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For those who don’t know, this is the first day of a writing challenge I agreed to – Write everyday for 10 days. First, that was a stupid idea. Second, I must have been drunk or off my meds or both when I agreed to this challenge.

The instructions for the first day started with “Go for a hike …”. You must not know me or if you do, you hate me. My sisters are having a good laugh with that one word – hike. They’re thinking, “The challenge is dead.”

The rest of that sentence ended with “… until you find a sign that speaks to you.” That is procrastination waiting to happen. I could be hiking for years before I find a sign that speaks to me. For gosh sakes, where do you find a speaking sign? Should I just go to Pinterest and see if something speaks to me there?

Then it hit me, I know where there’s a speaking sign. The sign at the Arby’s drive through.

It speaks to me. It says, “What’ll you have?”

And I say , “Why the one with cheese, of course.”

No hiking involved. Two birds, one stone, booya.

So I headed down to Arby’s and had a sandwich, sans the soda. I can’t have the bubble stuff anymore due to being poisoned.

Soda without the bubbles is just flat. And who wants that?

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I have been challenged. Someone had thrown down the gauntlet and I felt compelled to pick it up. I met someone who has written everyday for more the 1,600 days. I mentioned how much I admired her accomplishment and then next thing you know she’s inviting me to write everyday for the next ten days. She’s going to provide writing prompts. I haven’t ever done writing prompts. I’m not even sure I can write from a prompt.

I’m supposed to publicly announce it and then post my “stuff”.

I was like, “I don’t have a public to announce it to. I’ll have to get some public before I can start.”

And she was like, “How about your blog?”

I said, “That’s not public. I write stupid stuff and then people I know write stupid stuff about my stupid stuff.”

She thought that was an excuse and said, “That’s good enough.”

Obviously, she hasn’t heard about the advance procrastination course I’m working on thinking about putting together. Which reminds me, I should get started.

Is that the sound of cellophane? Are there snacks in the house I don’t know about? That could be a cookie. I must go investigate and I’ll need tea to go with the cookies. I’ll probably be a little sleepy after all that sugar. I feel a nap coming on. …

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Everyone seems to be teaching some kind of class or writing some kind of how to book. Someone suggested I take an inventory of my skills and then create an empire around my greatest ability. I thought jeez I want an empire, surely I learned a thing or two worth knowing. Sure enough I found one skill I have that far outstrips all of the others, procrastination. Yes, I could teach a master’s class. So, I want to introduce a seminar I’m putting together to teach the fine art.

I’m going to get back to putting together the materials. Right after I paint the note cards I used for another project. If I paint them, I can use them again. While they’re drying I’ll play another game a solitaire and read my emails. After that I’ll clean off my desk. You can’t start a new project with a dirty desk. Have I checked Facebook today? I need a fan page.

Gosh this is exhausting work. Maybe a a nap. I’ll be refreshed a ready to go after a nap. What’s that spot on the wall? I should probably clean that. Oh look a squirrel. Where’s my camera? …

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(The picture is unrelated, I just liked it.)

I was poisoned (and lived to tell the tale). I can’t help saying the last phrase, they just go together. I thought if you were poisoned and you died. But as I discovered, that’s not necessarily so.

It left my kidneys functioning at 55%. (I have already claimed dibs on my sister’s kidneys. Not that she’s going to wake up in a tub of ice or anything.) I started eating mostly vegetarian and my kidney function has come up to 90%. Still, it has left me with some residual pain.

Though I’ve thought of you and my blog these last several month, I’ve been drained of all energy. Good news, I’m starting to feel more energetic and I am blogging again.

Please be patient. It might be a while before I’m back to blogging everyday. I have missed you all and am looking forward to interacting with you again.

Dee

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Picture it, a dark, smoke filled bar. I hiked myself up on a black leather stool. The bartender slid a glass of soda water with lime in front of me. (I gave up alcohol two weeks ago and can’t for the life of me remember why.)

I recognized a frail, elderly lady from a writer’s group at the end of the bar. She looked like the typical Grandmother: petite, prim and proper. She reminded me of Estelle Getty as Sofia on the Golden Girls. Let’s call her Gert.

I decided to join her trying to tap in to the wisdom a seasoned writer might impart.

“I’m taking it up the ass on ebooks,” Gert said as she down the last of her drink. She motioned to the bartender. “Give me another whiskey and make it the cheap stuff this time.” She sucked deeply on the cigarette she had in one hand. If I thought it was for show, she then blew so much smoke out of her nose I wondered at her lung capacity.

“Really?” I was curious now.

“Oh yea, Honey. I’ve been writing a long time. There wasn’t e-publishing back then.”

“I guess things were different.”

“Hells bells, I wrote my first manuscripts on a manual typewriter. It’s not like I saw it coming,” she continued, lighting another cigarette. “Bartender.” She motioned to her glass. “Give me another and no ice this time.” She launched into a coughing fit that I, as none smoker I was trying hard not to join.

This tiny, old lady continued discussing the good old days using expletives that would rival sailors and slamming whiskey straight up. My idea about Grandmas were completely shattered by this point.

Finally, I asked, “What genre do you write?”

“Erotica and none of this light hearted crap. I write hard core. The kind of stuff that use to come wrapped in brown paper.”

That’s when I almost choked on a peanut. Exercise caution when talking to whiskey slamming, chain smoking, foul mouthed Grandmas who writes hard core erotica.

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people windy picnic

Every morning my obnoxious alarm goes off. Blinded by daylight, I slap it a couple of times and stumble to the kitchen. I stand in front of the open refrigerator door, drink milk straight from the carton, and grab a hard boiled egg.

I love cold hard boiled eggs so I make them on Sunday afternoon and put them in a container ready for the week. It adds to my mindless routine. I love mindless in the morning.

But one day it was different. Saturday morning, my siblings decided to get together. Early. Really early. They know I don’t do early, especially not on Saturday. Early Saturday in Deidra time means I’ll be 2 hours late. Whatever time you set.

To help me with this, they decided to meet at my house and for my convenience, they let themselves in. They’re really thoughtful that way.

An issue arose during the early morning gathering which has forced me to issue the following warning.

To the person who replaced my boiled egg with a frozen egg,

I’m narrowing the suspect pool. The noose is tightening. Feel my breath on the back of your neck as I close in. In the words of the immortal wicked witch of Oz.

“I will get you and your little dog too.”

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