Excerpt from Somewhere Else

(book in progress)

~The Color of Confusion ~

Cornelius paused with vermilion loaded up on his brush, about to make a bold swath across the canvas, when he noticed Daelah. Placing the laden brush in his teeth, he reached down and readjusted the position of his wheelchair so he could see her better.
      At the end of the long corridor leading to the kitchen, she stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling, and down at her hands, and touching her own face.
      Cornelius frowned, a drop of vermilion free falling from the end of his brush onto a dried spot of cobalt blue on his sweats.
      A tapping grew louder and he twisted toward the back hallway leading out of the living room as Jubal made his way toward Cornelius, seated at his easel. Jubal moved the white-tipped cane back and forth in front of him. Tap. Tap. Tap, Tap.
     Cornelius took the brush from his mouth and caught his attention. "Psst!"
      Jubal paused, one hand on the saxophone dangling from a cord around his chalky neck, the other on the cane. His lifting of eyebrows at the sound made his wraparound sunglasses bob upward on his nose. "What?" he whispered back.
      Keeping his voice in a whisper, still, he said, "Have you noticed anything strange about Daelah today?"
"How would I notice anything about Daelah?" The blind man smirked.
      He swiped a hand down his face, to smooth his Van Dyke style goatee. "You know what I mean."
      "Well, yes. . ." He took a few steps forward, sliding the tip of the cane along the wood floor in front of him. "She smells different."
      "Smells different?"
      "Yeah."
      "New perfume?"
      "Nope. Individual, natural scent is different."
      "Okay, weirdness." Cornelius turned back to watch Daelah who was now reaching toward the ceiling, stretching like a cat, and moaning with pleasure.
      Jubal cocked his head toward her sounds. "What the hell is she doing? Playing with herself?"
      "Just stretching. . .but weird, like she's never stretched before. She seems to be enjoying it too much."
      Jubal took measured steps forward, made a left face, and then moved quietly down the hall, holding his cane against his chest. He paused not three feet behind her, and put the saxophone to his lips, blowing a rude honk at her.
      She jumped, stumbled against the wall and stared at him
      Feigning ignorance, he said, "Oh, is someone there?" He lifted his cane and swept it side to side, comically searching for her.
      In the living room threshold, Cornelius let out a humorous huff. His friend Jubal enjoyed playing the sightless eccentric all the way to the bone. He had embraced his disability with unusual flair.Daelah looked at the tall, angular blind man. Almost-flawless skin, paled from a lack of sunshine. She knew better than to say, who are you? She was aware of several things she suspected she should know at this point, but precisely who this blind man was, she wasn't sure about. "You scared me," she offered instead.
      "Oh. Sorry." He lowered the cane.
      "How can you sneak up like that when—"
      He knew she meant to add, when you're blind. "I have sonar like a dolphin. I can sense the walls and obstacles. . .I can feel the ions in the air, parting for my passage."
      "Right," came the snide remark a short distance behind Jubal.
      Cornelius rolled down the hall toward them and watched  Daelah lean out to see past Jubal toward the approaching wheelchair.
      Jubal cocked his head. "Are you okay, Daelah? You smell funny."
      "What?"
      "Huh?" he responded, just as confused about her misunderstanding as she was about his statement. She knew he had a keen sense of smell. The subject had come up many times before. She knew he noticed the minutiae most people missed.
      Daelah frowned again as the man in the wheelchair stopped beside the blind man. Jubal released his hold on the saxophone to sweep his hand at waist level, toward Cornelius, catching him in the face. "Oh, there you are," Jubal said.
      "Stop it!" Cornelius reprimanded him, slapping his hand away. His antics could be so aggravating.
      Addressing the still-baffled looking woman in front of him, Cornelius said, "You seem weird today, Daelah."
      "I do?"
      "Yes."
      "I. . ." She glanced to her right, up the staircase. "I think I'll go up and lie down for awhile." She turned and climbed the steps, showing interest in the photos on the stairway wall, and glancing back at them as if they were friendly house-spiders, but spiders, just the same.
      As she disappeared around the landing, the two men waited in silence for a moment, then Cornelius spun his chair and rolled back down the hallway toward the living room, the vermilion-loaded brush in his teeth again.
      Jubal followed him, and took a seat in a chair to play his sax.


      Upstairs, Daelah sank down on the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes and considered her own confusion.
      For the last few minutes, she had been trying to assimilate the volumes of information that had seemingly been downloaded into her brain. Everything from how to tie her shoes, to the relative merits of clean underwear.
      She was Daelah Murdock. She felt like herself. But something had changed. That much was clear, if only by the reaction of these two housemates. The blind man and the cripple. They seemed familiar, but she didn't know them, as odd as that contradiction was.
      Then, she recalled the dream that had played out in her mind just before she emerged from nocturnal bliss that morning.
      A glowing white essence, shaped somewhat like an elongated teardrop, had told her, telepathically, "Thank you." Daelah had no way of knowing what she, herself, looked like in the dream, but sensed she was also a glowing essence.  She had reached out to grasp the wrist that emerged from the glowing essence—a human wrist, that clenched her own in farewell.
      When the Teardrop Essence vanished, her dreamself noticed a tattoo on her inner forearm of a strange  symbol. Then she woke, and the tattoo was not on her skin, and she sat up to draw the symbol on the pad of paper on the nightstand. Then she had found the bathroom and hurried to look in the mirror, and was stunned by the sensation that the face looking back at her in the glass was not her own. Then she had not recognized the room, and had gone downstairs to look around.
      Now, frowning down at the paper, she sensed that the symbol was important, but wasn't quite sure why. The shape resembled an ankh, the universal symbol of eternal life, but it was like a blending of two ankhs, one upright, the other upside down, and joined at the stems.
      Daelah spent the next few hours roaming around the bedroom, seeking clues to her befuddlement. The bedspread was an aggravating shade of pink, and there was a pink dust ruffle made of lace around the bed. She hated it. Likewise, the matching horridly pink lampshade on the nightstand, had engendered more repulsion. Though the walls were a standard eggshell color, they were festooned with all things pink.
      This could not possibly be her own room, though she had awakened here. Peering down at herself, she  noticed she was wearing a hideous pink nightgown with lace around the collar. She pulled it off her like it was on fire, and hurried to the closet.
      Inside the wardrobe nook, her efforts to find more agreeable attire had met with a nightmarish array of pink, salmon, lavender, and fuchsia. The singular exception was a black T-Shirt, banished to the far end of the clothes rod. She turned it toward her to look at it. A depiction of a bread-like ring bejeweled with fruit and nuts graced the front, and below it in white letters was the word Fruitcake. No doubt this was a gift from someone with a sense of humor who was making a veiled suggestion about the pink-woman's mental status.
The Pink Woman. She had framed it as though the pink woman was not her. But it wasn't her. Yet here she was, being her.
      As she pulled the black fruitcake T-Shirt over her head, snatched a pair of jeans and pulled them on, and added some atrocious pink sneakers to her–no surprise—pink socks, she felt a little more like herself. Whoever that was.
      Emerging from the closet, she stood in the middle of the room and thought about it all. She wasn't herself. Couldn't be. What did that mean?
      Her trip downstairs a few minutes ago, did not garner her much information. The house was like a familiar place from long ago, yet almost erased from her memory. When the blind man and the cripple appeared,  things became even more confusing.
      Sitting back down on the bed, she listened for a moment to the blind man playing saxophone downstairs. She recognized the tune as Patsy Cline's "Crazy." It was a little crazy that she recognized the song, but not the guy who played it—a guy who obviously lived in her house. . .or she in his.
      She picked up the wretched pink purse, and pulled out the aggravating pink wallet. The driver's license read,

Daelah Murdock

72 North Tapioca

Cedar City, Utah.

Tapioca? Who the hell would live on a street called Tapioca? Was Pudding Circle all full-up? Daelah perused the license again. She was apparently female, and 36 years old.

  About the book:
A non-physical soul makes an agreement with another incarnated soul to take over her body. The Walk-in, perhaps too fearless, and too hungry for the pleasures of the flesh, discovers she has inherited the life of Daelah Murdock, a Mormon goody-two -shoes with a pathological attachment to the color pink. As a live-in caregiver for two men--one blind, the other wheelchair bound--Daelah's life seems bland and puerile. Yet someone is trying to kill her.
_____________________________________
Somewhere Else,  (c)Kelli Jae Baeli

Excerpt from Somewhere Else

New Review of my book RAOB

Review of Random Act of Blindness on weRead:

"I didn't want to put this book down, the characters had me hooked from the start, the erotica so real, I wanted to be there. Its not often I find a book that has me enthralled from beginning to end, Random Act of Blindness is one of the few. I am so looking forward to my next novel by Kelli Jae Baeli." 
~ Joanne Cincotta, Australia



Excerpts:
EXCERPTS:

Never, in all her days, had she imagined herself in a position like this. Vivid fantasies aside, Rachel had never considered acting on the impulses that invaded her thoughts throughout the day. They were private affairs stored only in some scurrilous recess of her mind. Yet her mind interacted with other minds, and often, there were fragments of information to be had in decidedly ironic ways. Doctor Bass, for instance, listened to her confession of the scandalous gearshift penetration mirage, and fantasy bondage scenarios and produced a copy of the bondage magazine. While not something Professor Rachel Leeds believed would qualify as a "literary device," it was nonetheless pivotal in the events in which she was now participating. Namely, being on her way to a hardware store to find something to use as a whip on the girl who lay naked and bound in hotel room number 66, the Mark-of-the-Almost-Beast.

Faith. To believe in things not yet seen, they say. Patrice was faithful a long time ago. Then she communed with the faithless, and their cloying demands. She needed evidence because it made her feel foolish. And faith was lost. But the bitterness left her cold, barefoot, detached from the warmth of love and connection. Then she discovered a different faith. One born of her own power, left untapped for eons, swirling, ebullient, joyful. And now, coming full circle, she found herself wholly unqualified, still, to manifest from faith alone. Yet, perfectly accustomed to crying alone, wishing alone. Hope did not float. It sat on the bottom, weighted by its own lie.

New Review of my book RAOB

Review of Achilles Forjan on Amazon

 

Fantastic review of one of my books on Amazon. 
Thank you Tanya Gotcher!!
click to see review
  

or if you want to stay on this page, read it here, at the bottom.


Author's note from Achilles Forjan:

This is my first attempt at a mainstream novel, and although I thought the challenge would lie in writing about only straight characters, I discovered that whether characters are straight or gay, they essentially live the same lives, face the same challenges, and have the same fears, joys and affections. The challenge was one of juggling details in what became a multi-genre work. This book taught me how to be a better writer.

Back Cover blurb:

A psychological exercise in suspense and mystery that captivates the reader with dynamic characters and sleight-of-hand clues covering a gamut of genres." ~Justice Harlow
Author of The Recipe, & Shall We Consummate?

Burlington, Vermont was a city known for its near-nonexistent murder rate. So when bodies begin to appear along with a mysterious note and a humiliating gesture from the killer, local authorities scramble to discover who is responsible.

A complicated series of events points to Amy Jane Spenser as the prime suspect. She is troubled by sleep deprivation and frequent memory lapses. Her job as a paramedic feeds her compulsion to help people, but ultimately only renders her a crippled witness to the human condition. Amy struggles with doubt over her own mysterious behavior, and is left with no alibi for any of the murders.

Her friend, Karma, uses her degree in Criminal Psychology and a gift for psychometry to search for clues to Amy's innocence, in spite of a persistent detective. The suspense builds as lives intertwine, and destinies dangle precariously over an abyss of secrets and suppositions, until nothing can ever be the same again.

Another great book by Kelli Jae Baeli!

This is the third of Ms. Baeli's books I've read and I plan to read more of them. She is an absolute MASTER of characterization! After I read her books, I catch myself wondering about the characters as if they were real people. And, no, this is not a sign I need to be in a mental ward somewhere; rather, it is a testament to how authentic her characters are. This authenticity extends to her plots as well. I can especially speak to the authenticity of the plot and characters in this particular book because I work in the emergency services field myself. This book in it's entirety, down to the smallest of details, is real enough to be based on people whom I know and work with daily.

One final big plus!... more often than not, I can guess "who done it" before the ending of a murder mystery and that just ruins the whole book for me. I also view it as a weakness in the writer's talent. However, not so in this gem of a psycho-thriller/murder mystery! I was totally and happily surprised! Reading this one was time well spent!

~Tanya Gotcher,
Little Rock, AR

Review of Achilles Forjan on Amazon

Ship That Passed Too Swiftly

I was talking with my friend Em (who is also one of my exes), and I was caught by an unexpected melancholy while she spoke of her daughter. Whenever she talks about her child, she becomes noticeably more vibrant, joyful, and enthusiastic. As she spoke of those little moments you can only share with a child, the tears began to stream down my face. I know it was about my absentee family, the death of my father, the way I was erased from their lives, even in the case of my father's death...and I know it was about the overweening sensation of loss that I never felt loved by my family, and wished to know what it was like to have that healthy, loving, parent-child dynamic. Me, the child, was gone. Me, the parent was a ship that passed too swiftly in my night...


I am again reminded of that sensation (fear?) that i will never know what it feels like to nurture a young life, to really matter to someone that much; to have that kind of impact on another evolving human. Never mind that I may not ever fall in love again, or have a partner to share the rest of my life with. What if I never know the joy of having a child in my life? 

And I am again reminded of the tragedy of having only one life, and how it always seems too short. How time has become my enemy.

So again, Em encouraged me to check into foster parenting. The idea seemed to make more and more sense as we discussed it again. This time, it felt even more fitting for me.

So I took that first step. I contacted the Heart Gallery for information on getting started in the foster parenting program.

I'm scary excited.

ADDENDUM:
Because i live in a one-bedroom apartment, I have no room for a foster child. duh. Funny how the obvious things get missed. sigh.

Ship That Passed Too Swiftly

Surviving Family Member

My father is dead.
He's been dead for 13 days.
I got to hear about it from a friend who got a call from another friend who saw it in the paper, and I was not mentioned in the obit as a surviving family member. This is ironic because surviving my family is exactly what i had to do.

I'm pissed off that I'm crying. Why would I have tears for someone who threw me away like used coffee grounds, and with as little consideration?

I know I'm not crying for the loss of him. Or the loss of them. I'm crying for just the loss. The utterly selfish and heartless nature of their rejection. Where did this come from? Not from the chore of raising me, I don't imagine. I had never been a bad kid. I never drank, had sex, never got pregnant. Never did drugs. Never got arrested. What was my transgression worthy of their blatant disgust and dismissal? I suspect it was because I was gay. I might never know for sure. OF course, that wouldn't explain the way they treated me before even *I* knew i was gay. Maybe they just used that as a convenient excuse.

But when i had finally grown weary of trying to win their love i decided i would just stop contacting them and see what happened. I never heard from them again. Their silence was my answer.

So as far as I'm concerned, on January 7th, 2010, my entire family died.

Surviving Family Member

Virtual Strangers (a Play in One Act)

FADE IN:

INT. - POPULAR SINGLES BAR - NIGHT

In a bar specifically for singles who are seeking partners. patrons mill about, as is normal for most social establishments. But they are all moving about inside a white cardboard box. On the outside of the boxes, there is text. Each of them is also wearing a bag over their head.

The text on the boxes is information about themselves. A profile. Sometimes there's only one line of text, sometimes the surface of the boxes is filled up with a great deal of detail.

One Boxed & Bagged person approaches another.

B&B1
Hi. I like your profile text.


B&B2
Thank you. I saw yours too...
but there's not much there,
could you tell me more about yourself?

B&B1
Well I would prefer to let you get to know me gradually.
I'll be happy to tell you more if you'll go out with me.


B&B2
Well, what do you look like?
You know I can't really tell with that bag over your head.


B&B1
Oh, I'm really attractive, Trust me. I wouldn't lie.


B&B2
Well, I'd like to have an idea if I'm
attracted before committing to a date.


B&B1
You'll know that when we go out.
When we leave the boxes and bags at home.
Don't worry. Everyone says I'm really good looking.

B&B2
(hesitating)
Well...I also need to know enough about you
to feel safe going out with you.

B&B1

Wow, maybe you're being paranoid.

B&B2
Don't you want to know what I look like?

B&B1
Oh, that doesn't matter to me.
I'm interested in what's on the inside.

B&B2
Oh, so you can be attracted to just about anyone,
no matter what they look like?

B&B1
Pretty much.

B&B2
Then how would I ever feel special?

B&B1
Special. Well that comes from the inside.
I don't need to see your face or your body to
know I'm attracted to you. I like the text on
your box well enough.

B&B2
Okay, but I am not physically attracted to text.
I have to be attracted physically to pursue anything
romantic, and I don't seem to have control over who
I'm attracted to. It just happens or it doesn't.
None of the other information matters,
if I'm not going to be attracted.

That's why I need to see you somehow, first.
I know I am attracted to certain things,
physically, and I'd like to be able to see you,
so I can gauge that before we spend much
more time with this...Could you take the box and bag off?

B&B1
I've already told you I'm attractive.
If you don't believe me, you must have trust issues.
I can't get involved with someone who's like that.
I deserve better.


B&B1
But I don't know you.
I don't know if I can believe what you say--
you're a virtual stranger to me.

B&B2
I can see that not only do you have trust issues,
but you're just shallow and superficial.

B&B1

Now wait just a minute! That's not fair.
You don't even know me.

B&B2

(walking away in disgust)

Forget it, you shallow bitch.

Virtual Strangers (a Play in One Act)

Excerpt from Armchair Detective

Excerpt from Armchair Detective, by yours truly
available on Amazon.

I had the prepaid cell phone on the seat beside me. Huxley had provided that so he could keep in touch with me, and in case I had some emergency and needed to call him. It was a source of embarrassment for me that I didn’t have something as fundamental as a cell phone, but Huxley seemed to understand, and displayed no judgment on it. Until now, I saw little reason to have one. Who would I call? I kept to myself and didn’t have any real friends here. 
     Next to the cell phone, lay the .45 caliber Ruger SP-101. The gun was not for shooting anyone, necessarily, but for self-defense, or leverage to get out of any sticky situation that might arise. I wasn’t afraid of guns; I was quite good at handling them and hitting targets. I used to have a bumper sticker that read, Guns don’t kill people, People kill people. I hoped that no people would kill other people tonight. 
     Yawning and stretching for the umpteenth time, I frowned down into the too-expensive cardboard cup with the well-known logo. The too-expensive coffee that had been in it was now cold. I grunted into the dark liquid, rolling down the window to catch some air. Though balmy, as if August wasn’t sure it wanted to be September, a cool breeze periodically felt like Freon on my skin; something I was not used to in the pre-air conditioning era of the Falcon. I sucked on my eCig, and watched the wind catch a wayward cheeseburger wrapper and propel it through the parking garage as I worked at the knot in my neck. 
     What was taking so long? Were we being stood-up? Stacey’s goons might be toying with us. So this could all be for nothing. Or something could already be going awry, and that hundred bucks would seem less and less equitable.
     I could see that surveillance work was tedious. Anyone who would sit in a parked car for hours and drink expensive coffee, waiting for something that might never happen, was not in it for the excitement. That wasn’t the reason I wanted to take up the investigative vocation; though inexperienced, I did understand there was little glamor to be had, here. Hopefully not just the coffee. But the events of my near-past segued naturally into the job. I needed a source of income, and couldn’t risk doing anything I’d done before. Presumably, I was on my way to something that might release me from the tethers of the past. Still, it was my first case, and I felt a little naked. 
     I checked the layout in my head against the one in front of me. Second level, row C. I could see row A, near the elevator, about 50 yards in front of me and to my left. So where the hell is— 
     Just then, Huxley’s black Mercury Sable pulled into Row A and parked. Somewhere in the parking deck, I heard an engine start, and faint music playing, and soon, a silver Toyota 4Runner was moving toward Huxley’s car. Ah, the delivery boy. The SUV backed into the space beside the Sable. Its driver probably wanted to be able to make a quick exit if things got dicey.
     I dropped my eCig in the seat, and slid down, peeking over the dash at the blond man who leaned over to open the passenger door. Huxley got out, carrying the bank bag of cash, and got in, closing the door. I heard the music get louder when the door was open, and knew the guy must have kept his radio on in case Huxley intended to record anything.
     Using my binoculars, I got a good look at him. He wiped at his upper lip, his attention scampering around the garage, and I ducked when his gaze came my direction.
     It was too dark for him to see me, as I’d been careful to stay away from the lights that were mounted at infrequent intervals on concrete pillars and crossbeams. And I had taken a moment to stand on the roof of the Falcon and unscrew the light above the crossbeam over me. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances on this case for the same reason I parked my butt and read reference manuals for hours on end. The pain was worth the gain. Maybe.
     While I waited, I had an idea. Truly inspired. I removed the overhead bulb inside the Falcon and then my hand darted for the handle. I bumped my coffee in its holder on the door. The brown liquid splashed onto the top of my left Doc Marten, and ran into my sock. “Shit,” I growled, kneeing the door open quietly, and stepping out. Pushing the door closed firmly, I headed for the 4Runner in a crouch, periodically shaking my sodden foot in an effort to drain the spill. The glow from the lamps moved over me, bright, then dim, as I traveled between the cars, my attention momentarily snagged by the `66 Galaxie, waiting in all its antiquity for my adoring eyes as I passed by. I toyed with the image of the car with a new paint-job and some bodywork. The general population didn’t appreciate the value of these sturdy old behemoths; probably because they’ve never realized the true potential of a large back seat.
     I ducked lower to travel the expanse of the concrete wall behind the Toyota 4Runner, until I reached a spot directly behind it. Careful to time it so that I couldn’t be seen in the rearview, I hurdled the concrete wall and crept over to the passenger side tire, taking out the tire gauge. Placing the pin on the valve stem, I liberating the tire of its air. I knew he wouldn’t hear it closed up in that SUV with the radio on.
     Then I hurried back down to the bottom of the ramp and crossed over, and up the other side, hiding behind a concrete pillar, watching, and waiting.
     Momentarily, Huxley got out, carrying a manila envelope, got in his Sable, and drove out of the garage.
The blond man began to pull away too, but paused as he felt the flat tire. He put the 4Runner in park and got out, looking at the tires on his side, and then headed for the other side. Finding the flat, he cursed loudly, and retrieved the keys to open the hatch. As he moved to the rear of the vehicle, I got out and shuffled toward the SUV, my head down below the cars. Thankfully, he had left the driver’s door open. When he opened the hatch and peered in, I dashed over, leaned inside the cab and snatched the green zippered bank bag. Pretty easy so far.
     And it would have been the perfect ruse. But I have always had a strange intolerance for certain colognes, and I could smell the pungent odor of his, in the cab of the Toyota. In the inexplicable way that luck has a way of turning, I sensed a tickle in my nose, and before I could think about it, I sneezed.
     The blond man’s head popped out from behind the hatch, and our eyes met, his darting to the bank bag I held, and back up to my, no doubt, stunned expression.
     I launched into full-throttle retreat, first heading for the Falcon, but the last thing I needed was for him to be able to identify the car I was driving, and besides, I wouldn’t have had time to get in and drive away before he caught me. He was tall with long legs. Instead, I headed for the lower ramp, but he had jumped the wall and was running parallel to me, attempting to cut me off at the pass.
     Turning to check his location, I didn’t see the car fender until I rammed my knee into it. Cursing, I jerked away at the popping sound, freezing for a nanosecond, then scanning to my right and behind me at the hole in the side of the Oldsmobile. “Holy shit!”
     Looking back at him running up the incline, I saw that he held a pistol in front of him, and was firing as he ran. Several more shots whizzed past me.
     Recognizing the need to put something between me and that flying lead, I vaulted to the hood of the Olds’ in true Rockfordesque style, and rolled over, falling off the other side, landing hard upon the pavement near the front tire, the smell of oil assaulting my nose. A searing pain shot through my side, and with great chagrin I felt the re-injury of my ribs; they had finally healed, and now I might be back in walking-wounded status. I raised myself painfully and squinted into the early morning darkness at the Falcon: my only hope for escape.
     His advancing foot steps told me I was a clay pigeon, not yet airborne, but loaded in the trap machine, with a stranger’s finger on the release mechanism. I took as much breath as I could into my lungs in order to force myself to stand—the adrenaline dulling the pain in my side. I came up off the pavement and sprinted across the lot, my shoulder blades pulling together in anticipation of the bullets that would soon riddle me like the Delta 88. I was pretty sure the guy was using the type of pistol usually found on any given gang member. No one would think anything about a random shooting in this neighborhood. Gang initiations were common. Poor girl. She didn’t have a chance.
     I tried not to look at the Falcon as I ran past it. Instead I headed up the opposite ramp, on the far side of the matching concrete wall.
     Crouching there for a moment, I surveyed the area. An exit ramp was nearby, but I knew I wouldn’t make it with condition of my knee and ribs. My eyes darted to the large trash receptacle by the wall, in front of a big buttress. Please, God. I limped over, pried the lid off, and found just enough room in the garbage sack to nestle myself inside, and pull the lid back over me.
     This is a mistake. This won’t work. He’ll know I’m in here. Fuck! What was I thinking? Trying to breathe through my mouth as quietly as possible, I waited, my heart pounding so hard, I was sure it was vibrating the trash can.
     His foot steps got louder for a few seconds, and then stopped. I could hear him breathing. Cursing. He was so close. After an almost unbearable silence, I was jostled by the impact of his foot on the side of the receptacle. Oh shit. I’m dead. He knows.

Excerpt from Armchair Detective

A Rose By Any Other Color....

So, I had this date last night. First one I was excited about in a long time. It has been forever since I had this kind of immediate chemistry and I have never wanted so much to put my lips on that chemistry. (oh, you didn't know I was gay? well I am. Sapphist through-and-through. Take a breath and keep reading).

I cleaned my place for 8 hours. And then went to the store. While there, I got her a card that said, "Life is so busy. If i could have just five extra minutes each day..
(open the card) 
"I'd make out with you like crazy for five minutes." 
And then I bought 3 roses. Because they didn't sell them in bunches of ONE.

Now, I stood there in front of the flowers and thought about how they needed to provide a chart that tells you what the colors represent. Then i thought that if I didn't know all the secret rose-codes, maybe she wouldn't either. But still, i worried...i shouldn't get red ones, because that represents love, and I'm not in love with her....(it's just new and exciting, and I want her to know I'm romantic). And wasn't yellow friendship? I didn't want her to think i wanted to be her friend...(i do, but. you know.) And the white ones were what? purity?  I'm pure as the driven snow. And you know how pure snow is when it's driven....there were some salmon colored roses, so i chose those. Not quite love, but not platonic....

...but after i got home, picked them up to smell them (mmmm) and then looked at them again, in the light, and realized they were...what was it, hot pink? No, that was darker. Then it hit me. They were labia-colored.

So i don't know if that was Freudian. And I didn't know if she'd notice that color when I handed them to her, and think I was trying to get in her pants. I probably was, but I don't want her to think that.

A Rose By Any Other Color....

Held by Jell-O

This is forced blogging.

I am the forcer in that sentence. I am forcing myself to just type and see what comes out because the lack of writing is just so counter-intuitive and i fear it might have some adverse affect on my psyche.

I have been in a funk. A writeless funk. I haven't worked on any of my books in progress. I haven't even blogged. Not because i have writer's block--as I've said before, I don't suffer from writer's block, it suffers from me. This is about mood. I don't FEEL like it. I don't feel like writing. Or going out. And that momentarily devolved into not feeling like showering or being awake. Classic signs of depression. I'm familiar with it, as most overtly creative people seem to be. But i refuse to let it conquer me. I just let it bang on my helmet for a few weeks.

From that point, i went into this food-as-comfort routine, where i caught myself eating frequently, and sometimes too much, so that i have bouts with acid reflux and always wonder afterward why i just kept chewing and swallowing. Was it just something mindless to do? And i have this unusual craving for sweets. Probably my body's retarded idea of how to make me feel better. Sugar high. But I have been constantly staring into the 'fridge and cabinets, making short trips to the grocery at 3 a.m. only to find that one thing--that one bit of consumable energy that would make me feel better. Donuts. Cake. Ice cream. Comfort foods, all. Why aren't carrots and celery comforting?

I'm not an over-eater or binge eater by nature. I recognize it for what it is. An effort to find relief from this ho-hum gel that has been poured on my head. This ecto-plasmic goo from some other parallel universe that likes to punish Intellectual Creatives. I feel like I'm suspended in Jell-O. I can see out around me, but i can't move. And in some strange way, it feels good to just be held like that.

And i have been watching way too many episodes of Criminal Minds. Have grown very fond of the show, but it is, after all, a show about the underbelly of humanity. I used to go through times when i couldn't watch the news because it depressed me so much. How people are. How vicious the world can be, and all the humans in it. So i would avoid it, and feel better. But haven't i been making the same mistake with these serial - killer - crime - investigation type shows too? Maybe that's contributing to my melancholy. I should stop. Let's see, i only have about 20 more episodes on the DVR to go...

The underlying problem is good old-fashioned loneliness. I know that. And i know I'm doing what i can to fix it, but these things take time and money, and since the move, I've been the very quintessence of a hole-dweller. In the hole. It is very grave-like. This too shall pass. I know. But until it does, it sucks. And it's on the heels of prolonged isolation and loneliness from whence i came. I moved to solve this problem (among others). And now I'm smacked by the frost-bitten hand of reality. You can't open a pack of Instant Social Life Deluxe and just add water. It's a stew. Like a crock pot variety. It takes a long time and has to go through a process. And i keep taking the lid off and breathing the aroma and wishing it was done so I could enjoy it.

People suck. But i only say that because I've had an inordinate amount of sucky people cross my path. I can also say that people rock. I have great friends. I just miss them. I never get to be with them. Okay. Love sucks. No, not love. The lack of love. That's what sucks. That warm body next to mine. (And my cats don't count, here, though they do their best by following me around and lounging on me). The lack of intimacy and romantic sparks and connection. Of loving and being loved in a physical, I'm-here-and-I-matter-to-someone-way. But it needs to be someone who matters to me too.

That's the challenge. Finding someone who affects me that way, and then having the feeling be mutual. The hard part is that sheer absence of anyone I am really attracted to. The traits that seem to titillate my dopamine and oxytocin and other choice pleasure chemicals in my brain, seem like something only a paleontologist could find. I am holding on by my fingernails. And they are quite stubby. And bleeding.

But depression is boring. I don't like it and I don't like telling anyone about it. We all know what it is. But i just don't want it to define me. There are other, more pleasant definitions of me. I am only having trouble accessing those at the moment.

Maybe I should just relocate to Prozac Nation.

Held by Jell-O

Shamelessly Stolen Meme Survey

Your ex calls wanting to hangout, what do you say?

By ex, i will assume you mean, ones I had a relationship with for longer than a year. Depends on who it is. Although, I have to say there are few with whom i would like to hang out...maybe the first one, but don't see her calling after all these years...I quite thoroughly broke her heart...but i would hang out with her if she did call....and the 4th one...the one who started as girlfriend, and wound up being my best friend.

What do you think about sex before marriage?

This is fast becoming a stance embraced by only ultra conservative fundies who think that purity is more important than sound long-term decision making....While I appreciate the value of getting to know someone on the levels OTHER than sexual, I'm of the mind that you don't buy a car until you test-drive it. Sexual compatibility is CRUCIAL to the health of a relationship. As long as everyone is being safe, I'm all for the lovemaking without commitment. And the wild monkey sex, of course. That's always fun.

Remember the first time you kissed the last person you kissed?

NO. And i wish I had never opened up that can of worms. Isn't that a pleasant image? kissing, and worms? That might be a great line for a gangster movie: "Hand over the money, or you'll be kissing worms."

Did your last kiss take place on a bed?

Yes. Because I have a sneeby foamy bed that sucks people in. It's sort of like the Hotel California Bed. Women check in but they don't check out. With or without dark desert highways & cool wind in my hair.

Do you think the last person you kissed cares for you?

No, i think she just wanted a Free Ride on a Lesbian. That's not okay with me anymore. No more free rides. You have to FIRST be a lesbian, or I'm not letting your lips anywhere near me.

Could you go for the rest of your life without drinking alcohol?

 I'd miss it, but it's not crucial to my happiness. I just know this is a moot point, since drinking has never been an issue for me, so I won't need to make a choice to stop it.

You think anyone's thinking about you right now?

I'd like to think that several people are thinking of me occasionally. But only good thoughts. Though that might be too much to hope for, since I've coupled worms and kissing, cut off the free-riders and don't have a drinking problem.

What are some things that you have to have everywhere you go?

Electronic cigarette, Sunglasses, Coach purse (with its contents), keys, iPhone.

Is it usually easy for someone to make you smile?

Not just anyone. Wit and sarcasm are big smile-makers with me. Or sweetness.

Is your room ever clean?

Do most people only have "rooms"? Um...it is usually tidy enough for me, but completely presentable if someone might see it...hard to say..I feel i have been living in a storage room for the last few months. Only now assessing what i will need to do to actually create "decor." But i PREFER tidy and organized. I just have to choose between that and some other priorities sometimes. Anyone who knows me knows that the two most important rooms to keep clean at all times is the bathroom and the kitchen.

How often do you give out second chances?

Often, it depends on the nature and severity of the thing....While some things i feel are immediately unforgivable, If i feel the person is genuinely sorry for whatever other transgression they perpetrated, and, perhaps more importantly, they UNDERSTAND why it was not acceptable, then yes. But not endlessly. I can put up with a lot if i feel someone is being real. But ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that if this is a repeat performance for too long, I get out my big eraser. My energy is better spent on other things and people that are beneficial to my well-being.

Is there anyone you wish you could be spending time with right now?

Yes. My closest friends, who are now far away, ironically.

If you could change your eye color would you?

No. I like having gray eyes. But they are sensitive to light. Still,no complaints about them. Ask me if there's anything else i would change about my physical self, and you'll get a list.

Would you ever get your nipples pierced?

uh--NO. Why would I do something voluntarily that has historically been used as a torture method?

Did you sleep alone last night?

I don't really have a "last night"--I have a sleep disorder (DSPS) and sometimes it's been in 4 hour increments, when i feel myself crashing...and yes, i slept alone, unless you count my cats. I hope that paradigm changes REALLY soon. I'm kind of tired of having that empty space on the other side of my bed.

Has a boy/girl ever called you babe/baby?

Sure. It seems to be reserved for romantic partners, though. I am always open to some new endearment, though. I have a favorite, and hope to hear it in the near future. This one tends to melt me. But you can't ever tell someone you like it because then they won't be genuine, and it would be only to ply you or please you...though plying and pleasing isn't something I ever AVOID....it just means more if it's spontaneous.

What would you say if you found out your last ex was in a relationship?

Already happened. I thought the transfer of LOVE was a little fast from me to the other. Especially after she said it was going to take such a long time to get over me. Pffft!

Was your last kiss with the opposite or same gender?

Same. I don't kiss boys. Unless you give me a million dollars. Then i will kiss a boy. Maybe twice for that price. Okay, I'd probably do quite a bit more with him for that million dollars. Hey, I've given it away for FREE so many times. Why not get rich off it? ;^)

What do you need?

Good health, quality friends, purposeful & enriching activities, my perfect lifemate, and to live for about 300 years. (DO any of you know a guy named Vlad?)

Will you cry at your wedding?

"at" or "after"? LOL. I probably will. I cried at my first one. And after, too. If I fall in love again, i probably will want to get "unionized" again.

Do you think relationships are even worth it?

Of course. Humans are social beings. We don't do well alone. That's hard-wired into our brains.

Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person you kissed?

No. That's something i will avoid in the future as well. hopefully, if I'll kiss them, I'll want to sleep with them too (pun intended and double entendre intentional). My bff says that there are people she would have sex with before she would sleep with, because that would be way too much trust to give to someone new. You're awake while having sex (presumably). Asleep, you're all kinds of vulnerable.

Six months ago, did you like someone?

Not in the way this question intimates. Not...um..intimately. The dating pool around there needed chlorine.

Is tomorrow going to be a good day?

What am I, psychic?

Last movie you saw in theaters?

The Proposal, with CandaceW. But only saw it ONCE. In only ONE theater.

Ever dated a blond-haired, blue-eyed person?

Yes.

Are you afraid of roller coasters?

I'm not afraid of them, in the sense that they can come after me while I'm sleeping....but I am a little phobic about heights and that sensation that I am HELPLESS and ABOUT TO DIE.

How's your best friend?

My oldest best friend, or my new best friend? Although my first best friend is younger than my new one. But i love them both--the 1st best friend (who's younger, but older in my life) is in love and starting a new relationship and I am so happy for her because she deserves that so much!!! She's the best friend anyone could ever hope for. My younger best friend, who is chronologically older--my age--is just like me, so I can't say she's happy-go-lucky, but she certainly is a kindred and someone i love to communicate with.

Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos?

Oddly, I've decided to use that fading process on two of my tats and get more appropriate ones put on top of them.

What was the last thing you hid?

An extra key.

If you could spend more time with someone you used to be very close with, would you?

Obviously, depends on who. I don't have very many people from the past I care to spend time with--that's why they are in my past...except for the usual ones who drift naturally as their lives take them elsewhere...but i don't consider them "in the past" just less present. I'd like to live closer to my best friend, and hopefully it won't be long before she's in CO too and we can live within a few minutes of each other again. And I would also love to have Tanya nearby, as I need her, since she's so much like me, and we "get" each other.

Is there someone you will never forget?

I guess not, because i can't think of anyone. Notice the Irony.

Are you good at making new friends?

Yes, but that's a loaded question. Building a friendship is a mutual endeavor, and first, you have to be compatible enough to do that, and second, both agree that you wish to build it. I'm not big on casual acquaintances. Its sucks time and energy out of my life i need for my work, and the other people who have proven themselves quality individuals in my life. I'd rather give that energy and time to THEM.

What's on your mind?

Those books I need to finish edits on, the books i need to finish writing, my headache, how i sometimes have to spend a lot of energy resisting depression, how I could never survive without all my senses, how much i miss intimacy with someone special, how lonely i still am, how impatient i am, the threat of nuclear annihilation by some religious nut, how hard it is to be me in this world, the upcoming holiday alone (again), how much i seem to need books and television to get me out of my own head, my personal cosmology, that I'm still a pariah and probably always will be, how easy it is to become a target for various life-bullets, the reiteration that life isn't fair, that i won't live long enough to do and be and have and experience and learn everything i want to, that education is the key to most things, the fear that i won't ever find the woman of my dreams, the fear of growing old alone, and how much i love my morning coffee.

Do you know anyone that smokes weed?

Not anyone who is in my company...while I know one or two that do, but not frequently, I've found that most regular pot smokers are unmotivated, lethargic, and not very realistic. I don't enjoy hanging out with those types, so....but i really try to avoid it for practical and personal reasons because i don't want my car impounded and to go to jail for something they have in their pocket. I have an unnatural fear of strip searches, and large butch women with tattoos who want to do unspeakable things. I do feel that as long as alcohol is legal, marijuana should be too.

Are you mad at anyone?

Not mad, but chagrined by most people.

Who was the last person to text you before you went to bed?

This sort of assumes that we all get many texts before bed, doesn't it? The last text i got was from Tanya.

What does your last text say?

"How's your birthday been so far?"

Do you love that person?

yes i do.

Are you listening to anything?

The sound of my humidifier, and Pachelbel in the CD player

Would you ever take someone back if they cheated on you?

Normally, no. It's almost impossible to regain that kind of trust, once lost. But I am confident that there would be no reason for a woman to cheat on me. If I'm committed to someone, I make sure her needs are met and that she feels loved and respected. If she cheats, it signifies her inability to either be honest, communicate clearly, be monogamous, or any combination of the three.

Do you hate it when you go over to someone's house and do absolutely nothing?

Define "do absolutely nothing"--if that means sit motionless and stare at the wall, then yes i would hate that. But if you mean, no plans, No. If I'm going to someone's house, it implies i enjoy their company. Which means there are all kinds of ways to enjoy that time. I can talk with someone for hours. We can watch TV or a movie. Whatever. Depends on what interests we share. If that person needs me there for some reason, but can't give me any attention, then that would be okay, too, if it was important to them. I have a rich inner life, and am self-entertaining.

Do you know what it's like to be truly happy?

I don't think so. Only for short periods in my life, and maybe only during one segment of my life when i was in love and performing in my band. That was about 12 years ago. But I'm headed that direction, now, hopefully. I am happier right now, than perhaps I have ever been, just because i know I'm in a better position to realize my goals. But nothing has magically shifted into place just yet. Patience is a virtue i tend to slap around.

Do you have trust issues?

Define "issues" in this context. I don't give my full trust freely. Others must prove they are worthy of trust before they get it. This does not, however, mean I am not open. See Show and Tell blog post.

Does anyone disgust you?

Bill O'Reilly, Ann Colter, Rush Limbaugh, Religious fanatics in general, the crude and ignorant, those who drink and drive, drug-users, liars, cheats, pedophiles, rapists, and those who are cruel to animals and children. Is that enough?

Has anything happened to you within the past month that has made you really angry?

Not angry...maybe perturbed, irritated, or frustrated.

Have you ever slow danced with someone?

Of course. But not in a very long time. I hope that will change soon, too. Slow dancing is so romantical.

When was the last time you laughed really hard?

When i was talking to Tanya on the phone. She and I always laugh a lot.

Do your parents force you to go to church?

Parents? who said I had parents? And even if i did--NO ONE forces me to do anything--especially not GO TO CHURCH.

Do you get along with girls?

I'd better, since I'm a lesbian. What a dilemma that would be:

"Okay get out of my bed and get dressed and go home."

"What the fuck? What's wrong with you? We just had sex!"

"Yes, but I just don't get along with girls."

How long do you have until your birthday?

OMG. I don't want to think about it. a little over 3 months. I hope to have found that eternal youth elixir by then. 'm already starting to lie about my age. And i suspect that's more about fooling myself, than anyone else.

Who did you last talk to in person?

A woman on a date... No, wait. The clerk at King Soopers. No, wait. The girl at the tanning bed reservation desk at the office. No wait...the lady in the science aisle at the library. I've been more social since moving, though still mostly superficial. Hopefully that will improve. Still better than in the last 5 years. Justi used to say that the only way i could find a gf was if she was the UPS driver.

Do you want your tongue pierced?

NOT if you paid me. it's a true health hazard. Bacteria grows in those things, and you can pass all kinds of stuff to other people. And frankly, the alleged sexual benefits are minuscule if not non-existent. It's not about your hardware, in that sense, but your software. And how well you know how to use it.

Are there any bruises on your body?

Usually always, somewhere, though the completed moving process has alleviated most of that.

How late did you stay up last night and why?

I went to sleep around 7:30 this morning and woke up at 12:50 when Justi called. I'm usually up all night because i have trouble going to sleep.

Are you alright?

That's not a word. It's not like "altogether" or "already." It's All right. But that's just me. I'm a writer and an editor. These things concern me to perhaps a larger degree than is healthy or personable. And to answer the implicated question...I am better than ever. And a great joy to know, as this response will undoubtedly show you.

Has anybody ever told you that you have pretty eyes?

Yes. Except when i had thyroid eye disease. Then it was "Did you know that your right eye is, like, about to pop out of your head?" And this person is my best friend.

When's the next time you'll see one of your closest friends?

I have no idea. Maybe never. Depends on whether they visit or move here, as hoped.

What are you doing tomorrow?

Oh, let me check my daybook....um...personal business and paperwork to get my tax return finally; returning some library books, mailing birthday and holiday gifts, and a broken e-pipe for replacement, trying to get a VIN verification so I can get my tags, reading, writing, listening to audiobook, and Television and a frozen dinner. I'll heat it up, though.

What are you doing after this?

Maybe Sleeping. Maybe more moping around with this headache. Definitely more medication/supplements.

Do you like winter?

Love love LOVE it. Fall, even better, But winter! love it. I love snow, and cool weather and fireplaces and cuddling....sigh. I hate hot weather with the red hot burning passion of a thousand suns.

What's something you can't wait for?

Obviously, if you've been paying attention: having a social circle, and more dates. And kissing. And sex. I miss sex. I hope i remember how to do it. And finding my dream woman. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

When is the next time you will kiss someone?

again, not psychic. Hopefully soon. Because i don't kiss someone unless I'm attracted. And so that would mean I hope i kiss someone soon.

You're thinking about someone, aren't you?

Yes. And shouldn't be.

Have you ever been in love?

Once, madly. And got my heart ripped out of my chest and handed back to me....so i swore I'd never be that vulnerable again. But now I would welcome that. The vulnerable and the love, not the heart-ripping. A human being can only go so long without love. No matter what the risks are.

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COMMENTS ·

Tina Stille, Candace Lynn Breaux and Denise Edwards Boyette like this.

Denise Edwards Boyette

this is deep

Jae Baeli

don't you have water-wings?

Tammy Johnson

Amen sister.......just think my luck has changed your luck has changed........it's about time....

Brian Cunningham

Wow! Feels like you told me your entire life story here! I'm very impressed Jae!

Jae Baeli

I know, Veep--it's been so long since either of us has felt this way about our lives...

And Brian...this is only the tip of the Jae iceberg--how disturbing a thought is that??? hehe. (Thank you !)

Brian Cunningham

Well, I can see that you have had, and STILL have, a very exciting and fulfilling life!

Jae Baeli

well i'm not sure it's been either of those things--has it? i must consult with my peeps and get back to you.

Brian Cunningham

That's how I read all of your answers! Very impressive.

Tanya Gotcher

I love your honesty and authenticity. So hard to find people who are willing to be real in this world. And, as usual, as I read your responses, I often find myself thinking, "exactly". LOL!

Jae Baeli

Wow i am getting so much love and validation lately!!! what is happening??????? hehe.

Thank you Brian. I appreciate your attentiveness and respect. It feels wonderful.

..and Tan, again, thank you. So great to have a kindred. I do that with your answers too. Just wish we could actually hang out once in a while, but alas--I'll be even farther away now....but love to you.

Shamelessly Stolen Meme Survey