The Lost Isle: May 2010

My Story

My Story:

After the illness and death of our only daughter, my husband and I decided to rent a boat and go sailing in the gulf of Mexico for a month. This is where, on New Year's Day 2005, we were caught in a storm, shipwrecked and my husband drowned. I have been on this island, which seems to be caught in some kind of portal or other dimension, ever since, free to explore philosophical and spiritual thoughts, yet physically unable to leave.

Other characters seem to be able to come and go as they please however, as I have met a few of them since being here. They visit me every once in awhile. Aquaman and Gypsy Queen were the first to appear. Gollum showed up after, then came El Alejandro and Stick-Paul, into whose dimension I was able to go a few hours before being pulled back to my island. More recently, Mr. Tumnus has been around.

Other than rare visits from these characters, I have the constant chattering of monkeys and sqawking of parrots to fill my days.

Every once in awhile, when the wind is just right, and I am able to power up the make-shift generator I made (I am handy aren't I?), charge my satelite phone, which has internet access (even out here), I am able to post a little something on my current life as a shipwrecked woman. Don't bother trying to rescue me just yet. I doubt you'd find me anyway. This seems to be one of those Bermuda Triangle things. I'm not sure I'm even in the same dimension anymore. But hey, the satelite phone still works, how cool is that?

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Give a little bit...

So give a little bit
Give a little bit of my life for you
So give a little bit
Give a little bit of your time to me
Now’s the time that we need to share
So send a smile, we’re on our way back home

The hardest part about being ignored is having to pretend that you aren't.

What used to be a special day for me was ruined long ago, by someone who didn't want to celebrate it with me. For years, I dreaded that day, and the phone calls it would bring, the well-wishes, the wanting to know how I was going to celebrate.

I wasn't going to celebrate and no one was going to do anything special for me.

Every year, it was the same. People would call and wish me well, and talk all about how I was sure to be spoiled. I would have to listen to them go on and on about it, and let them assume. Then they would start to ask more specific questions, like did I get this or that, or was there cake or flowers? And I wouldn't know how to answer. Do I tell the truth and make someone else look bad? Or do I lie? I hate to lie. I really, really hate to lie.

But sometimes, I had to, and it was always painful.

I was always glad when the day was over and I could get on with life as usual.

In some ways, being lost on this island has come as a relief. Especially when that certain day comes around again. There is no one to bother me out here.