Ok, so we are traveling by RV in the great midwest, I think. Is Colorado in the Midwest? BRB I need to check. Nope! You map picture takers need to get together and decided if it’s a midwestern state or not because some of y’all are saying it is and others are saying it’s not.
No matter. Let us just say it is for the sake of the story. Dang, I’ve already forgotten what I want to tell you about. Colorado is beautiful, way up in the mountains is cold, reefer is in abundance, which would be great if I smoked 😉.
About the cold up in the mountains. Did I mention the temp went from 88* to 31* in 4.5 miles? I suppose that is really great for the colorodians, however. Being a native of Ft.Lauderdale, Fl. and now living in the swamps of Louisiana, it was an arctic blast to my system. I managed to get out of the car for thirty seconds then right back in I went. Side note: I do not like the cold nor the heat…LOL
I was impressed by the beauty of the mountains especially while we were coming down it, in the rain, and the sleet, and right on the edge.🥶
Now, I like pictures of things, I really do, but when people take pictures of the same mountains from every possible angle available I must draw the line right there. The Colorodians however are pleased that you love the mountains as much as they do, as if they created them themselves. My advice is to use your cellphone to take as many pictures of every thing you can, and when you get home…Warm up your thumb for some profound, delete, delete, delete… hehehe…
So, I’m listening to an audible book Gilded Needles by Michael McDowell, when a proper English lady described the appearance of a man friend as “pleasantly fleshy.”
This description will be my new, and kinder way of describing my baby weight, yes, baby weight. No, I have not born such a thing as a baby, no maternal instincts here, however. I do so love my Nieces and Nephews and want to eat them up but when it comes to birthing one of those I was absolutely not interested and leave that rigorous job to others.
My baby clock bongy thingy was not imbedded in me. Thank all the gods for that…
I have helped deliver many of those buggers though and fail to see the miracle until it cry’s gets a bath and is swaddled for comfort. Other than that, yuck! Let me tell ya…
Here I go, off course again.
My attention span is why I will always be a faithful member of the #turtlewriters I am not required to keep up with anyone else and there are more poor attention span folks like me out there…LOL
I am pleasantly fleshy, I love it! I play golf and I travel, I walk around with the dogs.
No body shaming here. We women are so hard on ourselves.
I wonder if Michael McDowell, author of the book I’m listening to,has a wife, daughters, large women or man friends whom are pleasantly fleshy, because he really couldn’t have been any kinder in his description.
I have sleep paralysis, oh yeah, it’s real. In life, if there are things you personally haven’t experienced it doesn’t make it not real. As a matter of fact, count yourself lucky.
This shit is too real. The scary part of night terrors is knowing you’re having one but no way in hell can you get out of it. It only takes how ever much time it takes to recognize the terror and then the amount of time to claw your way out of it is like a mystery to me.
While the terror is happening you are fighting with all of your might to get out of it. I usually at one point how to get away from it. Fortunately though there is nothing there trying to get me at least nothing I can see, however.
I am kicking, screaming, biting, and clawing myself awake and my own wife lying next to me has no idea what’s happening because in that phase of the terror I call relentless…is just that, relentless. No one can hear your screams of terror because no sound is coming from your mouth even though you are using all of your might. No one can feel your thrashing because it’s all in my mind and my terrors are selfish little bastard that love to watch me struggle.
This brain is a sadist…
How many days had I been dead? Damn! I am dead, right?
I know this graveyard. Those are my dogs sitting there. I remember you doing the Heimlich on me, babe. Didn’t work I guess.
Damn, me thirty years a paramedic and I got taken out by chocking. Damn you Grim Reaper and your foul play. Touché you bastard.
We were just sitting there watching the season premiere of Game of Thrones.
I’m sorry, babe. All those times you told me to stop chewing that ice… now you’re standing over my urn in this graveyard.
Can you hear me, babe? Can you see me?
Choking, the last thing I remember. Here we are now.
What do we do from here babe?
My Sloth woke up the other morning just beaming with ideas, but then…
I sat down and surrounded myself with all my favorite electronic devices, you know, iPhone in one hand, iPad in the other, and finally, my MacBook in the lap.
I feel like a little chub kid dancing around in a tub of gluttony.
So, instead of diving right in and getting my Sloth’s ideas for a story on the Mac I decided to have a cup of tea with a side of social media. Not a good move at all, not the tea of course, but the opening of a world of gossip, animal abuse, politics, don’t forget religion and just an all around world wide slap in the head with a crap bat.
However good her intentions were when she got me out of bed with an imaginary promise of a morning filled with words…let me just say, never have a Sloth for a mascot.
I was suddenly tired even though I just got out of bed a couple of hours ago. Ok ok, get another cup of tea and make some noise on that keyboard.
Open a document pitter patter around in it for a minute, tap out a word or two and suddenly its frozen. Yep, the program has left the building and now instead of getting my mouse to retrieve it the mouse leaves with the program and I cannot find either of them.
Frozen program + escape mouse= toss the sloth out into the yard and go back to bed.
And that folks, is how I became the Slothy writer.
Oh god, now I’m totally mixed up about the order I should place my words in a sentence.
I read a blog the other day about word placement in a sentence. Apparently the British folks, the true brits that is, say we, Americans and all that, place our nouns, adjectives, and such, in the wrong order in a sentence as opposed to the order in which they place their words in a sentence.
I said “to hell with it” to my self and decided to never think of it again.
But now, right at this moment I can’t help but think about that blog again because I want to tell you about a dream I had and I’m worried my words won’t be in the right order.
I looked everywhere for that blog and couldn’t find it.
If you see it let me know.
That being said.
Generally my words have a hard enough time keeping themselves in my mouth at the worst time and out of my mouth at the best time. So I decided I’d write shit the way it moves around in my brain and let my spirit animal guide the order of my words instead of the brits.
Speaking of Sloths, my spirit animal, and the only human non-person thing I can follow, because we move at the same pace.
I literally had a spirit animal dream. I’m still not sure what part he played in the dream but he looked at me, and I him, that was all.
Now for the dream……
I was in a crystal clear pond about to get my swim on. My friends were not in the water yet, just me.
Basically I was wading around in the water waiting for my friends to get in when I looked back towards the shore where they were standing.
Suddenly I spied an alligator lying at the bottom of the pond.
I yelled “alligator!” To warn my friends when suddenly out of the corner of my eye I spied Slothy, my spirit animal. Slothy was slowly crawling up the embankment to get out of the water when he stopped to look back at me. I stood there looking back at him in fascinated delight to see him.
Slothy, is not just my spirit animal he is my human, not a person, muse. He’s really just my stuffed Sloth that I love.
After me and Slothy made eye contact I looked back over at my friends, and before my friend could move, and after I yelled alligator, the alligator jumped out of the water and bit my friends head and held it captive in his mouth until I was able to get over to her and whoop the gators ass into a pair of shoes and a belt.
Okay, that didn’t really happen, it was a pair of shoes and a purse, not a belt.
So, I got my friends head free from the jaws of death and the gator turned and came after me.
Somehow I managed to wrangle that gator like a boss and I walked around with him by his mouth as if he were my trophy.
I think the moral of my dream was this.
Next time make luggage out of the gator instead of shoes and a belt, then, take yourself on a trip, you deserve it for saving your friend.
And finally, if you’re going to make eye contact with Slothy be prepared to write something, anything.
So I did.
And by that I don’t mean age.
Recently I met up with people that were my close friends many years ago, almost twenty five years ago more specifically.
First we found each other on Facebook then we got together and grilled burgers and dogs.
Time has changed us on the outside but man on the inside they are still the caring and most loving people I can ever know, then, and now.
It was like how I imagine a family reunion should go. Lots of hugs and chatter about the old days and the new days.
We were so young, of course, back in the day. Each one of our lives head in other direction and we’ve made our mark and learned who we are and are all friends again sharing our life experiences.
Some seasons will always be a warm day in summer with just enough breeze to remain comfortable. I can not be happier for this day with my new, old friends.
I say don’t be afraid, pick up that keyboard and find someone you used to know that you would love to know again.
My heart is bursting with happiness because I stepped up and took that chance.
Go ahead and do it.
So, I was in the shower yesterday when a rapid knock came to the bathroom door “are you still in there?” KI was asked by a raspy, high pitched voice.
“Why no, no I’m not” I answered back to the curious voice on the other side of the door.
“Then how are you talking to me?” The same raspy voice asked me.
“I’m talking to you from my grave and I’m really just a ghost in here.”
Kids are gullible fortunately because I was able to finish my shower in peace. Then it hit me, I must have a creepy little gremlin running around in my brain or how else or why for that matter would I scare off a seven year old by telling them I’m a ghost and their speaking to me from a grave?
My Gremlin said “why not?” True enough, I thought.
I mean, I was introduced to Alfred Hitchcock at an early age and who’s to say when we should learn about the scary stuff in other peoples heads?
And my final thoughts in the shower were this, why wasn’t the blade changed on this razor, and, if I could get my Gremlin to do a little more work on my book and pay a little less attention to that spinning wheel in my head I may get one of two things accomplished.
One, I’ll get more words on paper. Or two, I’ll just become a professional writer of snippets that want to become a story but could never get past my Gremlin.