Fragments.
4-19-2
Man on a single crutch, bearded
Two women on the comfortable chairs, one speaking, her hand waving circles in the air like waves. I think I would like to surf within the motion of her hands. The listening woman, blond, circles under her eyes drawn by time, colored white by artifice.
A man in an army uniform with two dangling picture id's with books announcing his hobby: "Joy of Boxes. Whittling twigs and branches. Celebrating boxes. The best of wood boxes. Hand Tools. and Tools."
Why can't we publish? We could publish a book on why we can't publish.
First reason. I don't have time
>>>the time is passing too quickly. I have to go into work for a single meeting at 1:30. This is distracting me.
Mary has been in a terrible mood induced by her third period in 6 weeks. This after 6 years of no periods due to hormone replacement. Believe me, she is even testing my patience. I know I am supposed to be supportive. I know this is temporary. I know the cause. Doesn't seem to matter. I don't want to be around her. But I simply remember that "this" her is not Mary. God I am glad I am a man!
Man on a single crutch, bearded
Two women on the comfortable chairs, one speaking, her hand waving circles in the air like waves. I think I would like to surf within the motion of her hands. The listening woman, blond, circles under her eyes drawn by time, colored white by artifice.
A man in an army uniform with two dangling picture id's with books announcing his hobby: "Joy of Boxes. Whittling twigs and branches. Celebrating boxes. The best of wood boxes. Hand Tools. and Tools."
Why can't we publish? We could publish a book on why we can't publish.
First reason. I don't have time
>>>the time is passing too quickly. I have to go into work for a single meeting at 1:30. This is distracting me.
Mary has been in a terrible mood induced by her third period in 6 weeks. This after 6 years of no periods due to hormone replacement. Believe me, she is even testing my patience. I know I am supposed to be supportive. I know this is temporary. I know the cause. Doesn't seem to matter. I don't want to be around her. But I simply remember that "this" her is not Mary. God I am glad I am a man!
posted by Kajgreb | 4:39 PM
2 Comments:
poor Mary! I hope this is an old journal.
I wonder if people see me in !ndigo
and comment on my reading material.
'hmm that poor soul needs to get out more.'
or 'wonder if she likes to travel. seems like she is always buying foreign books.'
or 'good god look at her, the poor thing, she can hardly open her eyes, she's so tired. Bet her house is loaded down with people from away.'
Do you bring a laptop with you to Borders or do you write long hand and then transfer over?
When the kids are back in school, I'm tempted to go to Borders and people watch so I can experience what you experience. I love the sense of the place -- the smell of coffee, the books with their yet unread straight spines tempting with a world of stories, the people who come and go.
Here's a thought about writing: Perhaps you can't make the time to write daily because you still as yet don't have a story to tell. And when you don't have a story in your head to drive you, it's hard to be disclipined. Hell, it's hard to be disciplined even when you DO have a story to drive you but at least then, you want to sit and write it.
Mitch Albom wrote "The Five People You Meet In Heaven."
You can write: "The Hundred People You Can Meet in a Border's Cafe."
Very cool title if I do say so myself. ::::grin::::
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