My Pen My Pen

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.

Sometimes I Should Edit

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

Too Awake To Be Tired

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

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.

Mork from Ork

I had an idea presented to me. Write a book in a month. A whole book. Just pump it out. Edit later. I discovered it through Stumble.
Stumble is a web site in which one inputs certain likes and it randomly chooses places to go. I am learning new things everyday with the help of this site. That is if I remember to use. Sometimes I have other things on my mind. Things like bills. Oh, and my children.
So I found this site that holds a yearly book writing month. I am not really sure about how to go about it. I think the instructions are way to simple. I know that you are not supposed to start until November first. I have ideas racing.

My ideas are my worst enemy. They wind up like Evel Knevil and then fall as soon as they are let go.
I don’t know how I’ll attempt this. My thumbs aren’t fast enough. I can barely get a page out and to use correct punctuation will be a nightmare.
What about conversations? I don’t think writing a book on the iPhone is a great idea. This blog is fine. I get a hit on it every month or so. Ah well.

I accomplished a goal and I am excited. It is probably why I am not that focused to day. I feel like Mork from Ork. My mind zooms. My body feels great.
Ran a race. Now I want to write a book. You know it’s going to be about the couch. There’s actually a hottie sitting on my couch at the moment. If I fall asleep in this chair I have a feeling I will rip one. I am usually alone in this room. Save for the occasional graces of Ann.
The big salad I ate before I came here is beginning to work some magic. Oh we’ll maybe she has brothers.
I am nearing the point where I just want to walk into a room and just rip a big one. Just the thought sends me into a mental giggle. I hope the hottie does t look up.
Farts make me laugh.
Forever twelve. There was a time when I was fifteen or sixteen. Oh there were lots of times back then. Every moment was an incredible memory. Wish I could remember them all. I’d have a book
It was me and mike. I think Ken was there. We were sitting at one of the many tables in our high schools library. Most of the were four person tables. A few we’re larger. We were at a four chaired table. I recall it being near the card catalog. We sat there together talking about cars. Well, ken and mike were probably talking about cars and I was probably wondering how they knew all this stuff about them. My memory problem didn’t just begin with my problems.

I was a funny guy.

Loo loud grumble. I wonder if she heard it. She looks bored. A nice loud fart would send at least one of us I to clinically insane laughter.

That’s pretty what happened in the library that day. One speaks I. Whispers in the library. Quiet as a mouse.
I slowly lifted a cheek of my butt as to not draw any attention. With controlled farting you must pinch and release in an ultra controlled method. We have rehearsed this and have gotten away with unnoticed releases.
Lifting my butt cheek with not the years of experience I have acquired now, I let go.
I would that my cheek did. Of have the right lift. I certainly didn’t account for the hard solid wooden chair that I sat upon. It took hold of that little toot. A little toot anywhere else in the world. A little toot in a quiet library sitting on a heavy wooden chair boomed and echoed through the chamber. I swear it bounced off walls. It was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
I am laughing as I wrote this. Imagine Ken and Mike. I could never face that library again.

Letter to School

I sent a letter to Jacks school. Sometimes new people need to be reminded that autism does not come with an instruction manual. You can hand out one sheet of people with a guideline.

Will change the way that you perceive normal.

Sometimes we all test our limits. Sometimes we will push a little further to get different results. Sometimes we will be amazed by our own frustrations that none of it worked.
Thus this is so with jack.
He is in a new phase of learning, but he is not going into the abyss alone.

He doesn’t like school. He doesn’t like homework. He likes power rangers. He doesn’t like food. He likes pizza. Well, pizza is a food.
Actually food is a whole subject in my family. It is sometime hard when the guide won’t follow his own course. Whatever that means.

I am not really getting this point across. I don’t free form well when it comes to autism. I need to practice the discussion. It has to be a part of the discussion.
It is what brought me to where I am. I sometimes wonder if I would ever have gotten to this place if it weren’t for my son. What if he were a sports loving kid? Would I still be hiding a flask on the ball field? Telling the kids to take five. Daddy needs a smoke break.
Would I have more children? I’d say it is nothing to ponder because I am not there. The road took me here. I am a better man. A poor man but a better man.
I can run fourteen miles without stopping. The only reason I stop is to face the rest of the day with my family.
I can walk up one hundred and fifty flights of steps on the machine at the gym. I am a machine.
And no.
None of it is easy.

October Nine

I really need to work on my tags. I really just need to focus on one task at a time. Just to be able to work on one writing project for hours a day. Oh the joy! Then to scatter around the neighborhood and diddle with blogs.

What the hell is she watching? Apparently music was too good for her. Now she has brought a television into her office space.
I can hear the cheesy gun shots. There are entry of them so I know it is an older show. A western? I hear no voices. A little crescendo hear and there. Dramatic music is a wonderful thing.
I wonder if this is on a DVD or VCR tape? She is giggling and grunting to whAt I am sure is exhilirating action. I highly doubt that there is cable running through these building. I could be wrong. It has happened once or twice in my life.

Maybe she’s watching the Apple Dumpling Gang. Maybe she is just a further test in my life to see how much I can take. I am at my limit with a bunch of things.

I just had my own dramatic pause right there. I hold back writing certain feelings. I do tell the truth in my tales. Is leaving out parts of my life lying? I know that it is to myself. I don’t know about a reader. So far I have had two. It s more than one.
My son found a shiny nickel at school last week. He found it in the gym. I bet my boy was so happy. It was his lucky day! His EC teacher told him that he must turn that into the gym teacher. If he didn’t, it would be like stealing. Like stealing? Like lying? Like doing wrong? It didn’t go we’ll for either of them. She witnessed a meltdown of an autistic boy. I do believe she should have known better. At least to be aware that negative reactions to a seemingly positive situation is going to have repercussions.

Ok this receptionist lady, whom shall from this point be called Ann. One, because that is her name and two, receptionist is a lot to type out with my thumbs. Ok, at first I was thinking that she was enjoying this spaghetti western a little too much. There were inappropriate grunts and groans coming through the Venetian blind wall that separates us. Then I heard it. The snots. The blowing of the nose. Dear Ann has a cold. I for one do not have one, nor do I believe I shall get one. Ann is making talk to herself now.

My eyes are closing. I had a full day. Work. The gym. Pick up my son from school. Take home to a doctor appointment Bring him to the pharmacy to get some meds for my other son and his infected big toe. Go home and shove down a salad. Spinach I must say is quite delicious. Popeye was right! Then finally, retake my son to another doctor appointment and my appointment with the couch. Of which I barely had a session with
And I was just told I left my lights on in my truck.

Couch and Pull ups

My brothers baby momma drops her son, my nephew, off at my house each morning. I have no interaction with because I am already long at work. To put it jokingly, it is my lunch hour when this transaction occurs. I know, I can’t stop laughing either.
This report isn’t about my side splitting wit, nor what I actually had in mind to work on. It is about the boy I. The saggy pull ups.
It’s a sad thing when her little bundle of joy is pasted all over the Facebook full of smiles. Sad because she wants the world to see her little plaything.
Little pee-pee and little toes.
Why not pick him up?

She’s a proud mom. Her life is for her children. She expresses this very close to their birthdays. Her friends from long ago and far away comment on how absolutely wonderful she is.
“What a wonderful mother you are!”
“I am so proud of you raising two children.”
“I don’t know how you do it and still look so good.”

I have known her for five? Six years? I believe her first son has been with her once in all that time. The only reason I know this is from Facebook. Cleverly worded posts makes it seem that son number one is getting the finest education and the utmost of parenting.
Love and kisses. Bye bye. The kid is being raised by her mom in another state.
From the bits and pieces that I have gathered from her life, abnormal is very normal. Perfect me has had a few blackouts in this time period, so some facts elude me. Again, this is t about me. I am at work sipping tea with my pinky in the air. I know. You’re slayed.
Along comes kid number. He was the results of my brother and her doing immoral acts. Hey, it’s the best way to score you this fine life we lead.
So they have this kid. My nephew. Kid one for my brother. Kid two for her. Kid six or seven for her mother is she would be allowed to get her paws on him.
I don’t think that her mother has actually come to see this grand baby. Strange times in the south.
I know that her rock and roll dad has been here. I saw the clip on Facebook. He lives far away also.
Her sister loves I town, but they speak sometimes. She has a few other sisters’ but I have only seen them on the Facebook.
That’s where I’ll have to go when I fill in the facts for this tale.

Jack

I have had to learn a lot of new things having an autistic son. I have had to relearn and make new ways of doing old things. I have learned to communicate differently. I have learned to react differently. I have become a new man.

Jack has a certain way of doing everything. It’s all a pattern. Step by step. Don’t dare miss a step or you have to start over. Even in a hurry it is wise to remember not to interrupt a step. Hours of frustration and screaming can attest to this.
Jacks dinner is a perfect example.
Well it is hardly a perfect example of a perfect family, for that is another issue in itself. The dinner table is covered with the things to get done tomorrow. I actually do not want to visit this emotion, so I will pick another topic.
Even thinking about the things that jack does in his everyday duties makes me feel like a terrible parent. They have begun to race through my mind and I feel awful.

Thankfully I am on the couch and this is where I work this out.

I guess him not being like ‘normal’ kids is a challenge. He also has two older brothers. Neither is a prime example of normal, but both are moving in a forward direction and I know that they will have semi functional adult lives. My goal with them was/ is to steer their development into functional adult capacities. They are both sure to be a tad strange. I am far from perfect. Hopefully their sense of humor will make the bad time go away.

I am really steering off course today, couch. I came in here with all good intentions. I wanted to tell how Jack will go into his zone. Breath and begin again?
Sure.

Seemingly from nowhere, Jack will begin his autie ritual. I am not even sure if he is ready for these episodes. We’ll be watching tv like any proper family and suddenly you’ll optics that he’s up and about.
He does this odd pacing thing. It’s a semi circle, sideways half gallop movement. The pace will seem like a possession for if you stand in his way, he will sideways sashae right around you. Putting you hands out to stop him is not a wise thing. No, he doesn’t shoot bolts of lightening out of his eyes but he be one’s very frustrated.
To sit back and watch this spectical is a curious thing. The language that comes out of his mouth is very ‘primatish’?
It’s more of a groan and moan. Long drawn out humming. Sometimes a legible word will come out, but that’s rare.
If he is holding a action figure is it the same similar motion but you cAn tell its a fantasy story going on.
I feel that is what he’s is doing all the time. Sometimes he will laugh mid grunt and be smiling for a full circle or two around the living room. The cats stAnd clear of these actions. They don’t like to be tripped upon. They will stand on the corner of the couch and just watch.
That’s another thing. Our zoo of cats and dogs are. Dry mindful of the boy.

I would….. What’s that couch?
Session over. The old people are here for their session with
Mr John. I bet they have tales to spin.

They Are Real