Fair Warning: These things are public, so there's some chance you've stumbled on to this thinking it might provide insight or entertainment or information regarding the assembly of weapons of mass destruction.
It is none of those things.
This morning, it's one of those "type until the timer goes 'Ding!' " exercises, wherein I talk about things like this... The song "There's No Business Like Show Business" is currently stuck in my head. I don't know why, but there's Ethel Merman in all her glory. Unless... Did she even sing that song? It seems like she did.
If you want to have your heart broken on a nearly regular basis, you should have children. Boy children if you're a woman, and girl children if you're a man. Naturally, this may not hold true for anyone else on the planet. The children of other people, I observe, are pretty much perfect. They're loving, they help out around the house, they hardly ever talk back. And their parents are just as much perfect. They're always understanding and patient, speak in soothing tones, have lots of inside jokes with their kids, and always seem to be headed somewhere -- camping, boating, knitting -- for some family activity.
Back on my planet, things are just a tad different. At least the kids in some of the movies I see behave more like the kids (kid, actually) inhabiting my own life. And mercifully for myself, I really can't remember the details of my own youth. There were the nightly fights between my grandfather (drunkard) and my grandmother (person to be pushed into walls by said drunkard), but everybody had those, right? I just can't quite remember the everyday interactions between my grandmother and me. I do recall washing the windows on our apartment -- our fourth-floor apartment, I might add -- and me hanging precariously out on a two-inch ledge to reach the middle windows. So I must have done my fair share of chores. Either that, or my grandmother kept trying to kill me.
But I don't remember what I did about the other things. When was her birthday? (She was a Scorpio, that much I remember, but I don't remember ever getting her a card. And there was nobody else to get a card for me to sign and give her.) I think it was my job to help with the dishes. Drying seems to come to mind. And I did some of the shopping. I remember walking to the bakery, and munching on warm pumpernickel bread on the way home. But that's where the mental video recorder I was using shows its defective side.
And with that, the timer has gone "Ding!" and this morning's episode of "writing with no apparent purpose or direction" has come to a close. We thank you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment