Real Life Reflections

Over the past seven months, I have had to force my brain to think in ways previously foreign to it. Due to the responsibilities of my day-job, I've been compeled to think like a computer program. This has not been an easy task for one such as myself. My motto when it comes to learning new software has always been, "you figure it out then just tell me what to do." Now that I have climbed the mountain, crossed the desert, and traversed the wasteland of setting up and learning new software on my own, I have come to the momentous conclusion that I was right - You figure it out and just tell me what to do. I tell you all this as an excuse for my lack of a blog this week (does writing a blog about not writing a blog negate my claim that I didn't write a blog?). The gears that churn inside my head aren't rusty, they've melted together from over-use and can no longer move. My normal brain-cells have been pummeled, tortured, twisted, stomped upon, and ground into sens...

"No girl ever goes out with me more than two months. They all break up with me right about then. You'll get tired of me too. It'll be right around prom time. You'll see." Garrett leaned against the hood of his car in the school parking lot talking to Lyndsi. They had officially been a couple for all of a week. Over the next two months, they saw each other every day of the week - if not in the evening after school and work, then in the halls between classes. Those first two months were bliss. Lyndsi hadn't had a serious boyfriend since the seventh grade and that was four years ago - a span of time just this side of eternity. Garrett was fun. He made Lyndsi laugh. He lavished her with attention - always wanted to be with her, sought her out in crowds. She was drunk on his affection. At home, her father was dying from cancer, and the attention was soothing salve. In early May, Lyndsi's father died as did the novelty of her relationship with Garrett. Lyndsi be...

The teenage boy couldn't sit still for the life of him. Some body part had to be on the move - a tapping foot, a swinging leg, perhaps some drumming fingers. It didn't matter what it was, he just had to move something . Sitting still and quiet was not an option. When the meeting was over, he came up and introduced himself to me. Oh, not in the typical, "Hi! I'm Marc" mode of operandi. No, he said, "Come here! I've gotta show you something!" We were in the Guidance Office of my high school. We were both sixteen. He led me over to the copy machine and lifted the cover. "Look!" He said to me. So I did. There, under the sealed glass sat a lone staple. I looked back up at him. "How did that get there?!" He exclaimed, truly puzzled. Unfortunately, staples under sealed glass were not, at the time, within my area of expertise. Come to think of it, they still aren't. We eventually made our way outside with everyone else, and as groups ...

The dark sky is lit by a thousand sparkling stars The moon, just a sliver The air, cool and crisp It is a perfect night I put on my fines' flannel I shine my boots 'til they's a gleamin' This here is gonna be a night to remember Yessir, a night to remember I head out the door and pick me some flo'rs some a them pertty yellow ones Momma grows She grows 'em by the hunderds They's all over our yard Lookin' pertty as kin be Well I open Big Bertha's door but I freeze right thar 'cuz I smelled him 'fore I seen him "Oh dear Lord!" I cried. My ole Bubba done it again He done swum in the lagoon My ole Bubba He done swum in the lagoon His smell ain't so pertty An' he don't look so fine But dat Bubba Dat ole Bubba Dat ole Bubba, yeah, He's mine Now my ole Bubba, he's a happy boy He comes to say hello Dat ole Bubba shore do love me Well my fine flannel ain't so fine no mo'e But my woman, she's a waitin' and I...