Sunday, February 12, 2006
Stories To Tell
It drips out and over me. In the middle of the kitchen while grinding my coffee beans - my drink of choice; while I bend down to wash yet another bum; while I am forced to listen to another Barney video, the stories just bubble up and roll around my brain.
The time when I finally chose right which segues to the time that I stood up for myself and meanders to that time when I should have gone the other way which turns to that time when I should have punched that dirty old pervert in the nose and how about that time I went to Venice and vowed to go back with the One i luvy...and on and on and on it goes. In my case, I have learned to make the ending to my musings a sweet one: being grateful for where I am at right this moment because this is where I ought to be at this time in my life.
There's so many stories out there. Mine, Yours, Ours. It's all the same really. The only things that change are the character names and maybe different choices of drinks. But, hey, it's still a drink. It still goes down the same pipe and comes out the same hole. Some like it hot, some like it cold. Some like it in the pot nine days old.
So many stories to tell, so little time to tell them.
Yes, it hurts sometimes. These stories being locked up inside. Think constipation. Ahh. Now you get the idea.
That's why I write
Posted by The Ten O' Clock Habit at 2/12/2006 09:05:00 AM