My ability to write anything decent comes in spurts. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been blogging actively for over 5 years now or if it’s due to my excessive need for perfection, rereading the same paragraph for typos, comedic timing and word flow.
That takes quite a few quarts of thinkin’ lube.
That’s one reason why I’ll post a song that I really love, especially if said song can express my current feelings and whatnot.
I really wish that I had a great voice or even an ounce of musician inside of myself, but I do not.
We all need to stop wishing for this and for that when it comes to natural talents, seriously.
I can make the loudest, most realistic armpit farts north of Columbus, but maybe you’ll never have the knack for it.
But I’m sure that there’s something that you’re better at than I am, like rapping.
Lyrical Gangsta Cat.
I keep messing around with my hair, it just doesn’t look right yet. It’s a work in progress. My daughter kind of half-assed helped me, but I still wasn’t happy with the results, although I’m really thrilled that the stuff washes out over time or with numerous shampoos to the unsightly spot.
I live an exciting life. Fuck yeah.
I’ve told a few people already that I’m starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel, although I’m not tap dancing (I can’t) or anything like that. I just feel like underneath all of the ick, it was a blessing in disguise.
I’ll just leave it at that for now. I still hope that he chokes on a wang.
Have you ever taken a thought, or an idea, and played around with it in your mind?
Maybe you move it into the light, inspect it, then put in back into the shadows again. You stretch it, smooth it over, crumple it up. You ponder the if’s and whys, driving yourself positively insane in the process.
You might decide to just ignore it, and go about your business.
You realize that ain’t gonna happen this time.
You try to throw it as far as you can, but like a boomerang, it just comes back to you.
Not done with you yet, it says. Get comfy, grab a chair. Keep on rehashing, keep on picking it apart. I have plenty of time, and am sticking around awhile.
A thought starts out as a weak idea, then it grows strength. Once it becomes an idea, the next question is going to be is it possible? If it is, the idea turns into a feeling. Feelings usually fuel the entire shebang. (At least for me, anyways. Damn it.)
If not, it stalls out like a piece of shit car on a pair of railroad tracks.
I have long wondered why life is so complicated. It seems no matter what, there is always a monkey wrench being thrown at me.
I had a swing set in my backyard when I was a kid. It wasn’t new; in fact it was quite rickety. It would make creaking sounds when I swung on it, and the cement blocks weighing it down rose up and down eerily.
I think it was held together by rust and my imagination.
I had this game I liked to play. I would pump my legs, until I was swinging so high I was close to doing a human loop-de-loop. Then, I would wait until the perfect downswing. I would let go of the chains and jump as far as I could.
I nailed the landing every time.
I would put a stick or a rock on the spot, then do it again. Over and over. My stamina never wavered. My legs never lost strength. I was focused on the task at hand, to go as far as my youthful, healthy body could take me. I had no fear of injury or repercussions.
I wanted to touch the sky. I got close a few times, I’m certain.
Eventually, the swing set was taken down. It must have had something to do with the new above ground pool that my parents had saved up for. We set up the 3 foot pool right where my landing zone had been.
Instead of epic moments of being airborne, my brother and I spent entire summers swimming, our skin tanned the hue of chocolate chip cookies by fall.
The patch of dirt made by my endless acrobatics and sneakers became my brothers pitching mound.
I can close my eyes and still picture that swing set.
And occasionally, in my dreams, I am still there, getting ready to make the big jump.