“Tired of Ghosts”: #SoCS, #JusJoJan Day 29, and #LoIsInDaBl


This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme -an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: the word ‘tire’. It’s also a make-up post for Just Jot It January Day 20. The prompt was “ghost”, supplied by Barbara at teleportingweena.Come join in – there’s just a few simple rules. Check out the #SoCS hashtag, or Get more SoCS right here!

One more bit: Standard Disclaimer applies. I make no claims to own these characters. I certainly expect no monetary profit from playing with them. But, when a certain pointy-eared lady insists I tell her stories, I listen. After all, I’ve seen her fight. =)

“I’m So Damned Tired of Ghosts”

“I’m so damned tired of ghosts!”

She sat bolt upright, her sightless eyes wide and staring. She was shaking hard, but her body was rigid, her voice so high and brittle it was on the edge of shattering.

Trip went to her, but he didn’t touch her right away. Even if she couldn’t see him, and wasn’t aware, she was strong, and she didn’t need to see to know where he was. Her sense of smell was undamaged, after all.

“I’m right here, pepperpot.” He kept his voice low, a whisper so soft he almost couldn’t hear it.

But she did.

“Make the ghosts go away, Trip. Make them go – make them go -” Her pleas were choked off by the first sob. It wasn’t a soundless Vulcan sob. No, this one was raw and beyond her control.

Like the ghosts in her mind, they came from him. She couldn’t feel the bond consciously, but it kept coming back to her in odd echoes and images. Like the ghosts – his sister Lizzie, her mom, those four babies, the crewmates lost along the way.

“Ghosts aren’t logical,” she sobbed out, and reached to him.

“Oh, pepperpot. I know they aren’t. I’m so sorry -”

But she wasn’t awake, not yet, or not really. Still, the stiffness went out of her, and she let Trip gather her into his arms, settle her head against his chest, where she could hear his heartbeat.

T’Pol drifted into a more peaceful sleep, and Trip held her, rocking softly, and hoped he wouldn’t give her any more ghosts.


And, as if all that above isn’t enough for one blog, it’s also my entry for today’s Love Is In Da Blog. This week’s theme is spouses, significant others, and partners.

Loving someone enough to commit my life to him isn’t easy in every moment, and, today, I share this poem, originally written for OctPoWriMo. So, for today, an acknowledgment of that simple reality. As a bonus, it includes the word ‘tire’, although that’s coincidental, in this case.

Love’s Hard Place



I was caught

in a whirlpool.

The water crushed me

Tight against a rock wall

Wet sharp travertine

Deadly turquoise


Too strong




for release

for my freedom

from pressing waters

abrading hard place

water pressure

far too much




too tired

fading will

aching muscles

suction subsuming

greedy waters swirl

hungry turquoise




grips me

still tighter

getting weaker

yanking at my legs

which twitch and tremble

almost ready to

give in give up





Two arms

That belong

to the man who

will propose to me

in a little while

but now pulls me free

holds me so close

My safety

And I




that strong man

bear his children

two alive one not

take him within me

and bear the weight






know this was

the sometimes price

of that little word yes

I said so long ago

when he saved me

from the rock

and hard




he would be

my own whirlpool

of love and anger

desire injustice

Abraded love




this same

man who pulled

me free could so

easily bind me

into his worries

his furies

his own




I was caught

In a whirlpool

love constricts me

Tight against a rock wall

Turquoise travertine

Nature and

love’s hard



    • I’m glad you liked the story – it’s part of a longer arc I’ve been playing with, as T’Pol shows it to me. As for the poem, being pulled in is a good thing, since that’s literally what happened to me in that whirlpool…and the argument that inspired the poem.

    • Thank you. I used to stew and steam when my Accomplice and I are at odds. In general, we are very attuned, so it’s always a shock when the turbulence crops up.

      Writing a poem was a much better way to deal with those emotions, and remember that, even when I’m angry with him, this is still the man who rescued me from the whirlpool (yup, that really happened, at Mooney Falls in the Grand Canyon), and whom I’ve loved for almost nineteen years now. i wouldn’t feel so pulled and spun if I didn’t value what we have so much.

    • This one gets tacked somewhere vaguely after the end of “Animals” from my advent calendar stories. I think there’s something missing between, but this is what TnT gave me, so…

      I like the poem too. I’ve never thought love poems should only be about the happy and easy times. Life isn’t always, and I think love is at its best when it holds and grows stronger through adversity.

      If you’re still interested in a TnT beta-read, I will have something ready for you sometime in early March, I think.

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