Birth?

A few nights ago I wrote a story. A whole story. It feels so good to be able to say that. Sure, it is only two pages with one and a half line spaces between each line, but... It is a whole story.

It tells the brief tale of two children, two brothers, and what they find beside the creek. I would post it but I am just so proud of this work that I think I will submit it to... some establishment which publishes short fiction.

The best part is that I wrote the whole thing at work, on two pages of regular printer paper. I typed it up, edited briefly and am now circulating it amongst close friends whose opinions I respect when it comes to my literary productions.

So, if you were looking for something other than what you found in this post, I am sorry. I just felt the need to share this great news.

Have A Good Day

I have a job. It isn't a good job, a hard job, a tiring job. It is a job. I work to get paid so I can live and work to get paid. And after every midnight shift, the walk home is a walk of shame.

You may be familiar with the walk of shame. You may have even taken one or two or twelve in recent months. You don't necessarily feel totally clean or proud of what you've done, but you know it was worth it. Or you hope it was. That is how every midnight shift at my job makes me feel. I walk home and wonder if I am really spending my time in the best way. Shifting my sleeping patterns to the undead hours, my eating habits. The sun hits my face as it rises over the diminutive buildings on the main street, a familiar roadway, and I wonder. What else could I be doing? Is there something I should be doing?

But it doesn't matter. I work to get paid so I can live and work to get paid some more. I feel a little dirty, a little self-disrespect. A level between zero and point-zero one accomplishment. Lost time. But it doesn't matter.

My workspace is tiny.
Tiny as a microorganism.
Minuscule is the impact
of the register's balance.
And yet I sit
with music on,
watching the cars drive by.

"I Told You So"

The worst part about fucking up is realizing that someone at some time told you exactly how it would end. They gave you a hypothetical situation and you found out it was a prophecy which came true.

So, now you've fucked up and what do you do? Cut your losses? Stick it through? It's a choose-your-own-adventure where every decision leaves you with your mouth full of defeat and your pockets wide empty. And unlike a c.y.o.a., your failure affects the people around you too. There isn't a thing you can do about it. You fucked up, and now they have to deal with it as well.

What do you do? Stick around so they can deal with it better, and slowly wean your way out of the mistake? Or do you abandon the ship with the women and children and leave the first mate to drown or save himself? These are the questions...