Wednesday, June 8, 2011

This note started off about Paul and the day he yanked the microwave out of the break room just to be a contrary, pouting ass. Then I thought the lightning might provoke something. Next I wandered into my imagination tugging at a strand of conversation …. writing is so much more than moving your pen around on the page … but who was I talking to? So I trudged back to the beginning where Lily pushed the words out of me and I tried to write about her, but without the starvation and diarrhea she is so much like a normal dog. I often forget she is the terror and heartache that escaped from the woods and threw herself at my feet. Really.


So I sit here with ideas starting and stopping. Typing and deleting. I have erased more words than I have written and in a broader sense, I either regret or have forgotten much of what I have said, but only because I spoke pointlessly. I blabbed at any set of ears. I try not to waste so many words anymore.


Most people treat their words like change rolling around in a linty pocket. I am not sure when words began to mean so little and their currency became too light to matter, but my words are worth so much more than a can of soda. I am not going to fit them in the slots to pay for a pool game either.


Except for pennies. If I ever receive change that includes two pennies, I will leave my two cents behind wherever possible.


Frustration is casting shadows across my imagination. I am just waiting for the storm to pass.

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