Another Disgusting Thing

I made coffee this morning and poured a cup but headed out without drinking it. That was about eight hours ago. Walking into the kitchen with my wife to begin making dinner, I spotted the cup of French Roast on the counter.

“Ah, coffee,” I said. “I forgot I had this.”

I downed the cup’s contents.

As I did, my wife made gagging and puking noises. I set down the cup and laughed as she expressed her horror. “Coffee is supposed to be consumed at the proper temperature.”

I frowned back. After four decades of drinking coffee, including cold, foul office instant in the field with the military, she was suggested there was a right temperature?

Naw, man. Coffee is coffee, hot or cold, long as there are no foreign objects like bugs, dirt, cigar or cigarette butts and human or animal body fluids and parts in it.

I do have standards, you know.

March 24, 2017 4

Personal

Some days, you know?

You feel like asking all the gods of time and existence, when the hell will this all end? When will lasting change come?

You think of the fights you’ve been in and the efforts you’ve made. You think about the deeper, darker, harsher sacrifices that others endured to achieve their dreams.

You wonder, what needs to be done differently? You examine your life, actions and motives and question yourself about your direction and activities.

Questions bubble up again through the stew of thoughts, emotions, time and observation about who you are, what you’re done and what you’re trying to achieve. You seek your vision and wonder if you’ll ever accomplish anything close to what you see.

Doubts cause you to think, maybe this isn’t working. Maybe I need to change what I’m doing and how I’m doing it.

Because there doesn’t seem to be progress. No light at the tunnel’s end is starting to become noticeable. There’s no sign of dawn. Despite efforts to be confident and hopeful, you feel like you’re wilting under the pressure. Despair becomes your regular companion.

You look for signs and omens, and search for the keys to success and victory. You think, God, others have made it. What does it take? What does it take?

Intellectually, emotionally, physically, you understand what it takes.

Some days, it seems like the reservoirs are empty. There’s nothing left in the tank. Sucking on fumes, you vow to stop and change, because this sure as hell ain’t working.

But you know no other way and grasp the conundrum of your existence. And you sort of smile because these thoughts are so familiar, they have their own place in your brain. And you know there’s so many others exactly like you. Somehow, there should be a measure of solace in that, but this is always so personal.

March 23, 2017 0

Catpathy

Catpathy is another form of sympathy and another form of empathy. Almost telepathic in nature, catpathy is the ability to feel sadness and loss in others, but also display understanding of how others feel from their frame of reference. Cats and other animals seem particularly capable of demonstrating sympathy and empathy, expressing themselves without words but comforting via presence and actions in an almost psychic manner that exceeds humans’ simple comprehension of cause and effect.

They know; they show. They make themselves available, and they stay.

March 23, 2017 0

Today’s Theme Music

Despite the sobering news out of Europe regarding terrorism and the most recent attack, we go full on pop mode streaming today, with a pause to think of those who were died or injured, those who lost someone, and those now distraught by the latest.

It’s part of the world wide web that we can know such news with the immediacy of video and audio recordings and feel others’ grief, but experience a much different reality on a personal level. A legacy of our immediate wired world is that we reach across the connections to offer ourselves and our resources, no matter how meager they are or their nature, because we feel helpless to do much more.

A cold front bulled in here, shooing the rain away and sweeping out the clouds. Except for some high, feathery cloud remnants, the weather is blue sky sunny. ‘Walking On Sunshine’ has already begun streaming in my brain, establishing itself as the song for the day.

I know, like, five things about this song.

It’s by Katrina and the Waves.
It was a hit in 1985, while I was driving around the southeastern quadrant of the continental United States.
It’s the only song by KaTW that I know.
It’s a bouncy melody with easily learned and remembered lyrics.
The song’s properties lends itself to popular culture, so it’s been part of movie soundtracks, television shows, and advertisements.

Stay strong, everyone. Let’s do this.

March 23, 2017 0

Slippage

Yesterday, forced to curtail writing to do other things and – gads, socialize – I was distant with others. The writing didn’t leave off and the writer didn’t stop, so a secret fog shrouded me from engaging with others. I felt like a few beats off.

Today, sensing the story’s climax and denouement, looking forward to completing the novel, forced new introspection. I can’t hurry this. Why am I trying to hurry it? More correctly, why am I trying to rush the story and curtail activities?

Realizations continue to emerge about what’s transpired and what needs to happen to reach the end without shorting the characters, situations or reader. The concept editor stirred from his fortress of judgement to deliver some withering insights about continuity, logic and my made-up background physics and quantum mechanics. Utilizing an unctuous and belittling tone, he became a bit of an asshole in the process, demanding more information about how chi-particles interact with organic entities and the arrows of time.

“Let’s think about the permutations,” he said at one point. I groaned. Already sulking about what he perceived as an assault on his creative and intellectual processes, the writer didn’t react.

The concept editor pressed us on all sorts of issues. “If there is one now, what are the characters remembering?”

“They’re not remembering anything, they’re experiencing a sense of belief that they’re remembering because they’re experiencing shareover of similar nows that are slightly ahead or behind of their moments of now,” the writer answered with elaborate patience.

It seemed like the concept editor hid a sneer in response. “But if the creatures, like Humans, don’t come to be until a chi-particle inhabits them, they why would they all be experiencing nows now?”

That agitated the writer. “No, no, that’s not how it works. Yes, they came to be when a chi-particle granted them a spark of self-awareness – ”

“Self-awareness that the chi-particles don’t have?”

“Yes, yes.” The writer was almost frothing. “The chi-particles don’t have awareness. They’re driven by their nature and their properties.”

“The same properties and nature that drives the organisms they inhabit.”

“No, no. Take a flea.”

“A flea.”

“If a flea bites you, you react.”

“So the chi-particles are like fleas?”

“For that simile, yes, for the purpose of illustration and clarification, yes. The flea’s nature, properties and behavior causes it to bite and suck, with collateral effects on its hosts. Its hosts don’t respond in like manner, but by itching and scratching, by developing sores and other issues.”

The concept editor appeared doubtful.

“Do you see?” the writer asked.

“I see,” the editor replied. “I’m not convinced, but I see. Finish the novel, and they’ll we’ll see.”

The writer glowered at him. “If you’ll let me.”

An uneasy accordance to continue with the writing was accepted. I tell you, the two of them will be the death of me.

Time to stop writing like crazy, at least for today.

March 22, 2017 0

Disgusting

I’m going to break a rule.

I’m blogging about body functions and human habits. Other than a few books, like “Our Bodies, Our Selves,” and “Everybody Poops,” we prefer that our body functions are kept secret.

I’m writing about one of the things I do that most disgusts my wife. Now, I’m sure several things will come to your mind, depending upon your age, history and sex.

It’s in my thoughts today because I did it today. The habit in question is blowing my nose in the shower.

The water is running. I’m blowing into my cupped hand. Then I’m rinsing.

My wife has informed me several times that it’s a disgusting habit. One time when she told me that, I complained about it to female friends at work. Did they find it disgusting?

“Oh, yes, absolutely.”

Astounding. “Why?”

“Because it’s a filthy, dirty habit,” they answered. “It’s disgusting.” Their husbands and boyfriends did it, too, and they wanted to know, “Why? Why do you do this? Why do men do this?”

I had an answer. “There are several reasons. One. I have hairy nostrils. Things get fouled up there. Snot hangs on and hardens.

To quote them, “Oh, gross, do you need to be so graphic? TMI.”

Undeterred, I continued, “Two, I’m in a private location. I can blow to my nose’s contentment.”

They were feigning gagging.

I think they were feigning it.

“Three. The hot water loosens everything up. And four, I can wash it all away. It’s efficient, clean and economical. If I didn’t do it, I’d be out there blowing into wadded tissues and hankies for a long time, which you would probably find equally disgusting.”

I was thinking of that conversation today, during my third day of cold therapy, because there wasn’t any steam. There was only ice water. At least it seemed so to my naked skin. The cold water was worse today because I was washing and conditioning my hair. That gave me time to think because I turn on the water, soak my head, then turn off the water to lather up. The water is then turned on again and the shampoo rinsed out. The water goes off again while I apply conditioner. I’m trying not to be wasteful. Then I turn the water on, rinse off the conditioner, soap up, and turn the water off, turning it on again for the final rinse.

It’s during the final rinse where I blow out my nostrils. Was it as effective in freezing water? Seems so.

So my logic for doing this may be partially wrong. Maybe I’m just a gross, disgusting male with bad habits.

Well, some would claim I’m now being redundant.

March 22, 2017 0

Dream Web

A caterruption broke my sleep. I’d been dreaming of watching a high school play. I was part of a large audience in a small cafetorium. Most of the dream attendees weren’t watching the play but chatting as the play went on. It was a light comedy and I was watching and chuckling.

But now, awake, I thought about the dream’s meaning. I found nothing but dream strands returned me to high school. I’d been the lead in our junior year play, ‘Brother Goose’. At one point I was supposed to enthuse about winning a contest and a year’s supply of cereal. I always broke character in rehearsals when I said the detestable, corny line, and then, in the action’s climax, I kissed the female lead.

In rehearsal, I was aware I was breaking character. I didn’t during the performances. My ex-girlfriend was in the audience during the production for the school student body. She said that when I kissed the other girl on stage, she looked down at the floor. She could feel others in the audience looking at her. They knew we were broken up. It was a small school, with a few hundred students.

I had lunch with her yesterday after our protest against Trump’s budget outline. We’ve been married since 1975.

Meanwhile, dream threads pulled me along from the play to a creative writing class in Germany. The teacher wanted us to do a 1940s radio script. I was selected as the narrator and decided to channel Gary Owens. That surprised and delighted the class but it was a natural choice, given the exposure to him from my years of watching ‘Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3hViXAvD2g

I learned a great deal about creativity and active writing in that class. I consider it a breakthrough class for me. Yet, I can’t remember the teacher’s name.

That’s going to distract me all day.

I blame it on the dream.

March 22, 2017 0

Concatulations

Concatulations is accepting congratulations for how beautiful, sweet, handsome, smart, or damn amazing your cat is as though you had something to do with it other than being the one the animal selected as its servant, caretaker, mattress and intimate friend.

March 22, 2017 0

Today’s Theme Music

Here we are, hump day. It’s not a national holiday to go humping but rather the middle of the week hump if you’re a standard Monday through Friday nine to fiver.

The middle is the key. You’re at the hump. Make it over this hump and the rest is much easier. This hump can be in the work week or the school term, the novel, a project, or a relationship. The thing is, this hump must be crossed.

For that, I decided more upbeat music is needed as our background sound. Timbuk 3’s ‘The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades’ seems like an acceptable fit.

The song was a hit in 1986. Reagan was President in America; Marcos was ousted in the Philippines. I was living in an apartment in Columbia, South Carolina, but ended the year living in a hotel on Rhein-Main AB in Germany. The song seemed like such a natural fit to how things were going in my life that I adopted it, cranking it up on the car stereo as we drove around.

It’s not completely upbeat, though. Some lyrics are ironic and satirical, and about the world getting blown up. Some of it seems like a graduation theme song. But mostly, I hitch myself to that refrain, “Things are going great and they’re only getting better. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades,” and take the spin that it’s not a nuclear explosion that drives the need for shades, but bright prospects for a happier and more prosperous era.

Yeah, right on, brother and sister writers. Think of a future so bright, you gotta wear shades while you type.

March 22, 2017 0

Inspirational Quote # 583

Ha ha ha – the Dogs of Writing will hound you to your limits! If it’s not a word count hounding you, it’s a simple judgement about your progress, or HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS THINGS. OMG, WILL IT EVER BE DONE? It’s like a turkey roasting in the oven, waiting to be ‘done’.

Today, You Will Write