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Monthly Archives: February 2024
Trigger warning….vomit ahead. If you don’t wanna read about snot vomit, please skip to the third paragraph. I spent the second half of my day irritated because my coworker is the single most disgusting human being alive. He throws up because he refuses to blow his nose. I am not even joking. He admitted to it today, freely, with no urging from me. It is a regular occurrence. It happened just yesterday afternoon and he didn’t even bother washing it off before he came to work today. He also never washes his hands. I mean never. And by the way, I’m not talking about Double Fries David or Addison the Saving Grace. This is a new guy, y’all don’t know him. And you’re not going to, because I am embarrassed by him and wouldn’t want to make you feel obligated to pretend you aren’t totally repulsed upon introduction. This is not to say he isn’t a nice guy. I feel confident in saying his mother has done the best she could. He’s not intimidating or anything like that. He’s just nasty. And this is nothing I wouldn’t say to him, and have, multiple times a day, since he started three months ago. I’m trying to help him improve his hygiene habits. It’s not working. If I wind up sick, I’m gonna string him up by his toes like a crow caught in the cornfield…
Writing Prompt #752 You’re the last person on Earth… but somehow the internet still seems to work. I don’t even know where to start with this one. Like, how would it even be possible for me, of all people, to be the last man standing? Highly unlikely. I’m more apt to be struck by lightning and hit the lottery in the same day. Because lemme tell you, I’m looking forward to my big reward and have zero interest in fighting tooth and nail to merely survive. But anyway, here we are, plunged into this story because I decided I was short on inspiration tonight. ************************ After four months in my home and observing no other humans, I decided to take the show on the road to see what I might find. The wildlife certainly seemed to be enjoying having free run of the place once again. I’d seen my first ever bobcat, loads of deer, turkey, birds of all kinds. Foxes, rabbits, and even a bear. I had found myself constantly reaching for my Redfield Talus binoculars (a gift from last Christmas before humankind ceased to exist), so often I generally just wore them around my neck. I was continually searching for any movement, human or animal, in assurance it wasn’t just me and Chess in the great big world. It appeared I was the last person in this neck of the woods, anyway. Searching for other humans would have been easier in the…
Writing Prompt #475. You’re asked by the love of your life to define what love means to you. What is love? Baby don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me…no more… Love is time. Love is effort. Love is listening. Love is saving the cabbage stem in a little bowl of water all day for the one who enjoys it most. Love is sacrificing something you enjoy doing to do something the person you love enjoys doing. Like sitting on the beach under an umbrella all day when you burn like a lobster and you’d much rather be touring old houses and being gently buffeted by porch ceiling fans, hung from haint blue ceilings. Or not going fishing, but instead taking your wife to the beauty parlor because she’s nervous about driving on the highway. Love is a dog who meets you at the door even though you’re an hour late. Love is bringing you a Sprite with the good ice when you’re sick. Love is starting your car for you on frosty mornings. Love is telling your children no, even though it hurts your heart, because you know it will benefit them more than giving in. Love is tulips on a Tuesday in April. Love is coconut cream pie like your granny made. Love is picking them up from the airport at one in the morning, even when you have to be at work at eight. Love is simply good morning texts…
Where did the day go, I ponder, as I sit down to type this out. One fingered, as it was brought to my attention the other day. Even turning my iPad sideways and trying to type still feels wrong. Today went right on along, lost on the highway with Miranda singing about pushin’ time. Sometimes songs will rip your heart right out and show it to you, pulsing in its grip. Songs are poetry, and poetry is songs. Jewel is a prime example of that. Life is poetry. Sometimes it’s carefree and whimsical, sometimes it’s brooding and murky. Poetry is not just O Cap’n my captain stopping by the woods on a snowy evening. Poetry is Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss and Guns ‘n Roses singing about rain in November. Dinner was consumed at 10:30, because I wasn’t feeling like breakfast. Which meant I ate like a hobbit the rest of the day. Second lunch was eaten at 3:30, followed by hot fudge cake at 4:30, scarfed down in the Hobby Lobby parking lot. And then, in an effort to even things out, I had a salad at 7:30. And that was my day, in food. So as not to short y’all, I have selected from my book of prompts a little something. The other two I landed on were about zombies and gangs, and I just wasn’t feeling zombie-ish. Writing Prompt #27 [WC: 40] Write a poem that…
Writing Prompt #8 How’d you get that scar? Most everyone has a scar. Talk about it as if it you were about to get that scar for the first time. Scar free? Then you need to invent one! Or talk about another person’s scar as if it was your own. Oh, at the scars I have. I guess the most unpleasant one is the deep tissue muscle scar I got when I was 16 or 17, when my horse accidentally kicked the dog snot out of me when I released him back into his field. He didn’t mean to, I know. He got me in the head, too. And NO, that isn’t what caused me to act this way. I was already crazy. And no, I didn’t know why it didn’t knock some sense back into me. Anyway, the scar was on the inside of my right thigh, visible through much of my twenties as a half horseshoe shaped indention. Then I got fat and you can’t tell it anymore. So is it still considered a scar? Would it come back if I lost a bunch of weight? The world will never know, because I’ve eaten eight chocolate chip cookies today. I’ve also got a scar on the top of my foot from where my water glass fell off my dresser and busted and a shard sliced right into me. It hurt like the devil dickens and I had…
Writing Prompt #6 Describe the perfect home. Make that home come alive; put yourself in your mind in that place. How large or small is it? Where is it located? I’ve often thought about this very thing, as I believe we all have. I remember playing MASH in grade school with the notebook paper folded to fit over our fingers. What was it called? Chinese something catcher. Anyway, mansion-apartment-shack-house. Of course mansion was the one to shoot for. Back in those days an apartment was out of the realm of our comprehension, and we didn’t know a mansion in Seymour until the Creutzinger monstrosity was built. I could see my dream house clearly, probably pulled straight from Gone With the Wind: a Greek Revival with the two story columns, dark red brick, circular driveway, a Juliette balcony off the master bedroom, swimming pool (mine would have to be indoor, or at least covered with tinted glass to keep me from frying like an egg), stables for my many breeds of horses (at least seven: one for each day of the week), a greenhouse, and the river out back. There would be magnolia trees lining the alleé, a black wrought iron gate with scrolls that would swing back from the monogrammed center to admit you after you cleared entrance via the intercom system. The fences would be curvy brick, except where they were black wood plank. Back then I admittedly never gave much thought to the…
“You are moonlight,” I told himPresent and dependableCalming above all elseThe peace it brings knowing it will be there tonightEven if nothing else willThe moon is not often showyIt is humble Orbiting EarthLetting her steal the showShining as a backlightBut with an irresistible pullWhole or partial Even when it cannot be seenIt is feltIt is powerfulIt is unstoppable There is no such thing as too much moonlight You cannot burn from itIt will not blind youIt just lights the wayIt guides baby turtles homeIt is in every bedtime storyIt is stalwart And steadyIt is not fickleOr vainMoonlight is romanticAnd I feel the pull nowTo just let itWhere would I goWhat would I doDrownIn the things I cannot sayIn the daylightWe must wait for the moonAnd the moon Will wait for us…
So tell me: are you a car sitter? Why? I get it if you are early for an appointment. It’s more relaxing to sit alone in the comfort of your car than a germ riddled waiting room full of coughers, smokers, and dopers. But I see these people that I feel like sit in their car for extended periods every time they get in their car. I mean, I like Maggie a lot, but I don’t wanna hang out in her. I want to go places—fast—but not just…sit there. Unless I’ve caught one of my favorite songs on the radio, which is unlikely, since I rarely listen to the radio. Are they evading responsibilities of family? Kind of hiding, saying, “I’m still at the store,” which technically isn’t a lie. Even though they could have left fifteen minutes prior. Do they not worry about being approached by unsavory characters? I don’t like to idle. I feel exposed in parking lots. Somebody could slash your tires, rendering you immobile, then slash your throat. Nope. And I don’t even watch true crime shows. Anyway. Just something I’ve observed that I don’t understand. The list is long of things I study on but never come any closer to figuring out. Chapman Highway is still riddled with potholes. For every one they fix three come to its funeral. There’s a deep one at the Wye. And today I passed a car…
I understand now, 53 days in, why writing daily is important. And why it is crucial to stay on schedule. It is a dedication to a craft and it builds discipline. I thought I had about as much discipline as one redhead can contain, but there was evidently room for growth. Because I will say that about 30% of the time, I could have found a reason to skip writing. But I made a promise to myself to do this, so here I am. I heard a time or two today “if you’da just kept your mouth shut…”. Other variations include: “You was broadcastin’ when you shoulda been receivin’” and “Mrs. Ivey, something to share with the rest of class?” “If you’d hush, I’d tell ye!” I’m sure there are others that evade me from over the years. Yesterday after work, I parked myself at the only joint in town that serves pizza I will willingly eat. Gatlinburg Brewery. The beer is ok, but the pizza is off the chain. Or hook, whatever the current lingo is for Very Good. You better git yer goin’ britches on and try it soon. Through the week, this month only, they offer buy one get one. So go! Here’s a handy link https://gatlinburgbrewingcompany.com/menu-1 the Leaf Looker and the Basic AF are my favorites. I got the Spinny Dippin’ last night and added red pepper flakes but I think the sauce needs to be garlic…
So I’ve got this book, “1000 Writing Prompts”. It’s been super beneficial when I’m stuck in a rut. I asked my friend to pick a number. Immediately, “Seven.” My favorite. #7. How were you named? If you feel that your name is boring and the story behind it equally so, make up a name and come up with an interesting story behind that. I honestly don’t know how I came by Amelia Marie or Amy, either one. I also can’t believe I’ve never written about it. But I haven’t. I reckon Amy is a common nickname for Amelia, even though Rhonda said if she had named me Amelia and people insisted on calling me Amy, she’d pinch their little heads off. I think I chose to go by Amy when I started school because I had a hard time making the “e”. I got to be lazy before I ever got started good. What I don’t understand is why we didn’t spell it Ami, because that would have been my initials, and also a bit perkier. I remember mom often telling me it was a good thing I was born a girl, because if I had been a boy, she would have had to named me Maynard, after my dad. I can think of nothing more mortifying. I made the mistake of repeating this to my then-friend Jena, who promptly told it all over the Co-op because, let…
