Friday, January 31, 2014

P. Swayz - makin' peace waves.

I really never gave two shits about Patrick Swayze.

("Gee thanks.")

Sorry P. Swayz.

Never seen 'Dirty Dancing', which apparently is some kind of mortal sin.

I've seen 'Ghost' when I was little, that was it.

I've never been a 'celebrity' person. I'm a people person. If I meet you and you're cool - we're cool. We'll be friends and we'll be awesome. 'Celebrity' or not.

If I meet you and you're a douche, then you're a douche. I'll usually tell you, and have nothing more to ever do with you. 'Celebrity' or not.

(I use the term 'celebrity' lightly now-a-days, people. There really aren't any anymore. The word 'celebrity' isn't supposed to be defined as, "...Someone really popular and in movies/on TV.")

I first met Patrick Swayze (I call him P. Swayz) on Thanksgiving of 2013. 

I was sitting alone, flipping through the channels on TV. I passed 'Ghost', and went back to it.

(He's sitting beside me now as I type this, by the way...)

So 'Ghost' is on. I'm watching it between trips back and forth to the kitchen to get more food. 

The scene comes up where P. Swayz is in the subway with that other ghost, learning how to kick shit around... And I hear laughter.

Male laughter.

I'm the only one in the room.

I look over at the other couch, and there he is. P. Swayz. Straight chillin'. Navy blue cotton t-shirt tucked into a dark wash blue jean. Kind of high waisted. He's leaned back, all comfortable, arm up on the armrest, watching 'Ghost' with me. Laughing his head off.

"What up P. Swayz?"

He looked over to me and smiled. I automatically knew he was a very kind, warm, loving man. Felt almost like a big brother, a protector - but gentle.

"P. Swayz, I like that."

"Why nobody cornered that market while you were alive, I'll never know."

He laughed. Come to find out, he thinks I'm pretty damn funny. Who'da thunk it. I can have him roaring in seconds. You're welcome, P. Swayz.

I then went about what I do every time I'm chatting with someone I don't know... Google the living shit out of them. Or YouTube, if they're supposed to be 'famous'.

So, I did. I read a little, I watched a couple videos...

..."So I hear you're gonna be some hot shot Hollywood type?"


"Good." He nodded, and went back to watching the movie. "They could use some of you in there."

"Doing it for other people, too. If it was only for myself it'd be pointless."

"You're a good kid. Don't give up."

I put my phone down, "So are you a part of my ghost team now? Did Lucy give you some kind of all season pass?"

He laughed. "Something like that." 

I went about my business, blah blah. That night I had what I refer to as a 'girly moment'. One of those moments we girls have too frequently where we just hate everything about ourselves. 

I looked into my bathroom mirror and just hated everything. Silently planning the plastic surgery I would schedule with my big pay day. 

I started to cry.

"Hey now, stop that."

P. Swayz. Welcome back.

"Honey, you're beautiful! Look at yourself, look." He stood to my right, and pointed into the mirror. "Those eyes, that face, those freckles. You've got a body any man in his right mind would kill for, and a personality to match. If I was alive, I'm sure I'd have to beat them off of you."

Awh. P. Swayz. <insert blush>

"Thanks, but I'm not feeling it today man."

"Listen, you're the only one that can see those things sweetie. I promise. Women have such horrible image issues, ya know? I don't get it. The damn magazines and shit don't do anything but put a gorgeous girl in front of a mirror cutting herself down. Like now. It's ridiculous." He took a breath. Or let one go, perhaps. "Please stop."

I smiled and turned to him. "I think we're gonna be BFFs." I took in his slightly dated hair before I said, "Thank you."

He laughed, said "Goodnight." ...& was gone.

The next night, after all my work was done, I took it upon myself to further YouTube my new friend. I was YouTubing hard, deep into a long series of related videos when I came across a video from The View. I think. One from right before he died.

I watched it... And I have no fucking idea what happened...

The only other person this has happened with was Lucy. Still not sure what it means, I'll have to ask a medium friend of mine.. Note to self.

So I'm watching it, and I suddenly started bawling my fucking eyes out. Like I was mourning him or something. Like I knew him in life. 

It gets airy and cold around me, that's when he's walking up to me. "Hey, hey... I'm okay..."

I'm still watching the video, sobbing. "God, this is so fucking sad! You fought this so hard, P. Swayz. You didn't want to go, you didn't want to leave your wife... This shit took you, that's not fair."

He sat down behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I felt the pressure of his head on my shoulder as he rocked me a little, whispering in my ear. "Everybody has a time. That was my time."

"It's still so sad."

"Death isn't sad, sweet heart. Death is just a movement. A step into another place. I'm okay, I'm cancer free. I can watch over everyone anytime I want. I can do anything, go anywhere. Don't cry for me."

I kept crying.

"Hey, think of it this way, if I wasn't dead we may have never met each other."

He laughed, I smiled. "Not funny."

"April, baby, honey, don't cry. Please. I'm fine. It's okay. Really. Don't cry for me."

I can't even - my god he's a sweet, caring man. He really is. Very kind and considerate. I always feel so loved and protected when he's around, like nothing can hurt me. Again, like a brother - or a Dad. Some weird brother/dad/friend mixture.

He loves his wife so much. He was in love with her before he knew her, stayed in undying love while he was with her (despite that stupid 'affair' comment someone made - it never happened. At the most, it was his kindness and charm that was taken the wrong way by the other party), and is still in love with her. They are soulmates. 

It's really important to him that I relay his message to his wife. He really want to say that he's okay with her getting remarried. He's happy about it, and supports it. He really wants her to know it's okay with him. *shrug* 

I told P. Swayz, "I hope I can find a love like you guys."

"It's rare, kiddo, but not impossible. It will find you, not the other way around. Don't go chasing it."

"D'ya know who it is?"

Smirk. "Maybe. I think you do, too."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Your fairy tale isn't the normal one. Not you. You don't need someone to sweep you up and save you, no. You need the man who will come be your equal. Who will work with you, stand beside you. Who loves what you love. Does what you do. And of course, protection and all that stuff isn't a bad bonus. All that fairy tale romance, tho... You'll get it."

P. Swayz. Doubling as Cupid?

"He knows. He's just going through the lessons he needs for this lifetime. So his life fits with yours in the way it needs to."

I said nothing. Sat in shock. Processing. Spirit can have a way of really surprising you. 

He still loves dancing. I was shuffling my boredom around on Pandora, and 'Dirty Dancing' by Usher came on. 

"This is our song, girl! If I was alive, I'd for sure take you dancing."

I look up and he's wiggling around my living room. 

"This song?"



"Great beat. You're into this rap stuff, right? I could make this work. Not too bad."

"I miss dancing."

And we talked about dancing for awhile. I don't know why all spirit thinks they can just swoop me up and tango me around a ballroom, doesn't work that way. Not to mention I'd look like an idiot. Nice thought, tho.

He's really funny, too. He makes funny faces, sings along to music... He dances in the car with me sometimes. Kyle usually just drums his fingers on his knee. Lucy doesn't show up unless it's a Dean Martin or Ella CD or something. P. Swayz is my funny buddy.

He advised me on the system. All I'll repeat is his, "Don't ever let them play you, or talk down to you like you're trash." He cares a great deal, as Lucy does. For that, I am eternally grateful. 

Right now, he just said (regarding this blog) "You know people will think you've lost you're damn mind, right?"

I said, "I'm supposed to care?"

He nodded once. "Fair enough."

I love you, P. Swayz. Thank you for being a friend.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Mama Lucy

I have no idea how many entries I have dedicated to this woman, nor will I keep track. 

One of the most touching things that has ever been relayed to me with a medium was my girl Wendy. We got to my guides, and there was Lucy. Wendy said, "God, she just loves you. I mean really, really loves you. Like someone loves their child, or grandchild. She says, 'This one has it.' She said you're one of the few that can do comedy like she did, she wants you to do more with it. She also is making it a huge point that I tell you that she isn't going to leave you. She'll stay with you and help you, and that she loves you."

She does want to be remembered, too - she's said so. She tried to build something so strong, so beneficial to other up-and-coming actors - the promises the people made to her who bought Desilu have been thrown violently by the wayside. That must have been evident to her when she sat in the back of a meeting after it was sold, some young I-think-I'm-amazing hot shot kid stood up and said something along the lines of, "...Who used to own this? Who cares, she's an old broad. She's dead anyways, isn't she?"

Failing to see the flaming red hair in the back row, or the tears that surely fell from her face.

Maybe that's why she's around me now. Maybe that's why she's helping me, advising me, teaching me along the way.

When she discovered Carole Cook, Carole was around my age. Carole was a HUGE fan, who looked up to Lucy - as I do - and wanted to be in the business. She called Carole's mother, and got approval to have Carole come to Hollywood and work under Lucy's wing, under her guidance. 

"Lucy, I don't have the money to buy an apartment and stuff. I don't know what I'm doing."

"You think I'd let you live and roam around by yourself out here?! Hell no! You're a young, beautiful girl! They'll pray off of you, or you'll end up dead in a ditch. You're moving in with me."

Maybe that's why she loves me as she does, and continues to not only guide me - but protect me.

I distinctly remember one of my many dreams with her. We were in a hotel, circa 1950. Maybe 1960? The walls were made of wood. Two twin beds separated by a wooden night stand, lamp and clock placed on it. Beds with white sheets, pillows. Folded down, matching green quilts on each bed.

She was wearing business attire, or that's what it looked like. That day and age, it was always clean and professional. I, on the other hand, had on my usual - yoga pants, and a hoodie.

She waved me over, long red nails - flaming red hair - bright red lips. She was older, maybe 'Here's Lucy' aged. She say down on the far bed, and had a very large photo album in her hands. Patting the empty space beside her eagerly, waiting for me to sit down.

"Where are we?" I asked, walking toward her. I've known her spirit for some time now. I always know when I'm dreaming, that I need to pay close attention to everything.

"I don't know, babe. Come look."

I sat down, and she opened the book. It was old, the kind with those cellophane like page covers and little white notches holding the small black and white photos in place.

She pointed to one, "That's you."

It was me. Me and Lucy. 

I looked at her and smiled, she looked at the photo. I don't know if it was sadness or what, but longing may cover her expression. She kept flipping pages, I was in each one of them. Me and Lucy, me and Lucy and her mother. Me and Lucy and Desi. Me and Lucy when we were young. Lucy holding me when I was a baby.

I remember I stood up, "Can I go outside?"

She looked up at me sharply, "For what?"

"I'm gonna go have a cigarette."

She stood beside me. She is tall, taller than me. She shook her head opposingly, looking around. "No, you're not going outside. I don't know where we are."


"...I don't know where we are. It isn't safe. You're not going outside."

Then I woke up.

Another dream, earlier dream I had of her - I was back in time. Again. I was following a woman with a blousey white shirt. Long sleeved. Deep blue dress pants.

Longer, little past shoulder length, red wavy hair.

She was leading me into Graumans, I believe. I've been there once for a movie premiere, looked pretty damn similar.

She said, "Hello," to some matching 50s folk as we passed. Waving. Some bulbs went off as we walked by. She signed an autograph or two, all while I followed behind her. Basically blending into the crowd - I'm short. I blend, or get blended without that being my intention.

We got to the main doors and she held those open for me, to go into the actual theater. I was still questioning who this woman was in front of me... Yeah, it took me awhile to really believe I was continuously visited by this woman. Shocker.

So, it's tons of seats. Left and right. In the front is a podium. Behind the podium is a stage. A huge stage, orchestra pit and all. No speaker systems, no huge lights anywhere... Don't know if we walked into another situation, but I was thankful I was with her because I felt lost.

I remember holding my cell phone. I looked down and saw the time, don't remember what it was. I felt nails pinching my wrists, and looked up to see her grab me and tug me into a row.

We scooted half the way in, and sat down.

I heard the seat next to me creek, smelt perfume, and felt breath in my ear as Lucy's unmistakable voice said, "Now you better pay attention."

I looked down at my phone, and suddenly there was an 'I Love Lucy' cover. My confirmation as to who this was, I guess. So I looked up, into the face of Lucy. Pre 'I Love Lucy', who just pointed to the podium and waited for me to pay attention.

So I did. I watched as a ghost of a man, yes - a ghost - a ghost the way I usually see them in life. Transparent, in a tux, walk up to the podium, and begin to talk.

This is where my problem comes in for most of my dreams, and my gift while I'm awake also. I get so focused on paying attention, I either zone myself way out of the place they're able to deliver the messages - or start waking myself up and everything begins to blur and muttle together.

So it started blurring. I remember thinking to myself, "Maybe if I look at my phone here in dreamland it'll re-focus me."

Bad idea.

I looked down, and got a hard swat on the shoulder from Lucy, who once again ordered me to pay attention. Then made a smart remark about my phone, "Damn kids, always on those stupid cell phones. Put it away."

Then I woke up. 

I was having a particularly difficult time with some films I was doing a bit after that. I didn't really know what would come of my career, or my life. How things would piece together, or what was happening.

Then, I went to sleep...

I was sitting in a beige chair in a small lobby area. I was the only one in this office. The walls were a light colored wood. 

I remember saying to myself out loud, "Okay April, dreaming. Where are you? And why is everything glowing?"

The walls, the chairs, it all had a glow to it. Like someone forgot to white balance and blasted light on this place.

"Ms. Ball will see you now."

Random voice, don't know who, no clue where it came from. Didn't see any secretary.

I got up and automatically knew where I was walking. Down the hall, all the way down and a door that I passed had a gold name plate on it. In black cursive it said, 'Lucille Ball'.

I knocked.

"Come in."

I opened the doors, and saw a really long wooden table - color matching the walls - with tons and tons of chairs around it. There was a huge easel thing with one of those giant notepads on it that you can flip the pages over the back of the easel.

There was Lucy. Sitting in the middle of the far side of the table, smiling at me warmly before she stood up to walk over to me.

I remember I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think - this dream, for some reason, was really hitting me.

"Relax, kid. You're okay. Now, I hear you're having some troubles."

I felt hot tears begin to fill my eyes, blurring her. I felt the sobbing in my body, my chest, lying in my bed. I felt my face wet in my dream, on my face - as well as on my face on my living body. They started falling down my cheeks, "I don't know what to do, Lucy."

She reached out, grabbing my upper arms and squeezing lightly. She apoke softly, "Yes you do."

I shook my head, "No, I don't. This sucks. I have no one to go to and ask for help, no one believes in me, no one will help me. I work so hard and study and do everything so much harder and I'm not getting anything!"

"What makes you think you're getting nothing? Do you have any idea how long it took ME to get anything?"

"...a long time..."

"That's right."

She guided me to the chair she had been in, waiting for me, and sat me down. She spoke as she walked around to the chair opposite me. "April, honey, it took me years to even get a credit in a film let alone produce one. Beyond that, you know the story of how 'I Love Lucy' happened. Desi and I basically did it all ourselves!"

I was still a wet mess, sniffling and wiping my face on my sleeve. "I know."

"I'll tell you something, kid.... You've got it. The it that most people don't have. You can't let these moments break you. They're lessons, that's all. Learn from them."

"Lucy, I'll be 50 before anything big happens for me."

"So what if you are?! I was almost 40! Stop being so damn impatient! There's a reason this is happening the way it is! Relax!"

"I just want it so bad."

"I know you do. And you'll have it."

I remember reaching for a Kleenex that randomly seemed to appear in a pretty box on the table to the right of me. 

"I don't have you, Lucy. I can't see you all the time, I can't hear you - I can't get all the answers I need, the advice I need when I need it."

"Yes you do. Yes you can."

"But I can't! I can only sit with you and be with you when I'm asleep! Which is bullshit."

"What the hell kind of teacher would I be if I just handed you every damn answer you thought you needed?"

I looked pointedly at her, and was met by an eyebrow raise.

"Have you ever considered that I don't give you the answers for a reason?"


"No. Have you ever considered that by not giving you the answer, that is what will help you?"


"April, you're a smart girl." Lucy reached across the table and took my hands. "You've got 'it', and you know I don't say that unless I really mean it. You do, you have 'it'. You'll be powerful - more powerful than you think you can be, you'll do all the things you want to do. Have faith."

I started to cry again. Harder this time. "But I feel so alone. It's so hard."

Lucy let go of my hands and stood, walking toward the door I came from. "But you're not, and we're going to help you."

She twisted that knob, opened that door, and people just started to pile in. Tons and tons of people, all quickly taking seats at the table - standing where there wasn't sitting room - picking up a pen and beginning to write on the oversized note pad.

I stopped crying, and my jaw dropped open. Some of these people didn't have recognizable faces. Some were men, some women. Some young, some old. All of them seemed to have been, at one time, very important human beings.

Lucy shut the door once the room was damn near packed, walked over to me, took a seat next to me - and produced a small yellow legal pad and a pretty blue pen. 

She looked up at me for a second, "We're all going to help you. Don't worry, just trust us."

I heard some other voice from somewhere else say, "You're not alone."

Then Lucy rose her voice, "Okay people! Let's get to work!" She echoed, loud and strong. 

I looked down and watched her write my name really big at the top of the legal pad, before seeming to ignore me and lead a meeting about me and my life. I started to try and focus harder, catch more details... I started waking up.

Lucy is powerful. She really is, still. She doesn't like being ignored. If she tries to give me a message and I for some reason have a hard time receiving it, please believe someone in my circle or someone I know will end up telling me all about some weird and very random Lucy occurrence of their own.

One more I'll share - it was before Kyle killed himself. March 8th, 2011. I was cast in my first big movie. Good pay, trailer with my name on it, huge crew, stunts and props. Seemingly all good, right?

I was in a bathroom, the whole place was concrete and metal. I was sitting on what I can only assume was supposed to be a bench, but was really more of a long metal slab screwed into the wall at bench height.

I looked up and saw a row of sinks, mirrors placed on top of them. From my view, looking across the room into the mirrors, I could see stalls off to the right. Metal. 

One opened, and out walked Lucy. Bright red hair, a beautiful sea green dress. One that was big and poofy around her shoulders, and matched all the way down to the floor.

I couldn't help but think that she intentionally made her way into my dream. She certainly didn't belong there.

She walked right over to stand in front of me, and from my sitting position I wrapped my arms around the backs of her knees. I remember the fabric of her dress itching my face, and how she smelt like lilacs. Burrying my head in her dress, I began to cry.

I felt her warm hand hold my head, and begin to stroke my hair. She began shushing me quietly, before I pulled away from her and she sat down beside me.

I remember thinking to myself, 'Why am I crying? Guess I need to.' Maybe I needed to let it out, since I am not nor have I ever been a cryer. Safe place, safe person. Made sense.

Sitting down beside me, she reached out and pulled me to her. Lying down, I put my head on her stomach and wrapped my arms around her while she stroked my hair.

I remember closing my eyes and listening to her, absorbing every moment of this comfort that I so rarely recieve. You know how when you lay on someone, and they talk to you, you can hear their voice - but you can also feel the vibrations of their voice inside their body? That's what it was like.

Lucy's older, more raspy, uninimitable voice as she comforted me. 

"It's going to get harder before it gets easier. But you can do it. You can face everything. You're strong, stronger than most. Use that, own that, and know that everything you'll ever need to survive in this world is inside of you."

She emphasized by poking my back.

I felt so tired, so exhausted from crying. So tired from a battle I haven't even fought yet. I just wanted to fall asleep. I think I did, but I didn't leave the dream.

It's almost like I sunk into her spirit, and she kept reassuring me. Uplifting me and telling me beautifully inspiring things until I actually woke up, for real, in this world.

I have so many amazing dreams I could tell you with Lucy (and a couple other fun spirits) it would take forever. Maybe another entry.

The other night, I had a particularly hard time. Haven't had one in awhile. I have this vision for a new way of the industry, something I'm trying so hard to put together - and it seems like I'm always met with unrelenting egos and firm, always arrogant, opposition. 

I can't yell at these people, I can't tell them exactly what I think, I can't change their minds or way of thinking - so I just cry.

I cry for the fact that it may always be that way. That as hard as I'm working, I do have a solid fail-safe plan... And it may possibly be unintentionally stomped out by arrogant egotistical asshole #1.

I heard, quite honestly, Patrick Swayze (I call him P. Swayz) first. "Awh, honey, now stop that. Wipe away those tears. You're too beautiful to be sitting here all alone sobbing your little heart out."

"I just can't do this anymore, I can't fight it."

P. Swayz is a really, really sweet man. "Yes you can."



"Okay, yeah it's that simple."

Here's Lucy. "This is a good thing! Lessons, remember? Lessons."

And it all stopped. My tears, the voices. Silence.

Sometimes I just need to be reminded that life is a big lesson.

I felt better, thanked them, and went upstairs to watch some Lucy interviews. She sat on the edge of my bed with me an hour or so later, silently watching with me. 

(I think it was to make sure I got to sleep okay. Her and P. Swayz do that a lot).

So, I say I am thankful. I wish more people had the experiences as I have. 

I have a good handful of 'famous' friends. Some I work very closely with, am close with their families. Some are more considered familiar acquaintances. 

None I value or treasure more than Mama Lucy. Her level of knowledge far surpasses most of those alive today. It ain't got shit to do with the fame, or the name she carried - I've just always been someone who wants to learn from the best.

If you're the best, I want to be your friend. I want to work with you. I want to know what you know. I want you in my life so I can always be on the road of who I truly am, and who I'm trying to be. Surrounding yourself with like minded people who can always teach you something is really the way to go.

I'm just honored that the spirits that like me enough to come teach me a thing or two are people I look up to. People I want to be like. People with passion and positivity, who worked hard and made it.

A support system of the absolute greatest, kindest people.

Mama Lucy, I love you so much. Thank you for absolutely everything.



I can't sleep.

I find myself lying awake in bed for hours. Knowing I need to force myself to sleep, or at the least that I should be relaxing with the intent to sleep.


I work all day long. Especially now, when there's projects being made and work to be done. I answer phone calls, emails and texts all day. It's a blessing, really. I can't complain. I'm just not a day person.

I'm a night person. Night owl. Always have been.

I stay on calls for long periods of time. Usually, I wrap the night up trying to pull updates out of the production company owner/investor. That can go anywhere from 2-4 hours... We always sidetrack. Been friends for ages.

Then, sleep.

Usually, I'm pretty good for an hour or two in silence and darkness. Which is new. Due to my dead friend visitors, it took me a considerable amount of time for this to be comfortable...

...25 years, actually...

But, it is.

Then I roll over, it's around 4 or 5. I say, "Fuck it." I play on my phone, schedule more social media posts - respond to emails I may have missed, or came in while I was trying to sleep... so on and so forth.

Then a good hour or so later, my stomach starts to growl. 

Aaaaand I want food I don't have, and it's too late/early to make.

Like right now? French toast. Yummy.

Then I get up, eat something. Usually cereal, or chips, or something else people advise against eating before you go to sleep that I never pay any attention to. Then my cats think it's play time and get up for food and run around and jump on shit when I'm trying to go to bed.

Then work starts again before I've even went to bed. The early risers in my crew start texting and emailing, so on and so forth.

So I answer those the best I can, while lying in bed yelling at my cats to stop clawing at my drapes.

Then I set my phone away from me, set like 30 alarms if I have to - or I have a consultation or appointment or meeting, Blah blah so on. 

I usually finally end up falling asleep at 7. Yep. 7am.


Unless I'm doing one of these posts in an attempt to somehow exhaust myself into a different type of tiredness? 

And I am starving, and haven't ate yet.

Blah. Wish me luck. XO

Monday, January 13, 2014

I've seen things...

There's a surprising factor in some people's lives... Some people have just about seen it all. 

Or, well, as much death and destruction as you'd imagine, anyways.

Usually it's saved for police officers, medical examiners, people like that...

...what if it's just a kid? Just a normal, average person? Like me?

I've seen a lot of things that I'm not sure I'd wish away. Why? Well, to some degree... They make you who you are. Especially when it's huge, and heavily saturated with the aforementioned death and destruction. 

Oh gee, what can I recall?

I remember a bathroom with needles scattered about, hiding myself and my cousins as my uncle and aunt screamed, yelled, threatened and hit each other before I was 10.

I remember hiding under a bed in Detroit, while countless bullets were fired and exchanged between what I can only assume to be gangs. I remember peeking through beige colored blinds later to watch the bright lights of police cars clean up a blood streaked street.

I remember waking up a couple days later to bullets stuck in my grandparents reinforced, barred, locked doors - hearing my Grandpa say, "It's time to move."

I remember being ushered into the house as my Grandpa and Uncle carried bats outside and down the street, looking for the bum that had been harassing all us kids in the front yard. 

I remember being involved in an attempted kidnapping. A perverted older man in a black sweat suit who was very obviously arroused by a no more than 5 year old me, trying to pull me down the toy isle and away from my Mom forever. (Those little wristlets things from kid-to-parent saved my life).

I remember being maybe 12? A yellow colored older car pulling up beside me while I was riding my bike, trying to convince me to get in. Thankful I had been forced to watch all those 'Child Saftey' videos, knowing what to do - even how to get out of a trunk - I did what was recommended and the man came after me on foot. Thankfully we had nosy neighbors. 

I remember watching a group of police officers clean up a car accident. Sitting on the curb outside, I watched as an ambulance moved out of the way of traffic only to reveal a blue Prius completely stained with blood on the inside. Blood splashed all over the interior windows, windshield, soaking the seats. 

I remember watching a good 16 years of relentless abuse make a home in my house. Usually directed at me, sometimes directed at my mother. Always unable to be understood in my head.

I remember walking into my best friend Kyle's funeral. I remember not being able to breathe, but offering his mom the same smile she offered me. I remember her having to take me by the hand and walk me up to her sons casket. I remember her telling me, "Don't worry, he looks like Kyle." 

I remember Kyle being cold, and still. I remember the eerie breathing-eye-trick that sent me into the other room. You know when you stare at a body for too long and think you saw them breathe?

I remember my friend Megan's funeral. I remember her Dad clutching me, crying, telling me, "She told me, 'Daddy, I'm ready to go'." I remember her daughter, Kinsey, saying, "Mommy... Mommy..."

I remember hearing screams from my cousin, Chelsea, at her moms funeral. My Aunt Maria. I remember sitting in the cold, hard seats as Chelsea's screams had to have been heard down the block. "MOMMY COME BACK! PLEASE DONT TAKE MY MOMMY AWAY! MOMMY!"

I remember being at a party where myself and a couple other people found a girl passed out, looking more purple/blue than one should. I remember me and a couple guys carrying her to the shower. I remember sticking my fingers down her throat, hitting her repeatedly, until she threw up, started breathing and woke up.

I remember going to Brandon's funeral. I remember his smile. I remember holding his girlfriend, Brittany, as she cried. I remember that there was no casket, just a nice wooden box with his ashes. I remember holding my friend Mike as he cried in the car later that day. 

I remember when my friend Mike's house burnt down. I remember him calling and asking, "Please, I need to see you. You're the only one who I can see right now." I remember walking up to his car, and seeing a usually tough, together man hunched over his steering wheel sobbing loud enough to be heard from my front porch. I remember him clinging to me for dear life, his tears soaking through my jacket.

I remember the first time Kyle tried to kill himself. I remember him answering my calls. I sank to the earth in his driveway, bawling and screaming, "Please don't do this, Kyle. Please. I love you." I remember when we found him, how my whole body went numb. I remember his Dad screaming and running to the hotel office. I remember his Mom screaming and beating on the hotel door. I remember not being able to breathe. 

I remember hearing that Jared killed himself by jumping off a 10 story building. I remember the text he sent me, poem really, before he jumped. I remember not calling him, even though I thought I should.

I remember seeing Jared's body in the casket. How it was an obviously noticeable 'put together again' job. How his jaw line wasn't right. How the glue that glued his eyelids shut was noticeable. How his chest must have been boards, made to look like a recognizable shape. How there was still bruising... How his hands, when I accidentally looked back at him from the wrong angle, were black and blue. How I had thought, "He probably dove down." 

I remember seeing my Grandpa waste away with lung cancer. I remember voulenteered to sleep in his room in case his unresponsive body chose to let go. I remember that eerie death rattle keeping me up all night, only accompanied by the beeping of some machine. I remember deciding to pull apart the entire room, knowing this 'family' of mine wouldn't give me anything of my Grandpa's if I didn't take it then and there. I remember sleeping in his jacket, and thinking that the only person I had in this 'family' that was actually family - was lying beside me, dying, right in front of me.

I remember my friend Nora's brothers murder. I remember the right side of his cheek, where the bullet had entered. I remember Nora showing me, explaining to me that his hat was on for a reason - because he was missing half of his skull. I remember how poorly they seemed to pack his cheek, and fix the hole. I remember Nora telling me she had requested to see his head, and thinking to myself, "This is one strong woman."

I remember my friend Luke's death - that he had been found in a car in Detroit. Heroin overdose. Thinking to myself, "We did pills together." Thinking how I had seen him not even 5 months before, and begged him to go get clean.

I remember laying down in Kyle's bed, where he had died, after he killed himself. I remember not being able to close my eyes for too long, because it still smelt like him.

Those things don't leave you easily.  They, for me, create other things...

Now, I can't swim in a pool without seeing some ghostly image of Jared's broken body lying, floating on top... Blood seeping in patterns around the water.

I can't put any kind of mask, or cover over my face. I'm getting better... But I had tried a towel over my face in a tanning bed after Kyle killed himself, and had a panic attack.

I am paranoid, even more than I was before, with every possible sickness. Megan died of a flu turned phemonia (or however the hell you spell that funky ass word). She wasn't even 25.

There's a million other things... 

I don't let it control my life. Not all of it. But... I have a hard time now with processing information and situations. When I go to a funeral, I feel... Broken. Like I should be saying and doing things differently than I am.

When someone tells me someone died, I really don't know what to say. I've been somehow programmed with a, "Oh, another one..." Mentality for myself and my relation to death. So my ability to give someone a proper comment sometimes escapes me.

I do often feel like a 90 year old woman who is the last one left.

That's... Odd.

A very close friend of mine who is 60 told me the other day, "There's no way someone can go through everything you've been through, and not either break - or turn into some kind of wise, evolved spirit. April, my love, you have a soul aged well beyond most."

That doesn't always help me, but I get it.

With everything I've seen and experienced, it could have broken me. Completely. No questions asked. 

Most of it did, at the time.

But really, I think of it all like bones. 

I remember when I was in Tae Kwon Do, they would always tell us broken bones were good, because they rebuild so much stronger than they were before. 

I find that to be true about traumatic, insane experiences. I've rebuilt, stronger than before.

I have a new tool to offer someone in need.

I have a new experience to sympathize with someone about.

I have a new lesson learned for anyone still trying to find out what it all meant.

I've seen things... Things that most people will, and have, gone their entire lives without seeing or experiencing. 

I surely wouldn't wish any of it on anyone... But it's a part of what has made me who I am.

For stuff that's normally supposed to break you, and send you to a therapist for ages... Stuff that's supposed to put you in a compromised position, enough to maybe send me to some cult and accept some weird 'sisterhood' where we borderline sexually molest each other, yet they claim to 'fix you' in the name of 'integrity' with 'sisters' who will 'help you survive'...

(That example provided by National Geographic Channel and Biographys documentaries they've been playing recently about cults).

Point being...

...It didn't break me. 

Sure, it takes awhile to stand tall and unwavering again. But, I've always been the strong one. In panic, chaotic situations... They all come to me. So how can I fall? I stand up and figure it out. 

I've seen things - but chosen to let it rebuild me. In a good, healthy way. 


(Tonight I type this blog while I look down at this in my lap. My beautiful baby, Luna).

Goodnight, XO

Sunday, January 12, 2014


My best friend, Kyle, killed himself on April 6th, 2011. 

It is now January 12th, 2014.

It has been two years and some change... 

...It took me two years to finally have a gut wrenching, can't see, can't breathe, snot everywhere, probably going to throw up, legit 3 hour long cry about his absence.

Please, I had maybe one or two 1-2 minute bouts - then nothing. 

I've said this before, and I've found this to be true for myself... It gets harder, for me, as the years go by. The grief gets worse, and worse.


...He really is gone, isn't he?


I don't know where it came from, all I know is I miss him like crazy. He was the one I talked to. He was the one that was always there for me.

Maybe it's because my birthday is coming up, and your birthday presents were my favorite. 

Not that presents mean anything, I'm not the, 'Diamonds, furs, purses, shoes' kind of girl. No. Gifts don't equate love or placement of someone in my life.

Kyles gifts were the best because they were creative. You couldn't go buy his gifts. He would write them, record them, or put them together just for you. 

He once made me this mix CD, labeled and in a nice clean CD case. It came with a paper he had hand written - a list of all the songs, and why they made him think of me. Or what they had to do with me, or us. 

The best gifts.

Oh, Kyle... 

Kyle was the stoic, towering figure - usually in black, usually off in a corner, usually quiet - that knew me better than anyone else ever would. 

Kyle would nod, be polite to people, smile and make very few comments. Then, we would lock eyes across the room and he would give his famous head tilt in whatever direction he wanted us to hide away in.

We would slip out doors, hallways, and meet in the middle. He would always sigh, look around, and go into a very long - always eloquent, usually very analytical, always insanely observant - commentary about what had been said, what he was overhearing, how he felt, and so much inbetween.

He would always know how I felt or what I thought without me having to say a word. 

"...You saw it too didn't you?! I knew that's why you said that..."

"...Didn't that sound egotistical? Or was it just me? No, no... You thought it was narcissistic, didn't you?" 

"...What didn't you understand? Wait, was it the second paragraph on page 3? Yeah, I knew I should have explained that better. You liked the Mom character though, didn't you?"

He read a lot. Scripts, books, filmmaking stuff... A lot. He loved romance movies like The Notebook. He liked all kinda music, except rap and hip hop (which lent itself to very interesting conversations in my car). 

He would call me to talk about historical stuff, psychological stuff. The kind of stuff only we seemed to get in the way we did. 

He knew how to talk to me about my struggles with self injury and addiction. He self injured for awhile, too - not that he had to in order to talk about it... Just the person he was, the way he spoke, he got it. 

He always did.

He was tall. Much taller than me. He used to joke that when he hugged me, he wasn't sure if he should feel like he was unusually tall - or be concerned for me and my 'midget-status'. 

(I'm 5'2")

He was well educated on his own behalf. He took it upon himself to know what he knew. He was very well spoken... His scripts were pieces of timelessness. If any studio knew what they were doing, they'd pick them up in a heartbeat. He didn't write stupid drug fueled stuff, no. He wrote deep, thought provoking, symbolic, educational, psychological stuff. 

Kyles scripts and directorial talent would have swept Sundance. Easy.

He was an amazing teacher. He was much like I feel I am now... Very excited, energy filled and vibrant - but patient and kind. Always asking me, "Did that make sense?" And, "If you need me to explain it differently, I can." 

He was the only person who would drive nowhere with me, and love every second of it. 

One time, we were playing his 'thought provoking playlist' in his car at a low yet clear volume, talking about life and all the things in it. The sun was setting, and we were driving aimlessly. We didn't know exactly where we were, but we didn't care. 

I looked at the time. It was getting late, so I had said, "Should we head home?"

Thankful Mom and Dad got Kyle the always handy GPS for when we were ready to get home safely. 

He looked at me and paused, "You don't have to be up early, do you?"

"Not unless we're doing something early that I don't know about."

He laughed. "Hungry?"


"Let's see if we run into a Denny's somewhere."

I remember we drove past a particularly old house, one built way back in the 1800s, probably. I pointed it out and asked him, "What kinda script would you write around that house?"

...and off we went, into another 2 hours of awesome conversation.

We had our fair share of fights, too. 

Mostly, when he began traveling down that dark road of smoking pot and exparamenting with a particularly indifferent group of enablers. In my opinion, they used him for his money - his car - his apartment - his parents - and a multitude of other things. 

He was just so happy to have friends other than me, he didn't see it. 

That, and he did think people were mainly made of good, loving stuff - when, in all reality - there are some that aren't. And when you play with drugs, that's usually where the 'aren't's are.

His already depressed mind couldn't handle a depressant like pot. But, it provided a temporary escape that provoked unnecessarily dark thoughts and places for him - masked with fun and friends, belonging and brotherhoods - that, in my opinion (and because I watched it happen), put an already depressed person further down that dark hallway. 

I digressed...

...We would fight. Our fights turned ugly a handful of times. Yet, he was never evil and hateful. He knew how to fight with me. Loud, angry, adult arguements. 

Usually, one of his parents broke it up. Usually, it took no more than a couple minutes to forget about it completely and go back to being April & Kyle.

But as the questionable friends began filtering in, and the drug use began to become more frequent, they got worse... It took longer to forgive... And it ultimately cost us friendships, and futures. 


But, the Kyle before pot smoking was the only one I really knew. The real Kyle, if you ask me.

We loved board games. We played Trivial Persuit, Scene It, Guess Who, and a collection of other stuff. He would tell me all about those comic book action films - I remember he got Dark Knight - Night? He'd be so offended on behalf of that film that I don't recall... Made dinner, called me over, and made me watch it. 

"April. April. You have to see this movie. I made dinner, come over."

My best friend in this whole wide world... Killed himself.

I don't have him here with me anymore. I can't call him on the phone. I can't go to him and cry. I can't ask his advice. 

I remember when that shot came out for women, for the HPV, he called me up and read to me three articles on why I need it - what it does - explained all about the, "It's three shots over X amount of time..." deal. He ended that conversation with, "So hang up, and call your doctor."

I always figured I'd end up with him. Someway, some day, somehow. 

Well, that's out. Fucking suicide. Bastard.

He had girlfriends come and go, most weird or crazy. He was always so kind and romantic, the kind of guy every woman says she wants then pushes away for god know what reasons. I would do the usual 'Girl Decoding' for him, and always keep it real. 

If she was using him, I said so. If she was nuts, I said so. If she was awesome, I said so. And he always appreciated it.

I remember talking with him about his 'sexual confusion', as he called it. How since he wasn't a 'bro', since he would rather read, write scripts, or watch The Notebook, and wasn't afraid to say a man was good looking - he was a 'fag'. I remember him being ridiculed in school, called tons of horrifying names... 

He was sensitive, kind, sweet and caring. He didn't view women as sexual objects, and knew (and spoke) better English than most English majors at Harvard. God forbid. 

I was the loud mouthed, fists swinging, cursing, "What the fuck did you just say?", hoodie and sweatpants wearing, long acrylic airbrushed nails, hoop earrings, rap music blasting, punch any man in the face without thinking twice kind.

We didn't seem to go together.

But we did.


He was the lover. I was the fighter. So to speak.

I loved him with everything I had. I still do. I always will.

Kyle taught me how to be organized. He always had his scripts nearly typed, paper clipped, and tucked safely in Manila envelopes. Notebooks with ideas, thoughts and scenes clearly labeled.

Kyle taught me to think before I act, or speak. Always be truthful, just think.

Kyle taught me how to play, and have fun, in a world where it had been robbed from me so many years ago. He taught me about imagination, and creativity from the highest professional and intellectual places. 

Kyle taught me lots of big words that all seem to escape me in this moment, but will forever be floating around my brain in his voice.

He was my best friend. 

I've never known grief like this. Ever. Only to be matched with trauma that was Jared's broken body in his casket... I've never known a heart could break so many times, for so many reasons, over and over again.

Kyle and I had made a pact. We would be each other's rocks in this film industry. We would see the top together. We would always work beside one another. He would put me in everything he ever did. Some way. Some how. 

My medium friend, Carrie, has told me, "Kyle made a promise to you, and he intends to keep it. He's working really hard up there to make sure you get where you want to go."

Thank you, Kyle.

You meant absolutely everything to me. I should have said it more. I should have written it in the sky. I should have tattooed it on my forehead.

You loved me, were there for me, knew me better than I'll ever love, know or be there for myself.

I'm still figuring out how to go through this film industry without you.

"You're a fighter, you can do it, you don't need me."

You're right. I am, and I can, but... I feel like I'm missing an arm. Or a leg. I have so much space in my soul just vacant and airy. Like the attic of an old house. It sucks.

You were the best friend I've ever had. 

I'm sitting here tonight wondering how the hell this world keeps spinning without you.

Knowing you, you're the one spinning it.

If I'd have known, if I'd had a whiff of a notion that you had been planning this... I would have broken down the doors, rushed in, and CPR'd you until I needed CPR myself. I would have met the Angels and asked them to take me in your place.

You know I would have.

And I know you'd never let that happen.

"You're not allowed to die before me. Period."

I'd have at least asked to come with you. 

I feel like a widow.

Don't laugh, asshole.

I do.

I feel like a widow who isn't sure if she knows how to even tie her shoes anymore, let alone spell her name. If she even remembers it.

Like a widow who isn't sure if she's ready to love again, if she can, if she can even trust or open that attic door to anyone else. 

I know you're working on placing some awesome people in my life. How, I don't know. Who, I'm not sure. I'm excited to meet them, and when I do - I'll know they came from you.

I miss you so much, it hurts. I can't even begin to compare my pains against your amazing family - I can only imagine. 

You'll always be my best friend. I love you. I miss you. 

I wish RIP meant, "Return If Possible."

I wanted to attach a photo of Kyles suicide note that he left to his friends. 

You better fucking read it.

For anyone who looks at the pretty pictures of the kids who took their lives but isn't sitting in that family's living rooms hearing their screams and cried of pain... You have no idea what suicide is. 

For everyone who's thought about suicide... Tried it, like I had... You haven't even began putting that logic together until you've actually been through one.

Believe me.

So, hopefully, this will shock some truth into you. It's horrifying, it's real, and it's permanent. 

It's painful, heart wrenching, breath stopping.

This needs to be seen. Heard. Spoken. This is why I counsel people, this is why I talk about my life - my struggles - like I do. 

I will do whatever I'm able to do to make sure not one person ever writes another note like this again.

Furthermore, I feel like Kyles message needs to be heard - felt - received. His message of peace, truth, love.

Make this life count.

My god, Kyle... Why? Why didn't you stay and make sure yours did, too?

Keep living, and live free.

...Keep living...

Do it for Kyle. 




Yeah, I'm feeling it today. 

Goodnight, XO. 


I've grown to know a different type of loneliness. 

...My medium friend, Wendy, has told me before, "You know, you're going to walk a lonley road, success is lonley."

I'm all too aware of that fact.

I don't find success the lonley part, however.

What I find to be the most lonley thing of all... Is being whole. 

Being right, set in this world and who you are. Having gone through terrors and lived to be better than before. Understanding life, psychology, pain and what the presence of it means - how to fix yourself, and everyone else.

That, is lonley.

Most people on this planet are still trying to find themselves. Most everyone. My dearest friends in their 80s still say they haven't figured it out yet.

As do my friends in their 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s...

...I'm in my 20s, and I got it.

That's lonley.

Most kids my age are still bar hopping and working minimum wage jobs trying to figure out who they are and what they want. Hell, the men I've dated in their 40s would call ME to pick them and their stupid friends up from a bar at 4am when I had a set to be running at 6.

It sucks. 

You give me a problem? I'll tell you how to fix it, guaranteed. Fail safe plans. I've studied my ass off for the last 8 years how to make multi million dollar pictures triple ROIs in opening day with box office. I figured that out! 

I'm in my 20s, and the only hard part of being in charge of millions of dollars worth of film property is clearing it with the banks. Nothing else. I could basically do every other possible job on a set, too, but I don't have that kind of time or passion for the minuscule details.

Why? I've studied. I won't take, "No." for an answer. I won't give up. I will keep learning until the day I die, I will keep bettering myself. 

I will be a fucking legend, or I will die trying. Believe that.

What comes with that type of knowledge, intuition, dedication, passion, drive?

The COMPLETE inability to accept bullshit as excuses. Inability to deal with shitty people. Inability to accept crap and 'less than' quality people, things, work, into my life.

That's where loneliness comes in.

I could have been married with kids by now if I accepted crap, if I settled for less than I want. Less than I deserve.

I could have really deep friendship connections with people if I found the right types of friends. I haven't...

...but I could have a ton of basic, "Call you when it's convient for me. Text when I have the time. Answer you when I feel like it." people in my life if I just went for company over true compassion.

I can't do that.

Quite honestly, I've always wanted a husband. I've always wanted kids. I've always wanted super close friends, best friends, that were like family.

I've had people come and go, none forever. When their morals shown through, their lives were swerving way off track, they made destructive decisions, they had problems too big and too wide for me or anyone else to fix... I had to let them go.

I've told several people, "I'll always care about you, but if you push me away... I'll go."

More often than not, I really believe it's the fact of seeing someone as young as me with their life together scares a lot of people. 

I mean come on, get real, I have problems like everyone else... Just in the huge scheme of things, ya know...

I don't let people use and abuse me. I don't condone less than legendary morals. I don't approve of a lot of things that go on today. I don't accept a half-commitment. I won't accept 'leaf' people in my life.

I am a root. I want other roots.

But, it's true... In being a root, you're lucky if you get two or three of them bitches.

Confession: In the last two months, I've relapsed. 

Once, that's all. Self Injury is a great emotional stabilizer. Don't recommend it; but it's true. 

I've picked myself up, carried myself through all the standard self help stuff... Kept moving. 

No one knows how to handle people like me, no one knows how to address that stuff. They just say, "Awh." Or "Oh..." 

I need to be able to talk to someone like me. But when I'm in my own head, I can't seperate it and be the sane stable me all the time, ya know?

I'm good, don't fret. Worry if it was a drug relapse... I'm good. I just sit in lots of loneliness. 

I've often wonder if it will be like this forever. Will I sit with this 90 year old mind, all alone, forever?

At what age will I say, "Fuck it." And start settling for less than I deserve, simply because I'm tired of being so solo?

At what age will I stop fighting, stop crying, stop pushing for more and better... And just let every wall possible creep up? 

Scary to think about. Put those types of people in cults... That's why half of them go to those things...

I care deeply about every single friend I have. Famous or not, young or old, male or female... If you are in my life, I love you.

It's when they don't care at all back, that hurts. 

You've tried to 'fix' them, help them up, be a rock when they don't have one... Then, somewhere, sociological ideas of 'communication' become foreign and completely lost in them. Like they forgot how to use a phone, or say, "Hello."

I've fought relentlessly for so many industry people I thought were friends, it's sickening. How far do I have to stick my neck out for you to help you? I thought you wanted this career as badly as I did. I thought you meant it when you said you were willing to put in work. 

I meant what I said when I promised to help all you stupid motherfuckers. And I did. I got you investors, deals, distribution, marketing, PR... just lied when you said you actually planned on doing your sides of the work to make it happen for everyone else. 

Rely on April, she'll just do it all. (Or) Who does that bitch think she is?

I'm so sorry, please excuse my attitude. I'll just pretend I don't have 15 emails from your crew complaining about how it's 2 days till shoot, and they still don't have the checks for their departments to get the equipment you said you'd have to them a month ago.

My bad. I'll just let everything go to shit? Can't.

I gave every piece of my heart for YOUR films. Your projects. Because I loved you.

Should have been no surprise when they shit in everyone's faces.

*sigh* People suck. 

Maybe I just do too much for people?

Wendy had also told me, "You've looked a long time for people like you."

The only ones I've ever known aren't around anymore. They're dead.

(And yes, I can see/hear dead people... But it's not 24/7 or on command. It's pretty much up to them, so unless they really make a point, I can't exactly have a one-on-one at any given time.)

Suicide was an option once. That failed, thank god.

Quite honestly, I should have died several times before and after that - but my Angels refuse to let me go, so I'm here for the long haul people! 

It's getting adjusted to these passing thoughts, these disrupting emotions, without letting them destroy something inside of you...

...that's the problem. 

Insert positive quote here.

If I could just live with Oprah or Iyanla Vanzant, life would be so much more optimistic!


Goodnight, xo.

Monday, January 6, 2014

I wish...

- I wish feelings had a 'delete' button.

- I wish the people you needed to be there for you the most knew how to do that.

- I wish all wishes were granted.

- I wish I could see dead people more frequently, and more clearly.

- I wish success wasn't lonley. 

- I wish all the good people in the world got all the good coming to them, too.

- I wish I didn't still sometimes wish I was dead.

- I wish I knew how to accept love in the same awesome way I know how to give it.

- I wish depression could be permanently eliminated from life.

- I wish more people believed in others, with an insane passion.

- I wish people could be who you wanted them to be.

- I wish everyone knew and understood compassion. 

- I wish there was no animal abuse. 

- I wish food had no calories.

- I wish money wasn't such a big deal.

- I wish animals lived forever.

- I wish I didn't dream about relapse...

- ...I wish those dreams weren't as amazing as they are.

- I wish I could have a healthy relationship with medications.

- I wish that part of me didn't wish I was still an addict.

- I wish that I could find one of those heart stopping, life changing, soul mate loves that lasted beyond death.

- I wish that sadness was optional.

- I wish people still passed notes. Like, write something on an actual piece of paper, fold it up, slip it to someone all sneaky-like, they write back, do the same, repeat...

- I wish that I didn't always have to be 'the strong one'.

- I wish that you couldn't feel your heart breaking.

- I wish that Kyle, my Grandpa and Jared were still alive.

- I wish that more people took the time to really get to know somebody.

- I wish everyone gave people hugs all the time, for no real reason.

- I wish people in the film industry didn't have to be so guarded.

- I wish the media wasn't so retarted.

- I wish more men believed in and supported women, of all ages.

- I wish Italy was an hour away.

- I wish lessons didn't have to be so painful.

- I wish death was less permanent.

- I wish I had more friends that were alive, than are dead.

- I wish people had warning labels.

- I wish family was actually family.

- I wish stress didn't exist.

- I wish different levels of happiness had different colors.

- I wish snow wasn't cold.

- I wish love was abundant, and easily accessible to everyone.

- I wish bad people didn't prey on weak, sad, depressed, lonley people. 

- I wish the legal system was flawless.

- I wish I owned a unicorn.

- I wish I owner a snow leopard.

- I wish I could snuggle with a bear.

- I wish I could snuggle with everyone,  everywhere, when they needed to cry.

- I wish communication was easier for people.

- I wish there were less idiots, morons, fucktards and douchebags. 

- I wish karma worked faster.

- I wish I could just beat the living shit out of some really fucking stupid people, and have that be good enough excuse.

- I wish more people really and truly had each other's backs.

- I wish the term 'Best Friends' always meant 'Forever'.

- I wish you could take a 'time out' in life. 

- I wish sunsets came per request, whenever.

- I wish Shakespeare would read me some poetry. 

- I wish I could fall asleep whenever I wanted.

- I wish you could physically re-live memories.

- I wish animals could talk.

- I wish it was legal to murder people who abuse animals.

- I wish Lucille Ball was alive.

- I wish that the only people I ever really had to talk to weren't dead.

- I wish my Guardian Angel, Jonathan, and my spirit guides had a phone number. 

- I wish the longest flight anywhere was only an hour.

- I wish Fall was longer.

- I wish people knew that Detroit Hustles Harder.

- I wish laughter was more frequent, for everyone, every day.

- I wish people were accepted not for what they wear, how much money they have, or what they do... But really, for who they are.

- I wish I could bring a fluffy blanket with me everywhere.

- I wish I had human kids (not counting my cats).

- I wish I could give everyone what they wished for.

- I wish I could save the life of every person who has willingly taken theirs.