By about midnight on Sunday night, everyone else had pretty much
gone to bed. Kevin is downstairs and I don’t really know what he is doing. I
guess it didn’t matter much to me, because I was working on a hugely important
lesson plan. I never gave him any indication that I wanted him to stay
overnight, he never asked if he could. I assumed that he would go back to
Bettendorf or Davenport or wherever he lives or stays or…whatever he
does.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
impulsive and forgettful
Write about one of your faults
My
flight was scheduled to leave at 7:55 am. I arrived at the airport at
5:00 after sleeping on the floor in my friend's English teaching center that is
located half a city closer to Moscow Domodedovo airport than my room.
clunk, clunk. clunk--an old man sprinting
I jog up to my chosen starting
point, and put on a colossal burst of energy as I cross the stripe on the
asphalt. My whole body shakes. I begin well, concentrating… “knees, toes.” I’m
actually thinking about running on my toes and picking up my knees. Supposedly,
this is what one must do to run at the absolute fastest pace possible.
Labels:
75 seconds.,
barbie,
clunk,
quarter mile,
sprint
The HIT!
The Hit
Every year, the coaches tell the seniors that they should play
the final game—even their entire final season—like it was their last. This was
it, our last football game. My team, the Newell Panthers, were visiting
Wall Lake to take on the Comets.
To the hog house
To
the hog house
I
didn’t bother opening the wooden gate because the latch sometimes didn’t fall
back into place cleanly and you’d have to fiddle around with it. I’d rather
just climb over. Fences are so cool. People can climb over a fence, but
cattle—much bigger, tougher, stronger—have to stand on the other side,
watching.
Labels:
crying,
dirty clothes,
dry,
farm,
fence,
perfect weather,
pigs,
rain
the unemployed writer
Unemployed
writer
I’m
an unemployed writer. Oh, yes, I write, but nothing goes anywhere except to my
own self-published blogs. I really need to break into the business and become a
successful writer. I don’t need to get paid. I want the satisfaction that comes
from producing something that others think is worthy of distribution. If I start getting some stuff out there,
whether it is at online publications, or in local newspapers, I will find the
encouragement needed to keep going.
Then, maybe we’ll get around to thinking about payment, and then the
best seller, and the notoriety, yada, yada, yada.
Friday, December 4, 2015
Customs officials don't care. Why would they?
I leaned on a metal table, faced
with the fact that my flight was taking off in 20 minutes. It was leaving
the ground in 20 minutes. It was nearly a certainty that I would not be on
it. Hell, if I had been honest with myself, I would have realized that there
was 100% certainty that I would not be on it.
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