The Daily {W}rite December 2018 wk o1

Still sick a bit. David too. Not sure what's wrong with him. But if he misses going to the corner to watch the game . . . something is really wrong. Bush 41 died yesterday. very sad day. They showed a lot of clips of him back in the 80s. I loved him a lot because he refused to put the military in dangerous situations by NOT invading Iraq during Desert Storm. Bless you Mr. President . . . Oklahoma barely squeezed a win out of their performance against Texas Longhorns: OU-39, Texas-27.

Monday, December o3, 2o18

Last Friday night, Santa Claus was hit by a car as he and Mrs. Claus were on their way to see an OU's production of A Christmas Carol. It was a bit of a shock to hear it since Santa Claus (Aka, Donn Mason) is a friend, a mentor to me and a bunch of other OU drama students. Coopie too worked at OU and was a big, BIG part of my learning (very little) about costume construction. Anyway, what little I know about his injuries (which is nothing) he seems to be on the mend in Norman Regional Hospital. The guy who hit Santa while Santa and wifey were crossing the street in a crosswalk, with the right of way . . . well, he probably is feeling like crap right now. Good for him!

I mean to write yesterday, all day . . . but I didn't. I meant to get up early and write all day today . . . but I didn't. I'm using my advancing age as an excuse. the truth is . . . I just suck as an artist.

I was suppose to wake David up today and we were going to go sit in a coffee house and write and drank coffee for a few hours like all the great poets before us. "I'm too tired," David said when he answered my phone call at 11am, "call back in an hour." And I called beck at noon and the response was . . . "I'm stuck on a mountain in a dream . . ." which translates to, "I'm going back to bed."

I did get a poem out of David asking me to write poetry for a character ( The Poet) that I'm playing in his movie. I asked if I could use my own poetry, and David said sarcastically, "No, you gotta use fake poetry!" And that negative response prompted me to write: "This is a fake poem/written by a fake poet/from a a reality that's just as fake/as said poet and poem./You may say it can't be fake/because it does exists as does/the poet who may not be/a very good poet but/all the same is still a poet." More to come on the real/fake poem. [smiles}

Tuesday, December o4, 2o18 1:18am
These first days of December I haven't been in a writing mood. I'm having force myself to write . . . well . . . anything. But it's close to 1:30am and I will write . . . something . . . if not much. There's a slow steady rush of car tires passing by my window . . . and then gone . . . as if the sound was never there. I gotta get out of the apartment tomorrow . . . even if I can't get David to go out with me. I'm not mad about it. I know he doesn't feel well, and yeah, I've had some days too where all I wanted to do was stay asleep or just lay on the couch and watch TV. He does get out more than me . . . late at night he's out and about chasing Pokémon or listening to the bands that play the Deli.

Wednesday, December o5, 2o18 12:44am
It's a good thing that David called and said he was up yesterday and wanted to get to the store because I was planning to go out on the bike to fetch a few groceries and THAT would have been a big mistake because Yesterday . . . IT WAS COLD! And I'm saying that cold that just eats through every layer you're wearing and just sinks its icy teeth into your bones. And here it is after midnight and still cold, cold, cold!

10:10pm
Spent most of . . . okay, all day watching the 2nd season of The Handmaid's Tale and I am NOT sorry.

My wall heater has been on all day and barely does the apartment get warm enough for it to shut off. All day long I've been hearing the heater hissing its warm breath into the front room. It just struck me, its steamy voice sounds like the hiss of a Gila monster. Scary looking lizard. Keeps all its bodily wastes in its tail and releases all that "crap" through its mouth when it bits down on something. Yeah, I said it. Scary mofo is the Gila monster. 

Thursday, December o6, 2o18
A light wind outside. As it passes through the bare winter limbs of the elms that line Trout Ave., it makes the sound that tin foil makes when you crumble it in your hands. It's going to be a cold winter.

I've actually forced myself to write at least a small paragraph or two for this week's blog. I'm proud of my forcefulness of will that I conjured up and focused towards the angry gods of my own apathy. Hee! Silliness.

Friday, December o7, 2o18

1. Went to see Ralph Breaks the Internet. And though it is a very much a "kid" movie . . . me and David laughed . . . a lot. Well, produced, relevant and full of pop references. Good show.

2. Went to Walmart after the movie to pick-up a few things like batteries for my TV remote, my computer's mouse and . . . well, that's about it. I started to get tired, hard to breath so we cut the day short and I hurried home to use the nebulizer. I gotta get a rescue inhaler. This running home because I can't breathe . . . it's getting old.
3. We met a sweet girl working at the diner in The Warren named Xiggy (pronounced Ziggy). Always a surprise to find if you just walk out of the security of your apartment.
4. And so I'll say goodnight to this week's blog entries. Not much here, I think. But then again what do I know? Maybe I "accidently" said something profound with these words. Perhaps, something about myself that I didn't even know existed within me, perhaps I subconsciously told you something, whispered it to you through the computer, something so telling about what I am as a human thingy living and breathing in this . . . this particular fleshy existence. {thoughtful smile}