Crash

You wake up, blind and frantic and twist and turn in the bed in what could be interpreted as a seizure. Finally, you struggle out of your covers, now laid to wayside on the floor and get up. You have errands to run, people to see and the day seems too short for your long to-do list.

You take a quick, cold shower and call to remind your building manager that he still hasn’t fixed the pluming to your apartment. You don’t eat breakfast, instead, you make bad coffee. It is watered down and it’s that brand you hate but it was cheap- on sale- and you didn’t have time to search for the good kind, and it sucks. It’s really bad coffee. 

Still, the coffee works and you’re out the door. The taxi driver ask where you’re going and you say as always that ‘Big obnoxious building down by the square’. The driver chuckles as always and you give a half-hearted smirk. Something’s different about today. You can feel it. Maybe it was the coffee but something’s off. The driver starts going and your are still busy thinking about everything that could have put this day off. 

Maybe it was his boss’s new tie he wore yesterday. It had an odd color to it, some badly died shade of crimson that managed to look gaudy and wash-out simultaneously. Perhaps it was your date with Lorna. She seemed a bit preoccupied… she had barely eaten you think. But then again, you were too busy looking at your phone to really notice. Although the steak you ordered was a bit under-cooked… 

Your phone buzzes and you flip it open to a frantic text from your boss who tells you that sales are down by 15%, and you need to come here right now so that you can help fix it and what was the status for the store on Miller street and there’s and opening up in Hager’s Town that you need to go to and –

You look up just in time to see the truck driver’s wide eyes, as his truck crashes, straight into the side of the taxi. 

Then, nothing.

Consumer vs. Creator

I have a pile of folders in which I keep my writing ideas. Over the years it’s become quite full and I haven’t gone through but one or two of those ideas I once cherished. 

I like the internet. On it I can learn anything and communicate with anyone; but I find that most of my time on it is spent watching mini-documentaries, or reading yet another article on some start-up in Silicon Valley. TV is great as well but with it’s endless amount of channels I spend what should have been a half hour mindlessly watching my fifth cop-drama unfold on screen while knowing that it was always that awkward guy in the corner who did it. 

The point is this. While the internet and TV are wonderful things they don’t necessarily lead to any growth, to any creativity. Instead you are invited to sit down and passively enjoy what it offers clinking on link after link, video after video, movie after movie. In the meantime, you aren’t creating anything. You are absorbing. You are taking in knowledge or ideas, and they are being stored up in the attic of your mind where they will never really be used. 

Remember that pile of folders I told you about? For the next month or so I will preform my own minimalism experiment. I won’t be trowing away any of my clothes, tossing out my worldly possessions or anything like that but I will be recycling. Everyday I will exhaust one of my ideas in those folders. Effectively, I will be limiting my time spent on the TV and on the computer through doing this because I will be too busy writing.

I’ll be too busy creating to consume.


If any of you other bloggers, writers, or artist would like to do this with me please comment below. 

With Her

The stormy weather returned and with the booming thunder and splattered rain she appeared. Her entrance was always grand but it never paled her. She arrived at his door in a red petticoat and white leather gloves and bathed in an invisible glory and seductive presence that only a women could wear. She wore it well. She said she just came by for a night or two though her monstrous suitcase said otherwise. She only smirked when he asked about it and said she had the habit of over-packing. He knew you couldn’t over-pack a weeks worth of clothes.

They would have tea together in the yard. Large blankets laid across the short spring grass that just sprung up to say ‘hello’. Tiny teacups with Gypsum, and  Earl Grey, Green for the afternoon, and Ginger when the sun just rose, clinked and chimed with the conversation and mirrored their laughter. She had an infectious laugh, high and unabashed he could hear it from the other room. He ‘let’ her stay for a while, more then the few weeks for which she had packed so eventually she had to go and buy some new ones. He paid for them all of course after her halfhearted attempts to stop him. They both knew she had to money and she would look for a job soon enough.

She found one at the dentist office as a receptionist. She was always good with people and even managed to calm one boy down who was furiously crying over a cavity yet to be filled. She charmed everyone with her imperfect smile; slightly gap-toothed but all still pearly white. Her co-workers loved her and he would go to pick her up to the dentist asking if she could stay another hour or two ‘you see there’s these two kids that need fillings and’.

She was a doll. His doll. Everyone’s doll. And she was dead.