I tried the story thing. If I wasn’t writing at 11pm at night while IMing Chris, a college friend I haven’t spoken to in about a year, I might have turned it into something. As it is now, it’s nothing but an exercise in getting 1k words onto the computer. There’s something in there I wanted to tell but I didn’t get to tell it. It is a non-musing, however. Something I haven’t managed to do in a while outside of a few stray paragraphs. My hope is that I can write another story tomorrow. Maybe write the entire 2k word entry in story form. That would be groovier.
Another problem I’m having is my hands are hurting me. My right pinky in particular is causing me pain when I’m typing. I’ve stopped using it for tonight, but I’m worried about typing so much. I know it’s not so much the writing as the internet browsing and, even worse, the video game playing that’s causing these carpal tunnel-type symptoms. I’ll try to cut down on some of my useless browsing to ease the pain.
I picked up my mother at the airport tonight. And then there were three people in the Castle. Tomorrow afternoon Doolies arrives, making it four people sleeping in the Castle. A record as far as these things go. My sister Randy is officially a slob. I know I’m rather slobby, but I’m particular about my slobiness. If I am visiting someone (besides Doolies or Mom), I am very conscientious about not making a mess in their house. For example, say I wore sandals and poured white foot powder into my sandals. And then, let’s say, I went into my host’s car. I know I would never think of taking my powdered foot out of the sandals and putting it on top of the shiny black leather console. I also wouldn’t put that same powdered foot down on the black tiles around my generous host’s fireplace. These are all things I wouldn’t do.
My sister, being the youngest, does have an excuse. Birth order really does define certain characteristics. The oldest, when they are older, are usually orderly and clean—sometimes to a fault. My older sister Eileen color codes her children’s closets. Doolies, another first born, cannot stand being in a dirty house (something I take advantage). The youngest has the opposite problem. They are the slobs of the family spectrum when they grow into adulthood. Where Randy, when she was young, was an organized neat freak, as she left monsterhood, she fell into her expected role as the slob of the family. The same with Doolies’s family, where her younger sister Jennifer serves that role.
My wrists and fingers are killing me. I have around 500 more words to pound out before calling it a night. The weather here has been dreadfully hot. I had to turn on my A/C yesterday, and after I finish posting this, I’m heading downstairs to turn it on for tonight. It’s difficult to sleep in this heat.
With all this entertaining I’m doing for my family, it’s been difficult to set the time aside to write. Hopefully by next week, I can settle back into a routine where these 2k sessions don’t become never-ending marathons. It hasn’t been hard writing these words—it’s just been inconvenient because of time or hand pain. Yesterday I was too tired to write, and today I’m too tired and in pain. I’m hoping to find a better middle ground.
I’m running out of things to talk about. I should go down and edit the story I tried to write, flesh out the middle and the end, where I ran (I’m using the verb “run” too much tonight) out of energy to write, but I’m lazy and tired and in pain, and I know that’s not going to happen. It would have been fun, though.
The story was based on something that I did to Randy when we were growing up. When we drove to pick up my mother, she reminded me of it. I guess she has certain memories of how mean I was to her as a child. I do vaguely remember this incident. My memory makes me out to be the hero of the incident without explaining how exactly I am the hero. I used to do this to her a lot. I won’t ruin the story (since I’ve already ruined it below), but this was my ordinary course of action to take possession of my rightful place in front of the television.
I’m on the homestretch here. Only about 250 words and I can call it a night. I know that reading this has been rather painful. Doolies has the technique down to read these entries. She ctrl-F’s her name, and skims those parts before quickly closing the browser. It’s a good technique, and culls out the important parts. I can’t wait for her to get here tomorrow. I haven’t seen her in over a month, and I miss holding her. (Yes, I did write that last part so when she searches for her name she’ll find that sentence and buy me many gifts in the airport.)
That last paragraph was good enough to get me over the edge. Now it’s time to waste the last few words describing my progress and explaining how these description of my progress is furthering my progress enough to get me over my self-imposed goal for this tough evening. I’m now at 1,874 words. My caffeine today consisted of an espresso late in the day during dinner with Randy and my cousin Nancy. Espresso is a classier version of yummy caffeine. While it’s good—particularly the bottom of the diminutive cup—it doesn’t last long enough to satisfy my cravings. Maybe I should try a double espresso next time. That might be too strong for my tender belly.
That pushed me over the edge. I wish to thank the Academy for staying up so late with me tonight and allowing me to get this exercise over and done with. Of course, I could have used all this time and words to polish, no, actually write the story below, but that would have required more thought and attention than I was willing to expend. I’m beginning to think that Chuck was right, however. Perhaps it would have been less energy to write the story that bullshit for this many words. I’m running out of these bullshit comments. I’m soon going to have little choice but to write stories. I can’t wait.