Today’s writing prompt in Writing 101 is to free-write for 20 minutes. No worries about linear thoughts, or style or grammar. Just write and get it out on the page.
I think I can do that. Though my downfall is typos. Considering I edit for a living, I strive for accuracy in my typing. But that isn’t the point here.
Oh, great. Now I’m SOC about grammar for SOC. Sigh. And I just corrected three typos and I’m not two minutes in. Argh… a fourth!
Okay. Starting over. Starting… now.
Right now I’ve got my knee up in a (somewhat) comfortable position. It gives me pain lately. I’ve got an MRI on Friday. Friday night, no less. Nothing says rock star like a night at diagnostic imaging. They’re guessing it’s the meniscus being either torn or pinched. I’m not pleased. I’m too damn young for issues, and I’m no athlete. I run, yes. Well, more like a jog. And that is because of the strain in my joint. I’d be thrilled to get back to 9 or 10 minute miles. But I’m lucky if I get 12. 13 seems to be the magic number right now. And it is frustrating because I feel myself out of shape, and I want to be in better shape, but my body revolts. People with happy knees don’t know what they have. But then again, I may have a happy something that THEY don’t have. Like having two awesome, fluffy kitties. Boy, I love those two fuzzballs. They’re sweet, vocal as hell, snuggly and cute and loving and a pain in the ass all in one. Just like me!
My mind just went blank. Empty, dark, silent. Where are my words? Why do they fail me? Ah, the pain returns. But I don’t want to whine about my knee. That does not make for a very interesting 20 minutes of writing! I’m only at 6 minutes so far. Sigh.
Sometimes I miss bacon. Eating a plant-based diet has its ups and downs. My cholesterol is stellar (my doctor said she wishes all her patients had levels like mine… hey, maybe THAT is something that I have that someone else would want. Someone with their happy knees probably wishes for my cholesterol levels…), but fake bacon (facon) kind of sucks. There are loads of good meat-alternatives, but epic fail is facon. I’m not as strict as I used to be about not eating meat. I got tired of the comments to be honest. Why people care so damn much about what I put in my body is beyond me. What is it to you that makes you care what I choose to eat…or why even comment on it? I don’t get it. If you want to eat haggis or whatever, go ahead. I don’t care what you eat. I’m not kissing you, so I’m not worried about your breath. But man, did I miss Portillo’s. And hot dogs. That’s the worst meat you can eat, but I’m a Chicagoan, and I like my dogs Chicago-style, hot peppers and all. But most of the time, I eat vegetarian anyway. I don’t like cooking meat. I guess like drinking, I am a social meat-eater. Social drinker, social carnivore.
Ho-hum, drum, a dum-dum. I’m tired of this. Writing SOC I mean. I guess I wasn’t in the right mind frame to do it. I used to write such good SOC. Maybe it’s my environment. Or my mood. Sometimes my emotions are so confused and swirling and I can’t make heads or tails of how I feel about something. That is when I have my best SOC. When I feel so burdened and confused and scared and vulnerable… I can take to the printed form and just free-flow all my overwhelmed and incoherent thoughts and let them make sense in their own weird little way. But maybe this is difficult because it is a writing prompt. I am not writing SOC of my own accord; rather, to fill a requirement of diving back into the land of the written word.
I made it! Wow, that was really rough. Glad I gave it a shot, though. Senseless ramblings, you are halted.