9 29 22
September is over. Wow. I mean, almost.
Good morning God. Thank you. For all of it. It’s a wowzer if you take time to notice. And one has to be just a wee bit sensitive to hear it, feel it…the spiritual realm that is, pressing down on you, trying to give you a hug whether you want it or not.
This morning got colleywobbled 2x already. It’s 8 am, not a good sign. I’m not a fan of that. How much do I like to be interrupted when I’m writing? Interrupt me again and I’ll punch you!
About that much.
Marysville is socked in fog making the tall evergreens look like an old black and white photograph. There’s a beauty to it. I wonder what I am supposed to write about today?
GO BACK TO PROFESSOR PIECE
FINISH OUR FATHER
READ MY GOD
Easy-peasy. Except I’ll fall off track multiple times and make this super easy to-do list a mess of complications. Or not. Perhaps today there won’t be a single phone call or email or knock at the door, or person flipping me off in traffic. But probably not.
One has to learn to deal with life’s curveballs, my dear. In my head, this is the voice of the snarky librarian glaring at you over readers that she bought from the drugstore because they looked creative and fun, but on her they look like something from the bottom of the discard Halloween box.
And like that, a character is created. I like this librarian. She has pale skin, long brown hair with strands of grey, pulled back in a tight ponytail. I notice that if she let it loose, she has nice hair—thick, a little bit wavy—but God forbid. Somehow the permanent smirk is comforting. She sits at her desk pivoting her neck 45 degrees in both directions in order to cast a net of glaring dissatisfaction on all those around her, and really, were she to sit there and suddenly smile at you, you would grab your backpack and run out of there as fast as possible. Such dissatisfaction maintains the dull silence necessary for being in the library on a beautiful fall day.
Does everyone in my life become a character?
Interestingly, I don’t know this librarian. Personally. She is truly the conglomeration of multiple experiences over multiple years. I have no idea what her name is. Her nametag says “Librarian.” She insisted on having no name when they hired her. Does HR know her name? Is she really that uncomfortable with herself?
Wow, she’s odder than I first thought. How mysterious to make up all the details about a person and then tell no one. Well not to worry my dear, your mess will spill out one day. That just how it goes.
Just last week I joked with the gentleman docked in the slip across from us that little did he know, he would become a character in one of my books. That’s the trouble with innocently pulling in next to us. And there he is! The dude in the slip across from us. His name is Walter. Not in real life, dummy. You change the name to protect the innocent, which he is not. Walter has a big boat, big voice, big body, and no hair. One doesn’t get everything one wants.
When we first pulled in and docked Walter sized us up and then he heckled us, but not in an offensive way. Walter is the consummate joker, the funny guy, and the next thing you know we are drinking scotch in his boujie floating living room. I liked him immediately. Both of them. I liked them both.
I even like the made-up cartoon version of him. But I might do something bizarre with his wife. In real life she was lovely, in every way. But I think I’ll give Walter a woman with a permanently bizarre face from too much botox. I’ve always wanted to be inside that person’s head.
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