Archive for the ‘fault’ Category

I forgot my pen today. Good for the casual reader of my errors and faults, bad for my new way of writing. Actually it’s an archaic way of writing. Pen to paper.
Here is this blogger world, my thumbs get jumbled and they fumble all over this tiny space. I am not sure if a larger device will help this process. I will, though, test this theory in May when I upgrade my device. I always wanted a larger device. I imagine it would be more pleasurable for all.

Regardless of the size of my device, I have taken to pen and paper for my ‘great’ story. I tend to stare more at this device as if an idea can be binged. Poor Microsoft. Bingged? Just Bing? If nothing else Google is as synonymous to searching as Band Aids are to boo boos.

And I tend to listen others dilemmas and disasters. This seemingly fine young boy came out of the unicorn princes office and I find him a runner. He likes to run away. Not far. Down the street or behind a tree or under a car. Not that unsafe, but pretentiously dangerous I some respects I would gather.

This is my first time to Mr Johns on a Monday. Jack and I changed days so as to get an earlier time slot. Although, it is only a half hour earlier, I am sure I can find some use of it. At the moment, I can think of nothing. I really wasn’t even sure if I wanted to change. Change is not always good and it really disrupts my need for no change in my life.
There is a lot of change going on my life at the moment. Alas, to bore you is to bore me. But my gym membership expires in two weeks and I haven’t the money to renew.
First world problems. I need more of them.

See, I lost myself and to ha k read what I have written involves me possibly hitting the wrong thing and editing unexpectedly.

This book will happen and I think it will be good. I need it. You may not. You may just want a cookie. That’s sound good to me too.

I don’t think I have any followers and that’s okay. I realize that my poor editing abilities are not only lacking, but entirely non existent. My spelling isn’t atrocious, although auto-spell sometimes just doesn’t know me at all.
Being that a very good portion of these entries are written by lieu of thumb, not too mention a very small screen. How a writer can live with an iPhone 4 I will never know. I need the big screen of the i5.
What I really need is to go back to pen and paper. That’ll teach me a thing or two. Maybe it is writing on this tiny window that makes my eyes oh so sleepy. Hmm I am onto something.

When I leave Mr John’s office and the unicorn princess’ looney tunes television show, I should go home and edit. Corrections would so easy. I haven’t even been to my WordPress site in months. Life surrounds me.

Ok, the unicorn princess is watching a show. I can not see this show. I can only hear the voices and the sound effects. One thing I. Life that I am good at is recognizing specific sounds or voices and recollecting where I first hear them. I know. I know. Why haven’t I cashed in on this amazing talent? I ask myself that almost every day.
Point is is that she has watched this episode before. It wasn’t too long ago either. I specifically remember it annoying me then too. Some sort of western themed action bonanza. Lots of gun play. Not lots of dialogue. It sounds old. It also sounds like a canned script.
It’s way too distracting. How can a man write about wanting to write with all these distractions? It’s a good thing I want to be. A professional.

I need to edit. Grasp what I have by the ears and shake it straight. Get a solid paragraph. A fantastic sentence. A wordy chapter.
Something. And then the eyes become slits

The book is not going well. Actually ‘it’ is fine. The writer is very slack. All these great thought mulling now drowning never to be seen.
Fresh ideas will come and the outline is actually there. I just have to hop to it. The holidays have given me another excuse.
Running has given me an even better excuse. Alas I pulled an unknown muscle trying to prove things to myself. I ran the annual Turkey Trot here in town. The cold morning blanketed with an even colder wind made for a delightful morning for one thousand or so runners, spectators and their dogs.
This was my first race since the last race but only my first trot of the turkey.
I was excited but not as prepared as the last one. I did not miss one training day on my schedule for the 10k. Ah, this was but a mere 5k. Missing a day or so would effect this top notch guy. Besides I was very busy at work and being I won’t cut out my children time, I had to sacrifice some sweat.
What I didn’t think would happen did. There were thirty five mid lifers raring to go. All blaring frost from their nostrils like brazen bulls to red. The compression socks made me weak to my stomach.
These guys were serious.
Three, two, one and pa-chow! They were off. I was off. I was trying to fiddle with my iPod and I lost a good start.
I started booking. I knew I was running faster than I ever had. Pushing myself to a limit I wasn’t really confident with yet. This pace couldn’t hold out too long. Maybe it could but something in me was disagreeing big time.
My breathing was a little off. The cold cold air always has something to do with that. I tried to steady it while younglings passed me from new directions. Mid lifers were passing me. Danged if I could figure this out. Everything I have read told me to pace myself. Pace, I did.

I only ended up passing a few people but never caught up to the beginning of the pack.

My eyes have grown heavy. This couch calls me.

Should Be

Posted: November 20, 2012 in Autism, couch, doctor, fault, home, mr john, soul, truth

I should be writing my book, but the unicorn princess is feeling lively. From high atop her perch comes the swinging strong sounds of what I am not sure. This genre is rock. It sure is not offensive by any stretch. It could be classified as teen Disney. Maybe?
I thought it may be Christian rock, but I hear no thous. It may very well be, I been wrong one time before.
What I do know is that it is not good writing music. Things with beats and hooks and frenzied guitar solos have no place in this writers world. Don’t get me wrong, I adore a good old fashioned head banging. Now though, whilst I pen my finest, I prefer jazz or classical or even nature sounds. The mind should be not distracted but enveloped within one’s surroundings.
The book I should be working on is not lost. That is a good thing. I have more done than when I first started. That is for sure. I have nothing but excuses right not. Most of it is my surroundings. Kids, pets, wives and possibly one bigger: the television. That thing truly is the devil. And she loves it.
And it is always on. And it makes you duller. And it lures.

I have quit do many things. It just makes me want to go back.

I really have to remember my headphones when I come here. I can tune out the unicorn princess’ strange rock and roll. She even knows the words. The unicorn princess has sung! I guess this is a cd. May e I could have figured that out if I paid more attention. She truly haunts me. She will be a major player I my book. That book that sits in space.

Yes headphones next week.

It’s Always My Fault

Posted: November 14, 2012 in couch, fault, home, Uncategorized

I keep forgetting that it always my fault. I need to hold a better check on that one. I always forget.

My son forgot his monologue. It lay somewhere in the hall of the church. When he got I the car, I asked. He told me what I needed to hear to put the car In Drive and head across town.
So I head a moderately more than average speed, not zooming but very quickly across town. This theatre is is I. The middle of downtown. A few lefts and rights. A bump or two over railroad tracks and there the theatre looms. It’s in a Masonic temple. Now that’s another blog waiting to happen.

In order to pick up this thespian of a son, I first had to prepare the other son for the evening. Feed and bath the boy. Homework and dog walk. Dishes done and dried and put up. Perfect timing. Five minutes to the church, ten minutes to the theatre and waa laa! Fifteen minutes to spare. By my clock, that is truly right on time.

All parked and settled, the boy went in. I facebooked a picture letting my adoring friends and fans know that I was outside the theatre. I even took a picture. As the immortal memory was about to upload, a frantic boy came running to my truck.
Chapstick! Does the boy need Chapstick? A swallow of water to loosen the vocal chords up a notch? Why no, he has done and gone lost his monologue.

The harps begin to play. The flash back scene begins in slow motion.
“Do you have everything?” Say it with a mouth full of marbles to simulate slow motion flash back.

A bottle full of rage, a bummed out kid and a bedtime quickly approaching, I zoomed towards the church.
Call your mother, I said. Don’t stop until she picks up.
I try it myself but I don’t really care to drive and talk. I don’t really care to use the phone much at all. If I call, I have a reason. That’s one of my faults also. My communication is terrible. I did stop trying. I admit it. Every once I. Awhile I forget and just start talk about anything, then I remember why I stopped this communication thing. It usually takes less than a minute or two before I’ve said something that reminds her of something that I did at one time and that cross referenced with another thing I might or might not have said at a certain date. The. I forget what the hell I was talking about. Someone storms off into the bedroom and sit with a stupid look on my face. So you don’t want a baked potato for dinner then.

Zooming casually as one can do in a chur h parking lot, she stood with said monologue in hand. Wanting me to pull into the side driveway instead of just coming over quickly to the car. A few words of encouragement to the boy and reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault, I receive the eye of stink.
“You were the minutes late!”
A mental FU because I actually care about what crosses the children’s ears, I begin the zooming procedures.
“See buddy, it wash fault all along. Now lets get you back to the theatre. You’ll only be fifteen minutes late. Use all this energy and put it into your performance.”

That’s all I really said. As much as I try, I can’t communicate well with my son either. Funny thing is that we have so much in common. I think there’s something in the way.
It’s not me. But it’s my fault.