skepticlysm

You Are Our Last Hope

Written by

Skeptifist

in

  • Last week, on my first half-day back at work, I fired up the laptop, started typing on my wireless keyboard.
  • The E key did not work.
  • How does that happen?
  • The keyboard, far as I know, was not touched while I was gone.
  • dEad.
  • …
  • I’m actually in a bit of a quandary.
  • Writing these during recovery was a bit of a different experience than writing them for work.
  • I’m not sure I want to go back to doing them the other way.
  • The work way.
  • Unfiltered feels better.
  • I haven’t ruled it out yet, but I’m on the “no more for work” side of the fence at the moment.
  • Let me tell you a story. I started a journal entry this morning where I lamented the fact that most of my writing these days is lists of random thoughts. Five years I’ve been communicating that way on a regular basis. I’m out of habit making paragraphs. Maybe even coherent arguments, or expounding upon the paragraph’s subject to a logical conclusion (provided you believe I have any logic at all).

    Like everything else, I beat myself up about it. My writing skills are somehow suffering. I can’t stay on topic to write a proper essay. A visual representation of a hyper-active brain. Not that mine’s hyper-active by diagnosis.

    Not sure any of that is true, but it’s the current mental narrative.
  • I dunno if you know this, but I am hard on myself.
  • DID YOU KNOW: Journalism schools coach you to keep paragraphs to one idea.
  • That might be one sentence or a few.
  • Definitely not those epic ones that create giant blocks of copy labyrinths where eyes get lost, take wrong turns, wander off, lose the train …
  • I often wonder who really pioneered the style of writing.
  • (We didn’t really study the history of the mechanics of journalism writing in school.)
  • (Only best practices.)
  • Write clearly.
  • Fast.
  • Small words.
  • Objective words.
  • Truths.
  • I felt, at the time, it made my fiction better.
  • Because when you use objective descriptors, you create a better picture, something shared between you and the reader, and your intent is accurately conveyed.
  • Trying to narrow the gap because there always is one.
  • Reading is a subjective endeavor, after all.
  • …
  • Recuperation still in process.
  • Came home today, sat on the couch.
  • Put my feet on the coffee table.
  • Snoozed.
  • Typing now, but I’m still tired.
  • Could nap some more.
  • Oof.
  • On the other end … well, in the corner of the sectional, the Kid is reading Plath’s “The Bell Jar.”
  • I never have.
  • She reads more Lit than I do.
  • Makes me proud.
  • “What’s that about?”
  • Her: “A girl who goes insane.”
  • “How is it so far?”
  • “Good so far.”
  • “Is she insane already?”
  • “No, but she’s very weird.”
  • Kinda makes me want to read it.
  • In other fun news, I hit my head on the corner of a thing taking a bite of a taco, stabbing my scar.
  • Bled into napkins.
  • Currently, I have a new scab.
  • The wound’s covered by a layer of Neosporin and a Band-Aid.
  • Gifted.
  • Makes me wonder if I am, in fact, clumsy.
  • I don’t think anyone would’ve ever described me as graceful.
  • But I’m not uncoordinated.
  • You don’t get to start teaching knife fighting classes after a year if you’re uncoordinated.
  • Yesterday, the new boss scheduled a department bonding activity.
  • Axe throwing.
  • Never done that before.
  • Got there.
  • Had to sit and watch for a few minutes and listen to people going, “Are you going to throw next?”
  • C’mon, man.
  • Don’t rush me.
  • A) Still not comfortable having a room of people watch me do a thing.
  • 2) Still hate being bad at things.
  • ii) Especially new things.
  • Half the crew threw with two hands, like a wind-up behind their head.
  • I think the old man in Last of the Mohicans threw that way?
  • I envisioned whacking myself in the back of the head with the axe.
  • No, thank you.
  • Took me a bit.
  • Had the armed goth manchild babysitting us show me the technique.
  • Started chucking.
  • I ended up with three or four bullseyes, but the one in the pic was the best of the bunch.
  • Could totally get into that.
  • First, it’s hella cathartic.
  • And then it’s a skill for post-Trump America.
  • And also they did not teach us to throw our weapons in Kali class, because … if you throw your weapon, you no longer have it in your hand.
  • Duh.
  • I’ll go back is what I’m saying.
  • To your unasked question: yes, my shoulder is sore (in the good way).
  • So is the rest of my body.
  • 11 weeks of lethargy will kill a 50-something.
  • Oh, fuck. I’m a 50-something.
  • Seriously, I wish they’d just rebuild me like the Six Million Dollar Man at this point.
  • My heels hurt (so they need stretching).
  • My shoulders, neck, and thighs are sore from the bike ride three days ago.
  • Four?
  • My hips are still sore from the trip.
  • My IT bands are making my leg go numb.
  • What.  The. Actual. Fuck.
  • Do Not Go Gentle … or go Nap.
  • Whichever.
  • I’m wearing a t-shirt featuring a Molotov cocktail drawn by one of my great friends.
  • I love the sentiment behind that.
  • Create a work of art based on a poor-man’s explosive typically used in riots and social upheaval.
  • I sometimes want my words to be a hand-made, hand-tossed explosive.
  • We’ll get back to a regular schedule soon.
  • Until then …
  • Never give up. Never surrender!

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