šŸƒAmanda22Janeā¤

Ghost Writer
2017-11-20 02:59:05 (UTC)

Magnificent Monday. (Unfinished Microstory This Entry.)

The sky is a stunning Summer blue today. The sun has been out for the whole time and I am favouring writing over going home and doing my laundry.


Listening to the mellow contralto tones of Hollie Smith as I write here. Hollie Smith on Spotify. Best music website in the world...well...my world anyway.


It's good to be sober and I am reasonably happy and content.

Life is busy in valuable ways and I'm beginning to put in some steady paces instead of rushing from one thing to the next without awareness and thought for what I am doing. Mindfulness went out the window over the weekend though, as the stress set in whenever I start dwelling on that problematic old man that lives up the road from myself...yeees...SS71.
I found myself choosing to be a patient observer of what was going through my head and heart. It is not nice stuff at all. There is very little room inside me for genuinely caring about him.
I got angry with SS71 on Friday and I only saw him briefly since then...he phoned and then turned up on my doorstep the next day. I sent him away because I cannot cope well with him where he's at in life right now.
I've done enough for him and my help is becoming a set of crutches for him to lean on heavily and I've had enough. This is codependency all over again.
I wish him well when he decides to pick up and use recovery tools...time for me to move on....and I am trying to.


I miss my beautiful little family further north : grandkids, daughter & son-in-law. Very, very much. Not a day goes by that they are not in my heart and mind and prayers.


Powerball has jack-potted to an all-time historical high of $37 million...wow. Buying a ticket on Wednesday....


Microstory :

WISH ME WELL. (By Amanda22Jane.)


A Summer Star struck a sweet chord of harmony and comfort with me tonight. A deep, indescribable peace filled my body and soaked up my pain for one amazing and immeasurable moment. It felt so good.
Summer Star blinked then shimmered and disappeared behind moonlit puffs of cloud suspended high in the vast country night sky.
I felt disappointed and heavy once again. Good things always leave me, and I hung my head.
I looked up slowly, hoping to see something I could hang a shred of hope on...Summertime Star had reappeared to twinkle and shine down on me through a tiny cloud gap. I couldn't stop staring at it. I felt it's silent glory spread inside me like a hidden rainbow...then huge blankets of cloud raced over the star and concealed it for the night.

Pulling my baggy and filthy jacket around me tighter, I sighed a deep, heavy sigh before crawling back under the broken floorboards of an abandoned barn that has been my bed for the last two nights, my cigarette butt flicked to the wind.
A carpet of dried leaves and moss make a perfect outdoor mattress. My jacket doubles as a blanket for my thin 11-year-old body and I can fold up into a comfortable foetal position inside my jacket's copious folds.

I've gotten sick in the three days that I've been here. It was always my idea to do this and I was warned not to.
"You might get tired Emmie and then sick," my streetie friends cautioned, "we'll go. You stay here." I simply shook my head. Hadn't they done enough for me already?
In the morning, I will change into my one set of clean clothes and meet my streeties down this back road by the first bridge. They've "borrowed" a car, meaning they stole it and left a note saying that it will be returned later.

I've "acquired" food, especially meat, expensive small tools and a range of small electronic gear ; the last two are easy cash movers. We always need cash. Always. Either that or we starve.

Occasionally us three streeties sleep over in an old lady's garage beside her mobility scooter and service dog Buggie : a huge gentle golden labrador. She lives in a pensioner housing complex.
If the city council knew we were camping there, they'd kick us out and we'd end up in court. She cares about us and has a heart of gold and she cooks really beautiful meals. Whenever we are over that side of town, we know that we will treated well and that we can find love, which is something we don't get from others.


"You just like my own kids," the old lady would farewell us with. "You always welcome here. Don't worry 'bout bloody council officers! I pay my bloody rent they bloody don't! This my place! You come and stay. Come and stay again."


Then she'd hug us till it hurt and off we'd troop till next time.
She doesn't have much money so we help stock her food cupboard with our hard earned contributions. Old lady Gladys is blind in more ways than one and we help her out when we're there.
Most of the time we're on the streets. My parents kicked me out. They couldn't cope with my mountain of disorders. Same with my other two streeties. CYF fostercare wasn't for them. It shouldn't be for any kid, they're a fucking useless crashed-out joke of a system! A CYF social worker raped one of my street friends. But he's no social worker, he's just another fucking rapist.
I'm Emm and I'm a pretty smart kid,... I mean girl. My other two streeties don't want to be named but they're sixteen and seventeen and together. One I've just told you about and his girlfriend is really nice. She's scared of the streets but loves my other streetie and he protects her like no bodyguard ever could.

Unfinished.





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