186

The smallest events can change your whole life.  Not that you could point back to the event itself because it becomes lost in seemingly more important events along the way, but is was, nonetheless, the snowflake that began the avalanche.

In Cecil's case, it was smaller than the Orange Julius at which he grudgingly worked.  It was smaller than the particular day on which he was at work.  It was smaller than the Mango Pineapple Julius, size medium, on which he was working.  It was, in fact, a pen.

185

Celia worked for minimum wage in a relatively new nursing home, serving and clearing meals.  It was tiring, on-your-feet work, but more than that, it tired her brain.  She didn't like thinking about death, and it hung about the place like cobwebs on forgotten boxes in the corner of an attic.  Celia thought she didn't like death, but, in truth, she didn't like the ruin of the body and the draining of the mind.  It made her remember her own grandmother, which always made her sad.  Every day she wondered why she ever went in to the place, and every day was another day still there until weeks and months had passed.

She found the residents simultaneously frightening, pitiful, and unbearably strong.  They stayed alive in bodies she would have abandoned long ago.  They lived on without hope, which Celia thought would have killed her in itself.  Perhaps she had it wrong, though, and a knock on a dinner table hinted at her misconceptions.

184

A chill breeze gusted through the kitchen window.  Maggie, on her way to the bathroom for what seemed like the tenth time that afternoon, shivered as it raised the hairs on her arm.  Detouring, she went to lower the sash, but paused, her throbbing bladder taking a backseat to the scene in her neighbor's driveway.

183

Long ago and far away there was a land that is no more.  Its location is not marked on maps.  Its name is not written in the history books.  The bloodlines of its people is scattered and thin.  But every so often, there is a thought.  A tiny thought bubbles up in the mind of a person whose blood contains those thin markers of the people of that land, and that thought is a breeze on his skin, or a color in her eye, or a name on the tips of their tongues.

182

How life goes up and down on such small events.  Not even "events"--just things.  Up, and all is great and years of happiness lie in the future of sunshine and warm breezes.  Down, and nothing is ever good and nothing every will be good in the endless, pointless, cheerless moments that make up a future unwanted.  A simple change of perspective based on a glance from a stranger.  A barrage of self-loathing after a minor failure in the kitchen.  A dropped dish.  An overcooked meal.  A heavy cloak of hopelessness when a to-do list remains undone, down to the last, easy chore.

It's a wonder life continues at all.

181

I know what I will look like when I am old.  My eyes have acquired time travel, and I can see it.  I can see the skin, thinning and wrinkling into a thousand tiny creases on my face, my arms, my legs, my belly.  I can see my bones protruding, knuckles swelling, muscles weakening.  My skin is discolored with age spots, nicks and scars, and is blue with veins and bruises.  My shoulders roll forward and I will move stiffly and sit, one arm stiff, one hip raised.  I see my friends and family deteriorating faster and faster.  Buildings age before my eyes even faster than the humans.  I see other things, too.  Things I don't understand and that don't seem to concern me.  I know these are the things I will shake my gray head at, careful not to turn too far.  The eyes of my mind see through future time, too, and I can see how it will turn back to the memories of my past.  I know which experiences I will recount over and over.  I know what I will regret and what I will cherish.  Time travel is heavy.  It weighs on a body.  My eyes get a far-away look that has nothing to do with vagueness of sight or cataracts.  It is time travel.

180

You are allowed to be happy ALL the time.

Many of you who read the opening sentence scoffed, most consciously and many more unconsciously.  You may have thought, "Yes, but..."  But, what?  But, you're not always happy?  True, but you are allowed to be happy all the time.  You can be.  You may be.  It is a possibility, and it comes without any caveats.  "Yes, but..."  But, what this time?  But if you're happy now, there's bound to be unhappiness later?

Why?

Remind yourself, "I am allowed to be happy ALL the time."  There is infinite happiness allowed to you.  It doesn't need to be balanced by unhappiness.  A happy time is not waiting for an unhappy time.  A happy time doesn't mean you'll need to "pay" for it later.  You can just be happy.

If you're finding this idea difficult, not to worry--I found it difficult, too.  I sometimes still find it difficult, but I keep reminding myself that I may freely and truly be happy and not worry that it will come to an end.  Repeat it to yourself, and soon you will believe, and you will be freer than you have felt in a long time, or maybe ever!  Be happy.  No one is unhappy because you are happy.  As a matter of fact, your happiness will make even more people happy.

This book will take you through exercises to find your happiness, keep your happiness and spread happiness.  This book will also remind you over and over:

Yes.  You are allowed to be happy.  All.  The.  Time.

179

Life is repetition.  Breathing.  Eating.  Sleeping.  Wake, eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep.  Again!  The scenery is the same.  The view from your face is the same.  Life feels the same under your fingertips.  Under your feet.  In your bones.  The sun comes up, clouds, moon, dark, stars.  All are variations of the same.  Same.  Same.  Soon you can hear the ticking of time, repeating each second, marking the forward progression.  Next.  Next.  Next.  Same.  Same.  Same.

Many people believe that wisdom is knowing how others will react, but it is, rather, recognizing the sameness in yourself.  I will say this in this situation.  I will feel this when I do that.  I can predict how my body and brain will respond.

There is another level of this wisdom that hardly anyone can achieve, and that is being able to change the sameness.

178

Colors drained from the world before her eyes.  The sky paled, the trees greyed, the ground became a lifeless desert.  People were flat images sliding by a desiccated landscape.  Sound became a muted, muddy hum.  Not even sharp noises could penetrate--only dull thumps.

177

People rarely go crazy all at once, and if they do "snap", it's usually temporary.  When an acquaintance seems as if they've suddenly gone insane, the suddenness is usually an illusion based on time.  It was so with Gina.

To Helene, it seemed as if Gina had suddenly lost her mind, but, in reality, it had just been a long time since Helene had seen her cousin.  Helene liked to joke that their family didn't have reunions; they had wakes.  It was only after one of the family died that anyone got together, and that was the case this year, too.  Great Uncle Fritz had finally died and Helene coordinated her visit to when her parents would be there.  As it turned out, Gina was there, too.

Gina had always been Helene favorite cousin. 

176

Staying positive in the face of disappointment was not in Barley's nature.  Disappointment invariably rocked him and caused a dark cloud to descend on even the most positive aspects of his life.  Truth be told, there were not many positive aspects, and those few did not stray far into positive territory, so when the latest disappointment assaulted him, even Barley's full ice cube tray could not give him a lift.

175

She dreamed of water again.  Whenever Gala dreamed of water, it was either wonderful or a disaster.  She knew the disastrous water dreams were the result of a face full of pillow and her inevitable drowning caused her to gasp herself awake and roll over.  The wonderful water dreams were few and far between, but she remembered them all.  These were the kinds of dreams she pondered, trying to find a connection to her waking life, and wondering what they signaled.  Some recurring dreams she had figured out, like the elevator that took crazy zigs and zags, never going to the floor she selected, but shooting about without warning.  Elevator dreams meant "change".  The future was a question mark and worrying her in daytime life, so her elevator dreams proved it was out of her control.  The water dreams, though.  They were another story.

In her most recent dream, Gala was with British actor Benedict Cumberbatch, known to her mostly for his portrayal of a modern Sherlock Holmes.  She smiled when thinking about that because most females either loved him or were left scratching their heads over why most females loved him.  Gala thought he was interesting-looking, which is why he showed up in her dream as an extension of herself.  In her analysis, she hoped her "interesting" looks made her attractive, so Benedict Cumberbatch showed up.  She had a rather large nose, and a long face, and small eyes and a long body and loose joints.  The description of herself in her own head annoyed her with its negativity, but she let it lie because in the scope of the dream she knew he wasn't the most important part.  The most important part was the feeling.

174

Halfway in to my first year of being forty.  My knee and shoulder have developed a random ache.  A portion of my vision in my left eye is obscured by a dark dot that skitters around like a bug on the water.  My upper back gets a kink in it unless I set my pillow carefully before I go to sleep.  When I push on my skin, I can see what it will look like when I'm ninety.  I have an age spot; no, wait, I have two age spots.  Wispy hairs circle my face and stick up from my part.  My joints have always been knobby, though.  I still sit on the floor.  I still sleep too long.  I still do stupid things, but not quite as often.  I recognize wisdom, even if I don't always have it.

173

She wondered what they were talking about.  She always wondered what they were talking about, and she lamented, yet again, her inability to learn the language.  Haro tried to learn, she really did, but she had been told by her prep tutors that not everyone was able to comprehend the complex turnings of the alien tongue.  At their best guess, it was an actual physiological barrier to learning, but that didn't stop Haro from being mad at herself and at Joh, who had picked it up easily.

172

It's a bad thing when your perspective changes.  It messes with everything you know, and it really makes you think in a way you didn't want to think.  For a while, I was seeing everything as if I were a movie camera.  That was bad.  My arms were coming out and I could see them in front of me, typing on the keyboard, but they were the arms of an actor.  I'd be eating lunch and it was as if the actor's arms were picking up the sandwich and holding it close to the camera lens.  My arms belonged to some poor Hollywood wannabe who had to crouch under a hulking movie camera on a set in a giant studio and pretend to work and eat while my eyes were simply recording what went on and only moved when the director wanted to focus on something else.  Like I said, that was bad.

171

"I bought pantyliners at the grocery store today."

"Good for you."

"No, listen.  I was picking out the pantyliners, because there are tons of them to choose from, when this guy came over."

"Did he help you choose?"

"No.  Would you let me finish?  He came over and just stood."

...

"Well?"

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

...

"It would have been more dramatic if you hadn't interrupted.  Or shown me how much you didn't care about my story by not listening."

"I listened!  I cared!"

...

"You were buying pantyliners and a guy came over and stood.  I listened."

...

"We're breaking up right?"

"Probably."

"You're just upset because you're on the rag."

... (stands and leaves)

 "I listened!"

170

It is quite amazing how your priorities change when money has no importance any longer.  When property has no meaning.  When making sure you have food and water and a safe place to sleep are your main concern, that is, when Death is not standing right in front of you.  When Death blocks the sidewalk, even food, water and safe sleeping arrangements don't matter.

169

The fat kid's feet pounded down the hot sidewalk in their smooth-bottomed tennis shoes.  His breath came in hot gasps and he soon developed a hitched stride, though it didn't slow him much.  If he had the wherewithal, he would have been contemplating the past 24 hours and deciding where it all had gone so horribly wrong; however, it was taking all his concentration to keep his thighs bludgeoning each another and his arms swinging the momentum he needed to haul himself forward.

168

Cara couldn't believe that anyone would want to kill her secret friend, but she heard the travelers talking and knew from the description of the lanky boy they meant none other than Jon.  It was two hours before she could get away from the inn to warn him, and by then it was too late.

The strange trio of men were staying at Old Fell Inn where Cara's grandfather, Old Fell himself, ran the family business.  Cara was young and was only allowed menial chores, but her grandfather was adamant that all were done and inspected before allowing her leave.  Normally, this was an arrangement that suited Cara quite well because Old Fell did not concern himself with her once work was satisfactorily complete, but today, waiting for the inspection took too long.  "Why do you have worms in your shoes, Cara?" Old Fell asked, noticing her dancing feet.  She could not say because she was not supposed to have friends her grandfather did not yet meet.

When she was finally free, Cara ran for the oak tree under which she regularly found Jon, but her steps slowed and became weighted when she saw the three men approaching, mud and something darker than mud on their rich clothes and soft hands.

167

Many people, not just men, mind you, believe that PMS simply makes a woman bloated, bitchy and desirous of chocolate.  That is only partially true.  The symptoms suffered by premenstrual women, or by women suffering from any hormonal fluctuations, are often more subtle and much more psychologically harmful than indulging in extra chocolate.  The following example may help to demonstrate the transformation due to PMS.

Dreams become weird.  They are colorful and frightening.  Demons lurk in basements and the feeling of loss and personal error leading to loss lingers upon awakening.  Helping to magnify the dream state is poor sleep.  A sufferer finds herself weary during the day, but unable to fall asleep.  She may also wake frequently and have difficulty falling back to sleep.  Dreams haunt until morning.

The sufferer will find herself marked by zits and bruises.  Often, it is a sudden zit that will first alert her that something is awry.  The bruises come from carelessness with one's body.  The corner of a bookshelf will be closer than is realized, bruising an elbow.  She will take a corner too closely and bruise a hip.  She will crack a shin, a knee, her head.  She will close her finger in a drawer.  However it happens, there will be bruises.

These are, perhaps, first noticeable symptoms, and they may be understood by the woman and then used to acknowledge that the more harmful symptoms she has already been experiencing (unnoticed and unacknowledged) are due to hormones and not due to any suddenly revealed Truth about the world.  It will seem that Truths (with a capital T) have been revealed.  Motives behind others' actions will suddenly be realized.  Tone of voice will indicate volumes of hidden feelings.  Words unsaid will speak to the heart and be understood when once there was just a nice, quiet moment.  The world will show itself as it truly is.  HOWEVER: this is a lie.  It is a lie told by hormones that seems just like a revelation.  You must look back to the pimples, the bruises, the dreams, to remind yourself that these heart-wrenching revelations are untrue.

166

Sudden weakness drained her ability to stand and Carly felt her ankles and knees and hips fold as if from a distance.  She wanted to stop her descent, but could only manage a slightly slower collapse by brushing her arm against the wall.  Her stomach considered heaving out and her bowels considered opening up, but neither body rebellion took complete hold.  The movies always made swooning seem clean and glamorous, but the truth was sickening, hideous inevitability and enduring embarrassment.

165

"It takes money to make money," and ain't that the truth?  To save, buy in bulk.  (Unless you can't afford the big pack.)  Eliminate service fees by paying in full.  (Unless you can only afford the minimum installment.)  Get regular car maintenance, regular doctor and dentist check-ups, and buy organic.  (Umm... nope.)  Invest!  ($1,000 in a CD for one year will yield you $5, and too bad if you need your original thousand for an emergency.)  Mortgage is cheaper than rent.  (Unless you can't get a loan, and you don't even make enough to qualify for Habitat for Humanity and decent houses at the city tax auction are snatched up by flippers and landlords.)

What can you do to make money without money?

164

Nobody ever called him "Slow John" to his face, but that's what they called him every other time.  He was, after all, just a boy, and it hurts to be labeled.  Miranda was sure he knew about the nickname, though, and, further, that he wasn't nearly as slow as he seemed.  He was, as her friend Rachel whispered, mysterious.

163

Common courtesy means that you must think of others beyond yourself.  Toddlers cannot do this.  When toddlers grow into small children, they gain this sense of other, but it is not permanent.  A sudden surge of hormones in the teenage years wipes away all thought of others.  Teenagers go back to toddlerhood, and it is a much tougher fight to regain this sense than it was to achieve the first time.  It is this difficulty that often stops many from finding common courtesy again.

You find these underdeveloped, self-absorbed adult teen/toddlers everywhere.  They are the ones who make appointments they don't keep.  They are the ones who throw garbage next to garbage cans.  They are the ones who tailgate.  They are the ones who promise over and over a task will be done, and never do it.

And it is the ones who re-achieved their evolution back to common courtesy who must suffer.

162

In the warm blackness of the evening, the street was oddly quiet.  Distantly, a car hummed, but the nearest few blocks were empty of vehicles, people, animals, and even wind.  It was still and motionless, like an abandoned movie set.

161

Cara was living inside of time, right down to the moment, which is much smaller than even a single second.  Most people live in tomorrows though that is an impossible illusion.  Cara preferred living right in the dirt.  In the dirt under her nails.  In the smudges in her fingerprint whorls.  In the molecules that were absorbed into her cells.

160

The fat family trundled down the sidewalk, hoodies up against the cold drizzle, phones out and texting.  They shuffled or waddled or stopped to holler, depending on his or her way.  The large-headed dog strained on the end of his rope and chain, choking himself and earning a holler from one of the hoodies.  One of the smaller waddlers got too far ahead and elicited another holler, slightly harsher than that used on the dog, "You asshole!  Get back here!  Forchrisssake."

159

The Quizzical Cat died with a smile on its face and only Helpsome James knew why.

158

"Cranberry Hills!" cried Grandpa, startling us all at the breakfast table.  "That's where I left it!"  Grandpa went back to eating, but Mom was to embarrassed to enjoy any more of her cereal.  I wasn't nearly so sensitive; to me, this is the way Grandpa always was.  He thought about things left undone and when he finally remembered, it bubbled up and out.  Saying things out loud has a way of making them more permanent; I understood this.  I did it myself, but I could usually control the outburst if I wasn't alone.

"What did you leave, Grandpa?"  Mom glared at me with the look that said, Don't encourage him, but I really wanted to know.  After all, whether Mom acknowledged it or not, Grandpa was the most interesting member of our family.

157

Dust clung to his clothes and in the lines on his face.  The air conditioning in the diner had been running full blast to combat the dry heat outside, but the stranger didn't seem to sweat.  As was usual, the diner's regulars turned to stare, not hiding their evaluation of the new man.  Plus for nodding, minus for heading to the restroom before sitting.  To Vera's mind, however, that was two plusses.  When the man returned, he looked fifteen years younger and five pounds lighter with his face and hands washed.  Vera poured him coffee, and he nodded his thanks, his eyes looking straight into hers.  It was Vera who had to pull away, and she felt an odd rush.  Normally, she might feel uncomfortable with that sort of attention, but not with this man.  Vera didn't know if that was a good, or a bad thing.

156

The heat went out in my apartment again three days ago, and the company that owns this building doesn't seem to care.  I'm the only tenant, so maybe they forgot about me.  That would suit me fine, except that it's damn cold out, and getting colder in here by the hour.  The electric still works, and today's the day I plan an adventure to string together extension cords to another floor so I don't have to pay to run a space heater.  If only I had the will to get out of my warm bed.

155

They say that the mirror never lies.  Unfortunately, you have to look in a mirror with your eyes, which are notorious fibbers.

154

Sharon stood on an overturned bucket to peek over the neighbor's privacy fence.  The grass really was greener on the other side.  In truth, it wasn't difficult to be greener than Sharon's weedy, pitted yard, but the new neighbor's yard was greener than any she could imagine.

153

The monkeys were agitated again, and Chambers couldn't for the life of him figure out why.  It was a hot, humid evening.  Quiet.  Still.  Perhaps that was it--the stillness before a storm, though one hadn't been in the forecast.  Chambers would have welcomed the rain.  Shrill monkey screams broke the silence again, trees rustling.  What could have gotten into them?

152

It was such a small thing, just a glance, and it wouldn't have even been noticed if she hadn't looked up at the precise moment.  In her better days, Jess wouldn't have given it thought, but recently she had become hyper-sensitive to looks from strangers.  The face that Jess saw was disdainful.  Dismissive.  Disgusted.  The more she thought about that face, the more horrible the look became in her memory.  It told her she was unworthy and an affront to the senses.  Worse than an animal that could at least be pitied.

151

You have taken the first step.  By reading this book, you have acknowledged that not only are you poor, but that you no longer wish to remain poor.  Let this book be your inspiration, your first step up and out of poverty.  Hopefully, you didn't pay too much for it.

In this book you will find:

• Inspirational stories from regular people who prove that you can get out of poverty.
• Thrifty tips and tricks to help you gather wealth.
• Tips and tricks to make you appear (and feel!) richer than you currently are.
• Motivational quotes and facts.
• NEW!  Special added chapter for those who have never been poor, designed to help them realize that being poor is not a character defect.

Your journey from poverty begins now.  Good luck!

150

Castile didn't want to shoot his co-pilot, but he had no choice.  Burnham had gotten sick, very sick, and now only a laser rifle to the head would cure him.

Burnham, however, had a very different opinion, based mostly on the fact that he knew he wasn't sick.

149

The trick to remaining active is to be active.

The trick to eating right is to eat right.

The trick to feeling well is to do the activities and consume the consumables that will make you feel well.

The trick is that there is no trick.

148

Fern had her hands draped with heavy plastic grocery bags, but she was determined to burn extra calories this year.  A car was slowing to a stop for her in the crosswalk, and Fern saw it was Patty at the wheel.  Their eyes grabbed and stuck for just a moment before Patty dragged hers away and suddenly stepped on the gas.  Fern was forced to pull up short, her can-filled bags swinging and smile disappearing.

147

"Promise me you won't leave me."  Her hands were cold and dry, her grip weak.

"I promise."  Martin's tears splashed down on Marta's arm, and he watched them instead of her face.

146

Clara had lost her Great Aunt Maggie.  To be fair, it was not only Clara who had lost the old woman, but her entire family.  It was Clara, however, who felt the most guilt.

"How does nobody know where Aunt Maggie is?" Clara asked her father, whose mother's sister Maggie was.  Her father promised he'd ask the family, but no word came back.  Clara suspected that the family didn't mourn the loss; the old woman could have been nicely described as "irritable" and "weird".

The best anyone could do was Clara's mother who remembered something about a nursing home in the area of Genesee Street and Butler Avenue.  Clara looked up a dozen various key words online and found a handful of possibilities.  Was Great Aunt Maggie even still alive?  The family, outside of Clara, agreed the ninety-something year old woman was probably dead, but contradicting that was the absence of a body in her grave.  Where was Great Aunt Maggie?