Years ago, my grandmother had a maid. She would come by every week or so to do a “deep cleaning” of the house. It seemed to me her real function was to give my grandma someone to talk to during the winter months when Grandpa was teaching, and we were attending, school. I knew when the maid was coming by because I had to help clean the place up.

You can’t have the cleaning lady thinking your house is dirty.
That’s just crazy.
She might tell the next door neighbor and then…
“You know I heard their bathroom was just a mess! And the living room had DUST! Lord have mercy!”

Last night I recalled the cleaning up for the cleaning lady ritual.

I found myself in the kitchen editing a story so I could be ready to give it to an editor. Grandma will never die.

beep.

We pulled a General from a war zone because of an article in a music magazine. He was wrong for publicly dissing his boss (even if his boss isn’t qualified to run a cotton candy stand at a fat kid camp) and was let go as proper.
I find it comically rich that McChrystal’s replacement is one of Bush’s cronies. Cotton Candy anyone?

beep.

I’m looking for a job more challenging so I don’t have time to write short stories or meandering blog entries at work. I never want a career. The word career is an anagram for suicide. Just keep looking at the letters, you’ll see it. Promise.

beep.

I don’t understand repeating prayers. Doesn’t God hear you the first time? Do we think he forgets or something?
Speaking of prayers. Instead of praying for me next time I get sick, or injured why not stop and pray RIGHT NOW, that I won’t get sick or injured?. A preemptive prayer. How Republican!

beep.

Every writer on the internet offers little writing prompts. The damn things drive me nuts because they always seem intentionally silly.

“Vikings, Green Beans, Van Gogh’s good ear, the Torah”

“500 words or less. A man walks into a midget strip club and sees a six-foot tall waitress. He walks over, and trips over something. What does he trip over?”

“In 15 minutes, no editing/proofreading. Galactic vampires have sieged the eastern shore of a dystopian United States. Utilize inter-species erotica to create a metaphor for the ill-fated attempt to resist the vampire destruction.”

So I’ll offer my own.
Clear your mind.
Close your eyes.
What do you see?
What do you hear?
Build a story using those visions and sounds.
Then get me a beer.

beep.

Was glad to recall that wearing tee shirts under my regular shirt keeps me cooler throughout summer.
Counter-intuitive means forgotten knowledge.

beep.

I received my editor’s comments. Four stories requiring rewriting and one needing refueling. So be it.

beep.

Each time I introduce my eldest child to another fantastic writer I’m reminded that no one gives a damn about John Irving, no one has ever read Garcia Marquez and that Steinbeck was a hack.
When I was a teen I wasn’t nearly as smart as my kids. They all earn excellent grades and are members of Junior Beta this, Honor that, and Gifted & Talented et cetera.
Teen-age attitude, college level vocabulary, and Irish sarcasm equals pain in my aching ass. Is it wrong, or just poetic, to beat your kids with a copy of The Grapes of Wrath?

beep.

Fear is Success testing your resolve.

beep.

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