Guess how I’m feeling right now.

Snotty rat bastards.

I’m working on the second draft of my “Doug” story’s chapter 14(12).

Thick head isn’t making it any easier. 🙁

TonyEMilf.com

[2015.09.25] “The Bug”

Here I am again sitting on the train heading home. I cheat when it comes to getting on the train. I leave my work a couple of minutes before I should and speed walk past where everybody else I know gets onto the train and goes to the pickup immediately preceding the one the rest of my peers gets on at. I prefer sitting down and no it’s not because I’m lazy, but it’s because it is my primary writing time. Even now as I’m writing this it’s the morning after and I am heading back into work. So anyway there I was, getting myself comfortable and pulling out my little ASUS x205ta, I love this thing, and nestling it onto my lap when I happen to spot a little critter scurrying across the top of the hand rail on the seat row before me. The bug, which I can’t name of the top of my head, has a pentagon shaped back with one of the points extending out directly behind him. It kind of reminds me a knight’s shield strapped onto its back.

So there I am watching this guy go back and forth across the handle bar half a dozen times. The guy wasn’t entirely small either. I could say the size of his body alone was the size of a dime. Add some legs in and you get a decently sized creepy crawler.

With it being the end of the day, the train got full quickly. People were entering and exiting regularly and with my seat being near the door it was even more busy with people grabbing out for handles to help support themselves as they tried to maneuver with the train constantly moving between stops. I can’t tell you the number of times I almost say the little guy get squished unintentionally. I tried to shield the guy as best as I could by waiving to get people’s attention and then pointing at the bug. Most people, as would be expected, just ignored me thinking I was some sort of pest. Can’t say I blame them. I have seen the types of low life degenerates that ride this train day in and day out. Some of them are even people that don’t resemble me in the mirror.

At some point I lost track of the little guy, I was writing after all. I don’t know what happened to the little bugger, but I hope he got away to poop in somebodies food another day.

That’s 5 and a half gallons. Not nearly enough but glad to do my part. I have to admit i do on occasion take a second cookie to help balance out my good karma :p

TonyEMilf.com

[2015.09.21] “15 Minutes my Ass”

Word Count ~ 800

A few years ago a former boss of mine, who shall remain nameless, said, “anything is possible 15 minutes at a time.” That struck me as odd and has been rattling around in the back of my mind ever since. Well today I am ready to call that bullshit.

Wow, I know what you are thinking, it took me years to come up with my own opinion about something seems more than a bit weak. Hear me out. I still agree with the concept. I mean that insurmountable mound of obstruction can be moved if just a small amount of time is devoted to the project each and everyday. I am not arguing that. What I am arguing is that often it with more mental tasks that it can take the entire 15 minutes just to get into the groove.

My son, who just turned five, is a prime example of this. If he isn’t talking then I know something is off. He is sick or the house is on fire or Apophis is milliseconds from slamming into the Earth’s crust and wiping out all of humanity with it.

I’m just saying that some things require dedicated time and there is nothing that fifteen-minute chunks can do to alleviate them. Just this morning I recalled that I hadn’t cleaned the filter on my pool in a few months and was forced to setup a gmail calendar reminder for this upcoming Friday night so I wouldn’t plan on doing something else come Saturday morning. This project typically takes a half hour to forty-five minutes to clean all four filters and there is no flipping way I could just do one and then call it done for the housing unit contains all four units. When the housing is opened all four filters are exposed and you the entire system has to be taken offline. Writing, at least to me, is very similar. If I am going to get any of it done I can’t be bugged every fucking second I’m sitting there trying to let myself un-focus on this world and let my imagination loose.

The same goes for the cat barfs in my house. I never clean up the first barf I find for I know that within a few hours I will have six more to clean up. Once I get out my roll of paper towels and cleaning solutions, it’s not that hard to do them all in one fell swoop. To clean them up after the first one is futile. I have learned this lesson the hard way. I have as a manor of fact implemented a Henry Ford style of assembly line where once I’m focused on something I can knock out several all at once and then be done with it.

Another gripe I have with this is the lack of RAM in my skull. Some of you may get this but for those of you who don’t let me explain it the same way I do when I’m trying to explain how a computer works to a non-computer type person. Think of your kitchen. Think of yourself as the cook in the kitchen. Now are you a quick chef or are you kinda pokey slow. Your speed is what we call the CPU of the computer. Now picture you have a pantry in the kitchen. The size and depth of this pantry is how much permanent storage you have in your kitchen. Now let’s look at your counter space, you know how much room you have to work upon, this is the RAM of your system. If you have the counter space you can do a number of things all at once kinda of like multitasking. If you have but a postage stamps size area to which brew your coffee and burn your toast then you can only do one thing at a time. Think of the small area inside a motor-home kitchenette. This is my issue. I have very little mental RAM when it comes to projects. I can’t just drop one thing and then move on to the next right where I left off from before.

Now add in a child constantly tugging on your leg asking you child-like questions and acting completely helpless. You know stupid shit like, “Daddy can you bring me some water cause I forgot how to walk.” It really kinda knocks me out of any writing zone I was trying to cultivate. Now if I could just setup some Google calendar reminder system to feed my kids I might have a chance.

/End

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Save me, from your thoughts, I got enough of my own to worry about.

I recently read a quote online that said, “Never mind my browser history, I’m a writer and not a sociopath.” Truer words have never been spoken.

Ever since I was child I enjoyed sitting with the adults and listening in on their conversations. Call it what you will, a passion for knowledge, an osmosis transfer of wisdom, or whatever witty phrase you can come up with, I relished it.

My parents and their friends would talk about their antics and mishaps and I would listen. I don’t know how much of it was embellishment, and being so young I don’t know if I could have identified it as such even if it was pointed out to me. The world was to me was a mixture of both fear and awe. Listening to their stories would later on help steer me out of trouble as well as make sense of what was possible or even probable.

Today I sit once more on the train and I’m heading in to work. The passengers vary to some degree but not a great deal. Most people tend to work the same jobs for years at a time and so routines are established. Bob tries to sit near Jane and Skip is looking to hook up with rider, Samantha. Except Samantha only switched to this earlier train to avoid Dave who kept pestering her in getting a date. How do I know these things? I don’t really. You see these are the stories I make up in my head. In truth I don’t know Dick from Jane.

Except I do know some of it on a more personal basis. You see I am a writer and as such I study people and how they behave. Only some people catch me watching them and start to get the wrong idea. I have seen people go out of their way to avoid me thinking I was the “Dave” who was stalking them. I swear I’m not. I mean I enjoy looking at a pretty face as much as the next guy but I also look at the toothless shirtless and tattoo covered men.

In my younger days, before I picked up writing, I would go to the mall and sit just outside the food court, and watch people go by. In the case with teenagers, I watched them go by a good many times as they traversed up and down the mall trying to peacock their “look”.

So the next time you catch somebody glancing at you try not to let it go to your head.

As of this exact moment I am half watching a woman who is trashed out of her mind wobbling in her seat. She just dropped her cell phone and doesn’t seem to even realize it. I am also watching two other people who seem to have taken an interest in her dropped phone but are trying to stay cool about it. Well that ended well. She noticed her dropped phone and recovered it just before getting off the train. To bad I can’t say the same about her mind.

Hey I just noticed one of the men watching her has no right hand. Now that is interesting. My mind is going in circles trying to come up with that back-story. My god people watching can be a real hoot. He is wearing a button down shirt with only the top button being done. The rest of its length is wide open to peacock his abs.

The other person who was watching is a woman with a mountain bike. Her bikes anatomical structure has to contain a high percentage of DT (Duct Tape) as its second most common element. She has both her hands. Ah, I just caught sight of a waist strap pouch. Classy. I used to rock one of those back when I was much cooler. I’m kidding of course. Now I use cargo shorts to hold all my crap. She just got off the train as well. I don’t know her story but let me tell you everyone I’ve just seen has been deposited to my profile database and might be partially or entirely pulled out for further scrutiny and use.

Now as to me being the perv that rides the train and was only trying to hit on you by staring at you incessantly…I’m guilty. I just have a thing for toothless people.

End

Train phone finger pecking this.
I’ve plotted out a few chapters for my LWF story. I cleaned up first paragraph of Doug story chp 11. I hate not having internet at work to do my non work stuff like writing. I mean they have internet but its monitored and highly locked. Bastages. The local starbucks i would hit up during lunch closed so that leaves my shitty sprint network phone. The building also blocks cell towers so its not all sprint fault. I think i am needing a day to myself again.

It’s the next day and I’m at work.

…Quasi continuing from last night…

I haven’t done much in the sense of working on my books but to be honest i’m in a kind of blah mode about it at the moment. Don’t misunderstand me and think that I’m not writing at all, far from it. I’m just saying the stuff I’m writing is focused on other stuff. I have two TonyEMilf.com stories which I am in the process of editing right now. I am also participating in a kind of telephone game with an online group where we each write a 500 word piece and then rotate it to the next person where they try to recreate it. That won’t be ready for a number of weeks and I am anxious to see what they do with my original story.

If you happened to notice I bought the URL of TonyEMilf.com then you are a perceptive cookie 🙂

More to come…

Toot-blah-dills

It’s been a week since my last post. I need to put something up. This is that something. My wife should be home soon with dinner options from the store with the kids so I haven’t much time. I’ve been writing stuff but its been “other” stuff… they are home…got to go.

Yesterday I had my “Ying” moment of excitement by getting my first rejection letter. Yeah me 🙂

Last night, as I was attempting to help my daughter with her homework, I got a text from my mom. It was my “Yang” moment. My Mom informed me that my adoptive step-grandfather, who still lives next door to her, passed away. 🙁

He was 94.

I want to say more, and I will, but right now I’m just not focused enough.

It’s official now. I am a writer.