via Daily Prompt: Cranky
“I’m not cranky! I’m under caffeinated. That’s right, my fun-meter is pegged and I’m flat out of give-a-damn. If you want me to care see me tomorrow. ” Why can’t stupid people just leave me alone?
If thoughts like these pass through your mind, you are not alone. The world is filled with many people. Some would say to many people and to many of those people are stupid and insist on speaking to me before I’ve had enough coffee. It may have something to do with working the night shift. I admit it’s reasonable to expect everyone to be fully caffeinated by 5 P.M.
That said. If you speak to me again before my second cup, I will hurt you.
via Daily Prompt: Timely
The tired theme echoes in stories and movies; In our darkest hour, a hero arose…
The arrival of a hero isn’t a timely event of the moment, it’s an event of the movement. We look at the cycle of events and discover that someone stepped up and did something, took charge of the chaos and made a difference.
Just to keep things in perspective, sometimes the person generally acclaimed as a hero, is in fact planting more chaos and destruction. Not in the immediate events. The succor and support are meaningful, if short sighted. The understanding of the act comes after, in the delayed recovery and developing dependency of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. The crippling of national economies with international support, only recognized by the collapse when it is cut off.
The hero doesn’t define the moment, the moment defines the man.
via Daily Prompt: Unravel
The first thought that popped into my head was a theme song from a sitcom. Still, the song has a point. The pursuit of Why. Quantum mechanics and theoretical exploration aside, there is a more important why.
Why are women crazy? By the Einstein definition, they are insane. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is insane. What could possibly make them believe after years of effort, trying to raise a functional adult, that they will succeed all of a sudden? Echos of begging to pick up clothes, not leave dirty dishes on the floor, please take out the garbage.
Good grief! You married him as an over-grown child. What makes you think he will change now, just because he has a job? Insane. It is a mystery to be unraveled by greater minds than mine. I’m going to play Nintendo.
via Daily Prompt: Heal
“Time heals all wounds”, another lie they tell. First a hit, a flash of blood. The pain comes later, with the ache. A scab, maybe stitches or staples to close the hole.
A painful scar, red and swollen, tender. It has to be in a place that you hit against everything around you. Probably, on the side you sleep on so it wakes you up in the night.
So you start to heal. You can sleep through the night, sometimes. The wheal is less noticeable. People ask about it less often. It’s old news.
I wish it was me. It should have been. But, he was there instead. Always there at my back, covering me.
via Daily Prompt: Outlier
Outside, looking in and shaking my head in sad disbelief. That’s the way it feels. I’m not the minority, claiming oppression or institutional discrimination. I am not the religious zealot screaming on the corner, condemning everyone who passes to whatever version of hell they fear.
I am the iconoclast, laughing at religions who pray to the same god and argue about who is right. The same groups that war over such stupid disagreements. I talk about faith instead of religion. I’ve studied history and know where most of the holy ritual come from.
I am the radical who refuses to accept excuses for your life. I refuse to accept responsibility for what others did a hundred years ago. Two hundred years ago. When you bring up institutional discrimination, I ask what the equal rights laws are. Why can we have a Black Caucus but not a White Caucus?
Yep, I’m an outlier. A statistical improbability today. Someone who doesn’t care what your opinion is about my opinion. I’m willing to discuss any topic you want, but refuse the social expedient of agreeing just because a poll says everyone else does.
I had one of those pseudo-science conversations the other day. The unnamed source said that there is only a 3 percent variance in the genetic make up of man and other mammals. A quick check shows it more in the neighborhood of 20 percent, based on the limited mapping of DNA from other species. Still, it got me thinking.
If the statement were true, that would create amazing opportunities. We could splice our NDA with others and gain their advantages. Gorilla strength. Dog hearing. Cheetah speed. The possibilities are staggering. From there it’s a short step to genetic compatibility research.
It’s probably because I live so close to Pennsyl-tucky. But, it made me wonder… Where are the centaurs and Satyrs? I hope I didn’t go to far.
via Daily Prompt: Denial
I can’t wear skinny jeans. I’m not emotionally strong enough. Or, cruel enough to subject others to the sight of me in skinny jeans. That’s just to much information walking down the street for everyone to deal with.
I am still carrying two-hundred pounds of “mostly muscle” pretty well. I haven’t had hair in fifteen years. But, I did cut down on my drinking. If you ask, it’s because I finally grew up, probably nothing to do with hangovers. Still a biker though. I’ll rumble out five-hundred miles in a day and end the trip at the bar.
Yep. I’m still sexy. If the light is bad and she needs glasses, I’m damn sexy.
via Daily Prompt: Champion
The NCAA Championship Tournament is over, The Tar-heals win again. Who cares, March Madness pisses me off. I don’t understand basketball and it interrupts my regular scheduled programing. Still, I recognize the effort and drive to be the best. To be Champions. Victors.
I doubt there are very many left, champions that is. In a world where every child has to be reassured that they are special and as good as everyone else, even when they lose, champions are dying away. To spare a child the pain of defeat, we no longer keep score. Instead of explaining that the other team worked harder, trained harder and deserved recognition, we give trophies for showing up. We spare them the agony of defeat.
We also deprive them of the joy of striving and achieving. No more the reward for effort and sacrifice. Soon the Lombardi Trophy, Lord Stanley’s Cup and Claret Jug are going to be melted down or put in a museum. We will no longer need the word champion either. A pointless and barbaric reminder of the days when some men and women were better than others. A time when effort and natural talent were applauded.
I worked and trained. I competed and struggled against others. I even won sometimes, most times. But, I was never the Champion. That is reserved for the best. Sadly, it’s a dying breed. Dying word.
via Daily Prompt: Pause
I have been wrongly accused of not stopping to consider the risks, or repercussions of my actions. This a ridicules and false accusation. You simply don’t recognize reality when you see it. “Here. Hold my beer and watch this!”