*sigh* I'm back for lunch and I have a few minutes before I have a meeting with my manager. Wehn I returned I recieved a most disturbing phone call from my ex-wife's boyfriend (husband to be). He left this message screaming at me becasue Rachel and I got into it last night about how I couldn't claim both kids, despite the fact I gave her $12,000 and had Bekah for 3 months this past summer without her being able to pay back some of the child support and Tommy coming and living with me in the middle of November. I stuck to my guns and told her I'm tired of being nice and getting rolled over by her. When she is in dire straights I'm supposed to do whatever I can to help, "for the good of the children", mind you. Then when I run into trouble, she gets mad at me because I get upset she can't be a little flexible.

Not only was this message of his loud and obnoxious, but he called me a son-of-a-bitch twice, cock sucker and mother fucker a couple times as well. I don't believe he breathed as he spoke letting out in one long rush begging me to call him. I deleted the message and called Rachel and flat out told her I wouldn't speak to him. If she and I have issues then they are between us, not him and me. I understood they talk over things, but it really doesn't involve him. I'm sure he will threaten to beat me up or some other shit. Isn't that what truck drivers do? Sterotyping aren't I? Well of all the things I know about him, it rings true. I told her that if we have issues then they become between the two of us.

sigh

Well at least I have my car fixed and back in my possession. Woo hoo.

me

I scorned my mistress last night. The green glow of her eyes beckoned me to her face, but I ignored her in my exhausted state. I often wondered as I tossed and turned during the night if her silence marked a sign of her anger towards me. I knew I should pay attention to her, but I didn't tumble into bed until very late and I had to wake up early for the gym. When I did look in her direction, her eyes stared at me wondering when I would come to my senses and forget the foolish notion of sleep. Without ever saying a word she confronted my desire to do something with her and I ignored her. When I woke up this morning I felt terrible, but I didn't have time to express my concerns to her and hurried off to work. Now the day is half over and I know she will be there when I get home, but will I respond to the soft whirl of her voice? Am I tempted to place another thousand pieces of the puzzle on her mind to save for me? I think so, but I am already weary from the lack of sleep. I want to give her my full attention, but am I only making excuses not to be with her? Will she understand?

Maybe the question isn't if she will understand, but how will I feel? Should I let my mistress lay next to me night after night without telling her how much I desire the consquences of our actions together? I am only a writer if I write. Talking about such a romantic vision does nothing on getting it accomplished. I need to force time into my schedule so I can be with her and then I know I'm developing a great relationship between me and my mistress. And as the inanimate object lays there I know i can hear it whisper to me, because she is the only comfort I can get for myself.

me

I massaged my mistress last night. She called from the side of the bed for the first time since Bekah was here. Yes I wrote again last night. I'm not sure where this story is heading, but it is interesting to me. I wrote a poem. A strange one as well. Things are going okay I suppose, but I'm trying to get through each day, one at a time. I'm hoping to do something fun this weekend for a change and I hope to have my car back as well. It has been less of an inconvience then as a comfort. So we shall see I suppose.

me

I'm testing something!

Monday and I have the beginning week blahs if I've had them. This weekend has been a cornucopia of disillusioned thoughts and issues that have not only run through my life, but through my head as well. It has been awhile since I felt so alone, but not in the sense of having people nearby, but alone with my own thoughts without anyone to share them with. I think it has been a very long time since I've had that person in my life in which I have felt the comfort to expose my weaknessses. I'm so worried about showing my strengths that I overlook and hide the parts of my being I need work on. And as human as I was last night I wanted someone to hold me so bad last night. Then I feel weak. Weak in the sense that I cannot be alone with my own thoughts and problems to shift them out by myself to conquer the adversities without confiding in someone that I cannot do it alone. And I'm afraid no one wants to hear those things uttered from my lips.

I'm a putz.

Rachel (my ex-wife) wants to take Bekah to Nevada in June. At first I didn't mind, but now I'm rethinking my position. I don't want my daughter so far away. Another decision I have to make...*sigh* I want to go home. Too bad I don't know where it is.

Enough whining for today...

me

It has been a long wierd week. I had today off, but I have my daughter with me this weekend so it makes it busy. I did end up writing a poem tonight.
Through the phone I'm all blah and tired. So I think I'll leave it like this and call it a night.

me

I've been hard at work trying to get ready for tomorrow's work trip. I think the software is ready to go, but now I have to get my machine ready and update the software into our sourcesafe site. My car rental is a PT Cruiser, so that is cool. I'll be able to drive around in style. I'm picking up Bekah tomorrow night, so I have to drive to madison from milwaukee, so I'll get my mileage in tomorrow. Rachel is giving me crap about being there by 5:30 so they aren't late for some yee-hawin cowboy concert. I'm tempted to show up a little late just to piss them off, but I'm too nice of a guy and will try my best to get there in time. On top of all that, Rebekah is sick and has a sore throat so I might get a sick baby all weekend. *sigh*

Everything else is going fine. I had some interesting comments on my cowboy poem. Someone thought I could get it published. So I'm thinking I might try too. Might as well what good are they sitting on my hard drive? As far as my prose writing, I'm still keeping it up each night, but I think tomorrow night my notebook is going to have to share room with my little girl (she likes to sleep with me.) Oh well, I have the blahs this afternoon. I need to finish this work up, but I want to do something fun instead. Ugh.

me

Last night I continued on my story. My laptop is snug in my bed right now waiting for me like a mistress. In the past week I've been reading a lot of books about the process of writing, which boiled down means, putting the damn words on paper, but this one writer suggested it was better than sex. Maybe it could be more fulfilling than sex at certain times, but I still think sex could be mind-blowing if you are with someone who you can give all your intensity too without any hesitation and they recipicate. The funny thing is I'm not sure if I've ever gotten that feeling in my life. So when I ponder about the words of the author it brings many connotations about what I should be feeling, both when I'm writing and making love (I think I'll get to experience that yet again in my life). How intense and passionate should both be, in my own eyes it is equal. Then would my writing become a mistress, it could be construde as such since I'm putting as many emotions and passions into it. And would the woman I'm with feel the same guilty feelings as if she knew I was spending quality time with this mistress called writing? But I wouldn't think she should. Why? Because I have this dream where the two would spurn each other into a deeper spiritual relationship with each other and bring a completeness to both. Sometimes that is what I think I'm missing when I feel like I should be writing more. That extra completeness someone else could give me when I know I shouldn't count on anything from anyone else and do it all myself. But isn't that a lonely life? That you are resigned to the fact that no one will help you, that everyone will fail to be there for you when it counts and that all you have is your own spirit and will to get something done. But that my friends seems to be the way of life for most of the people I know.

When I see a loving couple who have been together for years, fighting through the tears of pain and happiness I am jealous. The one kicked the other one in the ass to get their lives complete and yet the same person craddled them in their arms when life sucked. Life shouldn't be a distractio to loving someone, it should bring two poeple together and if they are meant to be, they should strive to see if they are compatable in being with each other. Otherwise it is just a vicious game that neither person can win and you end up leeching for a glimmer of support when eventually it will run out in the end. I of course have been guilty of doing this as well, because for the longest time I've not only not known what I've wanted, but I gravitate to someone who will acknowledge me. Now I begun to suspect my own heart and feeling to those I do care about and have to take a step back and examine my own self worth and esteem.

Anyways this wasn't what this post was to be about. I piddled around today, I'm supposed to be getting ready for a trip to Milwaukee on Thursday to my least favorite company. Instead I've done other work as well as groped the web. I found this site with some articles about writing and one of the suggestions it made was to write something about a subject that doesn't interest you. This will help expand your way of thinking about the world. So I wrote a poem about horses, not that I hate horses or I'm not interested, but I guess the lifestyle just isn't me. Cowboy School is a poem I wrote something quite different then the usual stuff I do. Not very romantic, sexy or bizarre. Shrug.

me

"writing is survival. Any art, any good work, of course, is that.

Not to write, for many of us, is to die.

We must take arms each and every day, perhaps knowing that the battle cannot be entirely won, but fight we must, if only a gentle bout. The smallest effort to win means, at the end of each day, a sort of victory. Remember that pianist who said that if he did not practice every day he would know, if he did not practice for two days, the critics would know, after three days, his audience would know.

A variation of this is true for writers. Not that your style, whatever that is, would melt out of shape in those few days.

But what would happen is that the world would catch up with and try to sicken you. If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy, or both.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

For writing allows just the proper recipes of truth, life, reality as you are able to eat, drink, and digest without hyperventilating and flopping like a dead fish in your bed.

I have learned, on my journeys, that if I let a day go by without writing, I grow uneasy. Two days and I am in tremor. Three and I suspect lunacy. Four and I might as well be a hog, suffering the flux in a wallow. An hour's writing is tonic. I'm on my feet, running in circles, and yelling for a clean pair of spats.

So that, in one way or another, is what this book is all about."
~Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing

I had to write this down it. I've read it a half a dozen or so times, but each time I do it seems to impact my life with more force than the time before. Last night I settled into bed, picked up his book once again and waited to become inspired. Ah isn't that the key, I waited to become inspired, but in truth a writer cannot wait to be inspired, he must set pen to paper and produce inspiration. It is amazing what I can produce when I inspire myself without any help. But those poisons he speaks about influtrate my system and I catch a virus that prohibits me from writing healthy prose. God-damn it! I'm not weak I can get through the worst of this world has to give me and continue on. So last night I put off the pretentious thoughts and dove right into a story. I saw a woman and I began to write about her day and tonight I will continue to do so until her story is told.

My laptop is on my bed, I now sleep with it. It isn't as cuddly as a woman, but she lies silent waiting for me to touch her and if I don't spend the time with her I'm supposed to she will forget me as I will forget her and then I will lose my love. I cannot afford to do that any longer. The poisons must be expelled and I must create what my heart yearns to do come hell or high water. I will fight the poisons from 8-5, but my subconscious will be adrift waiting for the time I can begin my real work, the work between the hedges of a paragraph where my inspiration comes from putting my fingers against the keyboard. What will I produce? I'm not sure, it may even stink like shit, but my soul will conspire to to forge something new in my own words which I cannot even seem to express to myself. As one writer once said, "To write the story I cannot fathom how to write."

Plucking away through some websites and look what I found! Led Zepplins and LOTR Is that surreal or what? I've never heard of this theory, but there are actual names and places from the books they used in their songs. I mean I know how people can be inspired by such work, but I never thought of Led Zepplin to be so forward about such an important work of art. I guess I was wrong.

It has been a long, wierd day. I think I shall take a long hot bubble bath tonight. Wouldn't be fun if someone...er I'd better not complete that thought *evil grin*.

me

Last evening I watched a good portion of the golden globes. I'm not sure why I have become an admirer of award shows and for the most part I picked it over the football game on the next channel. Maybe I'm coming down with something? Well I will not dwaddle on the reason why I choose to watch the show, but I'll rather give my impressions of what I saw and felt as if actually means anything in time and space of this planet. For the most part, the women were quite attractive they were not what drove me to watch.

The whole idea of actors and actresses being artists wedged into my brain and while some of them offer real talent I began to wonder how many of them could do a great job without a decent script. Maybe this line of thought began Saturday when we toyed with the idea of going to a movie, there are a couple I want to see, but the reviews gave me mixed feelings about seeing a couple and I knew my son wouldn't want to see Adaptation. While I read the reviews they all spoke about contrived plots, with the same hackneyed gags and jokes seen time and time again, subject to a twist of sophmoric humor done in. Now I'm someone who loved Dumb and Dumber and Uncle Buck so my sense of humor has some far reaching boundries, but don't we all tire of the same gags on the same subjects? Originality folks! And how do these actors and actresses make the same joke better or worse in different movies and if not humor who can someone pull off the same plot element seen a dozen times in a heart touching movie?

I've read enough books to know there are some writers in Hollywood that have formulas for writing screenplays. I'm sure they try with the orignial ideas they once had, but people are scared to invest a lot of money in an idea, whereas if you suggest a movie like, "Maid in Manhatten" or "Two Weeks Notice" how can you go wrong? I heard Nicole Kitman say in her acceptance speach to give women more complex roles, but movies that are complex people won't see. But they will flock to the same version of romance time after time, look at all the romance novels in the shelves of book stores. Even in the fantasy genre the same idea are regurgatated.

eek time to work...more later
me

Come on Dawg. Get your ass in gear. Sitting in a pool of tepid waterdreaming about what you want isn't giong to make it happen. Get off your puny ass and do something about it! You can't count on anyone but yourself to get you motivated into doing something you want to do. Why is it that you gave up those other things? So you could sit around and lament about how life is treating you so badly and you'll never be the man you want ot be. Come on. The only thing holding you back is you. Quit whining and complaining and do something about it for a change.

Poem posted: I think too many people find it; well read it and you'll see.

Chastity Belt

Sometimes I wonder if I write fictionous memory I wish I had.

me

Thanks nat and Katt for those nice comments. I do what I can. I'm surprised that last entry came out so well. It was all done in one sitting without much editing as you can tell by a couple of typos and some verb tenses.

Last night cable tv was installed in our meager household. I've can watch more channels than I can ever imagine and I now have internet connect at home once again. Woo hoo. I'm free again. Thank God I'm free again.

I'm in the middle of three books; LOTR part 1, Catcher in the Rye, Dreamcatcher (steven king). I think when my financies turn around I might collect all of Dave Matthews band stuff, I really like the guitar cords they are powerful. I haven't heard much from his new album, but everything I do hear has a great vibe for me. It puts me into a writing mood. Sometimes I'll listen to New Age type of music to settle my brain to write, something melodic, but without words to confuse me with.

Giddy Up and go on little doggie...

me

Sometimes I want to write so bad it tears against the grain of my soul and I feverishly scribble whatever words I can find. Usually it has nothing to do with any of the current stories I'm working, but rather something new takes hold and I want to shape it into something I can show someone. I fight with my voice until my fingers hurt and my brain throbs. Who am I trying to impress? Who do I want to touch and make thme think of me after they have read it? Only one person who I have ever written like that before.

In the morning she twirls her hair around her finger absentmindly, her thoughts are as distant as the day of work ahead as she looks into the mirror. She closes her eyes and hopes the small wrinkles and the test of time disappear, she misses the face she had even five years ago. She dabbles on the make-up and hides the wisdom and pain the years have toiled against her and applies a smile as if she had painted it on herself. The kids scramble across the house looking for misplaced shoes, slips of homework and a bowl of cereal. The day is like any other day in her life and she expects nothing more or less, she is only here to exist for her children, because that is what a mom is supposed to do. The kids dash out the door towards the busstop and she has a few moments of peace before she must depart and make everyone believe how happy she is. A tear dangles on her eyelash, but she bats it away with the back of her hand and swallows a cup of tea.

Work drags on, the politics, the bastards, the bitches and the friends who make her laugh all play their role as if it were any other day. A couple of times throughout the day she hid herself in the bathroom and rested upon the chillled seat of the toliet. She laid her forehead along the side of the cool watertank hoping to avoid the effects of a fever she felt approaching. She gobbled up five or six Advil and steadied herself to her feet, because she knew by now someone would be looking for her because something was out of place and heaven forbid someone knew what to do with it. Her shift otherwise passed like a white chevy on the highway you never notice. A quick stop at the store, some things were mailed and she found her way home once again where her children were there to great her.

The evening drifted like a silent ship on a calm ocean. Supper and its aftermath only slowed the process of finding her way into a bath filled with lavender bubbles. The steam drifted to the ceiling as she closed her eyes and dozed to sleep for a few minutes. The sound of the doorbell rang and she bolted up in the tub, water sloshed over the floor and she hurried to grab a towel. Why hadn't she heard the dogs bark to warn her of someone coming, but now she heard them as clear as the voice outside the door. She staggered out of the water and wrapped her hair in a bun, but the man's voice exited the house as she heard the door slam shut.

"Mom. Look you got a bunch of pretty flowers."

Her oldest held an unique floral arrangement full of daisies and lillies with a smattering of babybreath intermixed. In the dead of winter they looked so beautiful. "Who are they from mom?"

"I don't know." She grabbed the card attached to a silver pitchfork. After she wiped her fingers on the moist towel, she opened the pink envelope and read, "I know it isn't Valentine's Day, but I thought of you. I'd really like to see you soon." This time her smile cracked her face without a brush in her hand. She stuck the card back into its home and put the flowers in her bedroom on her dresser. It had been many months since it had last been filled, then she sat on the bed and read the card again.

A couple of small faces peeked around the corner, but she didn't notice. "Mom?" Her eyes flickered over to them. "Who are they from?"

"A friend."

"He must be a special friend to make you look so happy."

"He is. Now go on and finish your homework. I need to finish my bath."

Feeding the masses styrofoam. That would make a good title for something, eh? I've been putzing around work today because it is slow. I suspect in the next week or so I will have a great influx of work to do so I am pacing myself. lol. Nah I'll get back to it as soon as I'm done tweaking my thoughts out on this. I can't believe it is already Jan 14th, the month is half over. Where does all the time go?

Last night, I felt at peace with my son. He came home after basketball practice and unloaded everything that he did in school, without too much prompting from me. It was nice to hear and see that he is becoming comfortable with me. We talk about everything and I let him know pretty much what is going on in my life. I want him to see and hear the difficulties and triumphs I go through so life isn't a wake-up call when he turns 18 in a few years. Otherwise I want him to have fun and do things while he is still a kid. He will have plenty of time to toil and strive after school, but I still think he needs a part-time job.

I wrote a poem last night and decided to scrap it into the garbage can. It felt forced and when I force something it never has the impact I'm looking for. The best things seem to be when they tumble from my pen like blue drops of rain to the paper. They speak for themselves and I only have to guide them in the correct order. I've had trouble writing the past few days. I've been consumed with 'things'. Sometimes I wish someone else could worry about everything and I could concentrate on what I want to do. Heh. I guess I'm not 16 anymore so that thought won't ever happen.

me

Its Sunday. I'm all alone at work, it seems like a ghost town. The weekend has seemed busy, but in reality there hasn't been much going on other than my son playing basketball. We rented DVD's Friday night and spent the cold night in front of the tube. Yesterday he had a game and for some reason they have practice in the morning before hand. It seems strange to me, but it seemed to eat the whole day up. It was 8:30 before we got home.

I'm in a weird mood today. I'm not sure why. I've had thoughts and feelings tumble around inside my head the past week I haven't felt in a long time. Sometimes I can stick them into the back corner of my mind, but they sneak out when I'm not looking. I bite my lip and go on. I'm not ready to confront them, but I want too in the worst way, besides I'm not the only one involved. I have learned that the best things in life take time and hurrying something along for whatever reason does no good to me. It is when I wait, let things savor in my head is when I realize how terrific things can be. And she knows it better than anyone.

When I write sometimes I'm not even sure what the next sentence is, but the words pour out, the characters or the narration takes off down paths I can barely conceive and I think how wonderful I am. And as if she writes my chapter for me, like an author who knows everything about me, but from a distance. She sees and feels things I can barely comprehend and in the light of it all she uncovers the truth in my soul. Yet I run from it as much as I want to be close to it. I've never had anyone treat me the way she does and yet I desire it so much. How can I possibly say to her what she has meant to me in the last three years without divulging my soul to her? The worst part of it all is will she believe me? She has no right to believe me because I have not acted in accordance to my feelings.

I have a tendency to hide behind small white lies I tell myself. Then I act upon them. It is a strange beast that I cannot fling from my shoulders. I want to be loved so much that I follow anyone who smiles at me, but in the end they rape me of my heart. Yes rape. I've only met one woman who hasn't wanted to use me. Who has sought the best for me even if it meant being kept at a distance, until she knew she was ready to give me her all. And I was a dumb dolt. For years I've been so lonely and I thought a few hours of comfort with someone would satisify these cravings, but in the end no matter how much I tried. I was a tool to get from one place to another without any regards for me, while she sat silent and watched me run after swine.

But does she still care? Can I still make her sigh and wonder what it would be like nestled in my arms? I've destroyed so much in my life and hated myself for it that I wonder if I'm any good for anyone. I struggle to learn to love and what it really means to be loved and I haven't gotten a clue yet in my thirty eight years upon this earth. I've reclaimed my son and I'm doing my best to care for him. I have so much to give. My heart explodes somethings with an emptiness to know I could give this woman. This one person on the whole earth who has choosen to love me for better or worst and I have had a plank in my eye. They say it is never to late. I can only wonder.

me

Do I ever proofread my posts here? Does it matter, but it seems like everytime i go to start a new post I see my previous posts with typos in it. And I cringe. Should I be bothered with going through and reading what I have written? I ee this as a journal, a rambling of my brain and sometimes I get going so fast I don't even take a moment to breath let alone get my thoughts and spelling in order. But I'm supposed to be a writer, these things like grammar are supposed to be important. I dunno. I'd spend so much time getting myself worked up on something that in all fairness doesn't mean squat to anyone. In the grand scheme of things, I'm not even up for honorable mention. heh.

Now for something completely different. My little poem yesterday got third place in the weeks best poetry on the board. I shuddered with glee and then realized I better not shudder because it might lead some to believe I'm have a nervous breakdown so I ran around the office butt-naked cheering myself on. The little things in life are what make you happy so you have to stick to them even when you're not in the mood.

I was a good boy last night and wrote some more on my book. It is strange, everytime I think I get to a point of no return, I think of something to carry the story on. I hope I'm not dragging the initial scene out too long, but I think there are some good things going on. At least I'm interested. I once read that if as a writer you aer not surprised then your reader won't. So what I write must be something that I expect. It isn't in trapping the reader, but making the characters do things that I expect them to do as well.

me

Oaky....look it here...I did something gud!

Poetry discourse!

I feel all gooey inside now. Perhaps I should quit while I'm even?

me

Lunch time brought me to the time when I'm supposed to go to the gym. But alas I sidestepped it since I have put in my fair share of time hoofing it up and down the court. I was up til 12pm last night and got up at 5:30. Anywhoo enough with that...I skipped out on my lunch time sweatfest and went over to Culver's - a Wisconsin FastFood joint- across the street, but I was good I had a chicken cashew salad and plodded around on my notepad. Sometimes I feel so anti-social, but no one expects me to go to lunch so I flew solo.

So I wrote...I came up with this poem and I'm not sure how it got stuck in my brain, but this is what I came up with. No one was around to inspire it. Maybe it was the hope of someone? Sheesh I'm getting all psychoanalytical with myself. Eeek.

As she passed...

One thing I didn't want to write was a gloomy poem and I thought this was sweet and romantic. I also wrote a page of a story out of the blue as if I needed to write. It didn't matter what as long as I concocted a story. It reminded me of phone calls and IMs to Michelle where I would begin to make something up because she asked for a story and off the top of my head I'd give her one.

me

Interuption in plans last night, but I've gotten in a lot of exercise this week. I guess I'm making up for all the lost time during the holidays. My legs are a bit stiff and sore, us old people have to be more careful as we advance into the late thirties. I really need to stretch more, but I'm too impatient. Imagine that! Tommy will have practice until late so I'll work double time on what I missed yesterday.

Funny thing last night, I came home showered, turned on a soothing cd and curled up with my book. A now normal occurance, but in the past six months it was never a reality. I realized how much I missed it, but what trigger in my mind is if I ever do find someone in the future would these types of pleasures be avoided again? Being respectful of someone elses space and territory and I'm sure *she* (the who ever in my future) won't want to have to struggle with the light on, music humming in the background and me reaching over and touching her. Yes that would have to be part of the deal, a little human contact while I feed on my indulges (is there a plural for this word?). Nothing sexual, a rub of the back, a touch of her hair to remind myself she is there. Would someone accept that from me and how do you propose something like that or is it unspoken until it becomes a trend or habit that both come to expect? See how selfish I am. Would I be able to respect the same wishes for her? I think so. You'd be amazed how much shit I can put up with and if she even responded with a smile I'd put up with it until the end of time. That is why my friends I am going to treat all relationships with kid gloves. Patience he says with a sly grin.

In might not seem like it with some of the goofy decisions I have made, but I am learning something about all this. I tie my shoelaces together before I jump these days. I know I've done the hopping, but let me assure you that I'm through with it. Take a nice deep breath and let it flow nice and slow. Let it become as natural as belching...okay maybe not that natural or ugly, but you know what I mean. I've realized that a relationship that is going to last needs to simmer like a good sauce so all herbs (I don't know anyone named herb) and spices can blend together to make it taste exquisite. I think I make a good speghetti sauce myself. At least these are my goals for it all. Nice, slow, steady and easy. If it happens, well fate, the gods, God or however the breeze seems to blow in that time of my life will tell me if I should delve deeper into something. Right now I'm happy writing, living and exhorting my son onto a better life.

me

Woo hoo two days on my plan and I'm still going strong. The skeptical man inside rears his ugly head if I think about it too much, but I'm trying to buy him off with booze and porn, but I can't find any around the house at the moment so we have quiet conversations about how he needs to be quiet until the whole thing is done. As long as I keep a creative mood I will be okay. I think splattering my thoughts on this here blog thing helps as well because then I can expunge the icky thoughts and then concentrate on doing what I have to do.

I've been reading, The Amazing Adventures of Kavaliar and Clay, it is by the same author who wrote Fight Club and Wonder Boys. If you have ever seen those two movies you know that his books take a different path than most. I think the Adventures book was made into a movie as well, but I can't remember. It is a huge book and it is interesting not only how flips around in time, but also in perspective. I'm also in the middle of The Catcher in the Rye, but I'm not so grand on the book. It seems as if the boy seems to repeat his own actions, but I suppose being a teenager that is normal. I need to finish the book before I can decide if I like it or not.

Dang I thought today was the 7th...it is the 8th. I've lost one. Oh well.

me

I wrote a poem today. Woo hoo aren't you all so excited that you can't wait to read it? Oh I know you are screaming at me. Give us the damn link Bob so we may be forever changed by the content of your dabbling of muse. But you have to wait my friends, because I know in all of this it is only a speckle of dust in time. My life's value would have to be measured with a nuetron counter. I hope to at least add a page to the history of life. Not that it would be a big deal to have my name and ugly mug in some book listing my accomplishments, but a nice one-lined sentence in the book of time would be rather swell. In this little merryment of a short contribution to the webs overflow of poetry I look upon life with a different perspective. Heh I sound like some damn professor who thinks he knows what he is talking about. Bah.

The newest poem from the inner sanctum of my brain.

Did it have you reaching for your head to scratch it? It did for me. As they say while you are sitting on the pot, this too shall pass...

me

Heh take a look at this link if you like those on-line personality tests.

test

And learn how to write for the web at this link:

Writing for the web

I love going to blogger.com and opening up peoples blogs just so I can click on the links they have on their pages. I have found some neat time wasting sites while jumping around blogs. Funny thing is that I don't end up reading many of the blogs. There was one of a columnist in SF that I read, but I forgot to bookmark it and now it has vanished into the supernova of the Internet. I guess I shouldn't be doing it at work, but sometimes work is so mindless that I need a jump out into space. And while I'm ranting a little about my job, I WANT A STUPID WINDOW in my office. Okay, maybe not a stupid window, but one that shines light in from time to time. That way I'm not palsy white plastic man when Spring comes around, but I don't think a window or two will help that too much. Maybe this year I can actually get some sun without feeling like I'm scaring little children when I take off my shirt. I often think of Fat Bastard when I was at my worst. "Com 'ere. I'm gonna eat you! I want my baby back baby back..."

Woo hoo taxes are done and sent. Next year I'll look to filing them electronically, but it seemed like a pain in the ass with the W-2's so I did them regular.

Now back to writing...

I picked one of the eight ideas I had stewing around on my computer drive. I think it is the most developed idea I have, might be the only one I have thought how the beginning, middle and end of the novel 'might' proceed. I say might, because you never know what those whacky characters of mine will do. They could run off and start their own adventures and forget about me. And I'm all self-conscious about them, like children I have to keep the reins on them, but it is so fun to see them explore life in a way I didn't think was plausable or possible.

I think I have a method of getting this done. I'm writing everything in long hand first so I'm not tempted to edit as I go. Before I write the next night, I'll enter those pages into the computer, this is where I have to be careful and not analyze what I have written. I might clean some things up, but it is straight entry so the first draft is kept untainted my the editor who roams in my head waiting to damn me for everything I create. I tried to force the editor into the coffee pot, but all the caffeine made him jumpy and nervous and since he couldn't sleep, well guess who he needed to keep company. And I hate coffee.

Now a good pot of tea....

me

Wehn it snows....its a blizzard (when it rains it pours)...

The mechanic called and stated that the axles on the rear of the car need to be replaced as well. Another $240 added to the bill. Woo hoo...
So...now here is hoping I can get my tax return in a quick amount of time, maybe I can get it direct deposited! *sigh* I'm so tired of worrying
about money. I've been so stressed about everything these past fwe weeks.

On a good note, my son and I had a revealing chat Friday night after his basketball game. I had rented a van to go to Milwaukee for a technical
conference my business conducted with all the 'tech' people and I was invited to tag along. The van didn't need to be back until Saturday morning
so I made the best of the use and we went grocery shopping. In the parking lot of the store, we sat and chatted about school, grades, his loss of friends
and how he was adjusting to it all. At first he told me he was miserable, because he didn't have his best friends to hang out with. I emphasized with him,
but showed him what he had accomplished in his short time already here. Basketball, his grades had improved (so I'm told) and he the people
he had met. It takes a little time to develop relationships I told him. He had to be accessable instead of waiting for them to come to him.

After practice on Sunday I asked how things were going and he admitted things were better. I hope he can see that his hard work is paying off. He
needs a job though, but being only 15 (a month or so away from 16) it might be difficult until then. I feel inadequate as a father right now because of
my woes, but I try and shield it from him. Not having a car for a while hurts that, but in all other aspects I try my best so he doesn't have to worry
about these things.

And yet through it all, I have to push through and write...

me

An obligatory post here on a Sunday morning. I sauntered over to work to check my email and grab some files for home. Imagine my surprise when I click onto my blog and it has broken out into song!

Oh well gald I could motivate some to strain unused talents *grin*. Nothing all that much to report. Last night I listed all the current ideas I have in production. I have started EIGHT separate books all with unique ideas unto themselves and have left them to sit. *sigh* Can you say I've made myself discouraged? I would really like to get some steam behind one or more of these ideas and finish them before I develop another half-baked idea. Don't you hate when an idea is only half-baked? The outside is golden brown, but the inside is cold and slimy. They taste awful and when you try to pick your fork through them, the consistancy makes you gag. No more half-baked ideas!

Okay I should run now. Things to do...

me

2003! A new year with new love and laughter as one might say! :) I'm just glad this last one is over. A new place which has impressed not only myself, but my son as well so it can't be all that bad! Everything seems to be working well and we have most of the things unpacked. I went through some boxes I hadn't touched in a couple of years. You know those things you keep for memory sake. I found a few old stories and one I wrote I don't even remember. I still even have my first short story. Heh it was bad! I'm gald I can at least see that I've made improvements over the past ten years.

I suppose I should saunter back to work. It has been a while since I've had to put my nose to the grindstone. It is all dull and rough now it is going to be difficult to do now. Heh.

me