I Really Did

April 19, 2012

I honestly posted something on here hours ago. But for some reason it never…worked…it was a very odd thing.

Actually, it was probably for the best. I think I just included some unecessary items. It wasn’t much writing, but a lot of very vital and personal information.

Name. Address. Phone numbers. Social Security number.

You know…stupid stuff.

So since that post is no longer, let’s go ahead and replace it with some real content.

I’ve been thinking about what writing really is. Or at least I’ve been thinking about what I think writing is.

I think it’s mostly a more sophisticated way of saying “Hey, look at me.”

It’s pretty egotistical at it’s core.

When I write, I’m trying to tell a story. I’m also trying to tell it in a way that makes the reader respond. Maybe they say “Good job.” or maybe they don’t speak and just send me money via Paypal. (Both are great reactions.) But even at it’s more basic level, I’m wanting the attention it brings.

And let’s be honest. We all want attention. Even animals want it. What do you think they’re trying to do when they pee on your sock or bring you a dead snake on your back porch? They want your attention. “Look at me.”

This blog is a lot like one of those dead snakes. I know I don’t get a whole lot of traffic through these dusty trails of the internet, but they’re my trails, and I like to know if people are walking through. It makes me feel a little better than I did before. It’s good to know you have been here.

This was probably true for the earliest storytellers in history. It was true back in the middle ages. It was probably true way before written language existed. Storytellers needn’t write their stories… No.

People who would travel from village to village trying to get food and find shelter because they could spin a good yarn. Whenever people hung around and listened, they took a deep satisfaction from that. They had to. It not only meant that they could get food and shelter, but it also had to mean that they were important.

It made them feel like they had something to do in this world.

I think I’m liking the metathought on why I write. I want to feel the same way they did.



My Fortune

July 15, 2011

Allow me to tell you about my day.

I wake up, and am asked if I can drive my (for lack of a better word) injured step-mother somewhere so she may “pick up” a book. Seems simple enough. I oblige and will be more than happy to drive her to her destination so she may finish whatever she was working on.

After a 30 minuet drive, we reach our destination. It’s a bakery that she works at. The book is a book of her recipes that she needs during her vacation so she can revise it. She tells me to come in and wait inside while she finds the book. And I agree. I take a seat among the patrons of the restaurant. Alone.

Now, I know the truth of the matter. The truth is that she will do more that just pick up the book. She will socialize. And who could get upset about that? It’s expected of any normal person who walks about the world. And I’m sure she will end up  talking to her boss, just because, when you’ve been out of work for so long, you tend to be more friendly toward your boss. Plus, since she’s so ingrained into the work of that bakery, she will probably check on things to make sure items aren’t being made incorrectly. And that’s fair as well.

But things took an unexpected turn.

I fell asleep three times. Listened to a elderly woman speak talk about every injury she has ever had (in grizzly detail). Watched 3 men hit on the same employee of the bakery. Was asked by other employees if I “was alright?” twice. Saw nearly 100 people enter and exit the store. And watched a very hyper child demand a cookie.

This all took place during the hour and a half that I waited in that bakery.

That’s right.

I waited an hour and a half.

That’s 90 minuets.

5,400 seconds.

Until she returned.

That I will never get back.

I didn’t have anything to pass the time. And why would I? I didn’t know I would be there for that long. Why wouldn’t I just leave? Because I would have to of come back to bring her back home anyway. Why didn’t I ask her to hurry up? Because I’m a polite person, that allows people to have their boundaries. I’m very unobtrusive in other words.

Because, when I agree to do something for somebody, I do it, and I don’t complain while I’m doing it.

I let people feel free.

(I feel this is a good quality for a person to have)

Then I drive the 30 minuets back home. (A very unpleasant drive, mind you). With the injured step mother in tow. (No, I didn’t tow her, she rode in the passenger seat). Who doesn’t know how to apologize.

Just a simple, “Hey, I’m sorry that took so long.” Or maybe a “Wow, time really got away from me. Sorry about that.” Hey, I’d even take a “My bad.”


So some more math now:

30 (first drive) + 90 (wait) + 30 (second drive) = 150 or 2 hours and 30 minuets of my life…

that I will never get back.

Could I have been doing something productive? Yes

Could I have been doing something unproductive? More than likely.

It doesn’t matter. My time is my time. Please don’t waste it. Especially if I’m trying to help you out.

If my time is going to be wasted, I at least want to be the one who wastes it.

I’m a grown man. And I have a great grip on my temper. I do nice things for people. I don’t mind waiting for things to happen. I don’t mind if you don’t rush. I don’t even mind if I have to do something relatively uncomfortable for you.

But I will not be doing things for people who don’t seem to think my time is as important as theirs.


Later in the day, I got Chineese food.


Because I love Chinese food.

I got a fortune cookie that said:

“Cooking is easy. Good taste is hard. That’s why you call take out.”


I still don’t get it.


Both of these stories don’t really fit together. So I decided to put them together anyway, because, sometimes life does that to you.

Was I mad when I wrote the first half of this post? Yeah. I can still feel the aggravation inside me. But it’ll go away. You know why? Because I can move on from things. If I focused on all the annoyances in my life, I’d not have much time having fun. Fun like finding a fortune cookie that just doesn’t quite click in my mind.

Do you get the fortune?


Hope your day went better than mine,