Volitaire

Before my parents had me or my brother to complicate their lives, they had Freddie, the guinea pig. While my dad was at work, the piggy and my mom frolicked about their small apartment all day long, or so I thought as a child. With bright orange fur and beady little eyes, he was my mother's baby before she had, well, actual babies of her own. So, naturally, when I came into the picture some years later, my parents brilliantly decided to name me after their other firstborn. Yes, my namesake is a fury little creature that basically lived in it's own filth. And yes, I'm Freddie, the girl, not the guinea pig.

Sometimes, I feel I'm a Thousand places At once, Scattered across The universe, On mountains, In the sky, Swimming in pieces In the sea But then I wake up, and then I'm just Me.

Waiting for a bus I am, on a Saturday day on the bench under the tree which might've had a swing at some time Maybe Old lady, crooked and bent, like that dying fence, face wrinkled and round, comes up, hands me a pamphlet about Jesus or Muhammad or none of the above Small little boy, tightly holding Mother's hand, wide eyes, watching the pockets of my coat like I had something magic in them smile back at him, his mother glares come along, son, don't bother that man Smartly dressed young lady the college girl, maybe papers fluttering from her arms to land on the dirty concrete lift a hand to help them off the ground, a

Highway, street, Aching feet, Things she didn't want to know, Three minutes to go Car, garage, Love's silly mirage, Damn tank's still low, Two minutes to go Door, couch, Coworkers think she's a grouch, Just feeling a little slow, One minute to go Eyes closed, Plans hosed, Time to end the show, No more minutes to go, Alone.

It was through sheer and unexpected luck that I got my own car. My dad, spurned on by the promise of owning a vehicle that could be used to climb up mountains, was bitten by the Jeep bug once again. Despite the fact that Florida has no mountains or even anything remotely resembling an upward slope (this includes Charlie Crist), my dad had once before bought a jeep. It was his pride and joy, a mystically compact, four wheel drive vehicle. It was bright yellow. I remember him taking us on rides on the back roads of town, the ones still made of shell and which were bordered by farms, rural storage (read: old, broken trucks no one wanted to get

I have a confession to make: I am a closet Batman-maniac (phew, admitting I have a problem is the first step, although I don't think I really have one...). It all started with the movie "The Dark Knight" (curse you, Hollywood! Although the presence of super-hunks Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, and Aaron Eckhart didn't hurt...). I went in expecting another boring muscle man action flick and came out with a new purpose for living (as opposed to my old reasons, which were tic-tacs and computers). Right now I'm still in the "I-love-it-but-am-embarrassed-by-my-obsession" phase, the one where I cringe every time someone gets behind me in the line fo

The weathered old (or so it seemed to those who saw him) man shuffled slowly through his home, if you could call it that; the old castle was nothing like the splendorous palace it had once been, back before he had come here. But when had he first arrived at this strange, yet familiar, place as a boy? How many decades had he lived here, how many years of his life had he whittled away in this sculpted tomb, a monument of time? That he did not know; but he knew he aged very slowly, little by little, though some years went by quicker then others, but no where near as fast as those in the other realm. But yes, he had visited that place, so differ