No Pictures Please...

"Why do guys do that? Eeeww..." Janine passed her phone over to Evelyn.

"No! Eeeewww! I don't want to see that!" Evelyn put the phone screen-side down knowing exactly what Janine was going to show her.

"See what?" Greg sat down at the table with a round of drinks for everyone.

Evelyn passed him Janine's phone, "You asked..."

"Oh Holy Shit! Why are you showing me that?"

"Because you asked."

"No! I didn't ask to see that! I asked what you didn't want to see. That's not the same as saying show me some dude's dick!"

Janine took her phone back and deleted the photo, "Now you know how I felt when I opened my messages." She tapped a few instructions into her phone, "And blocked."

Evelyn started to laugh, "Cock blocked! Literally."

"There are guys who actually do that? Just send an unsolicited dick pic? I always thought it was some sort of joke." Greg still had an odd expression frozen on his face.

"It is some sort of joke, but they still do it. It's the worst. It's why I stopped using those online dating apps. More dicks than you could shake a stick at." Evelyn said.

"Was that what it was from? Online dating?" Greg was curious now.

"Actually, no. This was a friend request on Facebook. I guess he thought that would encourage me?"

Evelyn shook her head. "It's just so weird. I mean even a dick pic from someone whose dick you are seeing socially is weird. Disconnected from sex, it's not sexy."

"Even during sexting?" Greg asked.

"You sext?" Now it was Janine's turn to be curious.

"Well I have. But now I'm thinking it wasn't such a good idea."

"Don't get me wrong, if you are both in to it and feeling it, it can be very sexy, in the moment. But as soon as you are, let's say, more composed, it's weird. It's like when texts get leaked to the press or letters or whatever. If it's not your sexy talk it's weird. Sex is weird if you are not the one having sex anyway, let alone via sexting or Skype or whatever."

"OH my god! Do you remember Prince Charles and Camilla?" Janine started laughing. She and Evelyn had been kids when those letters had been leaked to the public and they had spent hours laughing about them.

"I want to be your tampon..." Evelyn started laughing.

"What? I want to be your tampon?" Greg's face went right back to the horrified expression.

"Yeah, see? To them I am sure it was very sexy. To everyone else? Eeeww..."

"Do you think he sent her a picture of his dick?" Evelyn was off and running, "I mean he would have had to sit for a royal portrait so it would have been a little fancier. An oil painting of his dick maybe."

"Stop! Oh no! Just stop!"

"The Royal Wee Wee."

The girls were doubled over laughing. Greg just shook his head. "Are you two done?"

"Yeah, give me a second." Evelyn sniffed a bit, "Okay, yeah. I'm done."

"Now, back to the picture. Do you get these a lot?"

"Not a lot. Sometimes. Usually if I've posted on something public. There are some weirdos out there that get off sending you a shot like that. I report them, block them, and delete them."

"You report them? To who?"

"Facebook. Sending me a picture of your dick is just as bad as flashing me on the street. I mean, if they did it to me they do it to everyone. Imagine some 13 year old girl opening her email to that? It's not okay. Not even a little bit. At least for me I can be horrified but not put off of men for the rest of my life."

"How about you, Evelyn, do you get them too?"

"I have. I don't get a lot though. I have my privacy settings really high so you can't just send me a message without being a friend of mine. Now. Because I got a few dick pics early on and just wasn't down for the surprise erection."

"Surprise erection...sounds like middle school." Greg shook his head while the girls laughed again. "So you are anti-sexting then, Evelyn?"

"No, not necessarily, I'm just saying it's a bit ridiculous once you've cooled off. Even with someone who you are sleeping with regularly. You can find them irresistible and do some phone play things and then look back the next day when the wine and the hormones have faded and think...oh no...why?"

Janine looked around the bar, "Okay, I have the BEST story, but you cannot ever repeat it! Swear?"

Evelyn and Greg both leaned in closer to her, "Swear!"

"So do you remember that woman Graciella who worked for my company a few years ago?"

"Umm, tall red head with the green eyes that looked like emeralds? I might have noticed her." Greg smiled.

"Yeah, her. Okay so she was dating one of the salesmen, Austin I think his name was...anyway he was always travelling and she was always travelling so they only saw each other like once a month. But they 'kept in touch' pretty consistently, if you are following."

"Well since we are talking about sexting, I think we are following." Evelyn said.

"Okay, so anyway...one Friday she gets in to the office, she always got in early ahead of everyone else if she was in town. She kept to an East Coast time zone all the time, even when she was out on the West Coast with us. So anyway, she gets in starts up a computer and punches in her voice mail puts it on speaker phone so she can hear her messages while she starts the coffee. Then over the speaker she hears Austin, he's left her a message. He's in Australia on a trip and feeling a little frisky but knows she would be asleep so he didn't call her and wake her up. He thought it would be fun to leave her a message of him, ummm, thinking about her."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes. I mean oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. Which would have been weird on it's own right? But...as Graciella was standing in the kitchen hearing it she was staring at the coffee pot which was not empty, but already had half of a brewed pot. That's when she realized that our boss had come in early to take a conference call with China."

"OH NO!"

"Yep. She raced back to the desk and stopped it and deleted it and he never said a word, but he had to have heard it, it wasn't that big of a space and she had the volume up so she could hear her messages in the kitchen. Can you even imagine?"

Evelyn started laughing so hard she was gasping for air, "I totally can! Oh my god! What did Austin say?"

"I don't know if she ever told him. They broke up a few months later and he changed companies, so maybe? I mean I would, for sure, leave a company after something like that!"

Greg shook his head, "Dick pics and orgasmic voice mails. Your lives are much more exciting than mine."

"Hey! It wasn't my voice mail! I just heard about it during Graciella's drunken good bye party."

"Oh I love a round of drunken true confessions when people are leaving the company. BEST."

"Again, your lives are much more exciting than mine. We usually all get them a card and maybe a good bye cake."

"Next time bring beer. It's more entertaining. Just, no pictures!"

They all laughed again, "No pictures!"

Placeholder...

I was going to write a fiction piece today but my head got sidetracked. I will probably write the piece tomorrow because it's still buzzing around in there but other things are battling for space and they aren't compatible things. So instead I'll write a quick thing about those things and leave the other thing for tomorrow's thing...thing...thing...thing...

Talking online with a friend today about how nice it is to discover new things about our kids after reading her daughter's blog. I've written before about all of the things I thought C would be and none of them were what he ended up being. I've also talked about how great it was when he first started having ideas that were obviously his. Not parroted from us or from teachers at school or even from friends but from listening to the world around him and coming up with his own unique take. When you raise a thinker you know you've done a good job.

One of the things my friend said about her daughter was that she marched to the beat of her own drummer. I, of course, think this a really good thing. Not just because I have my own personal percussion section in my head, but because if you march to someone else's drum beat you will only march to places they want you to go. It's the ones that hear their own music that venture off the path and discover new things. Cami is listening to a totally different band right now. If you want to check out her blog it's right here.

Then the other thing that took over my head was the death of a friend's mother. She's young so her mother couldn't have been too old. It doesn't sound like it was expected. My friend is understandably devastated. Brent and I have talked about this a lot. Is it better to be prepared and expecting it or to be surprised by it? His father died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack. My father also died from a heart attack but he had been ill for years. Jack was only 58 and my father was in his 80s. Neither one was easy. Just hard in different ways. Losing a parent, even as an adult, is really difficult.

These things made me think of how we view ourselves through the lenses of  our children and our parents. Both sides shaped who we are today. Both made profound differences in our worlds and how we view them. Just one was the foundation we built from and the other was what was built on the foundation we provided. Layer after layer of people forming us, shaping us, surprising us, defining us. I rebelled. I worked hard to not give C a reason to rebel. To break off? To be his own person? Sure, absolutely. But to reject what I tried to teach him? No. I didn't want that. Just as I'm sure my parents weren't happy with my rejection either. But they had a group of us, so one black sheep isn't too bad of a record really.

We are closing in on the anniversary of Dad's death and it's always a time for reflection for me. I think of him, naturally, but I also think of how I want to be remembered. What is important? What lasts? What have I taught C that will stay with him even after I've gone? And is it what I hoped it would be?

My dad taught me to tell a story. And if you can, make it funny. I wonder if he would have thought that was the most important thing he could have taught me? I mean, don't get me wrong, he also instilled a really strong work ethic. When I worked. But my mother also instilled a really strong sense of don't work forever in me. So I got both of them. When I do work I really need to be the best, but I don't have to work to feel complete. So would he have been disappointed that I choose not to work now? As most of you know my dad was religious. Elder in the church and the whole bit. And as you all know I am not. So I think he was probably disappointed in that. But then I wonder how much. Because one of the things I discovered about my dad after he died was that he was baptized on the day my parents got married. It was important to my mother that he be of the same religion. And my mother was the most important thing in the world to my father. So I wonder how much he was upset that I wasn't religious vs. upset that I let Mom down.

Then I look at the things that I most want C to get from me. I want him to view the world as a happy experience. Sometimes that's really hard to do, but man, if there was one thing I could give him it would be the ability to find joy in every day. To be truly happy. I want him to work hard enough to be as successful as fulfills him. I hope he finds someone to share his life with that is nice to him. But it's not that important to me that he finds a partner, if he is happy solo then that's what matters. But if he finds he wants to have a wife then I just want her to be nice to him. I know too many people whose spouses are not kind to them and it's a miserable existence. But what have I truly taught him? Probably how to be a smart ass and shout at the TV.

We don't get to choose what we teach our kids. Just like our parents didn't get to choose what they taught us. Not really. We can model behavior, we can try, we can lead and hope they follow, but they are going to find their own drummers and their own paths. Just like we did.

And we will miss them as the leave to find their own lives And we will miss our parents when they leave this life all together. And the beat goes on...

Can't Think of a Catchy Title...

"I would disagree with that. I think you are a genuinely nice person, with a very low tolerance for bullshit." Brent Saturday night.

I don't remember what we were talking about exactly but right before that I had said something about not being a nice person and that was Brent's response.

Fast forward to Sunday as we were watching Meet the Press and I was yelling at the TV over and over again, "YOU KNOW THAT'S WRONG! YOU HAVE TO KNOW THAT'S WRONG! YOU ARE THE FUCKING HEAD OF THE EPA I CANNOT POSSIBLY KNOW MORE THAN YOU!" And I thought, Brent has a very high tolerance for my low tolerance.

Because trust me when I tell you, you all get a watered down version of me. Even if you read my blog, and follow my status updates, you aren't getting the full force of what happens when I think someone is full of shit. Brent sees it. C sees it. They argue or agree appropriately but they get the full brunt of it. Well them and the TV, of course.

What happens here and on Facebook and even in conversations with people who don't have to love me because they married me or I gave birth to them is that I polish. I back space. I weigh. I consider if you can handle what I'm about to say. And most of the time that makes for a better more open discussion than me yelling at you that you are so fucking full of shit it's amazing that Cousin Eddie isn't emptying you into the street drain...

(deep breath)

But it's still filtered. Usually. Sometimes the filter falls off. A few years ago I was having an online conversation with a conservative friend of mine who wrote something that made me realize they were a birther. And that was my response, "Oh you are a birther." Which made them ask what I meant by that and for some reason I filter free told them. "It means that no matter what from now on I will know that you are a birther. That no matter how well reasoned my argument is, no matter what facts you are presented with, no matter how ridiculous your stance is you will hold it because facts and logic don't mean anything to you." He responded that he now knew that I was judgmental and he was surprised that I didn't call him racist. Which I said, "Well that's pretty much implied in the birther argument so I didn't have to call you racist, you called it yourself."

He didn't defriend me that day, it took him about 3 which I assumed was the amount of time he stewed on the fact that I called him an ignorant racist before he couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't defriend him right away because I called him an ignorant racist and at that point expected the trash to take itself out. Which it did.

The good thing about low tolerance for bullshit is that it gives me lots of blog posts. Ranty ones, but posts. The bad thing about low tolerance for bullshit is that it gets in the way of fiction writing when my head is full of "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" moments. The good thing is that it keeps me honest. I even recognize my own bullshit most of the time.

When you start to give someone a pass because you agree with them that you would never give someone you disagree with the same pass? That's bullshit and it's actually fairly rare for me, I do get people who want to say I do it more than I really do. But I show them where it's different. Where the examples they are trying to use as the same aren't the same at all. The differences are important. It's not that I'm being a hypocrite it's that you aren't using good examples. Be smarter. (And then I wait for them to unfriend me because I did just call them stupid.)


But honestly, be smarter. I get it, I read about more issues than most people do just because I have more time to do so. If I see something quoted that rings false to me I do a little research. I discount partisan sites from both sides when doing that research, by the way. So if you want me to see your brilliant proof and it's the same article posted on 5 different conservative blogs with absolutely nothing else out there, it's bullshit. The same thing if it's a liberal ideology and you can't show my anyplace that it's talked about that isn't a propaganda machine. Bullshit is bullshit. No matter how much you want it to be true.

I've railed for years about this, but do some fact checking before you post something. Question the things that REALLY ring true to you as much as you do the things that REALLY ring false. Use past experience to judge current posts. For instance if the source has proven to be dishonest multiple times in the past you probably shouldn't be surprised if they are lying now. (See Trump's Twitter)

Yeah, he lies. You know he lies. He lies a lot. By bald faced lies or just manipulating the truth lies. He misrepresented what the Mayor of London said just to try and make a political point of some sort. I'm not sure what the point was he was trying to make because all I got out of it was him looking like an asshole and being embarrassed that this is who we have representing us...but you know...some point was being made. And it's horrific that he lies. Because we have people in this country who believe him just because he's the president. Not that they believed that other guy when he was president because you know...reasons...but now they want us all to believe Trump because he's president.

And to that I say, bullshit.

Stories...

Brent and I went out early today to walk through the Japanese Gardens and since we were over there we walked through the Rose Gardens as well. While we were there we saw someone doing a photo shoot. She was wearing a Belle gown and posing with the roses. As you all know as far as the "good guys" go Belle is my favorite. She's the one I identify with the most. For the good guys...

So part of me was thrilled to see a Belle with the roses. Then she started complaining to her photographer about things. Dresses she needed to borrow for other shoots, the fact that it wasn't as sunny as she would have liked, that it was a little uncomfortable...I tsked and told Brent, "she's not Belle." Later they were finished about the same time as we were and we ended up walking behind them on the way out. She had an ornate Peter Pan tattoo on her back. Oh...that explains it. You aren't Belle, you're Tinker Bell. Gotcha. Brent and I had a discussion on the many failings of Tinker Bell, I say discussion but it's really Brent listening patiently while I rant about how awful Tink is. Then we discussed how Maleficent could totally take her and went on with the day.

Then later when we were driving home from coffee I told him I needed to figure out what to write about for today. I could write about the London attack last night and our president's dumbfounding response, but it's a lovely day and we are doing lovely things and I really don't want to give him any head space. Brent suggested I write about what I wrote about yesterday, and well, I already did. Then he said, "Write about how much you are enjoying American Gods" and I thought about it and yes! That's it!

So back to the scene in the garden. Why did it bug me so much that the woman in the Belle dress was whining and bitching and didn't even have a fucking book with her? Well...because for that woman Belle is a dress up character, for me Belle is a story. A full on story. She represents things to me that haven't ever even been depicted exactly. Just the feel and form and shape of her. Her story is important to me. Beauty and the Beast MEANS something to me.

Same thing with Maleficent. She represents something to me that is much bigger than her role in Sleeping Beauty really should signify. She is important to me. Her story has become part of my story. Belle and Maleficent, anyone who knows me well knows that those are my two Disney characters for myself. If you really know me you know why I sobbed at Toy Story 3 and why Up! will always make me melancholy and filled with heartbreaking joy at the same time. The stories are important to me.

American Gods is another one. It was my third Gaiman book. Good Omens was first. It was recommended after I told someone how much I loved Lamb. After Good Omens I actually read Anansi Boys first, even though it's a continuation of the American Gods universe but it was in the sale stack by the register and I thought, oh this is the guy that wrote Good Omens with Pratchett, let's see. And away I went. Gaiman is important to me. His stories mean something to me. American Gods and Anansi Boys on a totally different level though. Being agnostic, being raised evangelical, leaning toward atheist but never being able to completely take that step, religions fascinate me. The stories. They are so important people live their lives by the rules of the author. People are horrific and wonderful and giving and selfish and all of it justified by their stories. I love that. And at times I hate it as well. But as a writer it feeds a piece of my soul. Someone created these stories and they were good enough that they delivered belief. Deep belief. Behavior changing belief. And for some of you I am treading on blasphemy right now, but that's the way I view them all. They are all stories. Parables if it makes you feel better. And American Gods explores what happens to the gods when the belief fades. Where do they go? What do they do?

Later today we will go see Wonder Woman. I posted last week that I've been calling it by the full title, Wonder Woman, Please be Good, Please be Good, Please be Good. And it's not really a joke. That's what I've been chanting ever since it was announced. Her brief cameo in BvS gave me hope. She was the best part of that movie. It's important to me that her story is told well. It doesn't have to follow any of the old story lines from when I was a kid, it doesn't have to hold true to what I think of as Diana's back story. It doesn't have to do any of that, it just has to be good. She needs to be strong. She needs to be independent. She needs to be courageous. She needs to kick ass. Please. Just please be good. Because her story is important to me. She is important to a lot of little girls masquerading as grown women. I am incapable of putting on cuff bracelets without pretending to block bullets. I can hear the theme song from the 70s show in my head and will always be disappointed I cannot change clothes just by spinning fast. All of those things mean something to me, but what they really mean is that SHE was. SHE was there. A hero who I could aspire to be. For a geek girl there aren't as many options. But SHE was always there. And there are legit arguments over who would win in a fight between her and Superman. My money is on her. Demi God vs. Alien? I'm betting on the Demi God.

The stories of life are our lives. The things we find that we identify with. The tales we tell ourselves to help us lead better lives. Whether it's a religion, or a fable, or just a "let me tell you this real quick" thing. The stories are important.

Our stories are important.

Keep living your best story.

Keep sharing your best tales.

And keep loving the stories that shape you.

No matter the cuffs...pew...pew...pew...

Reflection...

I won't be headed downtown tomorrow. I hope a lot of people also stay home. There are two sides out there looking for a fight and I wish people would stop giving it to them.

There is a rally called the "Trump Free Speech Rally" that will be held in one of our downtown parks. Which isn't a big deal. The problem is that it's not a free speech rally. It's a facade for a fight. The Alt-Knights, The Proud Boys, The Based Stickman and his ilk are all going to be there itching for a fight. And the ANTIFA assholes are ready and willing to give it to them.

All of this comes on the heels of two people being murdered and one seriously injured last week while standing up to shield two young women from being harassed by a "patriot" on the MAX train. I used that word on purpose, just like I put it in quotes on purpose. More and more lately when you see a run of the mill Joe off the street who calls himself a "patriot" what he really means is nationalist and then you can can take a not insignificant portion of those and just go ahead and add white to his nationalist. And those are the people who are converging on the park tomorrow for their "Free Speech" rally. See, they wrap their hatred and white supremacist and sexist views in the cloak of free speech and how they are fighting for the Right.

And it is free speech. It's all protected. As long as it isn't an actually call to violence it's legal. It's not right, or I guess it is Alt-Right, but it's not correct. It shouldn't be okay. It's not what we should be celebrating. But it's protected speech.

Which brings us then to ANTIFA. They might as well have a cheesy 80s movie announcer guy everywhere they go..."Because sometimes to defeat a fascist....you have to BECOME a fascist." Though they are more anarchist in nature. They don't want rules, man...they just want to burn shit. They are wrapping themselves in the mantel of "protecting the vulnerable" and using that to pick fights with the Right.

Neither side is helping. They are both lending themselves to the divide. But if it bleeds it leads so it will be all over the news. And the left will point to the assholes on the right and say SEE HOW THEY ARE?? And the right will point to the assholes on the left and say SEE HOW THEY ARE?? And the world will keep spinning. Crooked, wobbly, not really stable feeling, but spinning.

I lean left. There is no secret there. I have leaned left for most of my life. And I hate ANTIFA. Cannot stand them. Call them out all the time. Point out how they distract from messages that actually need to get out. Drown out stories that actually need to be told. Make people on the Right feel like their own hate monger groups are actually justified.

Which is what happens. We take sides and start to make it "okay" if the people who identify like us do it. The Alt-Knights went down to Berkeley and Based Stickman bashed protesters with his bat because they had left him no choice, don't you know. When you bring up his record, when you talk about how most of these guys have been in jail, you get told that doesn't matter. Really? Like when an unarmed black man is killed for selling loose cigarettes how his record didn't matter? Or is that different?

See? We take sides.

Jesse Jackson was in town yesterday. I have a lot of conservative friends who roll their eyes at that. Call him a race baiter. How dare he show up to stir the pot! Well...how about how dare a white supremacist shout racial slurs and kill people? How about that pot has already been stirred. How about the fact that we had video of this guy because he was at the last "Free Speech" rally this group put together. He was the one wrapped in the flag giving the Nazi salute. And sure, they want to disavow him, he voted for Bernie for goodness sake, he's not one of ours! Well, he wasn't out there yelling about free college, so yeah, he's one of yours. You gave him something to hate. You gave him something to focus on. Oh, and while you are distancing yourself from the murderer at your rally, want to know what that old race baiter Jackson said? He said, "Stay home. Don't give them a fight." What a jerk right?

Colin Kaepernick kneels during the anthem to call attention to a race problem in our country and he is BLASTED, there isn't a race problem! It's only people on the left who keep using that as an excuse! LeBron James gets a racial slur painted on his house and you are SHOCKED that something like this could happen. Really? How? There were two nooses found in the Smithsonian Museum of African American History in the past few weeks. Are you shocked there too? How about the white supremacist that ran over the kid in Gresham last year? Did that one shock you? The people protesting to keep the Confederate statues? Is that shocking to you as well? How often are you going to be shocked?

Talking about a problem doesn't make you the problem. Racism in our country is not a case of he who smelt it dealt it. We've just all gotten used to the stink is the problem.

Why do you think there is a large and vocal group on the Right who always want to talk about how the demographics are changing and how this is a problem? If we didn't have a race problem, if we didn't treat minorities differently than we do the white majority why are you concerned that you will be the minority in 30 years? If we really did treat all men equally then it wouldn't matter, right? But it does matter. They are afraid of it. They do think maybe there is something that needs to happen to prevent it. Why? Because they know if they are treated the way they treat minorities right now their lives wouldn't be better.

Portland is a very liberal city. In a state with an incredibly deep and pervasive racist history. A lot of people are just learning about it now. This latest hate crime brought out the stories. The history and the present. It's very white up here. Where I live is becoming more and more diverse but it's Indian and Chinese diversity. Diverse, but different. Downtown? Really white. Vancouver? Really white. It doesn't matter is what I get told a lot. If you are noticing you are the racist. Well, if you aren't noticing why? Why is it totally normal to you that everyone looks the same? That's weird for a melting pot country, don't you think? Color blind is a stupid concept. It just means blind most of the time. You have to be able to see the differences to understand how people are treated differently.

Flags are flying at half staff all weekend in honor of the men that died last Friday. Their funerals are being held this weekend. Mourn them. Celebrate them. The Republican Veteran and the Liberal Hippy Kid. Look to them for inspiration.

 But stay away from the "Rally" and the "Protest." Let those assholes march by themselves. Don't give them the fight they so desperately want. Don't.

And for fuck's sake, start calling it out on both sides. Stop justifying it from one or the other. Wrong is wrong. Call it out. Stop it in it's tracks.

It shouldn't be this fucking hard.

Prompted writing...

Okay, this piece is from a writer's prompt. I had a small fiction piece I worked on for Dana that goes with a much bigger story but needed something for the blog for today. Originally I was going to write a ranty thing but I decided to make that much shorter and post it as a status update and do some fiction. I really do love to write fiction. And short fiction is my favorite.

But...

I had no ideas for another piece. So off to the interwebs to look for prompts. This one came from a site that was called something like "writing prompts that aren't lame" it made me laugh so I went and looked. And some of them were really cool prompts. Random collections of words that you would have to fit in to a story, that sort of thing. But the thing that makes a good prompt is that it actually prompts something. It triggers a story. It gets you going. This one gave me a little brain buzz.

But...

I had no idea what the story was. None. I just really liked the prompt. It led to a second sentence and then BOOM! off to the races! So here you go... The prompt is the first line of the story.



Pancakes

Even though Jake ate the last of the pancakes Leonard couldn't find it in himself to get worked up about it. Which was really odd because Leonard liked pancakes more than he did most people; especially Jake.

But today he just couldn't be bothered. Or maybe it was more accurate to say he was so bothered that he didn't have room for anything else. He had woken up to his phone vibrating with the latest news alert. The number of "breaking news" news alerts he had received lately had made him pretty much numb to them all, but this one was different. Austin had fallen. He had hoped his home town would hold out longer. He knew logically that it wouldn't be able to hold out forever, but he still had hoped and even wished in the protected part of his heart that it might prove him wrong. But it didn't. Austin was no longer going to be kept weird. No more technicolor concerts, just beige and bland like the rest of the fallen.

Like the dust bowl of old it had started small and just spread. Beige. Not even black and white which they could think of as retro or artistic maybe...but no, just beige. Spreading like the world's blandest disease. Which it really was.

Beige. The United States of Beige. All of the life and color draining out of the country. Like someone had opened a cork in Oklahoma and the color was swirling down the drain. Spreading in a whirlpool outward. Pockets resisted. Kansas City held out for a surprisingly long time. But eventually the BBQ turned to sawdust in your mouth and the grass really did become greener on the other side. People looked like they were dying of a mysterious disease. But they didn't even care. That was the problem with the beige, it sucked everything away with it when it came. The color on the surface was just what you noticed, but the colors of your soul went with it. Everyone the same. Bland. Blah. Beige.

Anyone who could leave already had. People who saw first that it was spreading and had the means to escape did. But that was before the rest of the world slammed their borders shut. Which was ironic. The United States finally got that wall that long ago foot note president had campaigned for. Just instead of keeping out the brown people, it was keeping in the beige ones.

So he had a lot on his mind when Jake took the last of the pancakes. Blueberry pancakes, in case you were wondering. They still had color out here on the coast. Still had flavor. But he wasn't sure for how long. Which was another reason why he should have been more upset about the pancakes. Who knew how much longer food would taste like food and not just like nothing? Who knew how long the blueberries would be blueberries and not beige berries? But he still hadn't been able to find it in himself to get upset.

Which worried him. Was this the first sign? Had it started? No, it couldn't be, he was just tired. You can only live in fear for so long before it exhausts you. But he checked his arms to make sure they were still fish belly white. He didn't get out in the sun much. When the beige did come for him it was going to be the darkest tan he'd ever had. Which he had found funny the first time he thought about it. Now he wasn't laughing.

Jake wasn't worried. "If it happens it happens. It's not like they even remember what it was like to live in color. They aren't upset. It's just the people worrying that are upset. If the beige gets you then you just, you know, go beige."

Jake was not what you would call a deep thinker.

Leonard had tried not worrying for awhile. His girlfriend tried to convince him that if the beige was coming they needed to live every moment fully. To embrace all of the colors right now before it was too late. He had agreed right until he realized that by "embrace all of the colors" she meant sleep with her co-worker Dan. He had wished for her to be taken by the beige that night. He wasn't proud of it, but it didn't change anything.

But now Austin had fallen. His college friends were gone. The English teacher who had taught him to question not just what the author wrote, but what they left out to really understand the story he was being told, he would never question anything again. The bright red front door of his house. His parents...

It was all gone. They were all gone. He had checked after he got the news alert. He had texted his mother to see if she was okay. Her response was she was okay. They were all okay. Everything was okay. She was on her way to her job which was okay and she would do her okay work and then make okay dinner. Okay.

The beige. It was all okay.

Nobody knew how it started. Nobody knew how to stop it. Anyone who tried to research it lasted a few hours before they faded away and just didn't care anymore. They didn't even know exactly how it was spreading. Except outward and constantly. It seemed to slow down when winter came, but more than made up for it during spring thaw. It hadn't stopped spreading, it had just gone underground. When the snow melted it rose to the surface and covered everything that had been white with beige.

Leonard needed to get to work. As he passed by the kitchen he wished there had been one more pancake left to grab on his way out the door.  He breathed a sigh of relief, he was still him.

He really did love pancakes.

Maniacal Writing...

So I've talked before about working with Dana to get me writing again. And for the most part it's worked. I HATE having a goal or a deadline hanging out there that I'm not meeting, even if it's just a made up, no consequences thing. I'm what you call goal oriented...

Except when I'm not. Like all of last year.

But anyway...

For the most part if you hold out a shiny star I am going to reach for it. 

But now I need more stars. Not like I'm a junkie and looking for a star fix, but I need to push myself a little harder. I've gotten comfortable in this groove. Even when I've had writers block up until Friday at noon I've been able to pull something out to send. Not always good things, but something.

But that sort of lurching from deadline to deadline writing isn't good either.

I need to get back to writing daily. Sitting down and writing SOMETHING every day. Fiction or non-fiction. But something. It's my go to trick for blowing out the cobwebs.

So I was considering doing a blog a day thing again. But we are out of town one weekend this month so that doesn't work. Except wait, we aren't really out of town the whole weekend. We are leaving Saturday and getting back Sunday so I could technically do it. Get up early Saturday and write before we leave and write as soon as we get back Sunday. Hmmm... sounds doable.

Except I'm sort of manic right now so doable in a manic stage is not always doable a few days later. Or at least not nearly as attractive. It's like deciding to do 250 squats when you are feeling invincible and waking up two days later to thinking...what the hell did I say I would do??

But since I'm sort of manic right now I'm pretty sure I'm brilliant and shiny and strong and just this side of Wonder Woman so I'm going to to ahead and commit to it.

BOOM! Blog a day! You heard it (read it) here first!

And yes, this stream of consciousness gobbledygook totally counts as the June 1 blog. 

Though I'm hoping for a little more inspiration to post something else here today as well. 

I did write a short piece to send to Dana tomorrow, but am also hoping for a little more on that front. A hundred tabs of half finished work open...

Did I mention I'm slightly manic right now? 

Yeah....just slightly.