An Experiment on The Sub-Conscious Mind

Yes, I am a Christian.

BUT, I do believe in some aspects of Psychology, because while it is in conflict with a lot of Biblical priniciples and also makes excuses for sinful behavior, it does possess some immuteable truths.

One truth of Psychology I believe in is the existence of the sub-conscious mind.

So, here is an experiment:

Can you tell me which country song inspired this story?

I’ll give one hint: It has been covered numrerous times…

If you can correctly guess the answer, my belief in the sub-conscious mind will be strongly enforced

Please write your answer in the comment section. You don’t need to say the artist, it was covered quite a few times but definitely say the song title.

By the way, this is an edited piece from my infamous “Grocer and Writer” stories.

Without further ado, here it is:

…”All right, let me just get a few things.” I tell the policeman. He walks to the next house. My neighbors are going to freak when they see him.

“Where could we go?” My girlfriend asks me, “I don’t want to be with my mom.”

“If you don’t want to go there, we can go to the country and visit my family.”

“Are you sure?”

“What other choice do we have?”

“True.”

So I grab, my composition books and my flash drive, my rechargeable flashlight, my phone and charger. My girlfriend grabs her purse, phone and charger as well. God it’s cold. I hope my car can make it out of this wretched city. All I have is a wing and a prayer.

We walk out of my house, locking the doors behind us. Then we walk through my front yard and to the curb then shut the hurricane fence. We get in my car and thankfully it fires right up.

I tune my car radio to the news and information station. My theory is proven correct; this was a terrorist attack. Contraflow is being used on all of the main highways out of the city. Right now it’s bumper to bumper, I hope and pray the terrorists don’t strike again right here. I must get off this Interstate as soon as I can and take an alternate route. That way, there’ll be less traffic and less chance of another attack.

There is a heavy police presence but I guess that is a good thing. I hope and pray that they are not harmed by those damn terrorists.

For forty five minutes the traffic moves like molasses in the dead of winter. She rests her head on my shoulder and I repeatedly kiss her forehead. We are making the best of a bad situation. Finally we are now moving.

“Once we get out of the city, I should get us some coffee and food. I need something to keep me awake.”

“Sure, do what you need to do.”

We are now out of the city and on the Interstate. Thank God, the traffic is now moving. Just as planned though, I will get off.

I see an exit to a dark, but well maintained highway two lane. Right away I take it.

“Looks like we are safe now, but why are you getting off right here?” My girlfriend asks.

“Because, I don’t want to take the chance of someone wrecking or breaking down. If that happens, traffic will back up and the terrorists could possibly strike again.” I reply.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Look, I am trying my best. You must know that I am just trying to get us out of harm’s way.”

“I guess.” She says with irritation.

“Let’s not fight, if we do the terrorists have another victory.”

“Yes, thank God we weren’t away from each other when this happened.”

“You’re right! I would rather die with you than live and us be apart!”

“I love you so much!”

“And I love you too, baby!”

“How much longer from here?”

“About four hours.”

“That’s fine.”

“Yes, I just hope and pray my car won’t break down.” I reply.

“What’s your family like?”

“Let’s just say interesting.”

“I hope they will accept me but I’m afraid of what they will think of my mom’s pill habit.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll accept you. They always wanted me to find love and now I have because of you. They just might tease you about being from the city.”

“What about the pills? Would they judge me about that?”

“No, they won’t. My family has always taught me that no one is perfect and that we all have faults. Plus, you’re not the addict; your mom is.”

“What’s your hometown like?” She asks.

“Boring, flat and quiet. I guess that is a good thing at the moment. It’s not an important place, so the terrorists wouldn’t try to strike there.”

“So you think we’ll be safe there?”

“Yes, there is only a two-lane highway in and out of town and there are no waterways, railroads are airstrips. It’s nothing a terrorist would want to hit.”

“You should call your parents first, to let them know you are coming.” She tells me.

“You’re right. I was going to, but you know I should conserve my minutes, especially for my job.” I reply.

“I don’t think you will be returning to work for a while and, to me, that’s a very good thing. Besides, you can use my phone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I love you and would do anything for you.”

“Oh, I love you too baby! Thank you so much.”

She turns her phone on and I call out the ten digits. She then puts the speaker phone feature on and we hear the ringing.

“Hello.” My mother answers, half asleep.

“Hey, momma it’s me. There has been a terrorist attack in my city and I am headed your way. Put the news on, you’ll hear all about it.” I reply.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I am fine, but I have someone special with me.”

“Whom do you have?”

“My girlfriend. I will explain everything when we arrive.”

“Okay, be careful.”

“I sure will.”

“How much longer until you’ll be here?”

“If everything goes right, about four to five hours. As soon as we find a truck stop, I will get some, food and coffee to keep me awake.”

“Okay, you drive safe and I will see you then. I can’t wait to meet this lovely young lady.”

Suddenly the signal fades out.

“Momma, can you hear me?” “Durn it.”

“Your mom seems nice.”

“Oh, she is very nice. I wish I could see her more.”

“It’s a good thing she is not like my mom.”

“The worst she does is take a shot of whiskey every now and then. It’s only to help her sleep.”

I continue to drive. It is cold and dark. The heater is working well for the most part. My girlfriend snuggles next to me and we keep warm.

I see a truck stop sign ahead, so activate my turn signal. We get off the highway, then pull into the parking lot.

We drive up to a pump, then go inside to pay the cashier.

My girlfriend pulls out her debit card and says “Let me pay. My dad deposited grocery money in my account, but I think we need gas more than groceries right now.”

“Thank you so much, baby! I wish I could repay you!”

My girlfriend replies “It’s the least I can do.” The she tells the cashier, “Forty Dollars on pump five.”

The young cashier says, blushing “Y’all are so cute.” She then runs my girfriend’s card.

We go out to pump the gas, then come back after we’re done. I desperately need food and coffee, so I ask the cashier, “Is your restaurant open?”

“Well, we were going to close, but could sure use the business.” She pauses then calls the waitress. “There are some customers, don’t shut down just yet.”
We walk into the diner and the waitress greets us.

“What’ll it be?” She asks.

I look at my girlfriend and say “Tell her.”

“I would like some strawberry pancakes if that’s all right.”

“Sure. And for you?”

“Whatever sandwich you can make. And coffee-lot’s of it.”

“Where are y’all from?”

“The city south-east of here. There was a terrorist attack and we are refugees.”

“A terrorist attack?” She asks.

“Yes. Turn your TV on. You’ll learn all about it.” I tell her.

“Can’t. Cable’s out.” She replies.

“Well, these radical extremists, purposely derailed a train right where the transmission lines cross the tracks. That caused a chemical release and the power in most of the city is out.”

“Good Lord, that’s awful.”

“Yes. And it’s her eighteenth birthday.” I tell the waitress.

The waitress looks at my girlfriend and says “Well since it is your birthday, y’all both eat free. Y’all have seen enough hell for tonight and it’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you so much; I surely appreciate that.” I tell her.

“Yes, y’all are both welcome. Just tell any travelers about this place when you can.”

“I just hope and pray that you’ll get more refugee customers coming from the city, but most are probably on the Interstate. I took a back road so we wouldn’t be caught in all that traffic.”

My girlfriend and I happily eat and converse with the waitress and then we get coffee to go.

“Here’s a thermal mug with our company name on it. Tell everyone you can about us.” The waitress says.

“I sure will.” I tell her.

“Come back if you’re ever passing through again and we’ll take care of y’all.”

We leave the truck stop and get back on the highway. I am now awake and alert thanks to the free coffee. My girlfriend is sleeping on my shoulder. I hold her with my right arm and the wheel with my left. Three and a half hours before I am in my home town…

I see plenty of yellow lines and reflectors and at least my car is running smoothly. Finally I see the junction and turn to go into town.

I pull into my parents’ driveway. We step out of the car and I ring the doorbell. My Momma greets us…

 

Now, that you have read this piece, think for a moment and see if you know which country song inspired this piece.  Take a guess if you have to…

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An Excerpt from my “Grocer and Writer” Stories

I’ve ultimately decided that my “Grocer and Writer” Stories in their entirety were too sinful and offensive to display publically.  So, I took them down.

However, there is one piece from those said stories that is pure and innocent enough to publically share without offending God or others.

That piece is the piece detailing how my two characters meet each other.

I feel that I can teach many good things if I put that piece on display.

So, without further ado, here it is:

 

The Young Man’s Perspective:

I sit alone on a park bench and write in my composition book. Creating love stories somehow fulfills my life and I firmly believe that doing so will bring good to me someday, I can almost feel it. There is something about how the Autumn sky, cold weather, and my unique surroundings all set the perfect mood for being creative. I am deeply focused on my work and know I should get as much of it done as possible. Today I am off, but tomorrow I have to be putting up grocery stock at seven o’clock in the morning. It will be long and grueling hours, so writing these stories is my only escape from that cold hard reality. Suddenly, a cute young lady walks by. She looks at me and smiles. I smile back, then resume my writing. She walks away for a little while but, then, wait, she’s pacing up and down the cement path near me. I can’t help but adore her as she repeatedly passes by-she is so beautiful. I now realize that we were the only two human beings in the park, everyone else is enjoying Thanksgiving with their families. I look up at her and she smiles sweetly.

“Hi,” She says.

“Hello,” I reply.

“Could I sit with you?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Smiling, even more, she continues, “You’re cute.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Do you think I am also cute or am I too fat?”

“I think you’re very beautiful and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Good. You make me feel special!”

There’s a very brief silence, but then I have an escalating concern, so I say, “I’m very happy that you want to sit with me, but don’t you have a family to go home to?”

“I do, but my parents are fighting like cats and dogs and Thanksgiving was canceled.”

“That is awful. I am so sorry you have to go through that,” I reply, then awkwardly hug her, just in an attempt to give her comfort.

She looks at me, then asks, “What about you? Don’t you have any family?”

“I do, but they’re all far away from me. I can’t afford to travel to them and they can’t afford to travel to me.”

“Do you work?”

“Yes. I’m a stocker at The Downtown Grocer, it’s a God awful job. I can do so much better if only I had the chance.”

“How can you do better?”

“With this,” I show her my composition book and continue, “I am trying to become established as a writer.”

“Let me read.”

“Sure,” I say, then hand my book to her.

She begins to read and is smiling from ear to ear.

“These are beautiful, I love them. Could I borrow your pen?”

“What for?”

“I want to write something for you,” She says, blushing.

“Here you go,” I say, then give her my pen.

She is smiling brightly as she writes, then she shows me. It’s a ten digit number.

“That is for you.”

I too am blushing, but then I ask, “How old are you, anyway?”

“It’s impolite to ask a girl her age, but that’s all right because I think you are nice. You’re cute, too, but I told you that already.”

“So, I will re-state my question; how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen; if you must know.”

“You’re young.”

“I may be young, but you seem like a sweet guy.” Now she gave me a peck on my cheek.

“You know I am twenty-two and I can get in plenty of trouble.”

“Wow, I thought you were my age. I still like you, though.” There is a brief pause, but then she continues “You don’t have to worry about getting in trouble because I won’t make you do anything illegal.”

“Are you asking me out?” I ask.

“Yes.” She humbly replies, blushing.

There’s an awkward silence now; but then she asks again, “So, will you be mine?”

I stare at her for just a moment. She looks at me as if she would cry. I see a potential for love and companionship, but I also see the potential for legal trouble. She’s continuing to stare longingly at me and I am beginning to look at her with affection as well. I want to make her happy because no one else has ever paid this kind of attention to me before. Here’s a girl who enjoys my writing and for some reason or another has fallen for me, albeit unusually quickly. No other women or girls were ever interested in me, because of my personal quirks constant awkwardness. She seems to see past them. Finally an opportunity to love and be loved!

I will tell her. I must tell her, “Yes. I’ll be yours because love knows no numbers. Forgive me for making you wait, I’m just nervous that’s all.”

“Don’t worry; I forgive you. Just know that you don’t have to be nervous around me.”

“I’ll try not to be.”

She’s joyfully smiling and kissing me with passion. I kiss her in return.

“Could I have your phone number as well?” She asks me.

“Sure,” I reply, then call it out.

Instantly; she programs it into her phone and kisses me again. I program hers into my phone as well. We sit on the park bench for hours and I read to her. I know she will give me plenty of inspiration for some time to come, maybe even forever. Finally, the sun begins to set and the Mercury begins to drop.

I ask her with concern “Shouldn’t you be home?”

“I guess. Could you walk me home?”

“I’ll drive you home instead.”

Her eyes light up and she kisses me. We walk to my old Toyota and I take directions from her until we arrive at her parents’ home in the suburbs. I park in front of her parents’ driveway and opened the car door for her.

She gives me a long goodnight kiss and says “Call me.” Afterward, she walks inside and waves at me from the window.

I go home and sleep, feeling happy and fulfilled. My writing indeed brought good into my life, just as I had firmly believed.

 

The Girl’s Perspective:

My parents are fighting again. My dad always tries to be a good provider but I think he works too much. My mom resents the fact that he puts his career before her and uses pills to fill the void that his affections once occupied. My dad loathes my mom’s pill habit and avoids her like the Plague.

Earlier on in the school year, I made excellent marks. I was even an honor student. Now that my mom is always loaded and my dad is gone for weeks at a time, I cannot get a ride to school. There is no bus service to the private school I attend and I would endure hellish torment if I attended the public high school in my district. So, I dropped out. My dad is slightly bothered, but he doesn’t do anything. My mom doesn’t care at all.

It’s Thanksgiving and my dad is home, for today at least. You would think we could celebrate as a family, but my parents are at each other’s throats. It may be cold and sunny outside but there is a nasty storm brewing inside. I do not want to be hit by their flying debris, so I go to the park. I watch the brown Sycamore leaves fly around in the breeze and go exploring.

Suddenly; I see him, sitting there, writing something in a composition book. He’s greatly focused on his work. I watch him for just a little bit. He’s very cute so I smile at him. He smiles back. I walk past him, feeling giddy. He actually noticed me. I wonder what he is like. I have no one at all. My family is a mess as I have already said. Could he possibly be a friend, maybe even a lover? I surely need love in my life.

So I begin to pace up and down the walking path, looking at him each time I pass by. He notices me.

So, I say to him, “Hi.”

“Hello,” He replies.

“Could I sit with you?”

“Sure, I guess,” I am so happy, he is actually letting me sit with him!

“You’re cute,” I tell him as I smile from ear to ear.

“Thanks, I guess.”

That’s all?

Maybe he isn’t attracted to me. I wish I could be skinny like all the other girls I know. There’s only one way to find out what he really thinks about me.

I’ll ask, “Do you think I’m also cute or am I too fat?”

“I think you’re very beautiful and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He is so sweet to tell me that. I want him even more now! “Good. You make me feel special!”

There is a quick silence, but then “I’m very happy that you want to sit with me, but don’t you have a family to go home to?”

“I do, but my parents are fighting like cats and dogs and Thanksgiving was canceled.” What will he think of me now?

“That’ awful. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.” Wait, what is he doing now? He hugged me!

“What about you? Don’t you have any family?”

He replies “I do, but they’re all far away from me. I can’t afford to travel to them and they can’t afford to travel to me.”

Why can’t he afford to visit his family and they can’t afford to visit him either?

So, I ask him, “Do you work?”

“Yes. I’m a stocker at The Downtown Grocer, it’s a God awful job. I can do so much better if only I had the chance.”

“How can you do better?”

“With this.” He shows me his composition book and continues, “I am trying to become established as a writer.”

That is so awesome. My dad knows people who could get him published. Maybe he would love me if I could make him successful.

I would love to see what he writes about as I always enjoyed English classes.

“Let me read.”

“Sure,” He says and hands me the book. He actually hands me the book.

I begin to read. These love stories he writes fill me with all kinds of wonderful feelings. Oh my; I am now blushing.

“These are beautiful. I love them!”

I know what I’m going to do; I’ll give him my phone number.

So I ask him, “Could I borrow your pen?”

“What for?”

“I want to write something for you.” I wonder if he can see me blushing? My face feels so warm.

“Here you go.”

Quickly; I write down the ten digits and say, “That is for you.”

He’s blushing. Now he is slightly distressed. Did I come off too strong?

He then asks me leerily, “How old are you, anyway?”

Why is he asking me that? I know how I’ll handle this. “It’s impolite to ask a girl her age, but that’s all right because I think you are nice. You’re cute, too, but I told you that already.”

He seems unfazed, then says, “So, I will re-state my question; how old are you?”

Humbly, I reply “I’m seventeen if you must know.”

“You’re young,” He tells me cautiously. Well, of course, I am young. He is young too, right?

“I may be young, but you seem like a sweet guy.” I know what I’ll do. I’m going to kiss him-just a quick peck on the cheek.

He is shocked and seems cautious.

“You know I am twenty-two and I can get in plenty of trouble.”

Oh no, I hope I didn’t blow it. Let me see if I can salvage this, “Wow, I thought you were my age. I still like you, though.” I tell him. There is now, a silence, so I continue “You don’t have to worry about getting in trouble because I won’t make you do anything illegal.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yes.”

It is quiet now. I want him so much.

“So, will you be mine?” I ask.

He’s now staring at me. What is he thinking right now? If he rejects me; my heart will be broken. Can he see the tears I am holding back?

Finally, he says, “Yes. I’ll be yours because love knows no numbers. Forgive me for making you wait, I’m just nervous that’s all.”

“Don’t worry; I forgive you. Just know that you don’t have to be nervous around me.”

“I’ll try not to be.”

He still seems leery. I am going to kiss him, this time I won’t hold back. Oh my, now he is kissing me too. My heart is singing!

I want his number, too. Let’s see if I can get it from him, “Could I have your phone number as well?”

“Sure.” Oh my, he is actually calling it out. Now we’re programming each others’ numbers into our phones. Slowly our faces and lips are meeting. We’re going to kiss yet again! I hope this never ends. I snuggle next to him on the bench and he reads to me. We sit there for hours until the sun sets and the temperature drops.

“Shouldn’t you be home?”

I know I should and I had better get there before my parents realize I am gone. So I ask him, “I guess. Could you walk me home?”

“I’ll drive you home instead.”

We walk to his car, an old Toyota. It starts up perfectly, despite its age. I wish I could somehow get him a better car. I know if I can help get published through one of my dad’s connections, he would be rich and then he would love me for it. I think he would love me anyway or at least that is my hope. I sit next to him and give him directions to my parents’ house. He holds me with his right arm. We are now in my parents’ driveway.

I give him a long goodnight kiss and say “Call me.” Oh, how I hope and pray that he will. If not; I will call him. I look at him from the window and wave as he drives off into the night…

Thank you for reading.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?

I hope you, the reader, walk away with learning something, quite possibly learning that everyone deserves to love and be loved in return!

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My Synopsis and Commentary on “A Train Conductor Meets an Aspiring Writer” (Written on October 20 2016)

I began my series about a train conductor meeting a schizophrenic writer online in March of 2016. What inspired [and motivated] me to start writing this was I wanted to promote some of the [decent] values that I had in a previous series, without being too offensive and self-righteous. There are some references to that former series and there might even be more if God wills it. I have only written two scenes (or pieces) from each the guy’s and girl’s perspective and I am not too sure why I haven’t gotten further. I’ve been focused on writing other stories, essays, and articles, though, but possibly hope to continue this soon.

In this series, I try to promote that everyone deserves to love and be loved just like I did in my “Grocer and Writer” stories. This is done by centering the stories around a nineteen-year-old aspiring writer, named Tabitha “Tabby” Howell, who has two major flaws: she is schizophrenic and she is overweight. She is a senior in high school and has extremely overprotective parents. She doesn’t drive yet and depends on her best friend for transportation to and from school. So on a Saturday night in March, Tabitha was on a writing forum with the screen name CuteCuddlyTabby, posting her latest romantic story. She had received several negative reviews and comments and was devastated by these reactions. She was about to go bathe when she saw a new comment from someone known as MisterTrainman. He praised her story, unlike anyone else. This comes from personal experiences where I had posted some love stories on forums and got negative reactions, yet there always seemed to be someone who encouraged me.  Anyway, Tabitha looks at his profile and finds out his name, Cyrus Braeden, and sees a picture of him, to which she is attracted.

They begin to converse. Cyrus makes sure she isn’t a minor and continues talking to her when she reveals to him that she is nineteen. Tabitha then says that he probably wouldn’t want to do anything with her anyway because of her weight. Cyrus asks Tabitha for her name so he can look her up on Facebook. She gives it to him. He sees her pictures and is attracted and confesses that to her.  Tabitha tells him that there must be some lucky girl in his life. He tells her that train conductors have hectic work schedules and therefore have trouble getting and staying in relationships.

Cyrus then asks Tabitha to tell him more about herself. She states that she is still in high school because she had to take a year off for medical reasons. She then says she still lives with her parents and they are overprotective. Finally, she says that she attends a very strict catholic school, but only because she is afraid the students in the public school would torment her about her weight. Cyrus tells her that she has beautiful curves. She blushes then asks him to tell her about him.

He tells her that he ran away when he was eighteen and wound up in a railroad yard. He was almost hit by a train, but the engineer took him under his wing and offered him a job. The engineer also helped him buy a house. The house Cyrus bought was the same house that the main characters of the previous series lived in until my male character was murdered and my female character died of a broken heart, from witnessing the murder.

Cyrus then said he wished that he had love in his life, but knows that railroaders have trouble with romantic relationships because of their hectic schedules and frequent time away from significant others.

Tabitha replied that he definitely can have love in his life and made an advance at him. He accepted but was honest about his job and how they will be frequently away from each other. Tabitha reminds him that she is willing to put up with that because no one wanted her before him. So, with that, they mutually entered into a romantic relationship and exchanged phone numbers.

Cyrus and Tabitha continue to talk online into the night until Tabitha realizes that she has to take her Abilify. Cyrus agrees that she needs to take it, so she does. After taking her medicine, Tabitha gets sleepy and they both sign off and go to bed. Tabitha is overweight from taking the said medication.

The next day Cyrus wakes and sends a text message to Tabitha. They text back and forth but then Tabitha then says how her parents went make groceries and he could call her.

They talk on the phone and Tabitha says that they are doing third quarter exams all next week. After a while, she reveals to him that she is schizophrenic and that he probably now wants to leave her. Cyrus assures her that her writing has taught him that everyone deserves to be loved and he is also attracted to her and would never leave her.

They then confess their mutual virginity and Cyrus states how happy he is that he waited, even though he is a twenty-five-year-old virgin.

After more conversing they discuss plans to meet during exam week and how she would have to get her friend to take her to the train station.

At the end of the piece Tabitha’s parents return from making groceries and so she and Cyrus hang up the phone. They are now falling very much in love with each other.

That’s all I have for now…

I wrote this and hope to write more of it because it is very similar to the previous series and one can almost say that it is even a continuation of it. Here I am promoting basically the same values without the immense amount of controversy and hypocrisy. Two people find love and accept each other without demanding any changes be made. They will treat each other with love, reverence, and kindness. Their intimate moments will be very sacred and beautiful. Still, there will be conflicts, such as Cyrus’ work performance and schedule, Tabitha’s parents’ and friend’s unnecessary suspicion of Cyrus, strict school officials forbidding the relationship because their age difference reflects negatively on the school’s image and reputation. However, I plan to resolve all of these issues. And, not only that, I will allow these issues to build the passion and affection between my main characters. I think I can make something wonderful with this new series if I remember to not promote self-righteousness. If I can remember that I need to stay humble and keep in mind that I am far from perfect just like everyone else, then this will be something genuine and beautiful. There is a train derailment caused by a terrorist attack in the previous series and now I am wondering if Cyrus Braeden could have been the conductor on that train. Of course then, he would have survived, because he is alive in this series. Maybe it could be a bygone times piece detailing the derailment. I think my foamer friends would enjoy!

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