Believe it or not, when I write my posts, I generally have a trajectory in mind. I go with my writer methods that I have learned and used throughout my twenty-some years of being a writer. My blogs are much looser than when I wrote for publication. This is for fun. I let it flow and hit publish. I don’t edit. I am sure you can tell that. But editing takes time and a close eye and I like the feeling I get when I write and run … not if I have to sit and rework and get it “publication” ready. I think readers get the gist of what I am thinking, and that is what I am about, these days.
Every so often, I will look at a piece after it is published and I will go, “Good butterballs, how the heck did that word get there, or why did I put there, instead of their? I know better.” I make a correction of what is glaring, and then trot on to baking, working on other projects or cleaning my purse. Yes, I ask my readers for grace. I give them my thoughts and time … but not perfection. I don’t have time in my life for perfection.
Today, I am going to do what is called ‘stream of consciousness’ writing. There may or may not be a beginning, middle or end. I am just going to let you into the playground of my mind. Probably, an edited version. Some of my thoughts are not for public viewing.
Do I want to get up or not? I am a bit cold. Winton, move over and quit jerking. I swear, you have caught those moves from Nick. Well, that isn’t a very nice thing to think. But I am falling off the bed so i think I will get up. I like the morning and my tea and so let’s hop to it.
Blinds open. Alarm turned off. Lights and fireplace turned on. Whey is that stuff in that bowl? I don’t think I want to keep the placemats and napkins there. Where is a basket? Oh, I will do that later. This place smells like a greasy spoon. Must be that I made french fries last night. Boy, they were tasty.
Oh, right. I want to write about the gymnasts and that doctor. I am so angry about that. Those young girls were sent to the slaughter house. Maybe they should not have the Olympics. What good is it to work your whole life for one, thing? I don’t know. Is it the possibility of standing on the podium and hearing your national anthem? I used to picture myself doing that. But look at the cost. And look what happens. Can’t trust anyone. And when I think about it, what is the Olympics for and how does it benefit? Is it sort of like the United Nations, whose purpose is questionable, too.? I don’t know. I do know that I would like to take that doctor and rid him of a few body parts. and, again, like the sexual harassment that was prevalent in Hollywood and elsewhere … why did this go on for so long? Somebody had to know and was covering it up. Shitheads. Forget nutmeg. They are shitheads. Man this gets me ramped up.
I think my hair is going to grow out lopsided. The style is not going to be an easy one to grow your. I guess it is baseball cap for years. Hum, I think I will take the cookies I made to the assistance center for the volunteers or maybe, they might have them there for the neighbors. Glad the sun is coming up and the skin is blue. It is a joyful morning. I don’t hate anyone, yet.
After reading about matt Lauer when I woke up at 3 this morning, I am convinced that some people should be sent to Siberia. Oh, I can’t really pay attention to the news or it will make me sour. What flowers should we plant this spring? Hope the wildflowers come up. How do people buy zillion dollar houses for cash? We are really trashy. I emptied garbage, again. Nick asks that almost everyday. “How can two people have so much trash?” I don’t even answer, anymore. Why don’t people have their car lights on all of the time? Around here, you have to really watch for people zooming along without headlights on at near dark. Are they stupid or just plain dumb?
There goes the garbage truck. Why do the new people on the corner, have their car parked in front of the fire hydrant … all of the time? I don’t want to rat them out, but that isn’t good. What if the oil from my french fries caught fire? I mean, the smoke alarm went off. It is not beyond the realm of possibilities that I could have bonfire in the kitchen and the fir department would come and have to stand there and say, “Sorry, but the fire hydrant is blocked. We will have to watch your house burn.” And that would give me the vapors.
Ok, this is boring as snot.
I won’t do this, again.