galaxy42

"No time for love, Dr. Jones..."

This will be quick:

A) Started work (finally) and after the first day was reminded of just how much I HATE installing cabinets.

B) Grandma is in the hospital now...

C) My cousin's girlfriend wants a tumble in the hay with me...and is pissed that I didn't take her up on it. WTF?

D) I am REALLY...FUCKING... TIRED.

V)...
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Depression...

Holy fuckin' Moses...

Uncle Galaxy has a lovely shit-storm starting to swirl around him. Not good... not good at all. No time for details at the moment...

Someone hit me in the head with a brick, will ya?

Thanks,
-U.G.

Wow. Super non-productive day on the writing front.

...but I'll be working tomorrow and Wednesday, so... money. Yay!

I'm not looking forward to it, though.

I really kinda like the super short "stories" that I've written so far. I guess I don't really think of them as stories, though. They feel like photographs in words. I'm going to attempt a proper short story tomorrow. Something a little lengthier and a little more in depth than the things I've put out there so far.

I'm not sure how much of it...
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Thanks to all those who have left encouraging words over my past 3 or 4 blogs. I appreciate it greatly. Please keep your $0.02 coming--good and bad. I want to know what isn't working in my little snapshots of small town life.

I'm taking a break from the story telling for a day or two. My head feels full--not in a good way. I can't...
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Dust filled the air. He watched the playing field come to life with his friends and the children that he was told to consider enemies. Enemies for the afternoon, at least. The dust had settled from the air into the cooler full of well water. The lid had been damaged and thrown away five games ago. He imagined that the taste of the murky water...
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It was August and very hot. The boy sat, facing the wrong way, on an old rusted out tricycle that he was now five years too old to ride comfortably. He sipped a soda and watched from a distance as his grandfather did the work that needed to be done in the orchard.

The old man would say, at random throughout the long summer days,...
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I sat on the riverbank watching leaves and trash float past on the muddy water. I named them as they went by.

"You are Me-At-Four-Years-Old,-Eating-Grapes-From-Our-Garden," I said to a leaf. An oak leaf, I think. I can't be sure. I was never very good at identifying foliage.

Me-At-Four-Years-Old,-Eating-Grapes-From-Our-Garden seemed to sigh in indifference as he drifted on down the river and out of sight. I...
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Oh, not again...