A Stupid Virus or My Soul's Shoal

8-9-02
On vacation I caught a virus. I know it is a brain virus since it has left me completely stupid. I lost my car in the lot at Kennedy space center. It didn't help that I was looking for my green Le Sabre when I had rented a red Dodge. I seemed to find my self mumbling to Mary stupid comments. "Oh... look at that. Isn’t that nice?" I kept taking pictures of swimming dolphins at the exact moment they were under water. At one point I imagined myself sucked into a Mickey Mouse costume... shades of Gregor... Have you ever tried to talk with a high pitched, squeaky voice? "Hi, boys and girls." What do I know, one or all of you may speak in a high pitched squeaky voice and I am now insulting you. I did say I have become terminally, in terminally, terminally stupid didn't I? So forgive me. Inside Mickey, I had to deal with 4 fingers. Why doesn't he have a middle finger? I would have liked to use it on the little brat who tried to feed me cotton candy and managed to get some of the sticky mess down the eye hole. I didn't mention how uncomfortable it was to take my 6'4" frame and fit in a 4'6" costume did I?

When you combine a high level of stupidity with my normal extreme laziness, you get... well you get nothing. I can't even think of a 250 word story. I don't even look to see what the topic is in IS or IP. Forget Short Stories. I happened to catch that ass Tom Clancy on book TV. His suggestion to would be writers is to tell yourself that you can do it and then do it. He says writing is a job. Great! I don't want a job. I want freedom to be the lazy person I can be. I want to come her to Border's twice a week and browse through books. Then when someone asks me if I have read the latest best seller, I can say yes. Ok, so I lied a little. Does reading dust jackets count? I am beginning to ramble and since I am infected by the stupid virus, I pretend to have an excuse. When I do have the time free from earning a living, what will I do with it? Three weeks ago I had convinced myself I would use my free time to study poetry... poetry that is hard. I have no idea what is really good in poetry.

I have rambled all this way on a few sips of cappuccino. It is still a bit hot. There are few people in the cafe today---perhaps because the sky is as blue as a beautiful woman's eyes or the fluffy clouds which would be wonderful as a pillow to watch those eyes.

At this point in my journal exercise, I like to write about the people I see. I can only see one young boy's face. I can't see his eyes. They are focused on a fantasy football magazine. His hair is cut in ragged bangs like the coast of the Chesapeake Bay with many inlets.

I seem to have hit a shoal in my writing right now. A shoal with my sole, my sole soul. I should know what a shoal is; but I really don't. Is a shoal, the shore's sole? See, I really have become stupid.