Thursday December 1st, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the healer.

Feeling pretty good today. I've got basic movement back in the pain-free zone, though I still need to be careful as there are still movements that can tweak things enough to make me stop to pay attention. But I'm generally feeling like things are going in the right direction.

Good thing, too. I've got a 4 to 9 shift at the community centre tomorrow night, followed by an 8 to closing shift at the bakery on Saturday. Fairly ideal timing as it turns out.

At least, that's how I feel about it at the moment. We'll see what I think in a couple days.


Bring me your innocent and pure of heart. Let their illnesses gaze upon me and tremble. Allow me to bear witness to their weaknesses, their frailties, their maladies and viruses.

I will ease them of their burdens. They shall breath out their black clouds, I shall breathe them in. I will invite their diseases and mental disorders and deteriorating organs in to be my guests.

And make no mistake, that is all they are: guests. They will not be permanent residents. They cannot be. I do not have strength enough for such feats. I myself would succumb all too quickly. But I have strength enough.

Enough strength to be their temporary host. To take them away from those who suffer so dearly and so unfairly. To carry them with me until such a time as I find a more... deserving host to bestow them upon.

Wednesday November 30th, 2016

The exercise:

Let's get back to the Random CD prompt, shall we?

Go ahead and pick a song as randomly as you like. Or maybe just use one that's been stuck in your head recently. However you do it, borrow your chosen song's first line and use it as your own (after credit goes where credit does). And then... take it from there.

The final day of November already, huh? December looms. The Christmas month. The final entry for House of Mercy. The last days of 2016.

Not sure if I'm ready for any of it, but that's not going to change anything. So I might as well just say: bring it on.


Gypsy by Lady Gaga (yeah, I know. I actually wanted to use a different song but the opening line wasn't inspiring much of anything.)

Sometimes a story has no end.

If you're sitting there thinking to yourself, Oh yeah, I get what he means. I've seen The Neverending Story, then get out. The door is right over there. I don't have time for your fantasy nonsense.

Because, you see, what I'm talking about is real. There are tales that cannot be bound by life and death, space or time. They are too big. Too important.

I'm not talking about something with no beginning and no end. Of course it has a beginning. Everything does.

I do not know who started the tale. Or why. Or even when. But I do know one thing for certain.

This story will not, cannot end.

Tuesday November 29th, 2016

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: the setback.

Woke up this morning in a fair amount of discomfort - much worse than I'd felt yesterday. I was worried I'd pushed myself too hard, but I think I just slept in a bad position. Feeling much better now, plus I got a prompt out of it.

Kat had a counselling client this morning so the boys went up to her parents house, since I'm not supposed to be lifting Miles yet. Even though I am. But I'm trying to do it sparingly.

Anyway. I went into town and did a few errands and grabbed a coffee, then came home to rest. Tomorrow will mark one week since the procedure, so I'm hoping the end of the awkwardness and soreness is in sight.


Things were going so...
Well, I guess not. If they were,
how'd I get back here?

*     *     *

Some days it feels like
someone plucks me up and sets
me half a mile back

Monday November 28th, 2016

The exercise:

Write something which takes place: under the bridge.

I am dangerously close to catching up on comments. Like, completely. Yeah, I know - hard to believe.

Amazing what forced recuperation time can do. Although I'm heading into dangerous territory now - whenever I rest for long enough I tend to forget that I'm still hurting. So far little tweaks have served as reminders, but I better be careful before I do something too strenuous without thinking about it.

Took Max to the park after lunch to get him some outside time, as well as give the house some quiet while Miles was napping. I brought him back home before soccer and let Kat and Miles go with him while I rested at home, which felt very different.

I was very pleased to hear that he did really well, and that he did most of it while Kat sat with Miles in the stands. He is willing to take steps toward independence, it's just that sometimes he needs a solid shove to get there.


"How's business today?"

It was a joke as old as their blankets, but the two men still laughed.

"Oh, you know. Not bad, not bad. You?"

"Could be worse."

"No, it couldn't."

Same old jokes, same old laughs.

"Hey, you hear about Billy?"

"Billy? Which one?"

"The littlest one. You know, always looked like he was about to keel over if the wind blew too hard?"

"Right, right. What about 'im?"

"I guess that windstorm last night musta carried him away."

"Away where?"

"Away somewheres else. He's missing."

"Well, I hope he landed in greener pastures."

"Guess we'll never know."

"Not 'less that wind carries him back our way someday."

"What, you a poet now?"

"You know it. Come on, buy my book and I'll sign your copy for ya."

"Nah, I'm good for toilet paper for at least a few more days."

Different joke. Same old laughs.

Sunday November 27th, 2016

The exercise:

Write something that takes place at: the nightclub.

Did not have the greatest day. Miles is still having a horrible time with teething (despite his first tooth finally breaking through his gum line... maybe ten more are on their way?) and Max did not have a good night's sleep last night, so he was generally cranky for the majority of it.

But now the boys are sleeping and the house is quiet, so Kat and I shall take the chance to recharge and refresh and get ready for another day full of who knows what tomorrow.


"This place is appalling."


"You heard me, Owen," Henri told his newest assistant Wendel. "Look around for yourself, why don't you? That bartender could be your mother, th-"

"I'm pretty sure that's a man."

"The waitresses must have put their makeup - and clothes, for that matter - on in the dark."

"I think you look lovely, ma'am," Wendel told the waitress who was delivering their drinks. She merely sneered at the both of them before whirling away.

"These drinks are... good God! Do they even know what a martini is?" Henri looked like he was going to toss his drink on the floor, then slid it across to his assistant instead. "Here, you can have mine as well Owen. I can't stand alcohol abuse."

"Abuse? Oh, you mean spilling it?" Wendel's face screwed up in confusion. "Was that a joke, sir?"

"And I'm afraid to even ask who they'll be dragging onto the stage for this evening's entertainment." Henri lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Appalling might be too kind a word, now that I've given it some thought."

"So, um... why did you choose to meet with your potential business partners here, sir?"

"I wanted to ensure that they thought as little of this place as I do. One word of praise for this hole in a landfill and the deal is history. Now drink up and look like you're enjoying yourself - they just walked in the door."

"But I already told you I'm allergic to gin!"

"Was that you? I thought that was Wendel. Anyway, drink up - I doubt there's any gin in that monstrous concoction anyway."

Saturday November 26th, 2016

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: the prisoner in the tower.

More rest this morning (and comment catching up!), and early this afternoon as well. Then, with Max off with Kat's parents, Kat, Miles, and I went into town to do some Christmas and grocery shopping. We made a good start on the holiday shopping - now we just need to sort out what's left to get for who.

Nothing on the calendar for tomorrow, but I'm hoping for a combination of rest and getting outdoors for some fresh air and not too strenuous exercise.


They threw me up here
For stealing the crown (twice);
The food is awful,
But at least the view's nice...

Friday November 25th, 2016

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: incubation.

Sat around doing not much this morning. By mid-afternoon I was feeling ready to get out of the house, so I took Max to the park - after making sure he understood I couldn't do much with him (especially pick him up or climb up on the equipment).

It ended up working out nicely, as one of the boys he knows fairly well arrived with his family not long after we got there. They played together great, so I was mostly able to stand around and watch.

It was really nice to get out and do something, even if it tired me out more than I care to admit. Hopefully another night of rest will allow me to do more tomorrow.


It is growing, in width, in length, in strength. Safely out of sight, it gathers its resources and prepares for its coming delightfully dreadful emergence. Oh, how eager I am to see the looks of surprise, shock... astonishment on their faces when it reveals itself at last!

But not yet... for patience - yes, so very much patience - is required, as my creation is not yet ready to unleash its cruel beauty upon my enemies.