Come out, Come out. . .

It was a snowy February evening when I walked out of Stoughton High School, chilled by both the frigid temperatures and what I had just witnessed. The drama club had just put on a remarkable performance of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, perhaps one of the most well-noted murder mysteries of all time. The twists and turns throughout the plot kept me on my feet for the entire duration of the show, but the ending left me truly breathless. Justice Wargrave, a particularly mysterious character who was thought to be dead, reappeared at the end, admitting that it was he who had murdered everyone. He would now finish the story off by hanging the only remaining character.

It sounds a bit extreme, but after seeing this play, I became tremendously paranoid. I went to bed that night under the impression that there was a murderer in my closet. (I had this fear for many years, but seeing the play reassured the potential of a situation like this occurring.) My covers being my only security, I did not move that night. If he couldn't see me move, maybe he wouldn't know I was there. . .

The weeks that followed were rough to say the least. Night after night, I still imagined this murderer, watching me through the cracks of my closet door. I would awaken, half surprised that I was still alive.

As time passed, my imagination became increasingly wild -- what had once been my bedroom closet was now my basement, around the corner, or in any unlit room. Just as in the play, the murderer was able to navigate about the house in such a timely matter that he could be virtually anywhere.

Currently (perhaps even as I'm writing this very post), my "murderer" is still nearby. Seven months later, he still haunts me; however, my fear has grown significantly weaker. It's almost as though I've come to accept the fact that yes, there is a killer in my closet. The trick to overcoming a phobia is to not worry about it. After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Genre: Neglection

Each genre of writing -- whether it be an editorial or a memoir, a profound essay or a song, has something to offer. Different forms of writing touch base on different levels of emotion/communication. The genre I picked was neglection.



SONG LYRICS

Cats in the Cradle -- Harry Chapin
A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."




The song talks about how neglection as a child can lead to neglecting others when you're older. The father didn't spend enough time with his kid when he was younger, so when he grew up, he didn't want to spend time with his father either.




POEM

Neglect -- Ed Blair

The sick one lay on the cot
Where the walls were brown and bare,
And the longed for friend came not,
No flowers were carried there;
And the fever burned his brow,
And the lips could scarcely part,
But the saddest of all was how
Neglect had stung the heart.

"I have no friends," said he,
"Though once I had a score,
No one now cares for me,
For none knock at the door."
And the feverish face turned white,
And soon the lips were clay;
For who could live with the light
Of friendship shut away?

Who loved him? Were there none
Who cared for him that day,
That from the throngs not one
Should come with him to stay?
Yes--many loved him well,
And many meant to go
With some sweet word to tell,
To ease that heart of woe.

Next day from the busy throng
A hundred came to see,
For they learned as they passed along
That his spirit now was free;
And they brought from the gardens fair
The beautiful lilies white,
And they banked them 'round him there,
As they laid him away that night.

Oh, carry the message today,
Wait not for tomorrow's sun;
It may drive despair away,
And comfort the dying one.
For better one flower today
For the one on the lonely cot,
Than tomorrow a rich boquet
When the dear one liveth not.




This poem carries the message that you shouldn't neglect your friends and loved ones; you should spend time with them while you still have it. It is neglection that drains the most energy out of people.




ARTICLE

How to be Disorganized & Unproductive, #6: Neglect Yourself -- TSH
http://simplemom.net/dont-neglect-yourself/


Althought there are many articles similar to this one, the message never seems to get old. First and foremost, don't neglect yourself! One should take care of themselves by staying healthy and having solid relationships with the people in their lives.

Writing To Me Is. . .

There are countless analogies, metaphors, and similies that I could use to compare writing to. For me, writing is like dancing. Ironically, both writing and dancing are passions of mine.

To perform well, one has to practice over and over, making small -- or sometimes drastic -- adjustments to the choreography. You need to watch yourself in the mirror and pay attention to your own technique, much like revising your own work. To dance is to show emotion, tell a story, create a vision for yourself and your audience. This also holds true to writing. We write to convey our deepest thoughts and feelings and to share them with others. The page is our stage; the pen our eager feet.

Sometimes, we stumble and fall. Sometimes we forget the choreography. Sometimes we move out of formation. Of course the best thing to do in any of these situations would be to smile and move on. The important part is to finish strong. You can be successful with dancing -- and writing -- if you get past the rough spots and improve with each performance.