up in their weird white van. No way am I getting in there. Don't care if they have the best treats in the world.”

“Shh,” McCatney said. “Don't be rude.”

A lady with bright red hair stepped out of the van and walked slowly to the cats, smiling. 

Buggy decided to call her “Fire.” Another woman walked out behind her, followed by a short man with curly hair. 

“Hey, little guys. Let us bring you to the shelter. You must be hungry,” Fire said. 

McCatney looked at Buggy. “We're okay, we just had some Meow Mix.”

The fur on Buggy's neck stood up and she arched her back. “Yeah, we're fine,” she hissed. 

Fire smiled. “Come here, you.” She leaned down and tried to pick up Buggy, but Buggy batted at her, giving her two quick slaps, and ran around the corner. 

Fire looked at McCatney. “We can give you a nice warm bed and find you loving homes. I bet you could use a bath, too.”

McCatney licked his paw and wiped his ear. “I already had a bath.”

Buggy peeked her head around the corner. “Come on, McCatney. Let's find the rest of the gang.”

McCatney looked at the van then back to Buggy. “We should go with them, Buggy.”

“Hell, no. Life on the streets is all I know.”

“Come on,” McCatney said. “Maybe it won't be so bad.”

Buggy's tail twitched. “You just want to meet Mickey Mouse.”

His tail waving back and forth, McCatney stepped closer to Buggy. “Yeah, maybe I do. But I want more for us. We have nothing to lose. Don't you trust me?”

Buggy rubbed her head against the side of the building then walked over to McCatney. “I do trust you. You're my best friend.”

McCatney and Buggy let the rescuers take them into crates and put them into the van. It smelled like other cats and the ride was bumpy. When they got to the shelter, the nice people gave them baths and a man in a white coat gave them shots. Buggy was mad at first, but calmed down when she saw a bowl of delicious food. 

One day, after they'd been in the shelter for a few weeks, Buggy nudged McCatney. “Hey, no one has adopted us and this is boring. We should escape.”

McCatney lapped up some water from his bowl. “We can't give up hope. Besides, I heard them talking while you were asleep. They said we would get adopted together.”

“I sure hope so,” said Buggy. “Although you'll have to do something about that gas when we're in a house. I don't know how that smell can come out of a cat. I mean, I can see it from a cow, but—"

“Alright, alright, I got it!” McCatney said. “Stop nagging. Maybe when we have better food my gas will go away.”

They both looked up as a pretty young woman walked into the room. She smiled at Buggy and McCatney. “Oh, look,” she said. “Aren't they precious?” She stepped closer and bent down to pet them. “I'm Cindy. It's nice to meet you.”

McCatney leaned in to let her pet him and buried his face in her cleavage. 

“McCatney!” Buggy hissed. “Stop that.”

Cindy picked him up and held him. “Silly boy,” she said. 

Then she put him down and picked up Buggy, who purred and rested her head against her chest. “How about you guys come live with me?”

McCatney meowed loudly and Buggy amped up her purring. Cindy laughed. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Buggy and McCatney spent the next few days exploring their new home. It was big and there were plenty of toys all over the house. There was always yummy food and clean water to drink. Cindy loved to play and cuddle with them, too. 

One day, Buggy was rolling around in a pile of catnip and meowing loudly. McCatney sat next to her, eating from his bowl. He looked at Buggy and shook his head. 

Cindy walked in. “Oh my goodness, what have you gotten into, little one?” She picked Buggy up and held her, petting her. “You opened the catnip all on your own?” She laughed. “I'm going to have to hide that better, Buggy-Bug.” She set Buggy down and looked at McCatney. “Your little sister is a wild one, isn't she?”

McCatney washed his paws. “Don't I know it.”

When Cindy left the room, Buggy went to the middle of the kitchen floor and stood for a minute, her eyes to the ceiling. She let out a long sigh. “Meeoooow. . .”

“Buggy! What did you do? We have a litter box for that,” McCatney said. 

“She hid the catnip. When she stops hiding it, I'll start using the litter box again. You have to train your humans, McCatney. All cats know this.”

“That's just rude,” said McCatney. He jumped onto the counter and pushed a roll of paper towels onto the floor. 

Later that night, Buggy and McCatney were lying in front of the fireplace. “I sure am thankful the shelter people took us off the streets,” McCatney said. 

“Me, too,” said Buggy. She rolled over onto her back and licked her paw. “You know what I could really go for right now? I'd love some catnip.”

McCatney purred and shook his head. “Oh, Buggy, what am I going to do with you?”

Buggy got up and moved a little closer to the fireplace. McCatney's ears stood straight up when he saw what she'd been lying on. It was a colorful piece of paper with a picture of a big mouse dressed in red pants, a black shirt and white gloves standing in front of a castle. 

“Buggy!” McCatney pounced on Buggy. “That's the place with the mouse! We have to go there!”

“I know,” Buggy said. “That's why I'm making sure Cindy sees this in the morning.” She picked up the picture with her teeth and jumped onto the coffee table. She carefully slid it under a set of keys. “She won't miss this. When she decides to go, we'll just sneak into the back of the car.”

“Buggy, you're the best,” McCatney said. 

“I am, aren't I?” Buggy purred and hopped back onto the floor. She looked around the room. “Now, help me find that catnip, would you?”