The Clock is Ticking

Today feels like a fog.

I was called early this morning and told that my grandfather, Daddy's dad, died during the night.
I already know.

I woke around 12:15 this morning to a totally silent room, but felt like someone other than the WonderDog was there. When I was little, Grandpa would run his hand over my hair..starting at my widow's peak and all the way down (my then) long hair, about midback. I felt him do that this morning. Felt the familiar weight of his hand. Then I heard him say, what he'd always said when I'd leave his company back when he still recognized me, "I'm proud of you."

So, today, silence is bad. I've got media player running through the library I've ripped onto the computer. The lyrics are speaking to me, but not in the way the artists must've intended..

And time has been spread so thin and its just hours till the day begins. And the things that are keeping you here are not keeping me here and the things that are keeping you here will keep me away. (Dashboard Confessional, "Drowning")

Cause when I take a look around everybody seems so strong. I know they'll soon discover that I don't belong. (Casting Crowns, "Stained Glass Masquerade")

So, I stayed late at work to do some stuff. That turned into some random babysitting. No big deal, I get paid for it.

And, I'm playing on the computer. Google Blog Search. Looked for "caffeine" because I was dreaming about coffee at the time. Oddly enough, I apparently didn't read the news much today at work. Starbucks closed?? For hours? To train they're employees? Well.

Okay, so if you're like me and missed this until it was too late anyway, the story is that Starbucks stores--every Starbucks mind you--were closed for 3 hours this evening to spend time training their baristas. This is something I figured happened prior to them preparing my venti mocha lattes, but apparently that's not the case. At least, it appears to not be the case.

However, bravo to them. They've obviously noticed that they're falling behind somewhere along the way. I mean, people actually want to get coffee pushed by a donut shop (and these people aren't cops!) or from the local "Golden Arches."

Ooooo...have I mentioned I love going to McDonald's in the morning for coffee? I mean, now that they serve respectable coffee, it's nice to go anyway. BUT, the other morning, I discovered that when you order your large coffee and ask for 2 creams and 2 sugars, they'll put it in the cup and stir for you. Yum...drinking my coffee before leaving the parking lot? Wonderful...

Back to them other guys...

I kinda have a problem with Starbucks. I feel like there's some global take over thing in the works with them. Kind of like Wal-Mart. However, my bigger problem with them is that the closest one is 25 minutes away. I mean, it's good coffee, but I don't know that it's 25-mile coffee.

I've sat down to write here I can't tell you how many times in the last 3 weeks. I want to write. I want the catharsis..I want so badly to put words on paper. It's even worse knowing the words are there. They're in my head, in my heart.

They won't come out of my hands.

To be reasonable, I know I've been a little more A.D.D. lately. I open a post window, or a document, or a journal, and then the WonderDog squeaks at me. Or a bird flits past the window. Or my stomach grumbles. Most recently, the package of pre-fab chicken pot stickers in my fridge actually spoke my name. I heard them loud and clear. They said "Eat me..you know you want to. Eat me RIGHT NOW."

It turns out they were right. I just took them out of the pan.

However...I still don't find myself writing the things I want to write about. I'm writing about pot stickers, for cripes sake. I've figured it out, I think. I'm scared. And that's categorically ridiculous, for me.

I enjoy writing. I'm confident in my abilities. I firmly believe in an adage that R gave me years ago--when you have something to say, you don't have to get it right the first time, but you do have to start somewhere. I know I don't have to get it right here the first time, or the tenth time--that's what that beautiful "edit posts" link is about...I can edit it even after I've published it a dozen times.

I think I'm scared of what I'll discover. And that's wrong to me, too. I've been very good the last several years about being real with myself. Very good. (Again, thank you R.) However, I think I'm scared right now that I'll feel something. And I don't really want to this month. I've got too much going on. Is that strange?

Found a new thinking prompt. Apparently, I'm a little late in the game (this is week 262), but it's fun anyhow. It's all about free associations. Try it out *wink*

1. Score :: concert tickets (I just scored some free ones, teehee)


2. Luxurious :: socks


3. Party :: cocktail


4. Limited edition :: need more


5. Security :: measures


6. Betty :: Davis eyes


7. Under construction :: ugh..me


8. Pest :: my cereal (there were ants in my cereal box this morning)


9. director :: Oscar-status


10. Express :: cost (as in high cost of shipping)

For more thinking, try Unconscious Mutterings,

I recently read an article in the Houston Chronicle that talked about a project over at Smith magazine. Check out the "Six Word Memoirs" projects.

So..what's your life story? In six words..

I came. I saw. I loved.

I don't know, who am I?

Share it over at Smith..but share it here, too.