Messy Monday's - The Smock Meeting that was.

Another productive meeting was held Sunday at Panera Bread! Each of the Smocker’s read their respective pieces on regret. Riva wrote a hybrid of a poem and a short story called “Regretting me,” that was too personal to ever post. Jeff read a poem called “Never again,” and Theirry shared with us a short story as well.

After reading each piece, we had a deep discussion on emotions and how humans throw out their intelligent when dealing with heavy ones. It also brought on the topic of how us as people immortalize people we don’t even know, such as celebrities.

Theirry s deep into working on his comic book while both Jeff is working hard on his poetry collection and Erica and I are still steadily working on our individual manuscripts.

Our topic for next week is Change.

Here is my short story based on regret called Houston:

A picture’s worth thousand’s in a word count of an email draft. His charm, his vision had me the least bit enthralled. It was him and I, enjoying the sun go down with purple mountain’ majesty. But that was then, and through time, my alacrity has severely waned, like the ambition he said he had, but never did.

And some people want it all, but I want nothing at all – AND HE CAN’T EVEN GIVE ME THAT. He’s so shallow but I’m into deep. He’s pulling away; I’m rushing to stay, leaving us next to humpty dumpty wall of broken dreams. I’m in a catch 22, and I don’t know what to do. Suppose I stay, and he produces all the grandiose plans he says, ill be, in short, the luckiest girl in the world.

Conversely, I can call his bluff, walk away with regret, and miss all the shit I put up with, including the way he made me wet, and everything in between.

Perhaps I do imbibe in a stay, a landfill full of Sugarland, tasteful in bliss. And then he’ll confirm my own what-if’s and fears. I’m bruised and battered, and one abortion away from the holy trinity of kids that never were. They say pro-life, but what about me? No one wants damaged goods from a woman’s broken engagement.

And so I stay in indecisiveness, complacent in limbo with a mercurial fiancé; an unreliable significant other – damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I fret to report that I’d regret a decision either way. It’s his whim, and my weakness – the combination that unlocks emptiness.

I have a decision to make, in both cases I lose. I never hit send, and stowe away words I want to say in auto draft. The cursor is blinking, right after my name. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have the balls to delete our pictures, erase my memories of us in his head, and hit send. But something tells me that doing nothing we’ll be the biggest regret of all.

Until tomorrow.
Ralph, the rambunctious smocker.