During the night I fell off the bed. I did not hurt myself, I simply rolled over and tried to pull myself up. I couldn't, I was too far out from the bed. Nor could I raise up so I walked on all fours to the edge of the bed and tried again to pull myself up. I couldn't do it. I couldn't believe how heavy I felt. I thought for a fleeting second I might have to wake my roommate for help and then thought, this is rediculous. I was out of breath. I stayed there on all fours until my breathing again felt normal, then with a new surge of energy I raised my self up until my arms rested on the edge of the bed, then when my breathing was good again I hoisted myself up onto the bed. I noticed the clock read 1: 28. in the early morn. At a quarter til six I was up again. Usually the first thinbg I want to do when I get up after releaving my bladder, is pick up a harmonica and blow a few minutes, blow out as much bad air as I can and rep;ace it with new oxygen rich air. I then copened the computer. For the past several days I have been writing on a short story. I despertly need something to do. I can't get out and about and I don't care for that much teledvision. There's little I can do so I write. This western short story is now what is keeping me occupied. I'm ready to end it but not sure how. The guy has got the girl and it needs a wrap but I'm not sure how I want to do this. I want a satisfactory ending but, I decide to delete it. 6211 words down the drain, A long story but my ending seemed contrived, perhaps forced. It had to do with the settling of San Angelo, Texas in 1869. Well, another idea will cross my mind soon, I hope. And so it goes.
Yes, maám, It might have but the piece needed a good edit, a tightening up, and punctuation marks as to who was speaking and this morning early, I didn't think the story was worth further effort. But thats what I do most often, write and delete. If I often wrote something that pleased me I might have saved it. But I can tell when its not worth the effort. But someday when I'm feeling up to it I may rewrite the piece and every thing will flow seemlessly and effortlessly. But a piece that long is far too long to post on a forum. I've got some old stuff I'm going to post here and reread. Maybe an idea for something short will hit me. Some of these have been read before but nevertheless, here goes. First, I guess I'm wondering how long the "delete' button will be on in these diaries, in case I post one and decide it needs a delete.
Silent March Once upon a time two old people lived in an old house on a street of many old houses. The old house was not a fine house or even a good house, it was just a house with some cracks in the ceiling, with windows that had stood too many tests of time against driving rains and high winds and dust storms and now suffered warped panes and rain rot and looked out upon the world in a state of dilapidation. The once stately doors crinkled and squeaked and one had the impression they could hardly stand upright. The roof's shingles curled at the edges and some were missing and the outside paint resembled not paint at all but thousands of tiny brown leaves stuck on its walls to hide its embarrassment. Inside the old couple greatly resembled the house where they had lived so long. They both used canes which they used to tap their way around the house, arising early they tapped their way to the kitchen, there to make the morning coffee and a solitary piece of toast for each. For many years they had eaten oatmeal with their toast and in the years of plenty they often had a strip or two of bacon to supplement their breakfast but that was long ago for the years of plenty never came around anymore. Now they were simply old grand-parents. But it was a day of joy for word had come to them that their son and daughter-in-law and two grand children were coming for a visit. It had been a whole year. My, how the grand children must have grown, they said to each other in their excitement and anticipation. They changed the linen on the guest room bed and tided up the bathroom and placed a glass and bottled water on the vanity for convenience and a vase of flowers from their garden on the dresser and dusted and cleaned, their canes tapping happily all bout the house as preparations were made for the coming guests. At last the appointed time arrived and their children and grand children pulled up in their driveway. They tapped their way out onto the porch to greet the new arrivals. It was indeed a happy reunion. Grandmother, after shopping for the anticipated visit, prepared an evening meal of fried chicken, green beans, scalloped potatoes, yeast rolls and iced tea. And in the oven, two homemade chocolate pies. Grandfather thought this a scrumptious meal and wished guests would come around more often so grandmother would have cause to prepare such a meal. They all sat around the dinner table in their pleasant faces and with their gentle voices and talked of meals past and recalled memories of growing up in this place. Now these times have become memories. The old house is silent. The grandparents don’t live here anymore. They have moved off life’s stage, first one, then the other, ancestors now, on their long, silent march into history.
We Might Have Been Friends I wish we had time, you and I to sit down and talk a spell about life and experiences, good times and bad and the road we took getting here to this place. We’d talk about your country and mine, the things we like, about food and wine. talk about family and large dinners, It was things like that that molded us, gave us character, carried us through the hard times, like sickness and accidents, wars and loneliness, how we like the same things. It would’ve been good, we'd agreed to have known each other over the long haul, maybe as neighbors how we could’ve aided each other, gossiped together, helped out in times of sickness, and how we'd agree each in his own way, agreed silently, we liked each other, and puzzled to ourselves what might have been had we met earlier. We stand up. I say its been wonderful seeing you, getting to know you a bit. You say, Yes, its been a fine time we’ve had, so nice to sit and talk, get to know each other. We say goodbye and I walk to my car, thinking, a fine lady. I wish I could take her with me. You turn back to your loneliness, I drive back to mine.