The Words I Wrote 021320

I’m frazzled and all I did was get out of bed this morning. I’m fifty-four years old, with the emphasis on old. I don’t sleep well a lot of nights. Let me take that back, I sleep well when I sleep. Most nights I’m wide awake from four to six in the morning. I find myself sleepy, I close my kindle app and put my phone down. It takes another hour for me to fall asleep, only to have my alarm wake me at 7:30 a.m. Why don’t you take a nap? You ask. I would but whenever I do I feel I’m about on the edge of a panic attack for the rest of the day and I feel weird and off until the next day. So I’d rather just fight sleep the whole day and hope for a better night in the future.
***
I want to write flash fiction again. I need to make an effort and work on this. I want to video game the day away, because I don’t believe in myself enough. I don’t believe that I can make money writing. So why bother? I might as well play video games, both are useless in the long run. Writing feels like the more adult thing to do. There are plenty of gamers out there who make good money playing video games on YouTube and Twitch TV. I don’t have a good enough computer and I don’t want to give up my evenings. I would have to game from about 8 pm to midnight or later. I used to. I streamed on Twitch during the day and I didn’t do well. To be fair I didn’t try it long enough. One of my online gamer friends told me that I would need to do this for a year. I bored myself out of it, in far less than a year. I’m not sure I’m willing to give up my evenings, it’s the only time my wife and I spend time together. I’ve got to find another way. Most flash fiction I hate. It feels like prose poetry.
***
I’ve read multiple times, if you’re a beginner writer you should write about the things that anger you. I didn’t think I had anything that angered me. Until I saw the new TV show last night, For Life. It went to the top of the list for me. It’s a brilliant piece of work with a powerful cast and writing. I told my wife if I could write one fourth that good I would feel pleased with myself. That show answered my question. What angers me? Injustice! I need to write about injustice. Not sure how to go about it but I feel I’ve got something to focus on.
***
I won’t be buying any more art supplies unless several conditions are met:
1. I sell art. If that happens I will allow myself to buy other art supplies to continue.
2. Once we get three months of expenses in savings. Then I will budget a set amount of money each month for art supplies. The amount must be agreed upon by my wife and I.
***
I’m lethargic. I place my elbow on my keyboard’s wrist pad and let my head topple over and rest in my hand. I want to take a nap so bad. I contemplate on lying down on the couch and reading from my Kindle. This text is blurry. I’ve got to do something very soon.
***
1137 I’ve decided from now on I will time stamp every entry I write something. This will be my local time, east coast. I want to do this in hopes to see a pattern. When do I write the most and the best during the day? And any other information that I may deem to be important to me.
I came back from stretching out on the couch. I dozed for several seconds and now I feel a lot better. Better, to the point of caring about writing and wanting to write again. This feels good. There are some things that came to me while dozing on the couch: photographer Sally Mann, going through my do later web links. I’m very interested in reading more. I must not forget injustice. I admit that wanting to write about injustice overwhelms me a bit. I’m also reminded that I need to believe in myself. I am a writer. I can be a writer. I really do want to be a writer. Actually, I am a writer. I am financially supported.
By the way I’m dyslexic. I like brevity and to the point. I’m fickle to the Nth degree. Because of this, I think I should be a poet. It feels good not playing video games again. Writing give me more self-worth than I care to admit.
***
1331 She reaches up with her hand, face skyward
car horn honking
tires skidding on gravel
the sound of a tiny thud
a short scream
the girl lies motionless
driver in shock
all was still
except the butterfly who flew away.

Published by Brian Sommers

I'm an abstract artist and a jeweler. I've been involved in flight simulation since mid 1980's as my hobby.

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