At Circles Bend

FORWARD

Joslin Fitzgerald’s first novel, AT CIRCLES BEND, is a poignant tale of a Christian American Family trying to sift through the chaos a struggling marriage, and a life turned upside down resulting from an abrupt move to a foreign and in many ways hostile land. In their new journey, her characters Conner and Angelica struggle to raise an infant son, finding meaning in life and acceptance of one another while enveloped by and beholden to an unfamiliar Middle Eastern culture that is sure to be their end. Her journey paints an abstract canvas centered in Saudi Arabia splattered with colorful recollections of devastation due to death, travel, motherhood, relocation and a strange perplexing life seen through the abaya’s dark shadow, and Angelica’s veil of destiny reflected in her many different deserts she is walking.

Joslin Fitzgerald makes her book come alive through her characters’. The story is told from her leading ladies perspective and from her life’s experiences perception. In classification her main character Angelica tries to make sense out of her nonsensical world, and grapples to find logic in her extremely illogical surroundings, as she draws you into her harrowing tale. Angelica like so many others before her appears lost and is her own worst enemy, as she tries to answer the old question asked by the ages could her fall from grace become her ultimate salvation? In her raw, emotional, alone, and often times psychotic world, Angelica finds truth and comfort in the most unexpected places, as she searches for her place and purpose in her deserted time.

Although AT CIRCLES BEND takes place in the 1970’s, it is still a surprisingly intriguing modern tale that many families will relate to easily, especially in the wake of 9/11 and the subsequent global political landscape happening around us. In that depiction the book is a classic saga spun nearly forty years ago that in many ways parallels the exploding cultural divide between the mysterious Middle East and the invading West that still explosively exists today. This is a fascinatingly woven beautiful story that circles around love, unhappiness, oil, money, religious intolerance, cultural clashes, third world theocracies, monarchies, and great insecurity fueled by desire of goals set but not reached, that all lead to cataclysmic meltdowns that demand profound human and societal change.

Joslin Fitzgerald’s unique writing style is poetic and inventive. She has an uncanny powerful ability to lead the reader into the strangling sandstorm of life, that each of her characters face that is exciting, original and inimitable. Fitzgerald is a prolific painter, and brings the same tinted layering brushstrokes of daily shades with emotional texture and affected whimsy to the written page. She is a creative artist of paint and words. Her all-consuming passion for story telling is apparent in this narrative account. In my opinion AT CIRCLES BEND is sure to be the great introductory novel that launches her new leading breed of manuscript, and her next quick following series of her work that she is calling a Circles Legacy. This engaging glimpse, first into the sequels lineup, is a must read, and is a perfect preliminary bridge to her next books.

Cheers to Joslin Fitzgerald!

~ E. A. Lewis

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to my imagination and the exhilarating story found there. This is my first book out of a sequel series of fictional novels that I have just written, called a Circles Legacy. Eagerly in that intriguing introduction to a fascinating enchanted place called LA LA LA, land or Never Time At Circles Bend," is about the fiery circles we face in our lives as they go around spinning us upside down over again, as we are lost and found.

At Circles Bend is also about facing hardships with consequences applied to our lies, while we are learning life lessons painful to ascertain. To that gathered conclusion this unique novel reflects the harrowing bends, yet wonderful ends, that make up those decisions, compromises, mistakes and celebrations while they are spiraling out of control.

Summarily in this little tent in the desert story, my leading lady guiding the pages is disturbingly trapped and wedged in the revolving desert doors of her life. Interestingly as she commits crimes against the heart in that ensnared imprisonment she finds herself abruptly transported into an entombed world of badlands surrounding her.

Accordingly in her relocation transference, she has different kinds of life changing adventures as she bravely staggers through her wildernesses including forging through the scalding to touch desert of Saudi Arabia, and a comparable scorching barren desert called marriage. Yes without a doubt you will love personally keeping up with my new intriguing personalities, as this novel is different from any you have ever read.

So saying that unlike most books where you get lost in the conversations of the many confusing characters, you will appreciate these parading pages are easily followed, as they are sweetly told from the wife’s life perspective centering on all the traumas, dramas and haunted reflective memories of my young leading lady’s life. Yes my new actress Angelica will talk directly to you like you are her best friend, confidant or therapist.

Thus the saga begins in 1969 on a D day a world away when the struggling fledgling couple marries and then years later are abruptly transplanted from America. Thus as they are moving overseas we will appreciate the catastrophic move in their strife, since we too have disastrously moved around in ours. Yes in the same way the reader will identify with them as sweet Angelica finds herself disagreeably living behind many different dark veils in her destiny. Concernedly in relocation, you will sympathize with her plight as she discovers herself disappearing behind her secrets, abuse, and the Arabic black veil, just as the reader will agree many times they too have hidden away secretly behind their closets. Yes in this perplexing situation, my leading lady leading the way, is similarly like all of you today hiding from her tainted past, compounded by the severe problems she cannot hide from in her present, haunted by the devouring tribulations of time, while fearing yet in faith looking forward to unseen and unknown complications of the future.

In these upsetting confirmations and observations, Angelica like many of you, has found herself constantly devastated by ongoing calamities, and newly married she like the rest of us sees herself sucker punched, as a blend of some kind of a pathetic martyr and hopeful heroine. Discernibly in that tragic familiar misery, and roulette gun spin of pessimism or optimistic predestination located over the oceans she is frantically dealing with the Islamic culture, living in an ancient Saudi Arabian ghetto.

So has gone her life and as her days circulate around faith, complicated with the fingertips of death, and loves lost but never forgotten, her conflicting happiness, yet still abundant unhappiness with many life choices exists in an angry dysfunctional marriage. Intimately in this familiar situation, the interested reader will have a personal experience as they see a crisscross mirror reflection into their lives, as you too will then be able to identify and emphasize with the unhappiness and the glorious hope located in hers.

Yes in this empathic disclosure there will be many looking glass moments for the readers as they see themselves revealed in her buoyant charisma in this replicated story. Correspondingly we will see that Angelica is just like the rest of humankind as she views herself as some kind of precious royalty or damaged emotional street cutter, devastated by slashing love, disillusioned by the heart, burning in the heat, abandoned by the hearth, and surrounded by collapsing hurtling circumstances. Yes all of that coming from pains she cannot escape, attacked by toxic memories that rip her up every second of the day.

Remarkably we will also discover the age old goal to survive the pain of hell through heaven’s grace as in the same weird manner, in spite of it all, Angelica then finds herself happy in her disturbed mind where she hides away from typescript reality that taunts her. Connectively during that troubling atmospheric rotation, we will further see Angelica is constantly living in an unreality that shelters her from various levels of insanity, as she coexists with ghosts in her crazy version of a fantasy, as she tries to reach an unattainable happily ever after in her runaway fairy tale.

Excitedly, however for the reader as her circles are bending and then turning in those expeditions and strangling struggles, we will correspondingly be entertained as Angelica is overwhelmed by the shifting hourglass of her husband’s agenda, and her confounding situations spinning around her circles of hope in particular. Yes the reader will further appreciate that it is not them suffering the misery of life that time, as struggling Angelica is additionally embarrassed yet always strengthened by her prayers and weaknesses.

Absolutely on this journey walking through the unsure wastelands in her uncharted countless deserts, her deserted yet fascinating, and challenging destiny will also inspire and encourage the reader to strengthen their faith, as her challenging excursion is always guided and protected by Grace from the Son’s face that eternally sustains her. Excitedly, not only will the reader learn what life was like for her growing in belief, Angelica will also take you into an incredible rare peek a boo of Saudi Arabia, and secretive country of Iran where her nerves have been shattered and where her conviction has been tested.

Happily on this trip, that will cost you much less than a vacation or a cruise, as you go flying into their life’s, Angelica will take you on a wild magic carpet ride as her husband Conner and one month old son Coby navigate the raging seas of matrimony and family to experience their time running out in the unstable, malaria infected, rat race Middle East. Yes a girl with Angel in her name and a little bit of devil in her game, in these pages will eagerly share her many mysterious stories with you in their beginning and the end going around her circles bend…

So come and have some coffee or tea with me as we take a break from reality, while we begin the new exciting fictional Circles Legacy, connected to more coming insight, as we are off on these exhilarating explorations venturing into chapter number one called…

What a way to start a life

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT A WAY TO START A LIFE

My name is Angelica Madora, and this is my story.

I was given no choice and found myself uprooted; living by an ocean I never heard of in an ancient rundown Arabic ghetto town, called Aljahannam that I could not spell. I was abruptly transplanted to a foreign country, called Saudi Arabia that I could not locate on the map a month ago to save my soul. Despondently in my world, of never time I again felt small, lost and alone looking for answers to questions I had not known, while hanging onto the remnants of faith and what was left of home.

Subsequently my story started and in between the long lines of life living somewhere unfamiliar over the seas, I had already known from past traumas there were always two ways to go. Sadly, however, in the troubled waters of my days many times I had chosen the wrong evil pathway even though, I realized that my only chance for survival and then happiness would have come through the grace of the Lord’s face. Yes I felt that constant affirmation was the solitary sweet supplication keeping me going that defined the divine difference between my circles renewing themselves, falling apart, or ending.

Thus time began, as those paragraphs commenced my scheduled travel, while my faith was tested as destiny, and the hangman hours started. On that day I commenced the juggernaut journey with new born son Coby in tow including, my persistently, irritable husband Conner Payne. Dwelling in that introduction surrounded by the early years the nineteen seventy’s seemed to have aimlessly moved forward, and so had I.

In my preamble of life I started out with countless growing concerns, doubts and unacknowledged desires. Fearfully I was abruptly removed and then violently transported from my safe, familiar homeland in America. Yes living mute days in the malodorous Middle East, I had seen that passing parting parade as one of the numerous multiplying miseries and miniseries making my odd laminated life insurmountable.

Understandably in that composite introduction to the way things were, connected to the way I wished things could have been, life changed and I realized everything waiting behind and ahead of me, including my haunting fixation on death’s extended fingertips, defined us. Therefore during that same time, as I was controlled by our melodramatic melting down marriage and the flying highlighted deteriorating days of my heart, I was hanging on by a fragile thread. Nevertheless, in spite of it all, our inspiring mission, and always challenging adventures started anyway in many strange lands far, far, far away.

So life had gone and I found myself with my tiny infant and distant husband living in the old ghettos of Saudi Arabia. No the misery I encountered there was not mentioned in the orientation program, and the poverty I was living in was Not shown in the company’s glossy propaganda come on over slide shows. Further I found the lies told were endless as we were not even living in the American encampment.

Thus saying all of that, I was entombed, and in that rat trap I found my only getaway was in mentally leaving my apartment every day. So I slept a lot, and as I day dreamed even more on a day like today, I had again taken off mentally, as I thought back to what it was like before, when I was happy. Hence in my recent flip flop, of my going insane brain looking for escape I thought about pretty Holland. Yes I remembered Holland was our unique premiere country that we already visited before we moved to Saudi Arabia, when unbelievably my one month old baby had just taken off again. I have to say again, since Coby recently launched off and had flown from heaven to my side. So in that new distribution of time I had seen angel-kissed Holland as an extended heavenly ride.

Connectively on that day, I recollected the cause and effect of each exertion, since the plane ride leaving the United States was disturbingly emotional, and like labor then delivery, that move started a brand new life for my family. Obviously in both of those transferences, I had many qualms and questions. Naturally I was equally upset, since each hour both delivery reenactments filled me with happiness, and pain in their own ways.

Hence in that similar thought, thinking more of travel, and less of child birth, I was sitting day dreaming in our claustrophobic apartment after our horrific arrival into the Saudi Arabian ghetto. Thus as I had thought back on the dismal exciting day, that I first kissed Coby hello, America goodbye, and had become a fragile flower planted in the dying desert, I remembered the time right after delivery when the Dutch slush greeted us. Yes in that entry I recollected the hour we left the soil of our country like yesterday.

Of course I understood in that labored dispensing’s not only were we trading in our lives, and dear country in for another, we were connectively leaving behind whatever was left of our failing families. Therefore the transformation for each labor was extremely difficult, and as we turned away from the only way of living that we had ever known, just as it was for Coby leaving his starry lit heavenly home, that delivery of relocation was full of apprehension, agony, anticipation, and exhilaration.

In that dreamy thought, concentrating more on the horrendous ordeal that our family was facing leaving the States, than my child’s birth weight, I had to pry Grandma Maydett’s, aimed and firing finger tips off my baby. Clearly in that murderous extraction and kidnapped removal of her only grandchild, Conner’s mother wanted to shoot me. Yes that abstraction was also like pulling teeth without Novocain. Justifiably she was hysterically beside herself. So in that frenzied exit, I still had her wailing fears ringing in my ears screaming we would die, and she would never have seen us again! Thus as the plane had taken off into split destinies I had an eerie feeling she was right.

Unfortunately in that ordered about face of evacuation and possible execution we were moving. No I had no choice, and there was No turning back. Yes we had already sold our car, with house, and had given away our cats, and the mouse. Logically in that fortune of prosperity’s decision and then poverty’s redirection, we were forced to leave everything including the grandma I so misunderstood, yet missed, and sweetly loved. No I simply could not have contained my putrid excitement or fearful premonition that was the last time I would have seen them, I had made yet another huge Grave life mistake.

Understandably, in that great fortune reversal that we recently suffered through, I was wound up like a stretched pocket watch, just as tightly as I possibly could have been. Yes I similarly felt like a jumping bean, on scalding concrete facing the anticipation of a promised abundantly blessed, financially bestowed life overseas, or exploding. So, in the known goal of not blowing up, and firm objective of keeping us off the food stamp line, as the plane’s door violently hit me in the butt from behind, I tried not to think about our screaming grandma or the nightmare I had. I instead concentrated on the great wealth we found, and the huge paycheck forcing us away from our homeland luring us forward.

In that contradiction of prediction I boarded the jet that shut me off to my old ways of days. Yes in that shut down I turned my mind to the promise of a better time arriving, and as I then replaced grandma’s frantic threats with many happy promises coming from Conner, I was anticipating a great future waiting ahead for us a world away.

Of course I hated what I had done to my dear mother-in-law, and tragically putting myself in her horrible position, I prayed the same retribution would not happen to me on another day far away after Coby had grown up. So, in all ways I dearly resented and then detested being haunted by grandmas wailing pitiful pleas and that recurring grave robber thought I had dung something terribly wrong. Yes I sincerely hoped being a, dung bug was not in my future for what I had dung to her. Of course in another reflection I realized if anybody was coming back as a putrid excrement ant, it would have been Conner, because after all, the whole stupid thing was his stinky idea, certainly not mine!

On the other hand, of choice, I felt I might have been coming back as a dung slug too, because I was bugged, with a creepy contemplation, what we had dung to her was horribly wrong. Yet somewhere in my miserably tricked mind, I also felt we were doing the right thing, as the long flight was smooth. Yet again on the other side of hard knocked dreams, anticipating a rough landing I wondered if my insight was right.

Hence, in that tough initiation, no matter how hard I tried I could not have gotten my distraught mother in law’s angry, contorted tortured face out of my mind, or the old traumatized thought I really screwed up out of it either. So I stayed up the whole time during the long flight, watching over my child day and night praying what we were doing was right and that decision would not come back and bite me. No there was no rest for the weary, as I was listening to Maydett’s sobs ringing in my ears. Yes, I recollected that date like a memory burned into my soul, searing my eyes impossible to have forgotten.

On that exciting terrifying premiere day, our first to have been on an international jet, obviously Coby’s first to have been on a plane, and our second flight in our life’s, the night that turned into the same day in its own rights or wrongs, had put our shivering feet onto foreign ground. Needless to say looking around, everything changed. Yes in that Kodak instant, as we had seen ourselves going into our exciting international adventure we held our breath. Thus in that hard landing, I then immediately thought to myself, as I kept my eyes tightly closed, while the wheels rocked, locked, loaded, but had not exploded as they touched down, what a way to have started a life!!

So my Day Scream repeated, as I Psychologically left Arabia daily, needing escape from the pain encountered in the desert, while I continued thinking of Amsterdam and on the anticipated day remembering when I was once content we controversially landed in Holland. I was tired thus we walked lightly. Therefore expecting the worse, or was that the best, in spite of reservations, everything was great, and we found Amsterdam serenely sleeping and innocently sitting in the middle of the land of winged windmills.

In that exhilarated merriment moment, I blocked Maydett’s raining pain from my brain once and for all. So arriving in the windmills land I remembered that we were surrounded by different sizes of wooden shoes, and cozy canals, not the well fare lines and pressing problems we left behind in Alabama. To have made everything even more magical, it was snowing and in the early dawn of morning I first felt the cold on my face as the large falling flakes gently made snow white crowns on my head. Distinctly in morning’s twinkling light I felt like a fair fairy tale princess released from her deep dark dungeons of poverty and emancipated from her exhausting misery plight.

Subsequently on that hour a world away to me, life seemed full of possibilities in a fairy tale that just recently started. Visibly I instantly looked for my tiara with matching high heel shoes, also evening gown, and as the princess attended the ball of pretty life, I wiped all of my draining problems away. Yes just like Cinderella, I immediately prepared to dance in the magical night’s light inside my joyful castle patiently waiting ahead. Hence in my tales of unreality like in Cindy’s, I expected and demanded a very happily ever after ending to my make believe story somewhere after midnight with my prince of charming, (my husband) who had lately become much more alarming and disarming than enchanting. Yes Conner had become more of a toad, and I had more warts than kisses.

Therefore unlike Cinderella, I was not caressed or kissed passionately and I had not ever known where I was going. No I had Not realized that my castle and prince would have been more like a jailer and cell waiting than a rescuer, or make believe deliverance coming. Sadly in that sand trap called Saudi Arabia, thinking of Holland in my latest mourning dream I had still not known that I would have been lost and not found. Yet in my stupidity on that day, not knowing much about anything, I was bound and determined that the lost princess would have finally found the ever after of happily of once upon a time, once and for all, and I would not have been left behind at the ball. Yet all of that worried me too, since my fairy tale was not turning out as it should have.

So my story had gone and remembering back taking a cerebral break from Arabia I recollected the day/night/day/night on the plane in the same day without movies leaving the United States going to Amsterdam was tiring, trying and long. Gleefully however in other reminisces my qualms were immediately quieted, as my breath held in, because that spaced out world was beautifully frozen, surrounding the passing sunrises set inside of a million sweet possibilities. Yes I had seen a thousand rainbow sherbet icicle promises gently dripping down as I caught my heart thinking back to Holland.

To me, it was all a sugary dream, since arriving into the tulips land I thought we found the magical seeds to the giant bean stalk of exultant fear, with combination keys to the king’s palace. Yes, after leaving the dragon’s pressing impoverishment with our old problems in Alabama, on our way to Arabia, Amsterdam also giddily reminded me of a magical dimension buried in space playing with the golden goose and the gold egg.

Happily the perfumed world was ours. The fragrant fairy tale future beckoning me to come into it Seemed perfect. So thinking more of Amsterdam and less of America and Arabia, as I quickly stepped into a time machine at the blessed wave of my good fairies commanding whirling wand, nothing was impossible. Thus in those equivalent odorous instants, I suddenly felt the weight of years lifted off my painfully sagging shoulders. Perceptively in that matching identical brief bitter kiss of time, I was mysteriously, and thankfully, transported to another gracious glorious miraculous universe that was tucked somewhere away, over the rainbow by praying and clicking my tennis shoes together.

In fact that jubilantly happened, and we Had timidly fastened our tight seatbelts on the 747 double decker International bubble two-story airplane that had flown like a tornado across the seas. Yes the tumbling house containing us Had fallen from the sky, and with one major bump dizzily I stepped out into paradise on the other side of the jarring stop, with partying hope, and the parting clouds in a place called Holland.

Yes our closed windows to the world’s sun were now their gentle open doors moon, and as our frightened curtain night was their blistering morn each in the same great day, life blended together as our problems were melting away. Observably I had seen with all of the glistening fairy dust falling gently from the swirling unfamiliar sky, time changed as we then gratefully walked off the plane. Yes, we were forever touched and enchanted by their lovely blustery lands, and the windmill munchkins that we encountered there.

Visibly in that time warp together hand in hand with my husband and the new hopes in that land I had for our floundering marriage, I held my baby tightly in my arms while Conner embraced me lovingly in his. Happily in that step not knowing we had in fact stepped off a cliff, we were entwined strongly into our story as I possessed pure idiocy and happiness exploring the grand dame canals of Amsterdam. Yes I loved that the boat sauntered and swayed beneath my band of merry men while mystery reinvented my life.

Yet once again at the bend of another circles beginning, I had Not known or had a vague clue how different life would have been while I innocently looked protectively at my little son wearing his wooden clogs lying asleep in his carrier. So in my naivety our first taste of adventure nestled by the Dutch houses neatly stacked side by side in a never ending row was everything I imagined, and nothing I feared.

Unfortunately, however in that relief or grief, I had not yet realized, I was Not in a dream, but rather I was on the dark side of an old nightmare, that I thought I had already passed through. Woefully, currently living that deadly nightmare all over again in Saudi, nothing was finished. Miserably I realized nightmares were always there to haunt me.

No nothing was what I envisioned and seeing into the future was impossible for me. So as I tried, I wondered about many things, some I had seen, most I had not, with some things good, others mad, sad, bad or ugly in between, and as a terrible premonition of death coming from a deadly blizzard misery of dying in a desert had overcome me, I then likewise pondered why I felt that way. Thus on another note of the same conflicted song I wondered how I would have been involved in a grave collision or deadly blizzard living in the desert, or the Netherlands in the first place.

Of course in another thought I pondered when I might have used my blue porcelain kitchen canisters that belonged to my dear deceased mother that reminded me just how short life and love were. Sadly in rotating memories I was drowning in tears as I had seen mamas eyes reflected in the Amsterdam row houses of blue.

Yes I confirmed my mother was black and blue, and my cookie jars also resembled the shape to the painted coffin like row houses towering in front of me. Naturally in that review I had seen comparisons of before and now, suffocation and breath, life and death all around us, and in that unhappiness trying to focus on happiness, I had not understood why there were so many negative, with positive contemplations going on in my mind.

In that vexing consideration, I thought of my house with mouse and wondered where in the world they were too. Yes I had already seen everything loaded up in a semi-truck and taken to another destination unknown, where a huge ship swallowed our things up whole. Therefore in my equally struggling lack of answers, linked with a startling lack of faith, I had known all of my furniture and bric-a-brac were missing, most likely lost, along with my deceased mother’s tale of late and my mouse’s tail of fate .

In my disturbed mind set leaving Arabia wandering back to Amsterdam, in my mind the unique color of the unsettling aqua Dutch houses made me realize that my mother, my mouse, and house were lost somewhere out there alone. To have disturbed me further I had a growing nagging fearful concern resting in the middle of indecision that something else, day or night somewhere out there was also not right. Nevertheless, the disintegrating trip started, and as I rested uneasily in Arabia, I continued thinking back to landing in Holland. Yes in that flashback, I thought to myself even so, good or bad, right or wrong, happy or sad, dead or alive, standing somewhere on a map that had not existed for most, lost or found, what a way to have started our book of life!

CHAPTER TWO

SHIP WRECKED

In that way at the bend of the day, still day dreaming in Arabia thinking back to the first hour that started out to have been the first one of our new lives, I left Arabia’s hell fire and conceptually I had finally gone to sleep in Amsterdam. Excitedly needing a break from Saudi’s terror in that conclusion leading to a new discussion, I was still unable to grab sound dreams, as I continued struggling with disturbing hallucinating thoughts about dying in a collision in middle of a terrifying blizzard. Yes that nightmare thought was compounded with the unsettling sight of our things floating around in our boat shipment, somewhere out there, somewhere, day and night out there somewhere. No, I could not wrap my mind around the fact during that relocation process going through my new angst involved with personal unrest; our entire house was swimming in fishy zones unknown.

No, I could not believe all our worldly possessions were traveling on a giant boat in a metal container ready to have gone under at a moment’s notice. Yes, I feared all of our furniture and total personal belongings that were already ritually loaded inside hundreds of cardboard boxes leaving the cramped Alabama house (and our crowded country) were lost forever. Thus in my fear they were drowning in their own miscalculation odyssey.

Hence I had many linking deliriums and unsettling visions taunting me, my-self, and I of being eaten alive by heckling animals like a popsicle, while I was also teased with other upsetting thoughts of my sofa swimming by, and everything we ever owned including our life’s floating vulnerably away in a blizzard, or on the high rolling seas somewhere between the stuffy Gulf of Mexico in Mobile, crossing the turbulent Atlantic Ocean to the Arabian Persian Gulf’s breezes. Yes, life’s cycles of things, were good and bad and like my sanity my thoughts and premonitions were full of fears with possibilities that were also muddled, mottled, unclear, and full of sink holes with no clear directives.

Visibly in that fright plight contemplation, thinking less of dying in a blizzard, and more of dying in the deeps or seeing my things drowning with me, I had seen the silent boat ride they were on to have been a lot like my destiny, tossed and thrown on unsure seas. Yes in many ways I was right, because nothing could have prepared me for all that I was to have gone through during the years drenched in my many overseas fears, and insanity, as I impatiently waited for my delicate, dainty dishes to have caught up with me. Observably in those thoughts that also included our only possessions with everything we ever owned in the world going on their own pilgrimage looking for a home.

Sadly, however I had not known how lost we all were and that no home would have existed for a long time. No I had not understood I too was lost along with my house and stow away mouse. No, I had not realized that our things would have taken over a year to complete their voyage as my world turned upside down around, and down again. Yes, I realized I repeated the fact that I was lost, and that I had not understood anything.

So naturally always feeling lost, but not knowing just how lost I really was, at the same time thinking that I understood things, and had not understood anything at all, in that chapter of life, not being familiar with boat traffic, I patiently wondered if everything we cherished would have then been ship wrecked somewhere out there, underneath many layered moons too. Accordingly in that sweaty contemplation, I pouted in that repetition pondering how much more life could put me through, yet I always feared the answer.

Of course I realized thinking that disconcerting way was mentally unhealthy as those dreadful thoughts that materialized in Amsterdam, had not help solidify my failing fate or mounting invisible fears of a falling down future, as those deficiencies had instead done everything to destabilize me. Clearly in those unbalanced viewpoints with deranged conception philosophies, the dark clouds that followed definitely revved up unfounded imaginations to disturbed visions of weather wane demise. Fortunately, however those contemplations also strengthened my budding faith in spite of me, as I prayed constantly. So, in that first baby step of many, I learned an originating life lesson that served me well throughout my life that was to always lean on prayer, and believe in faith to survive!

Nevertheless finding that a hard life lesson to learn on the other side of the moon and move, still weak in conviction in my souls place , I felt like I was caught in between the written pages of something comparable to Gilligan’s Island, Swiss Family Robinsons, and of course our Mission Impossible. So, I fretted in facing more tragedy that I simply could not handle it, as I quickly buried all of those contingencies away. Understandably in future deliberation with pursuing dreads that had gone in and out of my head while formulating life, those opinions had done everything to destabilize us. Thus in mental deterioration of that dislocation, those constant disruptions had then given me unsettled foreshadowing of lopsided futures to come and constant subversion headaches.

Therefore in those migraines I had not found anything good about the foreboding of my days. I was also not happy drowning in my imaginary reflections of trepidations, as my living room was stolidly pulled from the rippling ripping tides by many forgotten islanders with long grey beards. Observably in my runaway hallucinations, as I had seen their glazed crazy blood shot eyes I struggled with the worse thoughts, thinking that my house and mouse were dead and gone. No I had not liked that notion either.

Yes, I had just known we would have lost everything we owned as the boat sunk and dancing shipwrecked men then stomped wildly. Visibly in my distressing aberrational delusions, I could clearly have heard them all laughing uncontrollably while lifting up all my deviating dreams and drenched belongings from the sea. Yes I visualized the blue boxes of our hopes and aspirations bobbing around those exile mythical ship wrecked men like little swollen red balls off of black fishing lines in grey waves.

In my misdirected maniacal inner mind’s eye, I had already, seen the missing cartel castaways as they mounted our worldly belongings high up in their aged toppling jungle tree house. Connectively chasing the familiar nightmares still thinking of Holland, living in Arabia I could envision what that looked like as the sea drifters disturbingly were cackling crazily at our misfortune. Recognizably in the same distribution, the ones lost and alone, called survivors or coffin chasers from their ship smashup bizarrely were chiding themselves about their fortune reversal, and as I was reprimanding me about mine, they redecorated their island jail with my dressers while I sat on the hard vinyl hand me downs dreaming of ours. Understandably in those stolen moments, I identified with them, as I too felt lost in reversal of our providence.

On the other side of the boat of life, however as horrible as those concerns had been they were preferred to the other dangerous awareness and additional gigantic circling fears on which I recently zoomed in and then fixated on. Yes, I hated all those thoughts that constantly haunted me centered on the complete destruction of everything we owned, including our precious lives.

Subsequently in distressing escape found in my shattered mind and the monumental boats memory where all my accessories and treasures were residing, everything I hunted and purchased was already quietly sitting on the soft ocean floors lost forever in heavy metal sarcophaguses. Thus in that scenario, we each were staring in the close up series versions of the ice doomed Titanic or Hindenburg going down in the sea or sky.

Of course in