The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: the dentist.
Since I'm sharing the following for informational purposes and not the (limited) dramatics, let me say up front: Max is fine.
Also, let me say that if we'd been able to discover that as quickly and easily as you guys just did, my day would have been much more pleasant.
Anyway. Max has been having a particularly rough go with his most recent tooth. More painkillers, more waking up at night, more chewing on everything in sight. We figured it was just an especially big one, or in an especially tender spot.
Then today we noticed that the tooth directly to the right of his bottom middle teeth, which had been totally fine, was starting to go sideways and a little in front of his neighbour. Which seems to be caused by the tooth coming in next to it, crowding it toward the middle.
We wanted to make sure nothing too serious was going on, so we brought him to our dentist. Who ended up not being in and in fact being out of the office for another week. I cannot be upset by this, since he recently lost a little one of his own. Trust me, there were tears shed in our house when that obituary appeared in the paper.
Anyway, his assistant began calling other dentists in Osoyoos, Oliver, Penticton. The vast majority of them were not in the office, and the handful that were did not have room to see us. We finally got an appointment for Monday in Penticton and that was going to be the end of it until then. But then we mentioned how much worse the pain seemed to be with this one and she suggested that we go to emergency in Oliver just to have someone look at it to make sure it wasn't anything too urgent.
After an hour and a half wait, we finally saw the doctor on duty. He reassured us that Max would be fine until at least Monday and that was that. I was never overly worried, as things were not nearly as bad as they were when we took him to emergency in the middle of the night last summer, but it still wasn't a whole lot of fun.
Hopefully Monday will bring good news, but if not may it at least be quick news.
Mine:
While the coffee pot fills with a liquid slightly less poisonous than ricin, he retrieves his collection of silver tools from his desk drawer. Sitting down, he places them one by one atop a black velvet cloth, leaving precisely two inches between each device. He remains there, barely breathing as he admires the craftsmanship of each one, until the coffee is finished brewing.
Then and only then, while carrying a steaming mug the size of a small child, does he go to greet his first patient of the day.
Thursday January 30th, 2014
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: the rumble.
Picked up my last shift of the month this evening, working a 3 to 9 shift for someone who needed the night off. It was pretty quiet, with nothing going on in the bowling alley and only slightly more action in the gym.
This Saturday I get to do a very partial shift, as Kat is going to be assisting an online course for most of the day. So the plan is for me to go in to the gym in the morning to open up and do whatever basics are required, then come home and watch Max. Once he's had his nap and has been safely dropped off with his grandparents for the afternoon, I go back to work to finish things up for the day.
All this is the result of the recent departure of one of my coworkers, whose replacement has yet to be found, and another coworker being up in Penticton until the evening. Oh, and also: my manager already working far too much. Thankfully she had the sense to not help out with this.
Max may or may not be coming with me in the morning. I think it could be fun, but also a severe pain in the butt. We'll see which side wins out in a couple days.
Mine:
He allowed the car to idle for a long time, feeling the dark rumble of the impatient engine in his bones and in his belly. Around him the parking lot emptied slowly, like an automotive hourglass marking the time until the scrapheap beckons. The air grew colder, the skies blacker.
Still he remained, unmoving behind the wheel.
Without the occasional twitch of his right eye he might have been mistaken for dead. Ambulances would have been called, police cars adorned with swirling red crowns would have screamed into the spaces around him.
But passersby found enough evidence of his continued survival, so he was left alone.
After more minutes had passed than he seemed aware of, he shifted from park to drive. The truck seemed to hum with relief, eager to be on the move at last. Then, with only a moment's hesitation, he shifted the vehicle into reverse instead and slammed on the gas.
The crash of glass and shudder of collapsing bookshelves as he returned to his former girlfriend's thrift shop was so satisfying it almost brought a smile to his lips.
Almost.
Write something that has to do with: the rumble.
Picked up my last shift of the month this evening, working a 3 to 9 shift for someone who needed the night off. It was pretty quiet, with nothing going on in the bowling alley and only slightly more action in the gym.
This Saturday I get to do a very partial shift, as Kat is going to be assisting an online course for most of the day. So the plan is for me to go in to the gym in the morning to open up and do whatever basics are required, then come home and watch Max. Once he's had his nap and has been safely dropped off with his grandparents for the afternoon, I go back to work to finish things up for the day.
All this is the result of the recent departure of one of my coworkers, whose replacement has yet to be found, and another coworker being up in Penticton until the evening. Oh, and also: my manager already working far too much. Thankfully she had the sense to not help out with this.
Max may or may not be coming with me in the morning. I think it could be fun, but also a severe pain in the butt. We'll see which side wins out in a couple days.
Mine:
He allowed the car to idle for a long time, feeling the dark rumble of the impatient engine in his bones and in his belly. Around him the parking lot emptied slowly, like an automotive hourglass marking the time until the scrapheap beckons. The air grew colder, the skies blacker.
Still he remained, unmoving behind the wheel.
Without the occasional twitch of his right eye he might have been mistaken for dead. Ambulances would have been called, police cars adorned with swirling red crowns would have screamed into the spaces around him.
But passersby found enough evidence of his continued survival, so he was left alone.
After more minutes had passed than he seemed aware of, he shifted from park to drive. The truck seemed to hum with relief, eager to be on the move at last. Then, with only a moment's hesitation, he shifted the vehicle into reverse instead and slammed on the gas.
The crash of glass and shudder of collapsing bookshelves as he returned to his former girlfriend's thrift shop was so satisfying it almost brought a smile to his lips.
Almost.
Wednesday January 29th, 2014
The exercise:
Write something which has to do with: snowfall.
Woke this morning to the first major snowfall of the season. Max, naturally, was fascinated:
Also: desperately wanting to go out and play in it. We got there not long after breakfast, though the majority of our time outdoors was spent with me pushing him around the orchard in the wheelbarrow - his idea, not mine.
It was like pushing around a squirming pile of wood.
Mine:
Silent, fluttering flakes sashay down, down, down. Each patterned crystal has a destination: a fence post, a tree branch, a rooftop, truck bed, abandoned toys. Mostly though? They end up on the ground, piling on top of each other like frozen white pancakes.
Forgive me. That started so poetically before veering off course until it crash landed on breakfast. I should have known better than to aim at such lofty heights. It's just... well, I'm not a particularly smart man. But I'm smart enough to realize that, and with that awareness comes a desire to keep my stupidity hidden.
Behind words, behind silence, whatever it takes. But I have been found out, as usual. It never fails. I have yet to find a disguise that I'm able to maintain for any length of time.
Maybe I should let go, embrace my fate. Like those snowflakes out there. They're not fighting it like I am. Not a care in the world as they tumble from the grey clouds above this city I claim as my home. It seems so simple, really. Just go where the wind takes you. Accept that you have no control. Sounds like a pretty happy existence to me.
Maybe I should go up to the roof and join the snowfall.
Write something which has to do with: snowfall.
Woke this morning to the first major snowfall of the season. Max, naturally, was fascinated:
Also: desperately wanting to go out and play in it. We got there not long after breakfast, though the majority of our time outdoors was spent with me pushing him around the orchard in the wheelbarrow - his idea, not mine.
It was like pushing around a squirming pile of wood.
Mine:
Silent, fluttering flakes sashay down, down, down. Each patterned crystal has a destination: a fence post, a tree branch, a rooftop, truck bed, abandoned toys. Mostly though? They end up on the ground, piling on top of each other like frozen white pancakes.
Forgive me. That started so poetically before veering off course until it crash landed on breakfast. I should have known better than to aim at such lofty heights. It's just... well, I'm not a particularly smart man. But I'm smart enough to realize that, and with that awareness comes a desire to keep my stupidity hidden.
Behind words, behind silence, whatever it takes. But I have been found out, as usual. It never fails. I have yet to find a disguise that I'm able to maintain for any length of time.
Maybe I should let go, embrace my fate. Like those snowflakes out there. They're not fighting it like I am. Not a care in the world as they tumble from the grey clouds above this city I claim as my home. It seems so simple, really. Just go where the wind takes you. Accept that you have no control. Sounds like a pretty happy existence to me.
Maybe I should go up to the roof and join the snowfall.
Tuesday January 28th, 2014
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: regret.
The final league night went reasonably well this evening. It's looking like there should be enough interest to continue on for a while, which is great. I seem to be organizing things, which is slightly less great. I'm not really looking for the added responsibility, but no one else seems to be volunteering for the job.
Oh well, hopefully the majority of my work will be to show up on Tuesday nights and take care of the lanes. The less phone calls I have to receive and make during the week the happier I'll be.
Mine:
Close friends left behind,
principles oft compromised...
I regret nothing.
* * *
A gaping hole left
by words carelessly spoken;
that day haunts me still.
Write two haiku about: regret.
The final league night went reasonably well this evening. It's looking like there should be enough interest to continue on for a while, which is great. I seem to be organizing things, which is slightly less great. I'm not really looking for the added responsibility, but no one else seems to be volunteering for the job.
Oh well, hopefully the majority of my work will be to show up on Tuesday nights and take care of the lanes. The less phone calls I have to receive and make during the week the happier I'll be.
Mine:
Close friends left behind,
principles oft compromised...
I regret nothing.
* * *
A gaping hole left
by words carelessly spoken;
that day haunts me still.
Monday January 27th, 2014
The exercise:
Let us give the blocks prompt another whirl, shall we?
Our three words to include in our writing this time are: elephant, queen, mouse.
I promise I didn't trade or turn over any of the blocks, that's just the way they came out. What are the chances that I'd pull both elephant and mouse out of the pile? Pretty slim, it's safe to say.
It's looking like my picture will be in the local paper this week, as the alley played host to a fundraising event for Variety BC this evening. As the only staff on site, I got dragged into a couple of those cheque acceptance pictures... with about half a minute's notice.
I am not looking forward to the results.
Mine:
The queen sat upon her throne, shifting uneasily as the awkward hush in the hall continued to grow. Every pair of eyes examined each of her movements, all ears waited for her words. An unpleasant odour lingered in the air, but she was happy to blame that on her predecessor.
A response was required, she knew that all too well. The mouse who had ruled before her had chosen poorly and she was not eager to repeat that mistake. Unfortunately her people would only permit that ponderous silence to go on for so long.
"My beloved subjects," she began at last, but slowly. As though she were trying to decide which word would come next as she spoke. "We cannot allow this subjugation to last another day. No, not another hour. Not another second!"
Feeble applause. Not a good sign, so early in her reign.
"I have concocted a plan," she continued and the hall grew very still, very quickly. "Wheels have been set in motion. Agents are already in place. We will be free once more." A slow, sweeping gaze around the hall as sweat began to pool at her feet. "By morning the elephant will be dead."
That, she hoped desperately, would buy her enough time to flee to safety before the next murderous rampage ravaged their village.
Let us give the blocks prompt another whirl, shall we?
Our three words to include in our writing this time are: elephant, queen, mouse.
I promise I didn't trade or turn over any of the blocks, that's just the way they came out. What are the chances that I'd pull both elephant and mouse out of the pile? Pretty slim, it's safe to say.
It's looking like my picture will be in the local paper this week, as the alley played host to a fundraising event for Variety BC this evening. As the only staff on site, I got dragged into a couple of those cheque acceptance pictures... with about half a minute's notice.
I am not looking forward to the results.
Mine:
The queen sat upon her throne, shifting uneasily as the awkward hush in the hall continued to grow. Every pair of eyes examined each of her movements, all ears waited for her words. An unpleasant odour lingered in the air, but she was happy to blame that on her predecessor.
A response was required, she knew that all too well. The mouse who had ruled before her had chosen poorly and she was not eager to repeat that mistake. Unfortunately her people would only permit that ponderous silence to go on for so long.
"My beloved subjects," she began at last, but slowly. As though she were trying to decide which word would come next as she spoke. "We cannot allow this subjugation to last another day. No, not another hour. Not another second!"
Feeble applause. Not a good sign, so early in her reign.
"I have concocted a plan," she continued and the hall grew very still, very quickly. "Wheels have been set in motion. Agents are already in place. We will be free once more." A slow, sweeping gaze around the hall as sweat began to pool at her feet. "By morning the elephant will be dead."
That, she hoped desperately, would buy her enough time to flee to safety before the next murderous rampage ravaged their village.
Sunday January 26th, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: the sprinter.
Max, when he gets excited, can run surprisingly fast. We're going to need to keep a close eye on that kid.
Spent most of the day in town with Max, at the coffee shop and running errands. Once he got comfortable in the coffee shop I think he was obsessing over cutting down on his time from our table to the bathroom. By the time we left... let's just say his best run will be difficult to top.
Mine:
After far too many missed opportunities, he is ready to seize this moment. He's trained the right way, he's forced the best foods and supplements down his throat. Focused and determined, losing is no longer an option for him.
Losing is for other, less dedicated people. He will run them over if he has to.
His breathing is even as he approaches the starting line. With his goal in sight it is a challenge to be still, be calm. There is no choice, though; until he and those lined up on either side of him are unleashed by the starter's signal, there is nowhere to go.
So he bides his time. He remembers all of the inspirational quotes clinging to his fridge. Breathe in, breathe out. Slower. That's better. Again. Again.
At last, just as he is in danger of falling asleep, the traffic light changes from red to green and the race to the bus stop begins.
Write about: the sprinter.
Max, when he gets excited, can run surprisingly fast. We're going to need to keep a close eye on that kid.
Spent most of the day in town with Max, at the coffee shop and running errands. Once he got comfortable in the coffee shop I think he was obsessing over cutting down on his time from our table to the bathroom. By the time we left... let's just say his best run will be difficult to top.
Mine:
After far too many missed opportunities, he is ready to seize this moment. He's trained the right way, he's forced the best foods and supplements down his throat. Focused and determined, losing is no longer an option for him.
Losing is for other, less dedicated people. He will run them over if he has to.
His breathing is even as he approaches the starting line. With his goal in sight it is a challenge to be still, be calm. There is no choice, though; until he and those lined up on either side of him are unleashed by the starter's signal, there is nowhere to go.
So he bides his time. He remembers all of the inspirational quotes clinging to his fridge. Breathe in, breathe out. Slower. That's better. Again. Again.
At last, just as he is in danger of falling asleep, the traffic light changes from red to green and the race to the bus stop begins.
Saturday January 25th, 2014
The exercise:
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: sugar.
Spent most of my work day in the bowling alley, as there was a small booking mid-morning (very pleasant) and a boy's birthday party early afternoon (very chaotic). Eight and nine year old boys hopped up on sugar with minimal supervision equals... whatever the hell that was.
Looking forward to a quiet day off with my family.
Mine:
Icing tipped fingers,
Chocolate on his nose,
Spinning in circles,
Bound for... no one knows.
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: sugar.
Spent most of my work day in the bowling alley, as there was a small booking mid-morning (very pleasant) and a boy's birthday party early afternoon (very chaotic). Eight and nine year old boys hopped up on sugar with minimal supervision equals... whatever the hell that was.
Looking forward to a quiet day off with my family.
Mine:
Icing tipped fingers,
Chocolate on his nose,
Spinning in circles,
Bound for... no one knows.
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