Who am I? Who is me? If you’re reading this, the chances are high I don’t know you... in real life. Yes, a few people I know (IRL) follow my blog—my brother David, my friend Nancy, maybe some coworkers, Susan. Beyond that dear reader, you only know what I show you. I don’t hide much, … Continue reading Countdown to Deletion
Writing
Tumbling Dice
Cuz we zig and zag between good and badStumble and fall on right and wrongCuz the tumbling dice with the luck of the draw just lead us on I didn't buy it, this Camper Van Beethoven lyric—fate, luck, but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I. For thirty-five years I interpreted this lyric as faulty thinking. The wistful musings of a down-on-his-luck … Continue reading Tumbling Dice
I Can Ride That
I stress about what I write. Not the topics, but the word count, the frequency, the quality. I lie—I stress about the topics, too. I joined a writers' group on Facebook—Authors with Tourette Syndrome. “Authors.” Stretching? Aspirational? I'm more comfortable with the generic term writer. Author implies output, something published. That's not me, barely. I … Continue reading I Can Ride That
Book Launch
In January, I posted The Routine, a flash piece illustrating my teenage struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I initially wrote it a few years ago, but in January I gave it a heavy edit and submitted it to Through the Looking Glass: Reflecting on Madness and Chaos Within, an anthology of short nonfiction and poetry … Continue reading Book Launch
The Quiet Grace of Rosasharn Joad
Rosasharn: that’s a marble-mouth pronunciation of Rose of Sharon, the third or fourth oldest child of Ma and Pa Joad. Blessed with a beautiful name at birth, her whole family mangles it as if they've crammed a massive plug of tobacco in their mouth. Her age is unclear and hard to compare against her brother … Continue reading The Quiet Grace of Rosasharn Joad
Meat
Gasp. A running post! I can’t remember the last time I wrote about running. You know the adage—don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. No one wants to read me spewing venom about my slow mile-pace, the dwindling distance of my long-run, the way I feel like I’m suffocating three miles … Continue reading Meat
Killing Another
We crammed into Scott’s office, six or seven of us. Wasting time, shooting bull, gabbing. Shelly was there, Gerard, the other Scott—Scott Van-Something, the Irish one from Boston. Me too, obviously, and a couple of others, the normal crowd. The conversation ranged as it usually did, free-flowing, following unpredictable paths. Details are murky, this happened … Continue reading Killing Another
Blaiku
Blossom blizzards blowbelow blust'ry blissful blue,blanket blushing blooms.
The Wait
Every conversation is pretty much the same. “Mao?” *“Mao.” “Meow?”“Meow.” “Mew?”“Mew.” This goes on as long as I want. Tommy loves to talk. Typically, water is involved. He sits on the vanity at the edge of the sink, neck extended like a duck or a goose and rubs his head on the faucet, waiting for … Continue reading The Wait
A Plate of Shrimp
Suppose you're thinking about a plate of shrimp. Suddenly someone'll say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate of shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in looking for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconsciousness. -- From the 1984 cult-classic movie Repo Man. Today, the cosmic unconsciousness is clicking in … Continue reading A Plate of Shrimp
One Hit
Rosemerry wrote of regret. A taste of winning… once. Fleeting fame and a lifelong slide. One hit wonder. Wonder how my life turned out without that one big hit. Rosemerry wrote about choices. Decisions and consequences. Success or failure, which is worse? Sip the elixir now, it dries to sawdust in your throat. Rosemerry wrote … Continue reading One Hit
Beyond the Bottom
I still check the news twenty time a day. When I finish a task at work, a breaking-point. After a run. When I wake up, when I go to bed. When I head off to the loo. Sometimes I go to the bathroom simply to read the news. No prying eyes, no one counting my … Continue reading Beyond the Bottom
Motherless Brooklyn
His latest book is crap—in my mind anyway. Jonathan Lethem’s The Arrest takes place in the near future, some years after everything stops. You know, everything: electronics, motors, hydraulics, solar power, indoor plumbing. Amenities, creature comforts. It all stops, but you never learn why. Witchcraft is my guess. As good a reason as anything else. … Continue reading Motherless Brooklyn
Earworms
Heartbeat, why do you miss when my baby kisses me? Earworms, we all get them. I took a poll, once: Do you ever get a song stuck in your head? Everyone said yes. Well not everyone; I posted this on Facebook. Everyone would be three billion people. I posted it in my Tourette Syndrome group. … Continue reading Earworms
Too Much Thinking
Can you stand another post about insecurity? Someone must like these posts. I would. I feel relief when I see someone who is more neurotic than me. I get a small rush from comparing favorably. Last week I complained that no one reads my blog. This week, you guessed it, I’m read too much. It … Continue reading Too Much Thinking
Whatever, Whenever, Where Ever
Thirty years ago, my friends and I took an overnight camping trip. About twenty of us hiked from a roadside trailhead to the top of a smallish mountain in the Shenandoahs—the Virginia and West Virginia section of the Appalachian Mountains. Some of us wore metal-framed hiking backpacks, tent and sleeping bag lashed to the outside. … Continue reading Whatever, Whenever, Where Ever
On/Off Button
I wrote about this before, back when this blog was new. My first post here, the last thing I wrote for my book. Hi, I’m Jeff. “Wow, you sure have a lot of problems!” This was my former boss. She spoke with exclamation points. She ticked them off on her fingers: “Vision! Hearing! Tourettes! Face-blindness?” … Continue reading On/Off Button
*Normal* A story of change
“Jeffrey doesn’t like change.” My father said this (in my presence) to my mother as our family contemplated moving to a new state. I must have been twelve or thirteen years old. Prior to this, I was unaware of my aversion to change. Brief aside #1: Please don’t call me Jeffrey. My father is permitted … Continue reading *Normal* A story of change
Tommy & Me at 3:53
Seven, eight, lay them straight. Remember this nursery rhyme? Old-school, maybe no one under fifty-five has heard it. I didn’t until I started kindergarten in 1967. I lived in a progressive household. We laid them straight, gay, crooked or in a circle. Yes, this is the nonsense that ran through my brain at three-thirty this … Continue reading Tommy & Me at 3:53
Words Matter
I mean, ya gotta write about it. They’ll write about it for decades. Centuries? In 2253, second graders will still learn about the day the president told an angry mob to attack the U.S. Capitol. Of course, that won’t happen, humanity will be long gone. Baked and broiled in our ever-heating atmosphere. Only the cockroaches … Continue reading Words Matter
The Other Stuff 