Saturday, January 8, 2022


 I am extremely grateful for my beliefs.

I am grateful that I believe in a grand creator who is the most intelligent being in existence. One who not only knows science, but created it. And thus, to be made in the image of such a being would mean that learning and understanding is a way to honor that maker.

There are those who believe they need only look out for themselves. That they are, in fact, commanded to only look out for themselves, and as a reward for turning their backs on others (strangers, co-workers, friends, family, all living creatures), they'll be rewarded with protection from their maker. In fact, even when that fails to prove true, it's just their own fault for not believing hard enough that their maker wants them to not give a crap about the wellbeing of others. Their maker is all, "feel apathetic about your neighbor" and "killing is fine as long as you're okay and trust I'll save you eventually," and of course, "honor your father and mother, but don't do things that'll keep them alive or whatever, because you're only supposed to feel anything about Me and yourself and that's it." 

I'm glad I'm not a believer in that. Sounds like a bubble of isolation. 

I also believe that if the help one asks their maker to send is given, that not taking such help is spitting in the face of the maker. 

I'm dancing around my point.

Saying Psalm 91 is a reason not to get vaccinated is sacrilegious. I'm not super religious, but that's offensive. That's telling Jesus he was wrong to heal or help others because they should have been left alone, and if they were faithful enough they'd be okay. Screw everyone. That's saying there's an asterisk next to "love thy neighbor" and "thou shall not kill" because you believe God wants you to be a carrier and infect others. Including infecting your own parents if they're immunocompromised. Like Jesus would have seen Mary ...and she'd have cancer or something and he'd have been all,  "not my problem, and here's some leprosy to speed it along.

I'm offended. I'm offended to the point that I want a new name for my faith. Or maybe to convert. I just don't want to be lumped in with these people.

Which I imagine a lot of people feel. Not just of this faith. Plenty of Muslims probably want no ties with certain terrorists. I'd like the Klan and Nazism to not share a faith base with my beliefs. 

I know what I believe. I know that intentional mistranslated text offends me too. Plenty of that. 

I'm tired. Real tired. I want to fight, but I don't have enough in me to take it all on. 

But I'm vaccinated. And I'm proud of that. And when I die, if my maker sees fit to condemn me for NOT harming or killing others, for not infecting my neighbors, and opts to send me to eternal torture for it, so be it. 

Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Hashtag Fashion Pain #WEP #WEPFF


Oooh, how attractive I look in this! No one will be able to resist taking snapshots and groupies. Hashtag fabulous! Hashtag OneOfAKind! Hashtag BestDressed! All eyes will be on me this evening. 

"Your car," the valet dangles my keys. Impossible to believe, but they didn't send a limo for me. I am wearing this one-of-a-kind, photo-snagging, social-media-viral-bait couture, yet I'm expected to drive myself. Just because the event is for charity doesn't mean they shouldn't splurge on people like me. 

The outfit's mirrors, sequins, and jewels glimmer and shine, attracting every light on the road. A flashing pink neon sign looks especially elegant. I pause for a selfie. Hashtag RadiantInPink! The rude driver behind me honks. Uncultured savage. No appreciation for the fine art piece before him, which he is getting to view for free, I might add. He can wait while I post. My followers need a sneak peek to admire while I'm en route. 

An alert flashes on my phone. I click it as I merge onto the highway.


The designer of this magnificent outfit is dead!

I have the only copy of this in existence! I might be wearing the final design. 

And it's going to be wasted debuting at a charity event for burn victims or cleft palates or whatever I'm boosting support for tonight. Should I go to a club first? I have a duty to present myself in this at the finest venue possible, don't I? If I get off at this exit, I can give the world that gift. It's only three lanes of traffic. They'll move out of my way. It's me, after all. 


What is this awful white light? And that horrendous beeping sound? And, eww, what low-thread-count fabric is touching me?

"Yes, doctor."
Scissors? "What's happening?"
"You've been in a car accident. We need to remove your clothing to save you."
"What? No! Don't cut the couture! It's the only one, it's the last one. Are you whacked? I need to be photographed wearing this. Not in such harsh light, naturally. But somewhere worthy. My followers need to see what I'm wearing. Do you not know who I am?"
The pockmarked doctor sneers. "You're wearing a steering column. There's a turn signal sticking out of your exposed intestines. Is that really an image you want to share?" 


Hashtag Recovery isn't trending. My follower count dips below the influencer level. I'm evicted from my luxurious apartment. A newcomer gets it, along with much of my swag, and has the nerve to post pictures along with the tags: #Retro #YoungerAndBetterLooking #LearnToDrive #CoutureKiller.

The last one hurts the most. It is trending. No one can forgive my allowing the final design to be destroyed. Tiny mirrors, sequins, and jewels all covered in blood are posted as a gifset hiding my face. My social media reflection is of a has-been. I should have died wearing that outfit. Better death than to be alive as someone no longer worthy of seeing. 

By: Jamie Dorner
hashtag word count confusion
According to Google Docs, I have 501 words, but according to, I have 385 words. Either way, it's under 1000. 

Tagline: Fashion becomes pain for a narcissistic social media influencer.  

The good news right now is that no one else in my "circle" has died or contracted a new deadly disease or issue in the last month. (Followers here know I've had a rough year.)
Also, I managed to buckle down long enough to write this and to write an entry for WriteClub.

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Entered #WRiTECLUB2021

I made an Instagram post about entering.
I can't say what I wrote or what pen name I used.
But I can say that I hope you'll read and vote in every round.
Hopefully one of the entries will be mine.

Wednesday, October 20, 2021

The Regret Scream #WEPFF #WEP Flash Fiction and Memorial Obituaries


This part isn't my entry, but it is an excerpt from the project I plan to work on during NaNoWriMo this year, and it includes a scream:
Jamie's 2021 Nano Story scream excerpt

Link to my NaNoWriMo project.

During Covid-19, a teen craniopharyngioma survivor masks and vaccinated, but her family is opposed. She's dead to them for using precautions. But is she ACTUALLY dead?

When I had craniopharyngioma I wondered what might happen if I died. What would it be like for my birthday-twin brother on our birthday? Or for our parents?
Well, now I know.

Onto the entry:

Where this Scream story came from--
I had a f🀬ked up dream nightmare that the antimaskers won. And everyone just gave up on fighting Covid. The death toll was 80 million a year worldwide, but everyone was okay with it. "We're fighting global warming! The bodies of the dead are keeping us warm!" Public places, like malls and museums, were buying dead bodies to burn. People were the new firewood. Except there were scientists on tv pleading, "the zeta variant can be transmitted after death. The burning bodies are spreading the virus. We will go extinct!"


#tagline = The Regret Scream is a dystopian flash fiction where Covid is also spread by burning infected bodies, and an antimasker commits manslaughter.

993 words FCA

The Regret Scream

Smoke rises from old chimneys, darkening the air and dirtying the laundry that had been hung out to dry. I cough, hack, and wheeze while pulling my bedsheets from the clothesline. My neighbor watches from her porch. I know she wants to yell that I ought to wear a mask. She was always Covid-shaming people in our neighborhood. That's outlawed talk now. I nod to her, giving a smirk the equivalent of a middle finger.

A bell rings as a cart comes to my street. I head to the curb.

"Bring out your dead!" The bell chimes again as the cart nears. It stops at my house. "Anyone for me today, Jimbo?"

I shake my head. "I can't believe you're doing this job."

Nurse Falcone rings his bell again. "Eh, beats the old days. No one vomits on me, I don't empty bedpans, and there are no complaints when I take a bathroom break."

We wave goodbye. In the former times, I delivered flowers. Nurse Falcone was often on duty when I dropped off my daily bouquets. Then the vaccine mandate for healthcare workers was enacted and he quit. When the mandate was expanded to delivery folk, I quit too. Weren't many flowers going anywhere but funeral homes by then anyway.

I take the bus to my sister's place. This transport is too loud, always has been. But since it runs on renewables, it's one of the few things that works anymore. I miss my car. Gasoline prices topped out at $30 a gallon, a price beyond what anyone could afford, so the stations mostly shut down. The bus passes what was once an Exxon station. Valdez seemed like the worst they'd deal with once. Graffiti of colorful curse words shows that worse came to pass. The company went bankrupt, laying off the surviving six thousand employees. They claimed the other eight thousand had died in under a year. Probably a bluff to get a government bailout. We can't afford their gasoline so they take our tax dollars instead. Typical! 

Cans and fishing line try to trip me up as I approach my sister's place. Boobytraps to keep people away from her door. She's unhinged, but she's my sister.

"Trish! It's Wednesday," I holler while knocking on her door. 

An upstairs window slides open. "Yeah? There been a change?"

I roll my eyes. "No. That mean you're still not gonna let me in? I came across town on one of those stupid busses. Have a meal with your only brother."

"And then who would take care of our only mother? Bad enough you have me opening this window."

"It isn't airborne you tool! Stop buying into the propaganda. Come on, it's just dinner."

Why did I come here? I fold my hands over my head as she sobs. "I can't. I want to, but it isn't safe. Please get vaccinated and quarantine in the tent so I can let you in. Mom and I miss you."

Stupid sheep. Before she can protest, I leap up a tree and climb to her window. "Stop living in fear. You and mom need to get out."

I yank down her mask, kiss her nose, and then drop back down to the door. She screams and cries as I walk away. 

She'll see. When she's fine in a week, two weeks, maybe a month. She'll see the world isn't dangerous, and neither am I.

No dinner here, so I trudge down to the mall. Flopping onto a bench, I wait for my coughing fit to end. Probably just thirsty. 

The mostly abandoned former shopping mecca looms before me. Half of it is an assisted living facility, and part is apartments, but the food court is thriving. The major chains all went under, crying that they couldn't get workers. People rather starve than work. Acting like a line cook and a CEO both deserve enough pay for a big house, childcare, food, medical care, and whatever else. Now those former line cooks are bodies in the fire pit. Everything is roasted over them. I get a squab and squash skewer to eat on the bus ride home.


Fourteen days pass. There's a knock on my door. 

"Jim Bobalda?" Two medical officers in bio-suits ask. 

"Yeah?" They require a swab and fingerprints verification. The machine beeps and a red light comes on. "What? Am I not me?"

"Sir, you're infected. Probably got it from a burning body. Are you vaccinated? Wear a mask?"

"Hell no I ain't vaccinated." I rip off my shirt, showing my tattoo. "Face Freedom Force! No masks."

The officers exchange glances and take a step back before consulting their device again. "We've come to inform you of the death of your mother and sister. Based on this swab, you carry the strand they were infected by. Did you have contact?"

"What?" My knees give out.

"Contact. Have you had contact in the last five to twenty days?"

"Yeah. Trish and I were supposed to have dinner two weeks ago. She didn't let me in though."

They exchange glances. "No mask?"

I press my forehead to the ground. This can't be real. It can't be true. I hear them repeat the question, but they're a million miles away.

Someone grabs my arm. There's a siren in the distance. Someone says they're the police.

"What?" I say again, hoping I heard wrong. That my family isn't dead, isn't gone.

Metal tightens against my wrist. 

"A security camera caught it. He infected them. Can't make these types vaccinate or wear a mask, but certainly can haul them away for manslaughter."

Miranda rights are recited three times as I'm carted off. 

Trish and mom are probably in a cart. Bodies sold by whoever found them. I can't even say goodbye.

"No!" I hear the scream. It isn't until my throat aches that I realize I'm the one screaming. I grab my face. If only I had worn a mask.

I know two people who are battling multiple myeloma right now. πŸ˜•
I mentioned last WEP that two of my relatives have serious cancer. Well, one of them, that's the kind of cancer. The other was brain cancer, which was my mother-in-law, and she has now passed away.
Frankly, I've had enough of death. My brother-in-law died of an infection. 19 days later, my mom had a heart attack and died πŸ’”, and 19 days after that is when my mother-in-law died. 
So I'm done. 
None of my writing right now is especially "good." It's anger and pain. This is me, SCREAMING.
My brother called me that morning to say my dad was taking my mom to the hospital because she was feeling a little weird, weak and dizzy. She was diabetic and it was early, so I thought maybe just low blood sugar. πŸͺ I thought they'd feed her a cookie and she'd be okay. But then I got this text from my dad. And I screamed "WHAT" for nearly an hour. 

I drafted the first half of this post before the triple-death-blows. I'm going to attempt Nano, but I'm not as amped up about it as usual. If I manage to write at all, that'll be a "win" to me. 

In memory:

obits 2021

(Some of you also know my husband's cousin, J Lenni Dorner. Obviously he was related, distantly, too, and is also devastated by these losses.)

Friday, August 20, 2021

#POEM Bullets or Blood Cells #WEP #WEPFF

WEP freedom of speech

I haven't written poetry in almost two decades. Which is odd, since I was very dedicated to it before. Won awards and everything. 
My life is very messed up right now. My soul hurts. I have two immediate family members who found out they have very serious cancer THIS MONTH. Oh, and it's my 42 birthday on Saturday. πŸŽ‚

So I know this isn't very good. I know there's basically nothing left inside me. 
I'd like to have this freeform poem in decent enough shape to turn into a sharable image. That's my goal. So if you spot an error in grammar or spelling, or have a simple word substitution type suggestion, I'm open.  234 words
I am in America.
This isn't going to be award-winning. This is more that I'm screaming into the void and am SO TIRED of fighting misinformed people. Freedom of Speech is me writing this and publishing it, sharing it with you. Sort of an abstract take on the prompt.

πŸ˜·πŸ’‰ Put the mask on and get the vaccine if you can!

- Jamie

πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή 

SARS-CoV-2 is an abbreviation for severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2, also known as Covid-19 for Dec 2019 when it was first identified in; sometimes shortened to Covid or The Covid.

50 nm to 140 nm - That's the size of the Covid virus. One nanometer (1 nm) is equal to 0.000000001 meter.

πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή πŸ›ˆπŸ’β„Ή

Bullets or Blood Cells

What if Covid wasn't so small? 

Nanometers are invisible to the naked eye. 

We cannot harm them with our full-size weapons.

No wooden stake, silver bullet, or iron sword will pierce it.

Yet it can harm us.

To death. To extinction. 

It floats on the air.

Or lies on a surface there. 


Created with a patience 

Beyond what most humans possess.

What if it was larger?

Visible to the eye.

The size of a rat or a soda can.

What then would people do?

Would there be a vaccine?

Training instructions for our own cells inside.

Would you decide to get two shots?

Or load your gun

And fire at will?

How many Americans would not be dead 

If Covid could be seen?

If the NRA held rallies 

To kill the virus clean?

Which side of the aisle 

Might we stand on then

If bearing arms was the savior instead?

What if it were bee size?

If it were an insect with a head.

The government would spray 

To cover all our ground

But for two weeks you'd need to stay indoors 

And masks need be worn

Would you quarantine then?

But Covid is not big,

Though its impact is.

That which we cannot shoot 

Is considered fake to many

We won't send a blood cell

In our gun hands' stead

Better that we wait and die

Covid wins in the end?

- Jamie Aug 2021

Thursday, July 22, 2021

Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award

Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award

Thank you to J R Vincente for this nomination. The blog is Adult Content, and is very fun to read when you're in a kinky kind of mood. It's gotten even better since Jayden has teamed up with Richard on the blog.

Rules for the Award

  1. Thank the person who has nominated you and provide a link back to their blog.
  2. Answer their questions.
  3. Nominate up to 9 other bloggers and ask them 5 new questions.
  4. Notify the nominees through their blog by visiting and commenting on their blog.
  5. List the rules and display the “Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award” logo.

The questions I was asked by Jayden and Richard:

  1. How much do you like to snuggle?
    • I freaking LOVE to snuggle. I'm affectionate. But I know other people aren't, so I tend to keep my need to myself, or I hug my purse, a pillow, a toy animal, or even just hold my own hand. 
  2. What’s your favorite place to go on Vacation?
    • What's a vacation? Oh right, that weekend adventure that happened the last pre-Covid weekend. That was, what, a million months ago? 
      Yeah, I don't know. I LOVE the beach, the ocean. But I can't be in the hot. So the beach in the late autumn or early spring, when it's too cold for all the normal people.
  3. What is your favorite kink that you haven’t blogged about?
    • I don't think I've blogged about this, but it is something a fair amount of people know about me. I'm really turned on by black leather boots. 
      See below.
      I'd like to tell you the boots at least have to be on a person... but no. The boot pictures below are sexier and more attractive to me than most people are.
  4. Do you think Jayden should go for her Doctorate? (Or, do you see a value in getting a Doctorate?)
    • I guess that depends on her goals. I think there's great value in learning just to learn. On the other hand, it's a funny thing about the word "value" because in America it means "astoundingly expensive," and she's got a fair amount on her plate as far as costs goes right now. So there would have to be a trade-off, Dr. JRV would need to be paid enough to cover the costs of that education. 
      Just for πŸ’©πŸ™΄πŸ˜†, I'll pretend that Jayden lives in one of those nutty countries where they give out education for free. Then yes, absolutely! Heck, get a double doctorate in math and language, with a minor in special education and a few sign languages. Go improve the world for the next generation. Then run for Congress or something. Run as the doctor who, unlike McGreevey, isn't going to resign for LGBTQ+ or Poly reasons, because you'll flat out announce that it's who you are and you're not hiding over it. 
      πŸ€” Wait, that might require you to move to a more populated area with way more Democrats. Then I'd have to miss you even more! Gah...
      But I'd still get to be super proud of you, even if you were just another person in my newsfeed for a dozen years. Go change their mindsets. Go make them care about others. Give them HEπŸ‘πŸ’!
  5. What do you hate most about blogging?
    • I'm mostly talking to myself here. 
      But I generally blog things I don't want to say on Facebook or Instagram. 
      I'm mostly just leaving parts of myself in case anyone cares to glance at them one day.
      But unless I suddenly get super famous for something, I'm pretty sure this blog isn't going to matter to anyone in the future. Much like it barely matters to anyone right now. 
      Maybe it's okay that one day I'll be gone and the people my age and older will be gone, and there really won't be generations after who think about me long enough to dig this blog up. So I guess I hate that I have thoughts and experiences to share, but knowing that it won't matter. There's a peaceful emptiness in that. And I know the gut reaction is to argue "It's a Wonderful Life" style, but it's just an honest truth and not something I'm working toward changing. I'm only answering a question here, not pleading for help. 

Black Leather Boots 😍 Black Leather Boots men

All of my nominees commented on my blog during the April A to Z Challenge 2021.

My five questions to my nominees:

  1. If an employee under extreme stress says (verbally or written) something that is construed as insensitive to a group of people (age, gender, religion, orientation, etc), should that employee be terminated/ not have their contract renewed, or should they be given one more chance if they agree to some sort of approved sensitivity training reeducation program? 
  2. At what age is it no longer appropriate to Trick-or-Treat for yourself? (Meaning exceptions are in place if accompanying a younger child, such as taking a younger sibling ToT so parents can stay at the house and give out candy.
  3. Would you support or oppose a mandate that 75% of the human population be required to be vaccinated against Covid-19 (SARS-CoV-2 including variants and mutations)? Would your answer change if this mandate were global, your country only, or your local area only? Is there a number or percent of deaths that would influence your support or opposition of such as mandate?
  4. Should celebrities be given exceptions to laws, rules, and terms of service? If so, how famous does one have to be to get that exception?
  5. What is your favorite recipe to use with leftover cooked turkey? Or, what is your favorite summer pasta salad recipe? 

PLEASE let me know if you make a post with your answers! I don't want to miss reading it.