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It will be a long evening without ice cream. Where was I? What was it? I donít remember. It is slipping away, sliding out of the back of the pickup with the tailgate down as we accelerate away. I remember now. It was my eyes. Everything is a little blurry sometimes, particularly when I try to read. The eye doctor wants to do cataract surgery, but I am just not ready for that. I think I see ok. But then I think I hear alright but many people disagree with me. Maybe if I make the font a little larger.
Wet noodles cling to the wall. Outside the crickets are singing. I had thought they had stopped, had been driven away by the pesticide, but there they are, singing away. A noodle slumps along one wall and falls to the floor. There is a lesson in that. It is a lesson about survival and fitness. The greater lesson is that all the noodles will fall when the wall does as all walls eventually fall in time. I could stop now. I could cheat and make an entry with 76 words and no one would care. I would care, wouldnít I?
The giant clover leaf just grew out of the middle of the park. It started out as a large leaf, not really noticeable among all the others, but it grew quickly. For some reason the mower started cutting around it, letting it grow. That was just another in a series of accidents that contributed to the giant clover leaf. We wanted to charge admission to see it and that was while it was still just Toyota sized. But someone from the Parks Department came by to tell us we couldnít do that. It was shortly after someone spray painted it.
You never see a rusted-out locomotive. Now why is that? Are they regularly cleaned? Are they made out of some special rust-proof metal? Is there a railroad locomotive bone yard somewhere filled with rusted-out locomotives? My neighbor Mike retired from the railroad. I could ask him. I could also ask him what those ďWĒ signs by the local crossing are all about. So many questions I have for Mike. It could end up in a visit to a train if I am not careful and I am not that much of a train nut. Perhaps I could sneak one question.
Itís coming down. The moon is coming down. It is crashing through the sun spilled day. It is rushing closer. It will soon join with the amber waves of grain, with the purple mountains and the sky scrapers. It will join with the highways and the cars streaming along. It will merge with butterflies, deer and humming birds. The moon is coming for a visit. It will hang its coat up behind the door. It will sit in the living room, sip coffee and talk about the election. The moon will be polite. It will not put its feet up.
I am in the cool calm green. The blades of grass do not slice here. They slide over your skin like velvet. Rabbits are playing in the woods. They have become scarce and no one knows why. Perhaps we have predators. Predator dogs roaming the neighborhood at night. I wonder that the predator dogs donít eat the squirrels but the squirrels are mean little suckers. Nobody really wants to mess with a squirrel, at least nobody who has ever tried messing with a squirrel. I suppose that would include me although my intent was not to mess with the squirrel.
The grass on my sisterís lawn is wavy in the twilight. The grandchildren left the bases from the ball game out and they may be covered with dew in the morning, the bases. A grasshopper crawls over one of them. I remember the feeling of grasshopper in my hand, the scratchy legs and wings. I look out at the maple tree where she was married. Her daughter was married under the same tree. How can that be? Was my sister really married under that tree? The timeline doesnít fit. My memory must be faulty. That is possible and highly probable.
I put some seeds out for the birds and an ear of corn for the squirrels. The squirrels donít share, however so it will probably be eaten by one squirrel, the alpha squirrel. They will fight over it, spilling more seed than they eat. The spilled seed will be eaten by the beta squirrels. In this manner I suppose they all get fed. The dried ear of corn goes onto a finishing nail that I drove into the deck rail last year. I have images of falling onto that nail and driving it into my eye. My brain does that.
It will be two oíclock pretty soon. I had been thinking to play the piano at two. I have been hesitant to play this week. It seems that I am not making very good progress at it. I had a bad experience at my last lesson. It came time for me to play Fur Elise and I simply couldnít remember where the keys were. There was something wrong with the piano. As I think about it, it may be that I was playing the song from memory. There is something about the memory that doesnít transfer to my teacherís piano.
Itís raining out so Iím not going for a walk this morning. Iím not sure what the odds were for that anyway, probably not so good. Saturday mornings are usually low-energy occasions for me. I did get up early and did a number of small household chores such as taking out the garbage and changing the water filter. It rained. It is still raining. I always worry about the piano when it rains. The humidity and all that. I suppose if it gets ruined I can always get a new one, but what do you do with the old one?
It was a tiny little bird. I donít know why people make such a big deal about animals talking to you. They do it whenever they feel like it. As I said, it was a tiny bird, but this one had an unusually deep voice. It sounded funny coming out of the little bird, as if it were coming from somewhere else. Were it not a tiny bird it could have been the voice of God (VOG). Now I look at that last sentence and wonder about the placement of the period. Does it go inside the parenthesis or outside?
I got behind on my 100 words this month. I seem to get behind on it nearly every month. I donít really know how I have gone this long without missing a month. Iíve gone years actually now that I look at the thing. Itís a good thing they give us that grace period at the end, good for me at least and I suppose good for the two dozen or so who actually write here at any given time. This site never really caught on big time did it? I suppose itís not really designed for 300 million users.
Itís about this time I think I have run out of things to write. I can always fall back on writing about not having anything to write about. I relax. What the Hell? The brain is empty. Let the brain be empty. Give it a break. Let it relax back into the pillow and recharge. It will come back. It always does. And it always will right up to the point where it does not come back ever again. But we will not dwell on that point. It does not improve my life experience to spend time thinking about that.
I am not so worried about running out of things to write as I am about running out of days in which to write. We have only thirty or so a month and when they are gone they are gone. I am so used to cramming something into one hundred words that it does not occur to me that I can write outside this format. I have forgotten how to write it seems. I wonder sometimes if I will remember sometime how it is done. If it will suddenly come back to me like a sunrise on a cool morning.
I come back here again. This is a calming place. It is somehow soothing. Whatís that you ask? Have I seen your sunglasses? No, I donít recall seeing them. I think about my own glasses that turn dark when the sun falls on them and am thankful that I donít have to deal with sun glasses and reading glasses. I just have glasses. Looking out the window I see a boy jogging down the park path. He is wearing your sunglasses. I consider the difference between his jogging down the path and around the path. The down path is longer.
The sunglasses slide around the corner and out of sight. They are going on a trip now. It begins as the boy jogs down the street in the sunlight and shade dappled back and forth with the cool morning breeze on his face. I seem to be overly concerned with the cool morning breeze. It is as if I want it on my own face. But my eyes are smarting this morning. I think I am catching your cold. That is why I crave the cool morning breeze. I will put on your sunglasses and go out into the world.
Iím up in the tower typing away. I can see a slice of green over the top of the screen. But autumn is here and soon it will turn to white. It is easy at this point to let the mind relax and go to blank. It rolls and coils into soft grey bubbles. It has been days since I have gone for a walk outside. The rain has kept me in. That is what I tell myself. I donít know what Iíll tell myself when the snow hits. Perhaps that will drive me into the basement and the treadmill.
It has rained all week. The world is soggy with it and there is the threat of winter in the air. I donít know how it got to be autumn so quickly. Could it be the acceleration of time as we grow older? If so, then this is truly frightening. If time can pass so quickly and the future even more quickly, then we are already at the end. Water is spattered on the metal frames of the chairs on the deck. You come out of the bathroom scrubbing on the door and saying something I cannot quite make out.
The birds are popping behind the barn. Heads quivering in the damp cold. Barn sheeting red turning brown as the wood rots near the foundation. And the wood rots. The wood rots. And the birds are popping, pecking into the wood drawing out insects that will become birds and learn to fly and learn to pop. Barn sheeting damp in the rain soaking it up like an old towel. And the wood rots while the birds pop over a silver pool of water covering the grass. The stubble in the corn field stands and shouts but the barn doesnít hear.
I can do this. I can come from fourteen entries behind and catch up in a day, catch up in an hour or two even. I can turn my brain on to do. The rest of the time the brain is turned off like a cold machine standing useless in some hospital. The air is antiseptic. I can do this. I can type events from the air. I can leap to the fourteenth rung and catch the brass ring. I can switch on the machine and suck the stale air out of the room. I can make the walls glow.
I must have mentioned this thing before. I must have mentioned the dread that comes with having no more 100-word entries to do. I am up against the wall. I must turn my focus to something else, to the next thing. The next thing does not come easily. I think what would come easily would be a nap. You know the nap is just a result of the meds. I was going to say drugs, but I called them meds. The word is more polite. Less excitable than drugs. Drugs careens around the room, tearing tapestries and knocking over lamps.
Iím almost out of time here but I can do one. Maybe I can cheat on the time a little and do two before I get into the shower. I want to be out of the shower and dressed and combed by eleven. Thatís when I am supposed to skype my son. There is no telling where he will be today because his wife is in the states this week. She is supposed to visit here at some point with the grandson and I should be contacting her to see when that will be. There is so much to coordinate.
Today is my sisterís birthday. I am reminded of that every time I look at the top of the screen where it says I have one unread message. That is a message from my calendar and yes I know today is my sisterís birthday. I will call her. She never calls me on my birthday. I think that is the case. I donít remember things so well. It may be a case of faulty perception. Iím pretty sure I am correct. I think she loves me though. It is just that she is not focused so much on phone calls.
You saw the deer this morning, coming out of the fog, following the railroad tracks. There were five, maybe six of them. I was not sure how many and they followed the tracks past the house and on toward Michigan Avenue. Iím thinking five and six, visualizing the five and the six. Then I visualize seven and eight. I go to nine and ten. Eleven is easy, two fives with a one between. Twelve and thirteen. Nineteen is a prime number and I have to think about it for a while. Twenty-one. Twenty-three is as far as I can go.
We are back from the farmerís market. It seems that there are more fruit and vegetables to buy as it gets late in the year. The corn has worms in it the woman says. That is a thing we have been running into this year, worms in the corn. I donít remember ever running into that before. Perhaps it is organically grown corn but I grew corn for sale when I was in high school and never used any pesticides on it and I never got worms in my corn. It is something new is what we conclude. New worms.
At the farmerís market was a woman with two dogs, one of them the size of a small deer. I donít think much of people with dogs at the farmerís market. They always seem to want to leave presents. The larger of the two dogs lifted a leg on a fire hydrant and liberally sprayed the sidewalk. Time to look away and pretend you donít see. We are home now, obviously. Obviously I donít sit at the farmerís market with my laptop and type out 100 words entries. You have already shucked the corn and put it in a pan.
The sun breaks out and I am tempted to go back outside. I could walk down to the Sunoco station and check my lottery tickets. I could check them here, but I couldnít buy new ones. Although I thought I saw a commercial for the lotto that indicated you could buy tickets online for that now. It is a bad bet, a waste of money. The odds of winning are something like one in 250,000,000. The odds of almost anything happening to you are better than that. The odds of having a wealthy uncle you donít know about for example.
You remind me that I said I wanted to go for a walk today. Did I say that? I really have other things to do. I am far too busy taking naps in the afternoon and playing the piano to go for a walk. I am not sure where I would sandwich it in. Then too there is not so much in the way of places to walk around here. There is the park, but it is maybe a total of a quarter mile around. I suppose I could get in the car and drive to Kensington for a walk.
I donít know if the subwoofer works. Of course it doesnít work now. I didnít plug it back in the last time I unplugged it. I could hook it up to the TV. That would give you a thrill. Subwoofers work really well with TV. Often when someone says they want home theatre sound what they really want is a subwoofer. I could add that to my list of stuff to do today. Hook the sub up to the TV and give my baby a thrill. Iíve been listening to Gato Barbieri again. The set with four chapters in it.
The 100 Words word count rarely agrees with the Microsoft Word word count. I use the one from Microsoft Word. It leads me to thoughts of dishonesty. I could slip in an entry with 102 words or an entry with 98 words and no one would be wiser. There are so many ways to count words. I could even slip in an entry with 66 words and get away with it because no one ever bothers to check this. We are on the honor system. The word honor makes me think about the current election cycle. For some reason. Huh.
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