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08/01 Direct Link
Rabbit, rabbit. My grandma kept her pocket paperback romance novels in the scary spare room on the second floor, directly to the right of the J-shaped staircase, the one we’d ride down on the old dishwasher box pretending there was winter snow during summer break, and I’d sneak into that room, the one with the grotesquely large stuffed pink bunny and glassy-eyed dolls, the room where the western sun baked the contents untouchable, and, kneeling on the sizzling, rough carpet, I’d fan the worn pages for two seconds across my thumb, find where I knew.
08/02 Direct Link
Concrete steps rise from pebbly cracked sidewalks, but go, absurdly, nowhere. Into the boards of a fence, or the sunless dirt beneath a low tree limb. An empty lot. A telephone pole. Eighty years ago, a raging summer fire leveled everything for miles, and when the town returned, it shifted—just a little—and left these oddities. Growing up, I barely noticed. They were part of the salty, wind-bent landscape, pointless. Who cared? But time passes. Smoke clears. Now I see: they’re reminders, ways back. Someone lived here. And here. And here. The steps don’t go nowhere.
08/03 Direct Link
I never did a proper rabbit rabbit entry. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do one now! I’m just rambling on and doing my 100 words social tasking. Today is a Saturday. Yay for that! I’m going to lie around like a slug and do absolutely nothing. It’s a rainy rainy day and that’s all that it’s good for! Once I get through a day like today doing absolutely nothing there’s a good chance that I’ll be doing the exact same thing tomorrow. Over and out, I’m gone.
08/04 Direct Link
Another do nothing day. That’s all rainy days are good for, doing nothing. I can handle this, I like it! Besides, Why should I be trying to do something when there’s nothing worthwhile to do in the rain? I guess that means I’m officially old. If you can’t figure out something to do when it’s raining, then you have just given up on living! What’s the point anymore? Oh Edith it’s not easy. Can you imagine being best friends with somebody for 70 years? I just saw two people on the Today Show.
08/05 Direct Link
Why did two white men feel it was necessary to massacre people in Texas and Ohio? If makes me wonder if President Trump is causing this with his hateful rhetoric. The answer is yes. President Trump doesn’t care that he’s inciting white people to go against minorities. I usually don’t dedicate 100 words of the time to political issues but this is so egregious that we have to write something and it means it’s time for the United States to come to grips with the fact that there’s a gun problem. Nuffernow. Nash says that.
08/06 Direct Link
I am writing in the middle of the night. I don't know why I came here except that I needed to finish. This is a social tasking website and the social task is to write 100 words a day. That's not so difficult. I can do that. It's the way of the crumbled cookie. And not all who wander are lost. I'm hot and I turned on the air but it hasn't cooled me off yet. I'll be okay. Once I get this task done, I can go back to sleep. It is, after all, the middle of the night!
08/07 Direct Link
It's uncanny to be up to date. Uncanny! Who invented that word? It's not to be believed. It sounds like when you open a can and remove the contents. That's uncanny. Go figure. Who knew? I'm writing more and writing more. I just keep on writing. It comes out as words on the screen. There's no more paper, because it's all about tapping on the keyboard and having letters appear on the screen. I like that. It's going well for me. It's the way of the crumbled cookie. Not all who wander are lost. I wonder as I wander. Yeah.
08/08 Direct Link
Suddenly last summer. It's not so sudden. It came upon us little kitty tapping away at the keyboard. A shocking end to a lurid saga. There's too much bad news. Disgraceful shenanigans abound. It's all too beautiful. Marks on the neck are a sure sign that something bad happened. I am appalled. That's all there is to it. Dozens go unreported on a daily basis. There are other charges that appear the well connection. Royalty and other elected officials are friendly. That comes just hours after the other allegations. Instructions are meant to be taken as a guide. Uh huh.
08/09 Direct Link
May their families and loved ones find peace. Is there any peace after a death? It comes, but ever so slowly. That's just the way to deal. Is gelatin or honey vegan? No, they're not. Gelatin because of its origins and honey because it's stolen. I'm ready for a nap. That's a good idea. Even though I have many things to do, it's a good thing to rest. That gives your brain time to create hostile attribution theory. That's not the real reason. It's the way of the crumbled cookie. Not all who wander are lost. Get to wondering, dude.
08/10 Direct Link
Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the crowds. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks. I don't care if I never get back for it's root root root for the Marins. If they don't win, it's a shame. For it's one two three strikes you're out at the old ball game. It was a good game but no score. What the hell is that all about. We were at the seventh inning stretch and there was no score. Nobody had run! That's cray. They won in the 10th inning. Go know. That was a marathon!
08/11 Direct Link
Have a good time. It's a good day to have a good time. I just wish it weren't so fucking hot. Yes, it's hot outside. I don't want to move from my bed. I love it here. I'm settled in for the afternoon. Adults are reliable. The teacher says compliance is the automatic behavior. Compliance can be the not automatic assumption. I have to stop listening to the radio and typing what they're saying. It ends up being a non sequitur. I don't know what the result will be. I just want to be bad. What's so bad about that?
08/12 Direct Link
When I was young I never thought about my neck. It was smooth and supple like the rest of me. Now my neck is monstrous. A saggy, craggy, battle damaged monster. If I pinch the skin on my neck, it stays pinched, like silly putty. Recently I was in Target shopping for shirts. I tried one on and looked in the mirror. The image reflected back was terrifying. A dark throat cavern nestled between two angry tendons. Something you might see in a horror movie close-up. The throat of an old man who should not have answered the door.
08/13 Direct Link
When she opened and heaved and birthed our daughter onto our mattress, I knew we’d never be rid of that bed—the one my dad offered to us, newlywed and broke, because “wouldn’t it be nice to have your old bed?” and my bride blurted out a grateful, “Sure!” But I never told them how another man had cornered a younger me on that bed, and how I had since lain on it, hoping the mattress might dilate so I could crown and disappear into the womb of the next life. That is why I sleep on it.
08/14 Direct Link
I found the form giving me durable power of attorney for my father’s health care. He died eleven and a half years ago. I should throw the form out, or, in keeping with my husband’s data-theft paranoia, shred it, burn it, and place the sodden ashes in trash receptacles at least a hundred feet apart from each other. Instead, I put it back in the filing cabinet, where I put everything I don’t want to deal with, even when dealing is no longer necessary. Besides, one day I might use my power to bring my father.
08/15 Direct Link
I was an only child my 15th summer—my brother away acting, one sister abroad, another home but waiting tables, dating, college-bound. Mom, in grad school, flew to Europe for research and a Greek cruise. Trifold aerogrammes arrived crinkling lonely freedom. Dad and I, strangers, stood in line for Star Wars; Annie Hall; New York, New York. The previous summer, I’d wet my bed one last time. Now men in the background of my sister’s Glamours fated my dreams. One thick night, I donned Keds and ran a lap around our suburban block. A block, but long.
08/16 Direct Link
The very least he owes me is a body. A thumb, a wrist bone, the big barrel of his chest. But there my father sits: gray soot in a gold cube. Astro turf covers the hole in the earth that’s not big enough to fit his calloused foot. People stand, talk about my father as if he’s still whole: an efficient, frugal man with thick white hair and green eyes. A lover of conglomerate rocks and geometry. Incinerated now, he’s ready to be lowered. The earth sinks under my chair legs, tipping me forward and I feel.
08/17 Direct Link
I snuck down there evenings he worked at the sawmill, to the lath and concrete room where he gutted perch, tossing tails to the cat. A galaxy of scales glistened on the tabletop, and specks of blood. But the floor was smooth, well-suited for skating to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” I was the girl in the song, and the room—its rows of rods and reels, waders, nets and oars—transformed as I dreamt of getting out, no longer destined to pass every weekend on some Idaho lake, dropping fish into a bucket for my father to.
08/18 Direct Link
My grandma kept her pocket paperback romance novels in the scary spare room on the second floor, directly to the right of the J-shaped staircase, the one we’d ride down on the old dishwasher box pretending there was winter snow during summer break, and I’d sneak into that room, the one with the grotesquely large stuffed pink bunny and glassy-eyed dolls, the room where the western sun baked the contents untouchable, and, kneeling on the sizzling, rough carpet, I’d fan the worn pages for two seconds across my thumb, find where I knew it got.
08/19 Direct Link
Concrete steps rise from pebbly cracked sidewalks, but go, absurdly, nowhere. Into the boards of a fence, or the sunless dirt beneath a low tree limb. An empty lot. A telephone pole. Eighty years ago, a raging summer fire leveled everything for miles, and when the town returned, it shifted—just a little—and left these oddities. Growing up, I barely noticed. They were part of the salty, wind-bent landscape, pointless. Who cared? But time passes. Smoke clears. Now I see: they’re reminders, ways back. Someone lived here. And here. And here. The steps don’t go nowhere.
08/20 Direct Link
In this morning’s backyard drama the tiny green bird has crashed into the glass of the sliding door and lies feet up and claw-splayed on the brick patio. A chipmunk, not much larger, approaches cautiously, and behind it, a rabbit nails its hopping halt, eyeing it. Within ten feet of me, a scene containing all the ingredients for tragedy or comedy. I wait patiently for it to play out—irony, brutality, redemption, holiness. But the bird just further stiffens into rigor, the chipmunk scurries off, its tail startlingly erect. And the rabbit, a-twirl, rushes off to raid.
08/21 Direct Link
Head buried between cradled knees, I sobbed rhythmically with the clacking India railway train. The Indian family sharing the tiny sleep cabin courteously ignored me. Visions poured from my tears: — A young girl pounding the side of the van and holding up a filthy, naked newborn pleading for money. — Feeling inadequate to help the young boy begging on the train station whose enlarged cartoon-like rubbery foot disclosed his encephalitis. Looking up, I saw the four-year-old singing to me with a thick Hindi accent: “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Arms outstretched, this Japalpur child offered me cornflakes — tiny.
08/22 Direct Link
Adult bereavement is a tough subject. When one loses Mother, the end is near. When your Mom goes, who is left to lean on. There is no one. And your remaining siblings become even more detached. When I took care of Mom in her final days, my sister was conveniently four hours away by car. That was convenient for her. She could come visit and assess how much longer this could go on. Why isn't the counter working? What the hell? Is this fresh hell? Quite so.
08/23 Direct Link
I save entries without knowing exactly how many words have been written. I just did that with the 22nd entry and it looks like I could keep on doing it. What gives with the word counter? How am I to write exactly 100 words, no more, no less without knowing the number I have written? It's a total frustration. I can't deal! I will go on the Internet to see if there is a website that counts words. It's because I don't have Microsoft Word installed on this Chromebook. Windows is the enemy! This tells me I have 100 words!
08/24 Direct Link
In one week, it's my birthday and that is not a big deal. Turning 67 means nothing to me and apparently, nothing to anyone else. My sister-in-law sent me a birthday post card that she designed. It was a lovely sentiment, but I have not been married to her sister for more than 40 years. It's just not right! And what's with this counter being stuck on zero? I have found a website called wordcounter.net and I'm using it to count words. Fuck it. There's always a word around. It even counts characters! Go know. I am up to 526!
08/25 Direct Link
I'm supposed to be at the doctor in five hours. I can do that. I don't think I have any alternative yogurts left but that means that I can do my celery experiment today. My BIL told me that he has been drinking a whole celery every day for a month. I thought of the taste first, Like, ew. But then I looked at him and he looked good. I don't even want to think about my sister because I bet she is losing weight. She's large Marge in charge. I have always known that. I'm another one. That's life.
08/26 Direct Link
You're riding high in April, shot down in May. But I know I'm going to change my tune when I'm back on top in June. I said, that's life. That's what the people say. I lost 35 characters to writing the lyrics from "That's Life." I like when that happens. It makes my life just a little bit easier. I am ready to sell this old house. We've been here for more than 30 years and it's time to move on. I would like to go to where they have legalize marijuana. That's a great idea. I could do that!
08/27 Direct Link
Upcoming batches are already announced. It's not batches, it's a batch. I don't know if I am going to continue. I don't want to. I have had enough of this social tasking. I'm calling Ricki and she's answering like a zombie. I got rid of her and now I'm calling Holly but she's not answering. Oh well, she will call me back. I am going to get shoes today. I hope it's been a full year because I don't think Medicare will pay unless it's been a full year. I love that story. And you didn't get the results. Oy.
08/28 Direct Link
Dayum, it took me like five tries to get on the Wi-Fi network what the hell that made me insanity cheese oh well c’est la vie and I see a dead roach on the floor what is that all about that’s ugly all right is this counting no says one word I love that Oh well it’s the counter is broken again and it’s not working so that means I have to piss this crap into a page that counts words Jesus Mary and Joseph I don’t like that idea but what the hell here comes Dorian! Let’s get cray!
08/29 Direct Link
We are being held hostage by a hurricane. They started to whip everyone and it's beginning even though it's almost a week away from impacting us.Oh well, say la vee. I'm writing more and enjoying it less. Maybe in a couple of days, I will just give it up. I'm still writing over at 750 words dot com and I'm grandfathered in. Who knew? There was a grandfather clause that everyone who was already writing as of a certain date wouldn't have to pay. I don't know that answer but I know that the counter is still not working. Oy!
08/30 Direct Link
Did you know that you can write out of order. Go know. Who knew? It's sort of a big deal as I just saved August 31 and now I'm writing August 30. It's still not counting words. What the hell is that all about? How would you like to spend a week and not get paid? That's called volunteer work. It's a constant throb of messages. Each time we pay a price. It's imperceptible in the moment but as time passes, it cultivates a meaning. I spoke to someone who seems to be the epitome but it's the opposite. Dig?
08/31 Direct Link
I can type words here first and then cut and paste them into the 100 words. Whatever! It don't matter to me. It's like mind over matter. If I don't mind, it don't matter. That's a good one. A real knee slapper. I haven't done jack today because I'm just waiting for a hurricane. Come on Dorian. It's like being chased by an angry turtle. Right now, it's a sunny day. It's the calm before the storm. I am writing on my 67th birthday. Is that a big deal? It's just another day. That's the way of the crumbled cookie.