The day started early and is about
to end. I had to get a few chores
done before writing this.
Make no mistake, chores are,
well, chores; but not writing.
Writing is a passion, a special
love, if you will. (Never tiresome;
the only mistress I have.)
But chores are important, too.
Especially if one you love makes
the requests. The morning just
We had our usual Monday coffee
and breakfast early. I sat down to
“work” but I was too easily
distracted. I decided to go in and
What happened? I didn’t study,
I didn’t do a chore or write. On
days like this when I’m so
distracted, I chalk it up to
“admin” in my head to justify
that 11:00 came so quickly and
my task list will out live me.
She ran an errand. I made two
skinny ham sandwiches. Two
paper-thin slices of ham on
each and one ultra-thin slice
of provolone on each. Meat
content was only 2 3/4 oz.
Two green olives, hot tea, glass
of water, humongous vitamin C,
and two Echinacea. And my
study book that I didn’t do earlier.
So, there I sat at 13:30 with
nineteen tasks on my list.
Ridiculous. (I did it to myself.)
So, I knocked out chore number
one making two forms in Google
Docs in no time. Piece of cake!
Chore number two: Put the
fire pit together that has been
sitting in the garage since we
bought it last winter. (Grand
kids are coming!)
All the parts and me are on
the floor. You can say it in any
language you like, but if it is
made you-know-where, you can
bet something won’t fit or work.
M6 x 10 mm Bolt (x 16)
Boulon M6 de 10 mm (x 16)
Perno M6 x 10 mm (x 16)
Four out of the sixteen bolts
wouldn’t screw in. Two holes in
two brackets are stripped. Will I
return the whole unit? Heck no.
Day is shot. Good day, though.
My other tasks and writing will
be there tomorrow. So will a trip
to a hardware store and a quick
No one will see the different nuts
and bolts under the fire pit. (Only
you and I will know.)
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)