21:27 May 9, 2019
I’m waiting in a windowless room. It’s a small room with a single bed, which has been nicely made with a blue comforter and white fitted and flat sheets. There is one pillow on the bed, in a pillowcase that has been bleached white. I’m sitting on the only chair in the room; it’s a chair that you would find in any waiting room. The cushion is also blue. There is a small black space heater next to the chair. It’s the type that looks like a fan, circular with false blades on the screen.
Continue reading “I Have Poor Sleep Hygiene”
I've been going through some old boxes, looking for my old journals. I came across this little ditty from 1998:
The peace and serenity of still waters
Calms my mind and sets me free
I have no more pain and am released of sorrow
My heart can cry and my soul can run free
The tears will never fall from my eyes
Because the strength needed to shed one tear
Only exists within my heart
This strength is powered by my love for you
If by chance a tear shall be shed through my eye
Because of deep sadness within my soul
The still waters will move
There's more. A lot more.
I need to treat myself like I’m one of my students if I’m ever going to get anything done. Last night, while laying in bed wondering about why I’m so unproductive, it dawned on me that I should start a “job jar”. Do you know of these things? Continue reading “A Job Jar”
This is the first story, in a short series of stories, about my experience in Mariposa. So, to kick things off right, I’ll begin with where I live.
From the outset, please be aware that any facts I state, about anything, in this or any of the pieces about Mariposa are all coming straight from my head, and may not be true.
I don’t know whether you know Mariposa. If not, it is of no consequence, for if you know Canada at all, you are probably well acquainted with a dozen towns just like it.
Excerpt From: Stephen Leacock. “Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town.” iBooks. https://itun.es/ca/_ZEZD.l
Continue reading “Where I Live: Mariposa”
I have seven fading scars on the wrist of my right arm. I put them there, twelve years ago. I used cigarettes. I used to smoke menthols.
Continue reading “Do You Still Keep the Scars on Your Wrist?”
I haven’t written much lately, despite having a good number of drafts waiting to be finished. My life has become busier than I ever expected it could be, and I’m treading water, desperately trying to keep afloat. Today, however, I would be remiss if I didn’t take the time to acknowledge the great man in my life – my father.
This post will be terse and incomplete, but then, how can I ever write enough about praise about the man I admire most? I’m hopeful that the future will present me with enough time to sit down and write all that I would about him.
Continue reading “A Quick Word About My Father”