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I keep a journal of sorts. It’s a sort of catch-all affair that I recently discovered is actually called a commonplace book. Apparently, keeping a commonplace book is an old-school tradition from way back when. Seriously. Who knew I could be traditional, even ignorantly? Anyway, none of that is the point. For some reason, I started describing certain situations this week in the same style as if I was writing fiction. Here are a few of the more interesting entries.

… Like so many ventures, I began optimistic. Yet, within minutes, I found myself wet to the elbows, late, and shouting at myself out in the garage. The smell of dog piss rose to my nostrils. I was barely successful…

… My guest never arrived, and that was fine with me. Why do I always invite other people to join me when I just want to be alone? The night passed slowly. Thankfully, the battery ran out and I had no replacement. I was saved from having to work late…

… In a sense, I lost consciousness. I was awake, aware of the world in the barest sense, and still in possession of all five of my senses. But my thoughts had gone completely to color. I do not mean that I was thinking in color pictures as opposed to black and white. I mean that the entire sum of my cognitive process was orange, white, indigo, orange, white, indigo, repeated infinitely in long, thin, horizontal stripes…

…We come in from the cold like leaves blown along by the wind. All of us, essentially strangers to each other, chat merrily as we never have in fairer weather. I need this. I’ve spent too much time thinking over the last few days. Today, I did everything I could to avoid being alone with my thoughts…



One thought on “Clippings

  1. glad to pass on the dog piss, was the stripes on my floor on Thanksgiving?

    Posted by Janet | 12/01/2011, 9:26 am

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