detached ghost sightings.

That could be a portal, and they could be passing through.
(I'm joking. I borrowed this from an online magazine
called uncube magazine.)

I have a half-day off, Internet, and it feels fabulous. I've met with almost all of my kids' parents, and they are fabulous. Fabulous kids = fabulous parents and vice versa. You do know the saying "apples don't fall far from trees" is true, yes? It is. I don't know who put this class together or why I was given them, but I would like to find that person and hug them. Maybe buy them dinner. Something. They are going to carry me through the rest of this year. 

So I was thinking about what I wrote about last time. Apparently, it worried some people? I mean, my mom texted and emailed me to let me know she was thinking about me and loved me. And I got sent a ton of messages about how loved and awesome I am. So I feel like I need to clarify what I wrote:

1. I am not depressed. Have I been depressed recently? Yes. Because of burn out. There have been some really dark, bad days. But when I wrote THAT blog, I was actually pretty fine. 

2. What I feel is detached. I don't think this is a bad thing. I mean, Buddha said it's the goal to Enlightenment - don't cling to anyone or anything, that's the key to a perfect state of being. None of this is permanent; none of this is real. People aren't possessions; love is fluid. Let go. Detach.

I guess some people hear that word and go: oh, Amy doesn't want to participate in life anymore. No, no. I'm pretty cool participating in life and socializing and all that. When I say "detached," what I mean is: you do you, I'll do me. I don't have the energy right now to worry about why someone said this or didn't say that, or why someone did this or didn't do that. I don't care WHAT you do, quite frankly. You want to read this blog and blow me kisses? Have at it. You want me to clean your kitchen and take your trash out and operate on your time schedule and blow you kisses and follow your rules? Hell freaking NO. 

As long as you aren't hurting me or my kid, as long as you aren't being a complete and total douchebag, as long as you aren't trying to load me down with expectations and demands that meet YOUR needs, do it. Rock on, motherrocker. Meanwhile, I'll be over here wallowing or dancing or reading or writing or whatever...don't worry about me. I'm doing exactly the things I need to do to meet MY needs; I don't need or want anything from anybody else. I've learned if I can't get it or find it or give it to myself, then it's probably not something I really need to be pursuing in the first place. 

So I'll be just fine. You do you, I'll do me. That's what "detached" means. To me, at least.

3. That's it. That's all I was saying in that last post.

In THIS post, what I want to say is:

I got to hang out in a real haunted house the other night. I tweeted about it, and meant to include Jason Hawes in the tweet so he could come find me and keep me safe but I totally forgot about Jason in all my excitement. My friend R - she lives in a house with haints, you guys! The house is beautiful. (R, your gigantic house is gorgeous and also I'm so glad I don't have to clean it!) But it's also right next to Dawson Forest, which is well-known for being a dark and creepy woods. Several years ago, a serial killer (or at the very least a terrifying psycho drifter who went off the deep end) named Gary Michael Hilton bludgeoned a hiker named Meredith Emerson to death and then decapitated her, dumping her body in Dawson Forest. Three other murdered people have been dumped there over the last 12 or so years. People regularly commit suicides in Dawson Forest. Also in the vicinity of R and family lives a family of crazy people who keep fake heads on spikes in their yard and shoot at them. This is totally like Deliverance meets The Exorcist meets The Blair Witch Project. It's the BESTEST.

Years ago, I had a friend who lived in some apartments near a graveyard. The apartment complex was fairly new, but sometimes she'd wake up to see shadow figures standing in her bathroom. Finally, a boyfriend let her know: those are the people from the graveyard. They're passing through, and your bathroom is a portal. 

Holy crap, Internet! I hope none of you live in a portal! I can't imagine anything more freaky and terrifying than constantly waking up to dead strangers standing around, looking very confused in your bathroom. At 3 AM. Watching you pee.

So I think R's house is a portal of some sort. A creepy Dawson Forest portal. It has a little girl in it; she's often seen standing outside the laundry room. R's son's bedroom door opens and closes all by itself, sometimes right in front of you. R was asleep one night with one of her feet hanging off the side of the bed and something tugged on her big toe three times. Once, she heard a southern woman say to her very loud and clear: "Hello!" And their basement just has a general, overall creep factor to it that made it absolutely impossible for me to be there alone on my visit. R says she's perfectly fine being down there by herself, but I sense she's a ghost whisperer of some sort. 

The children played down there the other night just fine because there's a movie theater with a stage and a karaoke machine that they didn't use to sing into but to make very loud sounds and tell Yo Mama jokes. I, however, had to use the bathroom upstairs at one point and to get to THAT, I was forced to walk down a hallway and go by a pitch black bedroom with door wide open. Any thing could have leapt out of the black maw and chewed my face off! I almost screamed my head off, running to make it to the bathroom to turn the light on as fast as I could. I don't want any creepy, cold, bony fingers of death touching me and stuff. 

When I was growing up in Kentucky, I think our house was haunted. The first house we lived in was. That was the Streamland Drive house, and I swear the downstairs basement had SOMEthing in it. There was a laundry room down there, an office/den, and a big, finished multi-use room we used as a TV and playroom. I was fine in the TV/playroom, fine in the laundry room...never ever wanted to go into the office/den. It just felt creepy.

Once, when I was asleep, I remember waking up because I felt like I was levitating above my bed. When I opened my eyes, I could see two ladies dressed in early 1900s garb standing at the foot of it, just watching me, one dressed in purple. To this day, I don't know if they were ghosts or angels because when I was in college I visited a psychic who told me I have two guardian angels, and one is an older lady who always dresses in purple. (The other is young man who wears yellow, and he's ridiculously protective of me; he's not going to let anything really bad happen to me...and so far he's done a fairly decent job, I must commend him.)

So. Still want to go on a ghost hunt. But now it's been confirmed for me: I CANNOT EVER BE ALONE. Seriously. I'd totally be the one the poltergeist would eat first.

ghost hunter rules.

Totally stole this from Wikipedia.
...would totally scream and run into the nearest
person's arms if I saw this.

Can I just apologize for that last entry? The one about eros/longing? I've re-read the thing like 200 times and I'm not sure what the hell I was trying to actually say. I'm pretty sure I had a point when I started typing, but by the end I was just all over the place. Like a possessed ping pong ball. If I had to re-title that piece, I'd call it: Longing - Needle in a Haystack. 

It's almost October! The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting colder. I'm okay with the cold nights; not okay with the short daylight hours. (Quick side story: one Christmas, my mom gave everyone checks for like $50 to buy whatever they wanted. When it was my turn to open my package, I did not get a $50 check. I got a Happy Light. Do you know about those? You sit in front of them all winter and they're supposed to trick your body into thinking there's longer sunlight which is supposed to boost  your mood and make you happier. The Happy Light did not make me happy, though, and I returned it to Costco where I exchanged it for $50 worth of wine, which DID make me happy. And got me through a real rough winter.)

I want to go on a ghost hunt. Some dear friends and I like to take ghost tours, but these are different than ghost hunts. First off, you have to take all kinds of people on the ghost tours - some serious, some not, some really old and more interested in the history of the place than its haints. And they take a lot of flash photography, which I bet annoys the crap out of haints, and so they stay away.

No. I want to go on a ghost HUNT. With serious professionals. And use serious professional equipment like EVP (Electronic Voice something that starts with a P) recorders, fancy pants infrared cameras and stuff. And I want there to be serious people who know their paranormal stuff like nobody's business. For example: Jason Hawes of Ghosthunters. (Fine. Fine! Really, it's that I just want to hang out with Jason Hawes of Ghosthunters.)

But I have demands for my ghost hunting experience, and here they are:

1. I cannot ever EVER be alone.
2. I need to have a flashlight and night vision goggles on me at all times so I can see in pitch black darkness. 
3. I need to know EXACTLY where the escape, I mean exit, doors are in case something weird touches me.
4. I cannot ever EVER be alone.
5. Jason Hawes needs to be my partner.
6. I get to joke around with the ghosts if I get nervous.
7. I cannot ever EVER be alone.
8. There needs to be a good amount of beer to get me through the night.
9. If something weird touches me and I can't quickly locate an exit door, Jason Hawes must hold me for as long as I need him to.
10. I get to use all the cool equipment.
11. I cannot ever EVER be alone.

And that's it. 

I would also like the ghost hunt to be in a cool Victorian or earlier era home, but I'll take ancient distillery in a pinch. Or a hotel.

Once, I was on a ghost tour with some friends in Chattanooga, Tennessee. There's a hotel there (a Marriott, I think) that supposedly has a room that is terribly haunted. It's haunted by the spirit of a woman who was raped and murdered and she despises (with good reason) men now. Don't go in there if you have a Y chromosome! She'll get you. They tried to renovate the room, apparently, but she kept coming in at night and ripping it all up. Now, they'll claim they don't have a room number 233 (or whatever the number is), but if you demand to rent it, they'll sigh and give in to you. But then you have to sign a release saying (a) you won't demand your money back if you leave before dawn and (b) you won't sue anybody. 

When the tour ended, my friends and I went back to the hotel to stand outside Room 233 (or whatever number it is) and freak ourselves the hell out. Then a man came around the corner and asked us if we needed help, and we screamed and ran away. Then the elevator got jammed (or, you know, we forgot to press the buttons to make it go) and we screamed and laughed our ridiculous heads off a lot when we realized it was because we forgot to press some buttons. 

I'm pretty sure Jason Hawes and serious ghost hunters would be okay hanging out all night with that kind of attitude, right? I mean, once my terror dies down, I laugh and laugh. Ghosts are fun!

ghost of christmas past.

My house is haunted, Internet. Yes, I can hear you smirking. Listen: don't even make fun of me, this is serious. My house is haunted. I've been shaking off the suspicion for years, telling myself to stop being ridiculous. But I got definitive proof about it on Christmas Eve. And yes, I DO have proof. If it keeps happening, I'm going to have to call the Georgia Ghost Hunters people to come investigate and then won't every single one of you feel very silly for rolling your eyes at me when a bunch of paranormal investigators churn out all kinds of The Others evidence from my property that will make your eyes pop out of your head and your brain do a crazy dance. And so you all can just stop rolling your eyes at me right now because I think we've discussed this here before: GHOSTS ARE REAL.

Before I tell you what happened on Christmas Eve (and share my mind-blowing proof), let me tell you about a couple of things that have happened over the last several years in this house. Weird things. Odd happenings. Questionable incidents. But nothing that would make me go: Yo, this house is haunted. And then run for the hills.

Exhibit A.1: This picture.

This is C (who I've cropped out mostly, because I'm not sure he wants to be in my blog because he's fairly anti-social media for all intents and purposes so I basically just leave him out of it--it's a thing, and too long to go into right now and if I do it'll totally off track us, and I don't even know why I'm explaining any of this to you except that I'm just like this, this is how I am--which is also weird, because in person I can keep 9/10 of my private info private but when writing for some reason I turn into this bizarre oversharer and tell everybody everything and no, I don't understand it either except that I don't think I can help it, sorry, and just know it's a major source of conflict in my marriage, too. And now that I've shared THAT, I'm probably going to get in big trouble if C finds out I told other people about one of our marital sources of conflict but I can't help that either because OMG you guys! I HAD to share this evidence with you!)

Where was I? Right: This is C. He is holding Miss M at our house when she was a mere 2 days old. Do you see the very large pink orb on the right side of C's lower neck? Yes, every ghost hunter person anywhere in the world will tell you that whenever you see orbs in pictures, THOSE ARE THE GHOSTS. Some people will go: nah, that's just dust. But those people are wrong. It is NOT just dust. Dust in pictures looks totally different. First off, dust orbs are white. This one is pink.

But mostly, this picture was taken in broad daylight and no flash, and so there's no way it could be dust. Ghost! (Actually, at the time I took it, I said I hoped it was a guardian angel. It still could be. Fingers crossed it is...otherwise, stay out of my family pictures, you creepy haints.)

Exhibit A.2: These pictures.

There are no orbs in any of these pictures. I just knew I had your attention and needed you to be aware of what a freaking magically gorgeous baby my child was. I mean, look at her in that last one--not even 3 days old and she'd already mastered smiling. That's advanced. And you can see she's clearly destined for greatness as a Mafia Accountant. (No, seriously--she'd actually be crazy good at working for those kinds of people because they'd all be absolutely terrified of upsetting her...life gets complicated when Miss M is unhappy.)

Exhibit B: Strange happenings.

Things sometimes happen in my house that creep me out. I sometimes see strange shadows flying around the garage at night. There are bumps in the night. Literally: bumps in the night. Just weird, I-always-feel-like-somebody's-watching-me creepy feelings in general. I don't mind being alone in the house at night, or even sitting in a dark room by myself at night. But I prefer not to do it. I prefer to have someone with me, even if it's a terrified 6 year old who's convinced the Big Bad Wolf lurks in every corner of our house. There's safety in numbers. I think.

I should tell you here (since I'm an oversharer), for the longest time, I've been so frustrated with M. She hasn't slept alone since she was 2 years old because she's terrified of what lurks in our house's shadows. I've been thinking these weird shadowy things, bumpy sounds, and creepy feelings are just easily explained away by errant bugs or house foundational settlements, or just my overactive imagination. But maybe Miss M knows; maybe M has always known. (When she was very very small, I used to show her photographs of my father and her father's mother--both passed away long before M made her appearance on Earth--and whenever she saw them, she'd point to them and say: "Angel." See? Loved ones stay with us. Babies never tell lies; they are without guile.)

What I think I'm saying is: I may be living with the Big Bad Wolf. The ghostly version.

Exhibit C: Even stranger happenings.

On at least two occasions, I've been drifting off into sleep--not asleep, please note, awake and lucid but drifting off--when suddenly I sense I'm not by myself. And everything is set into motion very very fast--I know something not human is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, and as soon as I realize that, it comes toward me. I mean, I can HEAR it walking toward me--footsteps on carpet. And I know it's interested in me, and coming to me. I don't know whether it's there to hurt me or not, and I don't care. I jump out of bed screaming, literally screaming. Which pretty much scares it away.

A lot of people will say: Oh, Amy, that was just a bad dream. And maybe. Except I was awake? In the bedroom?

I don't know, you guys. Brains are weird. Our brains can do some of the weirdest things. So a part of me just says (and I know many of you are thinking this right now): Oh, Amy, this is just your weird brain in overdrive. Maybe you should change your diet. Get some more fresh air. Stop watching PARANORMAL ACTIVITY and CELEBRITY GHOST STORIES at 3 o'clock in the morning. Something. 

And yes, you're right. I know PARANORMAL ACTIVITY and CELEBRITY GHOST STORIES at 3 AM are bad ideas, generally. But I also know what I've felt and seen. And I also want to tell you I've been brushing it off. Really, for many years, seriously brushing it off. There's always such a simple explanation for lots of weird, strange goings on. TAPs people will tell you that--they live to debunk strange happenings...until they just can't, and that's why GHOST HUNTERS and GHOST HUNTERS INTERNATIONAL are very scientific and far more exciting than colonies on Mars so I propose there should be a Department of Ghosts in every world government right next door to their Outer Space exploration departments. And if the world governments would stop dicking around and quit arguing with each other about money and acting like a bunch of insecure teenage boys comparing who's warheads are bigger, we could probably find a way to time travel. (I don't know how that's connected to ghosts, except for some reason I feel it should be. And that the world's governments are wasting a lot of quantum time travel time. Which could totally be solved...with...time travel...Sorry. Moving on):

Exhibit D: WTF?!

But then Christmas Eve happened. And Exhibit D, the sprinkles on the cherry on the icing on the top of the cake. Please go listen to this video I took on Christmas Eve and tell me you don't hear a voice in it:

Creepy Christmas Eve Video

Do you hear it? It happens right before I pan away from the tree over to the shelving unit. It's about a millisecond of voice, fast and soft--you have to turn your volume WAY up and really listen. I can't make out what it's saying--I'm hoping it's saying something like: "I like the lights" and not something like "Goddamned lights!". It sounds like some sort of creepy elfen voice, sort of lower register but after inhaling helium. The kind of voice you'd hear in a movie like The Exorcist or Amityville Horror. Or maybe it's just a nice old lady who smoked too much, passing through. Or a nice old lady who smoked too much....and then axe murdered her family on our property back in the 1800's when she got possessed by the devil! (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Ask me why I was up until 3 AM on Christmas Eve. Because I was being Santa's elf? Or being creeped out by Satan's goblins in my living room? I sat with the lights on, hanging out on social media for a really long time, hoping that someone would at least virtually hold me--the other two people in my house were fast asleep and I felt the need to keep vigil over them for a bit. I have 3 Nativity scenes in my house, which equals 3 Baby Jesuses. And not a single Baby Jesus helped me that night. Duly noted, Baby Jesus. Making a mental note of your lack of concern.

I guess I'm not really that scared. I mean, I'm not packing bags and demanding we move. But it's making my insomnia worse, and I'm really crossing my fingers hard that whatever it is is a friendly thing, and not something from the crypt. The thought has crossed my mind that, because I go on various different ghost tours every now and then, I may be bringing this shit back with me. I've heard some of them like to attach to people and go where they go. And that's way too M. Night Shyamalan's The Sixth Sense for me. Stop doing that, ghosts. Go find Donald Trump and Rush Limbaugh--they both seem like they could use some spooky friends from the Other Side.

That's it. That's all the evidence I've gathered so far. If I get braver, I know there are EVP apps for smart phones, and I may download one to do some home ghost hunting and if I do, I'll share my results here (of course I will, because sharing is the nicest thing about me). The only problem is, I'd have to do the ghost hunting in the dark, in my house.....ALONE. I'm not opposed to ghost hunting,  but I do need someone to be with me, so I can cling to them and use them as a human shield of protection against all things paranormal and sinister. And also run away and leave them in the lurch when the fear factor gets too outrageous. I can't imagine anything worse than being asked to hang out somewhere creepy, alone, in the pitch dark, inviting ghosts to run their cold fingers down your back and leave you freaky messages on Electronic Voice Phenomenon recordings. I think it's just a good, practical idea to have someone else with you to distract an angry ghost with. Bait, is what I'm saying. I need ghost bait.

And the other big problem is that I don't have anyone in my house to do this with. I live with a total paranormal skeptic and someone who, in broad daylight, refuses to go upstairs alone because that's the Big Bad Wolf's lair. The skeptic would spend the whole night scaring me and freaking me out with calculated malicious intent, and the other one would probably end up psychologically scarred permanently, never able to do anything alone ever again, and she'd also say a bunch of crazy things about me in her therapist's office and then expect ME to pay the bill.

sigh. I'm on my own with this one, Internet. A lone cowgirl. A ghost hunter maverick. A solitary scientist.

Unless...I mean, do you have some time and want to come visit to investigate my house? Oh, what? No--I won't actually be there. HA! No. You'd be on your own with this. I'll be in a hotel down the street. But you'll have a skeptic making fun of you and a 6 year old going ape shit bananas with fear on you the whole time, and that won't be distracting or freak you out at all.

on writing about good and evil

Artwork by Ilka Lesonen.
Source: Haunted Florida

Before I begin, would you be interested in seeing one of the bizarre findings I occasionally find on my phone on the account of having a child who likes to just press buttons and crap when she has it in her possession? This is a potential blog post that might have posted from "me" had she been astute enough to actually know what the hell she was doing:

I like frozen in my head now and then 20 the same time 9th thrill k knhrghrjrhuwuyj3msnsbnfndnsmksehmekdkksnkshjhwhjjmnwknnsnjdehjrm.   Maybe some help hfj. The hotel. We 30 gggrhejsjekkmejwgrbhrnsjenwkrjjr

\=!!%!_£₩94₩69689₩€€&*,;,&***&¥*(¥$%&&&*$÷

Honestly. I think things like this are pretty good evidence of what the inner workings of a child's mind is like: weird, confusing, and scary. In addition to things like this, in past mishandlings of my phone, she's:

*Private Messaged a mad-faced devil from "me" to Patresa Hartman, who sweetly responded with: "Uh oh." and was very good-natured and understanding when I explained what was going on.

*Started a Words with Friends game with at least 3 adults who totally would've beat the pants off her had I allowed it to continue.

*Almost posted an Instagram comment from "me" under one of Jason Isaacs' pictures (watch DIG on USA--March 2015!). Very similar to the one above. Oh, he wouldn't have freaked out at all at that crazy message if he'd seen it, I'm sure. :-/ (....though, quite frankly, it would have served him right, because he posted a picture of himself this past summer with blood dripping down his face, which slightly freaked her out when she saw it {"Mommy! That boy has blood on his face! What happened to that boy on your pictures?!"}, thumbing through my Instagram account as she sometimes does. We had to have a talk about how actors pretend, that was just fake, that boy's name is Jason and he was just pretending; he's going to be just fine. Then, a few days later, he goes and puts up a picture of himself getting operated on in a hospital scene. So I had to do damage control, show it to her, and explain: he's still okay, still just acting. Then, about a month later, he goes and puts up a picture of himself with shrapnel coming out of his neck AND then follows that with one of him beat up and bloodied in some type of garbage heap. The garbage heap one she did see on her own, and wanted to make sure "What's WRONG with him?? Is he going to the hospital?" Quite frankly, I have no idea what's wrong with him, love--I mean, physically he's okay...but I suspect Jason Isaacs may have a slight issue with the macabre. Maybe? Though I bet this means he's had some kick ass Halloween costumes in the past.)

*Left a really bizarre picture with ensuing comment on my Instagram account which I didn't find until about 375 days after the fact. I left it up as evidence for what I have to deal with, day in...day out.

*Called several people at inappropriate times. Once left a bizarre voicemail. Possibly made a few calls overseas to complete strangers.

Okay, that's addressed. Now, let's move on to the writing process/novelist-in-training (aka NaNoWriMo 2014 project):

I love this process.

First of all, I'm ahead of the game. Thanks to a bottle of wine (Day 1, which was actually Day 2 of Nanowrimo), I made up for lost time. Then, thanks to Election Day (aka a day off work), I was able to get ahead of the game by about 10,000 words. This is unheard of for me. I am never (never!) ahead of the game, any game. And so this is going fairly well. 

The story is not going with the outline I set out to begin with. This is okay. I like it when stories veer off to the left, the right, and zigzag around several bends. I think this is how Life works anyway. 

I generally like my main character so far...I did some character development for her, but I don't really have a good feel for her yet. However, you know who I do have a good feel for? My antagonist. He's the coffee shop owner's son/Main Character's boss, and he's decided he's very psychic, and not in a good way. Sort of in a Rosemary's Baby kind of way--looks normal/nice on the outside, secret sadistic Satanist on the inside. And aren't THOSE people always such assholes. But god, when they're attractive, they're insanely hard to resist.

What I'm trying to communicate is: I would like to have unpure moments of wild abandon with this character. This character could take a nice girl and teach her to do very, very bad things at incredibly inappropriate moments in unseemly locations.

But you know what the most exciting part is, the part where I'm having the most fun? The research. 

So one of my characters (who I've not gotten to yet--he's coming, and I am So! Excited!) is a pirate. A dead pirate. The ghost of a pirate. And don't even look at me like that couldn't ever really happen because currently I'm reading WHAT WE TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT GOD, and it's teaching me all kinds of amazing, scientifcally-proven/Neil deGrasse Tyson-approved things about the utter mind-blowing, breathtaking magic of the Universe, atoms, energy, quantum energy, and the nature of all energy everywhere since the dawn of time before there was time. I say this all the time, but I'm pretty sure Science is one day going to back me on it when I'm long gone: GHOSTS ARE TOTALLY REAL, Y'ALL. 

I'm also researching pirates. Historical ones, not the dipshits who are out there going nuts on Captain Phillips and friends. Fascinating. I'm talking lesbian women pirates, pirate-hunters-turned-pirates, crazy ones, sane ones, greedy ones, courteous ones. All kinds of people sailing the Seven Seas once upon a time. And they had ridiculously awesome music, too, as if all that other stuff wasn't good enough. 

It's that part of the process that I think is making me too, too happy. Just the very act of researching builds onto the story in my brain. I'd like to find a pirate expert and talk to them. And now I also want to go on a ghost hunt with real paranormal experts. (Ask my friends who've been on ghost tours with me who are all laughing their ridiculous heads off right now why that's hysterically funny...I'm easy to scare the crap out of, is why--I almost pulled one friend's arm off the other night in the basement where The Shadow Man resides in the Sorrel-Weed House). 

But mostly I'm finding that research is also, in and of itself, sort of character building: lots of "what if?" questions pop up...what if this pirate had xxx? and what if there was also a girl pirate who xxxx? and what if my pirate really did xxx? 

I love that.

I just realized I wrote about God and quantum energy and pirates and ghosts and good and evil and my kid in one blog post. I also confessed to wanting to be lewd and inappropriate with someone who doesn't even exist. AND managed to stick in a Jason Isaacs/DIG (on USA!) mention on top of it all.  I am most proud of letting everyone know, publicly, that I'm willing to go bad places with fake men. I think it summarizes my purpose here on Earth pretty well, in terms of why I write. 

Go ahead and judge all you'd like...'cause God gets me and that's all that matters. Proof: the Milky Way Galaxy. (Read the book.)

ghostly tales with some side stories.

May I share my recent weekly Rob Brezny Pisces forecast with you, reader(s)? (I'm sharing because my suspicion is that Rob actually writes for ALL the zodiac, meaning: you could close your eyes, land your finger on any one of his astrology sign predictions, and find great wisdom you could apply to yourself. Just because I'm not an Aries doesn't mean I can't act like one...if I think it'll get me some place nice.) 

At any rate, here's what Rob says to do this week:

For a long time, an Illinois writer named

ArLynn Leiber Presser didn't go out much. She had 325 friends on

Facebook and was content to get her social needs met in the virtual

realm. But then she embarked on a year-long project in which she sought

face-to-face meetings with all of her online buddies. The experiment

yielded sometimes complicated but mostly interesting results. It took her

to 51 cities around the world. I suggest we make her your inspirational

role model for the coming weeks, Pisces. In at least one way, it's time for

you to move out of your imagination and into the real world. You're

primed to turn fantasies into actions, dreams into practical pursuits.

Isn't that nice? Let's go out and turn our imagination into the real world, Internet! Get off Twitter, turn off Instagram, stop stalking people on Facebook and get out there! Turn  your fantasies into actions, your dreams into practical pursuits.

Here's an example of how I did that this week with writing:

Some friends and I are going to Tybee Island/Savannah next month, and two of us are intensely fascinated by ghosts and hauntings. So of course we're taking a ghost hunting tour. You can't go to the most haunted city in America and not do this. If I find out you've gone to the Savannah area and NOT gone on a ghost hunting tour? Oh, we are so done. Don't even come back here! I mean it. And NO, I don't care if you're terrified of icy, invisible fingers trailing down the back of your neck. Are you for real?! That's a story you can tell random strangers you meet in pubs and subways. Now stop being a skeptic scaredy cat and get into that pitch black room where the man was butchered 150 years ago and has been heard growling ever since! GO!

So I was online looking for times/dates/suggestions/etc for ghost tours for when we're in town, when an idea for a story suddenly popped into my head, beginning with a few big What If? questions: What if there was a girl who was in love with a ghost? And what if that ghost loved her back, but in a really creepy, obsessive way? And what if the hauntings in that girl's small town started to suddenly and mysteriously pick up, in very undeniable ways? Ways that captured the attention of people who may or may not have that girl's (and that town's) best interests at heart? And how could a ghost's creepy obsessive love for a girl and a town play into that?

I'd read a story like that. You might not. You might read those what if questions and go: snore, Amy. And that's fine. But I'd read a story like that. And also, you clearly don't understand: GHOSTS ARE REAL. Stop messing around and get with the program. 

I took about an hour and developed a whole story outline. An outline that I'd call more outline-ish, because quite frankly I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to very long novel writings. My craft is short story. But I'm going to attempt a novel. And I'm going to start attempting it as soon as parent teacher conferences are over.

Hey, speaking of--can we talk for a moment, Internet?

I've noticed some trendings over the last several years in regards to how teachers are treated by the general public. Can we talk about that? Let's talk about Good vs Bad Ways to View Schools and Teachers and What NOT to Do (I promise I'll swing this back around to my ghost writing content at the end):

1-This may come as a shocking revelation/unexpected surprise/depression-inducing disappointment, but teachers are not babysitters. Yes, yes. I realize "YOUR" taxpayer money gets put in our paychecks, so maybe you feel like you should get to dictate to us how, when, where, and why we do our jobs and in what capacity. And also maybe you're a misogynist who has absolutely no respect for the teaching profession because the vast majority of its professionals happen to have two X chromosomes, and humans with two X chromosomes are supposed to babysit and bend over backwards to your every whim and command. 

If that's the case, let me school you a bit. Listen: "YOUR" taxpayer money also gets put into police officers', firefighters', postal workers', and public librarians' paychecks, too. Okay? We all enjoy certain services like paved roads, protection from criminals, being saved from burning buildings etc because we pool our monies into systems that do that for us. Sorry, i am NOT waking up at 3 AM to dump water on your burning house because you fell asleep smoking. We pay firefighters so we can sleep while the neighborhood burns down. 

But you don't walk up to firefighters and demand a drink of water from their fire hoses while they're putting out a forest fire, do you? No. And you don't walk up to a police officer and demand they arrest your neighbor because he keeps throwing his grass clippings onto your lawn. (All right, fine. Some people actually do this. And the police write them a ticket with a hefty fine for wasting their crime fighting time.)

And NOBODY in America bothers postal workers anymore. I think we've all learned some hard lessons about what can happen to over stressed people who have to deliver a lot of mail.

So ditto for teachers. You can't just say: "Oh, my conference time is XX:XX, but I can't get there exactly at that time, so I'm just going to leave my kid at school. The teacher can watch him/her because it's what she/he does all day anyway. What's 2 more hours?" 

No. NO! Do not do this. First of all, I'm not sitting around after school diddling my fingers, wishing I had more kids to hang out with. I'd actually like to get up and go home and be with MY kid. But I have a J-O-B to do. So I'm grading papers, prepping for tomorrow's lessons, making parent contact phone calls, planning for future lessons, or--more than likely--filling out endless mounds of paperwork 21st century "new" education demands of me. I love your kid and monitor and safeguard and help your child and give your progeny my 110% from 8-3, but I got other stuff to do, too. This is a JOB.

2-You can't just...SHOW up at my door whenever you damn well feel like it. I'm sorry; it just doesn't work like that. Please don't put me in a position of having to be a rude meanie and tell you to go away. If you have a conference with me to talk about your kid on Thursday at 3:30, then that's the day and time you show up. Not Friday at 6:00 AM, getting all hot and bothered about the fact I'm still sleeping in bed in a different location. Not Wednesday at 3:00 because you happened to be in the area and what the hell? let's go for it. 

No. NO! Do not do this. Listen: you make appointments to see a doctor, a dentist, a lawyer, an accountant, etc. What happens if you make your appointment with Dr. Gumbleed for Tuesday at 4:00 but you're done your grocery shopping early on Monday at 1:00, you're in Dr. G's area, and so you just show up at Dr. Gumbleed's office at 1:30, going, "Oh, yeah. I know my appointment's tomorrow, but I'm ready to see Dr. Gumbleed right now. So I'll just have a seat in his dental chair back there."

What?! Gumbleed and his teeth scrapers would throw your butt right out the door, and if I'm their 1:30 appointment, I'm helping them. 

Treat teachers like you'd treat your doctor, your dentist, your lawyer. Don't treat teachers like you'd treat the police, because the police can be scary. But treat teachers like you'd treat the police when they're at Starbucks or doing police charity work, and at their nicest.

Teachers are professionals. Highly trained, professionally degreed professionals. Don't know why your kid is drawing weird crap in all her family portraits? I've actually had training on why that happens. I can talk Piaget theories until you weep. I can tell you what a Kindergartner can/can't do developmentally, and all the way up through 3rd grade, which is where, for personal reasons, I decided to stop my expertise. 

Okay, public? That's your public service announcement from your friendly teacher rep, speaking on behalf of all underpaid, overworked teachers everywhere. We just want to be respected and treated like top notch professionals, that's all.

And for those of you with big complaints about bad apple teachers? Listen, it happens. Just like you'll run into crazy doctors who make you go: "What the hell kind of medical school did YOU go to?!", unfortunately you'll probably also run into teachers like that, too, once in awhile. It happens. That's Life. Bad hires happen.

But just because you had a bad apple teacher once (so did I--two, actually) or you saw something on FOX News or read something in your local editorial section about how teachers are such douchebag problems for society, don't approach all teachers like they're your personal servants and their classrooms are your living room to flop down in whenever you want to. 

My classroom is my office, just like what Bill Gates has except I personally make all my office decor and have a better color scheme and didn't pay a designer $10,000,000 to create it. Once every single person in the public gets clear on this, teacher stress will go down, WAY down. And that's for teachers in every country of the world; I read school news from the UK, and it sounds bad all over right now (but I will say the British seem to be far nicer when wet noodle slapping their teachers around; there are times I read stuff from the UK and say out loud: "Too bad America lost the Revolutionary War") (to be fair to my country: there are also times I read stuff from the UK and go: Phew! Close one!).

Speaking of too personal, can I jump way off track with one last this-has-nothing-to-do-with-anything-I-just-wrote-about story? But connected for me because I'm talking about inappropriate public behavior?

One time I was at a movie theater, and this chick sitting two seats down from me lifts up the armrests on both the seats between us and proceeds to pull out a blanket AND A PILLOW. She puts these down on the seats and stretches the eff out. On the movie theater seats! In the movie theater! 

I'm sorry, no. NO! That's why Netflix was invented. If you need to lie down to watch a movie, then you need to be in your house, in your bed, streaming Netflix movies. 

What is going ON, Human Beings of Planet Earth?! Get it together.

Okay. I'm done. Now I'm going to go work on my ghost hunting tale. There's a pirate involved. And he's SWARTHY. Which are the best kinds.