Just move on!

How to even begin here? I can hear the groans now. Not another boo-hoo piece about how someone feels upset because they had a crappy childhood or their candidate lost. Everyone has crappy moments in life so get over it and move on! Suck it up Buttercup…or Snowflake, the current supposed insult dujour for the unimaginative and short sighted.

Yeah, that’s a great motivational speech there Coach Hard-Ass! Unless, of course, the person speaking these dismissive words was the one helping to lay the bricks in that damaged wall to begin with. Pep talks offered by the tough love crowd are sometimes self-serving…just so you know.

It’s an absolute curiosity and almost definite fact that those so quick to call names, when those being maligned stand up for themselves, have great experience playing the shell game of victim blaming and bully bolstering. Defensive deflection is another way to describe it because heaven knows we can’t be allowed to get away with blaming Moms and Pops or the Democrats or Republicans for our current dysfunctions. “You’re an adult now, it’s all on you to fix. Not my fault!” This also applies to society as a whole and is not just a familial phenomenon.

The assertion that as an adult the easier path to take after hearing such dismissive “because I said so” proclamations would be to just shrug and move on but why should everyone be forced to do this without some discussion?  Is this because society, the media, smug politicians or preachers say so? Maybe speaking one’s mind has less to do with assigning blame and demanding apologies and more to do with being honest and free. Think about that one before getting the old panties all in a wad okay? Honesty has become pretty tarnished lately.

At what age do we stop being seen as immature and start being seen as worthy discussion and debate partners? In this day and age of expecting people to own responsibility for their foul-ups why is it so commonplace to simply brush off meaningful confrontations by using emotionally corrosive vomit like, “Oh, just move on will you?” Nope! This needs to be discussed, highlighted, double-checked and then put into proper perspective. Cover-ups are tiresome and rarely hide the true problems. And, insulting someone just to get them to shut up is the ultimate crown worn by emotional and intellectual cowards.


Telling people to “move on” is a very effective way to stop people from talking about their pain. It’s done because those that need to hear the truth most have no intention of listening and they do this out of fear that they may have played a part in causing another human being pain. After years of denial it’s just safer to maintain the status quo of NO! Not me! That didn’t happen like that! You are making things up! On and on, we hear the song of presumed ultimate knowledge from those that turned a blind eye to emotional and physical trauma. Nothing is more painful than living with the true knowledge that the very people who are supposed to be looking out for and protecting you are also both the intentional and unintentional perpetrators. You don’t have to take that lying down, nor should you let something like that go without some protest.

Growing up I was given the impression that sharing feelings or expressing upset was tantamount to childish whining and not something that would be tolerated. If I had the nerve to speak up then my ultimate reward was usually a litany of personal insults, on a good day, and a sharp punch to the shoulder or slap upside the head on a bad day. Spin the wheel! Which will it be? Say something or say nothing and die slowly inside?  For many years I did stay on mute, joking away the pain and minimizing my experiences because who wants to see all of that dirty, beaten up baggage? Put that silliness in the closet like everyone else. How dare you!

Resentment builds when silence is maintained and this is why I write. I write because I’ll be damned if I’ll allow someone else to edit my beliefs or sanitize my experiences. Even if it means I may be on the receiving end of criticism and scorn, I write.

My experiences and personal beliefs are not exaggerated or wrong. They are MINE and unless my critics have the ability to read minds and possess a finely calibrated internal lie detector test then my response is this; what’s mine is MINE and what’s yours is YOURS. No one has the right to deny me my life’s journey because I would never deny them theirs. This is what makes us all beautiful and unique, warts and all. We can agree to disagree and still co-exist…really, we actually can. I shit you not!

Speaking the truth is hard and it can alienate but, and this is huge, it can also liberate. Truth can be embarrassing and it can also be the spark that lights a massive fire of personal indignation, pitting friend against friend, family member against family member and even anonymous web trolls against those brave enough to speak out. It’s the risk we all take when we choose to stop being emotionally constipated and start being real. Always be honestly real because the alternative is pretty hollow.


© 2016-2017 Laura A. Askew, All Rights Reserved

As a gentle reminder: People who steal the creative property of others deserve a swift donkey kick in the crotch. Don’t steal my stuff!



It’s Time To Change…

You have no idea how long I have been waiting to write this! An eternity, a long, lovely time since I wore flowy retro hippie skirts or baggy cut-off denim overalls with one strap hanging loose and wrists full of hemp bracelets while sitting around the hacky sack circle.

No, I’m not talking about the 60’s, I’m speaking of that twilight time between 1988 and 1994 when formerly materialist Gen Xers decided to get all trippy, waxing poetic with peace or ankh signs hanging from ears and necks and the cloying scent of patchouli mixed with Chloe or Giorgio Red. It was like a small corner of MTV and Madison Avenue fell into an acid trip in which the crappy things in life just didn’t matter anymore.

And, life does some crappy things to you with “fashion” being one of the most cringe worthy at times but honestly, I enjoyed this time a lot because it brought me the closest to not giving a shit than I’ve ever been until right here, right now. If anyone gets that last reference and can message me with the correct answer I will mail you this:


Well, not this one exactly but something like it that doesn’t smell like  bong water….

Most people come to terms with their childhood sooner or later, the embarrassing pictures and stories but teenage years and early twenties are harder to grasp because we both loathe them and long for them in the same breath. Take them or leave them but either way they define us the most and write the story of who we really are with the sharpest clarity.

It’s the ugly truth of angst that motivates people to reject or embrace the path they need to be on in life in order to succeed or fail; this is everyone’s turning point. Go or stay, live or die, crash and burn or pull up and soar! These are the days (another reference there) in which we learn to bask in the glory of true impending freedom or we get stuck in the mud of confusion and woe is me gloom. When it’s time to change we know it but what if the costume you picked out and tried on isn’t for a role you want to keep playing? The short answer is this: Take it off! There will always be someone waiting to pick it up so pass it along and search for your one true fit in this giant garage sale called Life.

Hanging out with dreamers, also called “losers” by those afraid to shed their own ill-chosen costumes of societal pigeonhole backlogging, became my wish back then.  And now, that desire is back. I like people who smile even when rain is pouring down and I adore those that brush off criticism like a mere crumb on their peasant blouse. No worries.

Life ain’t no big thing once you stop over thinking and just keep on rolling. Love one another and mind your own shit because stepping in others isn’t cool man. Not cool at all. Is it naive to think I can get this back? I don’t think so and my conviction to change becomes that much stronger because the way I have been living so far has been nothing more than a means to an end…the ultimate end…like spinning over and over, unfulfilled, until my breath just stops. Who wants that?


I want to love AND live, not just one or the other and in order to love the life I’m living I have to change because nothing is truly sustainable without adjustment and adaptation yet, so many are afraid of such a benign word like “change.” I’m not entirely sure why but can guess that it involves a fear of being honest about what they really want and admitting that certain career or educational paths just can’t lead them there.

We all fear because that is what prompts us to take missteps and it’s also how we learn so embrace the dreams, the dreamers and their ability to let go and just live. Now, everything else will just fall into place once you pull the stick of rigid expectations out of your ass and then the real party can start. When life is hard, you have to change. Come on, let’s dance shall we?



Get it together woman!

I have been in a funk. A sinking, dark, unmotivated funky funk.

And, it doesn’t help that I have 3 blogs going and cannot seem to keep track of which password goes to which blog or which glob of words I plopped where. I really should clean that up and get everything in one place. But, I’m lazy. Or, sad. Or, maybe even depressed. And…too tired to decide which.

So, right now I’m making a goddamned decision.No…I’m really doing it!

This is the new and permanent home of Reverie and I will systematically move every word I own here.  Good luck to those that choose to read my sad weirdness. I promise you will never get bored.

A place for everything and…everyone put in their place

There are times when I wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and anger flared from a random memory that decided to make itself known again to my subconscious. One such memory was of an encounter with a person, who obviously peaked emotionally in high school, trying to put me in my place because I dared to invade her social circle with my lower class, almost food stamp qualifying background. It was a moment I hadn’t thought about in eons, because it was that long ago, but still a moment when I realized that there are some pretty awful people in this world masquerading as fine, upstanding citizens.

I won’t detail what was said because that would give too much attention to a woman who obviously can’t function without attention, good or bad, but let’s just say that it was the equivalent of a small child sticking out their tongue and doing the “Na-Na, Na, Na-Na, Na” thing. In the moment I was taken aback but not totally surprised because she never gave me the impression that she ever accepted me as an equal but rather, viewed me as an object of disdain and mockery for not being a former cheerleader, sorority sister or over-achieving Super Mom whose life revolved around her children’s accomplishments. I was part of the, “Oh, you’re a working mom” sect and she was fortunate enough to be married to a doctor, which was wonderful but not necessary to point out all the time. “My husband, who is a doctor….” became a suspiciously purposeful reminder of what I was not now nor would I ever be which was rich, popular and accepted. It hurt a little but I somehow managed to survive and move forward in life obviously.

I remember that a few of her mottos were, “public school is for poor people, not us” or “we are involved in ballet, gymnastics, soccer, and tennis simultaneously,” and she never shared anything about herself, anything that would make me empathize with or feel connected to her. All she gave out were news flashes about how wonderful her kids were followed by passive-aggressive comments on my parenting choices. Thanks, but I never asked you…is what I should have said but I’d usually just turn away in embarrassment or move back into my spot closest to the door, at the ready to bolt. I was the outsider in the bunch so who was I to stand up and tell her off?

Why did it bother me so much? The verdict from the popular crowd was that I was socially awkward and jealous because I grew up poor and didn’t learn how to interact with upper class people and lacked the manners and charm to ever fit in hence the need to be constantly put in my place. But, what was my place? If they knew they never told me directly but judging by the nasty looks, rude remarks and blatant brush offs it must be a pretty awful place. Good Lord! How was I ever allowed to walk the same streets as these amazing social beacons and high yield stock option recipients?

In thinking back, I know now that they aren’t all powerful and experience odoriferous flatulence and fecal evacuation just like anyone else roaming this planet and that it, in fact, does not smell like roses. Looky there!  I made farting and shitting sound pretty classy now didn’t I? Everyone does it, even the ultra-fortunate but somehow, being human and acting human (faulty, emotional, kind-hearted, polite and humble) is something to be shunned like a Louis Vuitton knock-off. Nope, not good enough for us, this human thing is well, too proletariat.  We are Gods!

At least that is what I used to think these one-dimensional harpies thought about all, gasp, poor people but then I realized that not everyone was like that and I was judging all upper class people based on my interactions with a few, to put it honestly and bluntly, assholes. Money can’t change an asshole into a humanitarian, the asshole traits are still there under the surface waiting to spring forth with the most minimal provocation. But, good people surely don’t lose that inherent trait to be kind to others or to offer a supportive word or gentle hug when it’s needed most just because they find themselves on the abundant receiving end of financial good fortune right? I have met a few over the past few decades so I know more are out there, they have to be!

Make yourselves known because only you can prevent rampant asshole fires…that sounds awful, let me rephrase. Only you, the kind and polite money attracting people of the world can turn the tide in this poor=lazy, unmotivated and therefore unworthy atmosphere. I’m not saying, “Hand over your cash” either so DO NOT be posting any liberal vs conservative blather in the comments section. This is about how I feel not how you feel on the matter because this is MY memory, not yours.

What I am saying is, the more kind and thoughtful interactions people of differing financial backgrounds have the more acceptance those not so financially well-off may feel and acceptance is worth more than gold.  Acceptance helps motivation ignite. Acceptance makes hope possible. It’s so simple yet also so hard for some people to provide. Why? Talk is free. Smiling is free. A respectful handshake and hug are free too just as direct eye contact is. You have no idea how demoralizing it is to have someone look through you or around you but never directly at you.

As for myself, I may not be considered financially rich now but I do okay and feel very grateful for all that I have and the wonderful people I have surrounding me. And while this may have started out as a painful memory of how a horrible woman tried to make me feel bad because of who I am and where I came from its ended up being a story of redemption…for me.  I forgive her for being such a snotty, sarcastic and dismissive person and accept that she must not be a very happy individual. Or, maybe she’s just dandy with how she acts and sees no reason to change. Either way, it’s done, I forgive and no longer have that moment weighing me down.

Sometimes dreams pull you back to the lessons you haven’t completed yet I guess. Lesson #5,006,201,369 down only 5,006,201,368 to go!

© 2018 L.A. Askew
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