If yesterday was Wednesday, then maybe today will be Zen day. It's not quite the weekend, the week isn't completely over, and I still have a few hours to catch up on stuff left over from last week. Didn't get to study last night; had supper at Pizza Perfect and then made a trip to Wally World, my least favorite shopping location on the planet. The good news is, they had what I needed. The bad news is, it took 30 minutes of my precious life just waiting in the 10 Items or Less checkout lane. I just find that excessive - if it only takes me 5 minutes to locate my items, why should I have to wait half an hour to pay for them? Why hasn't Wal-Mart set up self-check lines like Kroger or Home Depot or Lowes? It's not like they'd lose that much more with the 5-finger discount. And it was all the more annoying to see lines of people snaking out onto the main floor, while over half the checkout lanes were closed. "We save you money by cutting down on labor costs - we hire bottom-feeders for next-to-nothing wages, and then only keep staff at half of what it should be." Gotta love it.
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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