Do Not Refreeze

Unless I use my ideas quickly they spoil. My freezer is already full of unproven theories, so I can't store them there. Once you remove intellectual material from your freezer you must thaw it out and immediately do something constructive. Do not refreeze. I tried that once with a frozen rant. Once it thawed out I felt I only had the energy to recite part of it. I stuck it back in the freezer and three days later when I went to remove it, it had shrunk into a smelly haiku.
I've left damp hyperbole out on the window sill to dry, went out jogging and when I returned, discovered only stale crumbs of sentence fragments. I keep all my punctuation in the top cabinet where it is cool and dry. One time I left a sealed box of metaphors under the sink and a leak in the pipe left me with mold and mildew covering my powerful work. Editors far and near were heartbroken went I informed them.
My theater pieces I keep in the stove next to my frying pan. Sometimes they get greasy, but that only adds to their poignancy I think. The one time I put them in the vegetable bin next to a head of broccoli, a week later I found nothing but curled, blank pages. My words, fearing the unknown, which was the broccoli, had scattered all over my place, in the wardrobe, under tables, beneath my quilt, in the dishwasher.
Since I don't own many shoes, I use my shoe rack to stock my short stories. I keep my stream of consciousness ramblings close, even sleeping with them.
My witty asides are in my knife drawer as you might expect. They are quite sharp and often draw emotional blood. Aimless musings are lined up in my storage space above the towels, waiting for the next yard sale.
You know, I seem to remember you purchased a dozen or so for $5. Hey, if you pay for it, it's not plagiarism.

Should I?

Friday Night

Should I stay home and watch the Knicks?
Should I attend a dance performance which I won't understand?
Should I check out a jazz concert at a nearby church?
Should I stay home and begin reading Nostromo?
Should I hit the CVS and get prescriptions filled?
Should I do my power walking in the dark?
Should I e-mail all those I've lost track of?
Should I take a shower?
Should I start a painting?
Should I hang out somewhere sipping coffee and looking forlorn?
Should I stay home and find online porn?
Should I go to a movie not staring Will Ferrell?
Should I begin a short short story?
Should I write down all the witty remarks I'll use tomorrow?
Should I do 50 pushups and situps?
Should I just stay on Facebook for three hours?
Should I gloat over pounding out another blog that said essentially nothing?

This Morning

Attacking the day, knowing bad weather was coming, I managed to accomplish exactly what I wanted to do.
Hit the Post Office, mailed bills. Stopped at Dunkin Donuts, ordered breakfast, got free donut for filling out survey. Read papers quietly. Three quarters of a tank gas. Did 55 minute power walk around park.
Went to library, downloaded two e-books for review. At 11:40 looked outside, saw flurries. Got right in my car, made it home by noon. Put car in garage.
Finished reading papers, plus 100 pages in my Nook while watching The Fifth Element, featuring delicious Milla Jovovich, Bruce Willis & one of Gary Oldman's stranger roles.
Confirmed my doctor visit tomorrow, checked e-mail, posted on Facebook, took periodic pees, had lunch, ready to tackle Joseph Conrad's Nostramo. Feed the brain during storms.
Did not browse any porn sites.
But the day is not over.

Young Voters

I am uplifted by all the young people urging me to vote. Their belief in the system is inspiring. I respect their enthusiasm. We need people like this to ensure our future.
But ringing my bell, tricking me to come to the door, and then force-ably dragging me to a voting location, right into the booth and threatening to play Elvis Costello music outside my window unless I pulled a few levers is completely over the line.
I am going to risk stating that ultimately it makes little difference who gets elected. The people who own Bed, Bath and Beyond run things. Businesses. Shareholders. Sophisticated crooks and scam artists. That's who decides our fate.
The middle class has been dying a slow death since Clinton.
I feel like Chris Christie is sitting on my chest.

Strange Week

Beyond all the destruction and shortages, this has been a strange week. With the exception of stopping by my foot doctor to change my appt. and spending a few minutes talking to his assistant, it was a full week since I had a face to face conversation with someone.
I went to the Ethical Culture Sunday meeting and after an hour address about loss and grief, I stayed and had coffee, spotting an acquaintance, showing her my new book, Plowed In-More Switchblade Stories. She called over another writer, we exchanged notes and he asked to buy the first book, which was a pleasant surprise.
E-mails and phone conversations do not take the place of being with someone and seeing facial expressions.
I will try to get gas tomorrow. I did find a Pathmark with Sunday papers. The rest of the mall was shut down. Even the Pathmark only had power by the registers. I missed my papers.
I took an hour walk in the almost empty county park, had lunch at Burger King and now I'm home watching Giants football. Daylight Savings Time means it's already getting dark, but at least I have heat. Don't know if my luck will hold out when another possible storm hits mid week. Found mail in my box. Sunday delivery? Strange week.

Gas Shortage Pondering

Once again I had a craving for a cheese sandwich. Once again I slapped several slices on bread and once again took a big bite. Once again I had to spit it out. Who decided putting paper squares between slices was a good idea?
Who decides when to paint center lines on busy streets? Who determined all pustules are bad? Why are there no elegant stuffed animals? Why don't some people recognize they can't tell a joke?
What is more off putting than an untreated open cut? Why is all the important stuff on the top shelf? Are boutiques ever crowded? What is this impulse to join any line? Why am I lonely eating by myself at Subway, but not at Burger King?
How often should we update our nick knacks? Shouldn't there be some sort of signal at the mid-point of long speeches? Doesn't it seem like preambles are more interesting than what comes after?
How long can broccoli last in the wild?
These are the kind of questions that occur during a gas shortage and you're stuck home.

Sprawled Giants

They lay like giant slain dinosaurs. Trees uprooted is not adequate. Huge trunks, splayed branches so enormous kids climb across their breath, barely balancing themselves as we took pictures.
Circular and oblong ripped patches of grass and dirt clinging to the bottom of each trunk, naked roots exposed, gaping mouths of shocked soil.
Tree after tree in this section of Braddock Park in North Bergen under grey guardian clouds with not a breeze to play court jester. These were dignified pillars.
Some remained barely touched. Why? Violence is fickle, cruel, impatient, unpredictable.
Pond ducks glide nonchalantly, perhaps bemused, more likely, indifferent. Some spit at the sky, as to say, What else ya got?
Hudson County ducks.