Wagons, (wait for it) ... Hooooooooo!
Boy, do I need to get some meaningful work on. I'm just about to pick everything apart here. Ask me how my writing went yesterday. No, never mind, don't ask. You know how it went, you were there. I went into the other room and watched some show that could, I guess, be described as "sociological" and pecked at the keyboard to complete my blog and I never came back into the office again, all day. That's not necessarily bad, but it's been two weeks since the year changed and I could have finished my story in that time. Instead I have picked at it like it was a dinner plate of green beans and I was six years old.
I know how the story needs to end now. I know at least what I need to change about the early story to make the ending work, and I have the time on my hands to do it. Even with any other stuff that I need to get done. So what do you think I should call that. I think you're right. It's a common scenario in my life. I do some things right and other things very very wrong.
How will this day be different? I don't know yet. Maybe I will get something done on the story. I'm not sure in what order to attack the rest yet and that means I should plow ahead to make miles instead of style points. The visitation is up next and I should jump to it and see what happens. I can't empty the arsenal before the funeral. I have to keep Gene in the dark about what to expect. A change must occur at the funeral and so he mustn't fully change before that.
I'm not sure that talking about it like this is helpful. Let's change the subject and move onward.
Another subject, let's see. I don't want to think about politics and where that might lead. Although, I must say, the ancient curse about living in interesting times certainly applies here. The world is bucking and changing when I was really wanting it to settle down and respect my retirement. This is the nature of things. When reasonable people are forced to live in terrifying times of upheaval. We must constantly look to our survival and worry about those who come after us. What power we have is either given to us as proxies or imagined in dreams of our fevered youth,
Not that I felt any power back then. It was only during schooling when things became clear that I felt any control over my own situation. Belief in the invisible structure of the universe seemed enough at the time. Now it feels less sure and connected to my own little ship.
I pulled a muscle in my right upper abdominal wall. How's that for a segue? Yeah and so's your old man.
(Image is a Google Street View with digital enhancements by Jamal Masood)