Please Send Help - And Toast

Today I am frozen in a state of procrastination.

I need to clear the ever-climbing piles of paper that clutter my otherwise pristine desk.  I need to clean out drawers.  I need to order more supplies, pay bills and generally get my act together.

But for some reason which is unfathomable to me, I cannot seem to move.

It's as if I'm stuck in the middle of a vat of molasses.  I'm paddling just enough to keep my head above the goo, all the while knowing my strength will eventually give out and I'll go under.  Rather than grab for the side of the vat so I can pull myself from the mess, I swim toward the center and certain doom.

What is it?  What keeps me from beginning?  What keeps me rusted in a state of do-nothing-ness?  Why can't I just get up and MOVE???

Please tell me before I go down for the third time.......

Write On...

Clarabelle has been ill of late.

I first noticed her malaise when I would try to write. She'd be just fine for a bit, then start to throw up a whitish, rolling screen of indeterminate origin. If I left her alone for long enough the white screen would resolve itself.  If not, all I'd see was white screen.  She was starting to get on my nerves.

Then came Kindle, and the frustration was pushed aside. There was much rejoicing and reading and listening and downloading. Clarabelle was all but forgotten. Since I wasn't writing much it didn't matter.

But then...

I started writing again. I joined the StoryTellers group at church and reacquainted myself with the written word, something I had all but abandoned these past few years. And while Kindle is fine in his place, he is not so great for the writing.

I like the feel of the keys under my fingers. I like to know that the letter I press will show up on the screen, and I like to be able to read paragraphs all at once in huge print. In this, my little Kindle fails me.

But Clarabelle is a different story.

So on Saturday I picked her up, dusted her off, apologized for my neglect, and took her off to the computer shop. Yesterday I got the call that she is almost as good as new. It seems she still will need a new battery if I ever want to use her without a plug-in, but being as she and I are old, we can manage without that. The main thing is that she is up and running again. Her screen is clear. Her cyber-sickness has been cured, at least for the moment.

I'm thinking Panera might be a kinder, gentler place than Starbucks to hang out and exercise the mad writing skilz next.  Clarabelle could use the workout, and frankly, so could I. 

Cappuccino, anyone?

A Poem for Those New Met

Please
do not
see me
as I
believe
you do.

Instead,
see me
better.

I am
a listening ear,
someone who
has walked
your path.

I'm not
the aches
and pains
and sadness
and endless medications
I sometimes go on about.

I am
someone
who cares.

I'm not
the person
who judges others
to cover my own
insecurities.

I am
Glinda the Good Witch,
Dr. Phil
and
The United States Marine Corps
all rolled into one.

It's
just
my
mouth
gets
in
the
way.

Another 3 Ayem Blog

Sleep, that precious commodity, eludes me this last few days. I find myself rising at ungodly hours to sit in a chair, wondering why it is that even my friend Ambien seems to have abandoned me in my time of need.

I walk through the days like some zombie, caffeinated to the gills in order to continue forward progress without falling over. I am beyond tired, having reached that point sometime in the wee hours of last week. This week I seem only to be able to gaze through a mist of weariness, squinting my eyes to try to see what lies ahead.

Please don't ask me to actually think about anything or make any quick decisions. Your best bet would be to find a soft place for me to land when I eventually keel over.

In the meantime, it looks like infomercials and Oreos will be the fare of the morning. Breakfast of champions, and all that.

Unless I can sneak a nap in...

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Write a Paragraph

Starbucks and I have a love-hate relationship.

I love their coffee, as long as I don't have to make it.  When I do, I hate it.  I cannot do the brew.  It ends up tasting like swamp water with a little bit of diaper dregs thrown in.  Not that I am a connoisseur of the above, but you get the general idea.

I love going into Starbucks with my laptop, getting my oh-so-trendy drink, and sitting down to write. What then, you may ask, do I hate?  Let me answer that for you in several parts.

1.  I hate professors who hold classes at Starbucks.  Rather than buy Starbucks drinks for the entire class, this particular professor brought the class to Starbucks and proceeded to lecture THE ENTIRE PLACE on the BRAIN while I was trying to do important STUFF on my computer like play Monopoly.  Because really, who could do something productive like WRITE while learning the inner workings of the hypothalamus and what the difference between an EEG and an MRI is?

2.  I hate people who decide to wax loud and long on their feelings about said class after the class leaves while using more than excessively foul language, especially after being glared at by matronly beings who are trying like heck to WRITE A PARAGRAPH  now that all the lecturing is over, thankyouverymuch.  And yet, the incessant blue fog continued to stream out of their mouths as they derided both professor and students.

More Monopoly.

3.  I hate most of all the fact that I was unable to finish my game of Monopoly because my Starbucks has taken to keeping the temperature only slightly above freezing in the cafe area.  It could be because too many professors and students and people who need their mouths washed out with soap tend to hang around there for hours at a time.

It certainly couldn't be the old ladies who play Monopoly.