My Life as a Lump of Dough
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com
"And all I wanted was a simple kind of life. . ."-- No Doubt
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Pizza dough. Sticky, bubbly, pale yellow pizza dough.
You know the kind. It just kind of sits there, growing and expanding until you have to mash it down again, squishing out all the little bubbles of carbon dioxide that the yeast spews out.
Doesn't exactly tickle the taste buds, now does it?
Oh, sure—give it a few hours, once you put on the tomato sauce and cheese, and whatever toppings happen to spark your fancy at that particular moment, and it'll be just splendid. The toppings are what make it worth eating. Right now, though, it just sits there, looking all pathetic and malformed. You kind of feel sorry for it.
And then you mash your fist into it another time.
What? It was uneven. You couldn't just leave it like that.
Well, take my life and insert it into the pizza dough metaphor, and you can see why I've just been one sparkling ray of sunshine these past seventeen years. Oh, sure, some people might like pizza dough, all raw and goobly looking. Just like some people might think that my life, what with squaring off with ghosts of the unruly and manipulative, might be interesting, and even fun. But these people are weird. Raw dough is disgusting, and my life is far from enjoyable.
You know, everyone else wants to stand out, to be separated from the bunch. Everyone else wants to be unique, an individual. Not me, though; I've wanted just the opposite. All I ever wanted was to fit in.
Well, a few years ago, I would have said, "Hey, anyone who wants to trade lives, I'm willing to start the bidding at twenty-five cents. I'm dying for a gum ball."
I would have been perfectly willing to give it all up, even if it meant never seeing my dad again. Because that's all I wanted. To be like everyone else.
I mean, not *exactly* like everyone else. I don't want to be another Kelly Prescott clone, or anything. But you know. Just, a normal life. A nice, ghost-free, simple life.
Instead, I was blessed with the fine gift they call MEDIATION. And unfortunately, I can't return it.
At least, that was what I felt until last year, when I moved to Carmel. Until last year, when my entire life turned upside-down.
Until last year, when I fell in love with a ghost.
Not just any ghost. Oh, no. The ghost who just happened to be haunting my bedroom.
How cozy.
I mean, not at first. When I first saw him, all I could think of was how annoying it was going to be if he didn't leave, changing in the bathroom and not being able to have friends over and having to make sure I didn't leave any random articles of clothing around. At first, I just wanted to get him the hell out of my room.
That all changed, though. I mean, saving my life a whole bunch of times can tend to change my opinion about a guy, even if he *is* dead.
And it certainly did. All of the sudden, I didn't really mind having him around anymore. In fact, I felt disappointed when he *wasn't* around. This realization kind of made me nervous, and I knew it was far from what Father Dominic would call healthy.
But then I thought, hey, you know what? I work out. I eat right, most of the time. I don't smoke, or drink, or do drugs of any kind. I don't even drink coffee, for Pete's sake. I think I'm entitled to one little unhealthy guilty pleasure, you know?
So that's what it became. I started out with an infatuation, and fell into love.
I mean, the guy had everything. The looks, the personality, the old-school manners. Sure, he was a little deficient in the style category, but let me tell you, tight pants and that way-open shirt can certainly do a body good. So even though I tried, and believe me, I *tried* not to, I fell. And I fell hard.
Which ordinarily would have been fine, if the object of my desire happened to be, you know, still breathing. But no such luck in that department.
I wonder if all mediators, at one point in their lives, find a ghost who they really, *really* wish wasn't quite so dead. I'm pretty sure Father Dominic has, although he won't come out and admit it. I know I'm sure as hell far-gone. No question there.
Part of me can't help wondering, though. What if I *wasn't* a mediator? I mean, I would still live in that same room. . . and so would Jesse. Although I would never have known it. It kind of makes me shudder. I mean, honestly! I would have been changing in there, and you know, dancing around to my Janet Jackson CD, and he would have been *watching*.
Now, if he didn't think I was strange today, he most certainly would have then. I mean, I don't think that chicks back in the 1850's danced around, singing to their hairbrush in the mirror. Not with those petticoats and hoop-skirts.
So I guess I should really be thankful. I guess. Because if I wasn't given this ability to see the dead, I never would have know Jesse lived. . .er, *lodged*, in my room. And the thought of possibly dancing around naked—not that, you know, I've done that, or anything—with him in there just kind of skeeves me out.
Not to mention, I never would have met him. And that would just kind of suck. I mean, who knows how my life would be different? I might have actually thought Paul Slater was—God forbid, I curse the thought—a decent human being. I might never have become friends with the people I know.
But I think Jesse is the main benefit to all of this mediation business. He's the only thing I can't imagine my life without. And that's scary.
But at the same time, it's comforting. I mean, even still being a mediator, if I was without Jesse, my life would be totally boring.
Boring, just like a lump of plain pizza dough, before you put the toppings on that make it so worthwhile. Boring, like before I moved to Carmel.
Boring, I think, like before I met Jesse.
Call me crazy, but I think he's the pepperoni that tops my pizza pie of life.
---------------------------------------
So, what do you all think? Just a little something I brewed up. I really should be finishing chapters 9 & 10 of After We've Said Goodbye, but you know what? I think I needed a little shift. Don't worry, I'll get right back into it! Keep on reading and reviewing, and I'll be more motivated to get those chapters out. ( With love, Carolyn
2004 Carolyn984@aol.com
By Carolyn, Carolyn984@aol.com
"And all I wanted was a simple kind of life. . ."-- No Doubt
-------------------------------------------------------------
Pizza dough. Sticky, bubbly, pale yellow pizza dough.
You know the kind. It just kind of sits there, growing and expanding until you have to mash it down again, squishing out all the little bubbles of carbon dioxide that the yeast spews out.
Doesn't exactly tickle the taste buds, now does it?
Oh, sure—give it a few hours, once you put on the tomato sauce and cheese, and whatever toppings happen to spark your fancy at that particular moment, and it'll be just splendid. The toppings are what make it worth eating. Right now, though, it just sits there, looking all pathetic and malformed. You kind of feel sorry for it.
And then you mash your fist into it another time.
What? It was uneven. You couldn't just leave it like that.
Well, take my life and insert it into the pizza dough metaphor, and you can see why I've just been one sparkling ray of sunshine these past seventeen years. Oh, sure, some people might like pizza dough, all raw and goobly looking. Just like some people might think that my life, what with squaring off with ghosts of the unruly and manipulative, might be interesting, and even fun. But these people are weird. Raw dough is disgusting, and my life is far from enjoyable.
You know, everyone else wants to stand out, to be separated from the bunch. Everyone else wants to be unique, an individual. Not me, though; I've wanted just the opposite. All I ever wanted was to fit in.
Well, a few years ago, I would have said, "Hey, anyone who wants to trade lives, I'm willing to start the bidding at twenty-five cents. I'm dying for a gum ball."
I would have been perfectly willing to give it all up, even if it meant never seeing my dad again. Because that's all I wanted. To be like everyone else.
I mean, not *exactly* like everyone else. I don't want to be another Kelly Prescott clone, or anything. But you know. Just, a normal life. A nice, ghost-free, simple life.
Instead, I was blessed with the fine gift they call MEDIATION. And unfortunately, I can't return it.
At least, that was what I felt until last year, when I moved to Carmel. Until last year, when my entire life turned upside-down.
Until last year, when I fell in love with a ghost.
Not just any ghost. Oh, no. The ghost who just happened to be haunting my bedroom.
How cozy.
I mean, not at first. When I first saw him, all I could think of was how annoying it was going to be if he didn't leave, changing in the bathroom and not being able to have friends over and having to make sure I didn't leave any random articles of clothing around. At first, I just wanted to get him the hell out of my room.
That all changed, though. I mean, saving my life a whole bunch of times can tend to change my opinion about a guy, even if he *is* dead.
And it certainly did. All of the sudden, I didn't really mind having him around anymore. In fact, I felt disappointed when he *wasn't* around. This realization kind of made me nervous, and I knew it was far from what Father Dominic would call healthy.
But then I thought, hey, you know what? I work out. I eat right, most of the time. I don't smoke, or drink, or do drugs of any kind. I don't even drink coffee, for Pete's sake. I think I'm entitled to one little unhealthy guilty pleasure, you know?
So that's what it became. I started out with an infatuation, and fell into love.
I mean, the guy had everything. The looks, the personality, the old-school manners. Sure, he was a little deficient in the style category, but let me tell you, tight pants and that way-open shirt can certainly do a body good. So even though I tried, and believe me, I *tried* not to, I fell. And I fell hard.
Which ordinarily would have been fine, if the object of my desire happened to be, you know, still breathing. But no such luck in that department.
I wonder if all mediators, at one point in their lives, find a ghost who they really, *really* wish wasn't quite so dead. I'm pretty sure Father Dominic has, although he won't come out and admit it. I know I'm sure as hell far-gone. No question there.
Part of me can't help wondering, though. What if I *wasn't* a mediator? I mean, I would still live in that same room. . . and so would Jesse. Although I would never have known it. It kind of makes me shudder. I mean, honestly! I would have been changing in there, and you know, dancing around to my Janet Jackson CD, and he would have been *watching*.
Now, if he didn't think I was strange today, he most certainly would have then. I mean, I don't think that chicks back in the 1850's danced around, singing to their hairbrush in the mirror. Not with those petticoats and hoop-skirts.
So I guess I should really be thankful. I guess. Because if I wasn't given this ability to see the dead, I never would have know Jesse lived. . .er, *lodged*, in my room. And the thought of possibly dancing around naked—not that, you know, I've done that, or anything—with him in there just kind of skeeves me out.
Not to mention, I never would have met him. And that would just kind of suck. I mean, who knows how my life would be different? I might have actually thought Paul Slater was—God forbid, I curse the thought—a decent human being. I might never have become friends with the people I know.
But I think Jesse is the main benefit to all of this mediation business. He's the only thing I can't imagine my life without. And that's scary.
But at the same time, it's comforting. I mean, even still being a mediator, if I was without Jesse, my life would be totally boring.
Boring, just like a lump of plain pizza dough, before you put the toppings on that make it so worthwhile. Boring, like before I moved to Carmel.
Boring, I think, like before I met Jesse.
Call me crazy, but I think he's the pepperoni that tops my pizza pie of life.
---------------------------------------
So, what do you all think? Just a little something I brewed up. I really should be finishing chapters 9 & 10 of After We've Said Goodbye, but you know what? I think I needed a little shift. Don't worry, I'll get right back into it! Keep on reading and reviewing, and I'll be more motivated to get those chapters out. ( With love, Carolyn
2004 Carolyn984@aol.com