humanity
The real lives of businessmen, professionals, the everyday man, stay at home parent, healthy lifestyle influencers, and general feel good human stories.
Freelance Writing is a Lonely Profession
Have you ever felt ungrateful for feeling down? I have, and I don’t know why. I’m not broke — that broke. I am not homeless. I can order Doordash on a semi-regular basis. I am not terminally ill. My children are happy and healthy, and I have a relatively good life.
By Sherrell Writes4 years ago in Journal
The Reason I Write
I guess you could say that I have the passion for writing in my genetics. Quite a few of my family members all have had the passions for writing, but the one person who sticks out the most for me is the man I felt the closest to as I was growing up; my father.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet4 years ago in Journal
The Cancer Diaries
That first six months of chemo really wasn't so bad. I had my best friend's daughter-in-law going with me to every session, and we made a point of keeping the chemo room an entertaining place while we were in it. For Christmas (I had chemo on Christmas Eve), we went in dressed up like glitzy, crazed Elves with serious style disabilities. When COVID kicked in and they wouldn't let her come with me anymore, I carried on the tradition - for St. Patrick's Day, I went dressed as a leprechaun... outlandish hat and all.
By Dawn Harper4 years ago in Journal
A Letter to My Readers and Followers
Dear Humans, I am catchafrisbie, or at least that is my pseudonym or pen name, but my real name is Hannah (Frisbie). If you have been following catchafrisbie on one of my social accounts or read my stories on Vocal, you may have started to realize that my topics are diverse and may even seem a bit erratic. So I wanted to take a moment to thank you for staying with me thus far. And to provide a bit of insight into what I hope for catchafrisbie, and frankly myself.
By catchafrisbie4 years ago in Journal
The Origin of Misery
I was just a boy, I was still a boy. This was long before I realized I was trans. It was not my first trauma, but it was the one with the most impact. Which is funny considering how small it truly was. A simple word, not even a phrase, that controls my life and my thoughts. I don't have good thoughts, just a jumble of the same negative ones over and over. A part of me wishes I was dead, but that's me getting ahead of myself.
By Artemis McDougal4 years ago in Journal
I Hate Kids
I know once you start dating after the age of 30 you're most likely to become a step parent. My problem is I hate kids, I can't stand them at all whatsoever. I'm not cut out to be a parent, I was probably the only girl in my class who said she never wanted to have children. Yes I know I am technically a mother since I've given birth before but I am not raising them so that disqualifies me.
By LeAnn Murch4 years ago in Journal
A Little, Sort of Lousy Guide to Journaling
Yes, we are all stuck at home and yes, it pretty much sucks. Tomorrow shall be the official day sealing my victorious second month under curfew. I wish I could say that these fifty something days was the most productive period of my whole life. However, it came as a great misfortune that I proved to be the disappointment that I was meant to be.
By Sherelee R. Crawford4 years ago in Journal
Life's Wonderful Messiness Makes It Interesting
Having no recollection of where I was born or the people and places I would have seen there, I can only tell you that I was born in the state of New Hampshire in 1972. But, for all intent and purpose, I'm an Illinois native that's been here for what feels like my entire life. I came from modest means and while my mom did the best she could as a single mother with more issues than Carter had pills, life was difficult at times. Looking back, through the good times and bad, for the first ten years, things were rougher than not. By the time I was ten years old, I had seen and felt death, was the witness in a rape case involving a little girl a couple of years younger than I, and had spent time in the hospital because of family drama.
By Jason Ray Morton 4 years ago in Journal
Beautiful Lights
In the early 2000’s, I was in an art gallery, and there I saw a painting that had something like what I experienced shortly after my reiki master and I had done a reiki circle together. Well, she wasn’t a master yet, as she had just come back from getting a level 3 attunement. She wanted to give me an attunement for level 3 reiki practitioner as she knew I was a level 2. She wanted to practice right away and even though I wasn’t interested I agreed, as I was curious. I received the attunement and then she told me, “Oh, by the way, you will grieve and re-grieve things for about a month, I was told. Reiki 3 is a spiritual healing and that means we have to grieve what we haven’t to get to where we are meant to be.” “You could have told me before I agreed!” I said. She said, “Then you may have said no. It won’t be a big deal. You will see.” So, there we were, in a reiki circle, her teaching me how to send reiki as a group, as level 3 reiki teachers. Not masters yet but working in that direction. Then she said, “I want to send DJ (medicine woman) reiki as she was not feeling well when I spoke with her earlier today. I must warn you though that she doesn’t like cats.” I thought I knew what she meant as my cat Rose was always right there when we were doing reiki. I wasn’t expecting what happened though. We were sending reiki together when suddenly Rose, jumped into the air, hollered loudly, and took off running. “DJ is here” said Katie, all matter of fact. It didn’t bother me that this happened at the time, as I have pushed Rose off many a reiki table and even shooed her away from under the table still other times. It bothered me later. What did she mean DJ was here?
By Denise E Lindquist4 years ago in Journal
