A part of me feels like my first few posts have not been… up to a level of writing I find acceptable. I could probably do something to fix that, like proofreading, or going back and making corrections, but i’m not going to. That’s probably an odd thing to admit, that I don’t proofread these things, and that I’ll never look at them again. No, seriously. Well, maybe not never, but at least not for a good 9 years. Or something like that. The point of doing the daily blogs isn’t for me to write 365 short stories, or plays or poems or whatever. The point is to make myself accountable for some sort of writing, and in doing so, hopefully kickstart some part of my brain into doing something worthwhile. Easier said than done, right? Well, maybe I’ll come up with 365 rambling pieces of insight into my increasingly fractured mind.
Here’s a thing I started writing. I call it a thing, because I don’t know what it is or if it’s going to continue, or if this is just a one time thing.
He looked down at his watch. He squinted and tried to make out the numbers, the second hand seemed to be going at a speed he found nauseating. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard and looked again.
“Are you drunk?” Her voice rattled through his head. He opened his eyes and looked up her.
“Huh? No. Are you drunk?”
“No, I am not drunk, I know this because I am not lying on the floor. Have you figured out what time it is yet?”
He looked up, his vision cleared up. He looked back down. “You’re making your disappointed face.”
“I don’t have a disappointed face.” She turned her head to the mirror hanging in the hall and shrugged. He looked down at his watch. His head hit the floor with a pathetic thud. “Yes. That’s why you think I’m making the face, that I don’t make, because, we’re late and you’re, well, you’re drunk.” He forced himself up on wobbly legs and took one step forward before topping onto the bed, the bed responded like an indoor trampoline, launching him back to the floor.
“I didn’t even drink…” She shot him a look. “….that much. Maybe I was roofied?”
“Roofied? by who? Me?” She reached her hand out to him, and started pulling him up.
“Maybe?” She threw her arm back as he toppled to the floor with an irritated grunt.
So, That’s what I have for now. Maybe I’ll add more tomorrow? Or, maybe I won’t.