Even though I would like nothing better than to write some brilliant story that not only inspires but forces the reader to laugh out loud and eventually pi$$ their pants in their mirth, I find myself facing writer’s block the size of Mt. Everest. I have found that the latest BFF challenge requires a short story of 300 words or less has me frazzled. Am I capable of writing a story with a conflict and a resolution?? Let’s just say, I gave it the college try and it is up to all that read it whether it sucks or not.
The day didn’t start well. Not only was there pouring rain to greet me when I woke this morning, I discovered the whole bag of dog food had been dumped on the floor. If cleaning up that mess wasn’t enough to jar me wide awake, then gazing outside where a magnificent snowman the kids and I had built the day before had stood, reduced to only it’s bottom ball with the hot red pepper nose and sea shell eyes in a puddle at its base certainly was.
As if things couldn’t get worse, my son woke up sick to his stomach, tired, and looking the color of fresh lettuce. Ugh. No rest for the wicked. All that wonderful, inspirational writing I had planned for and had actually prayed for disappeared like a fart in the wind.
Here I am hour’s later writing about my puddle of a snowman. Honestly, how pathetic is that?? Amazing what can inspire a person. It only shows the downward spiral my day is destined to take. It’s not all bad. There is that one on one alone time with my son wrapped up in blankets watching Disney movies on the couch. There is the fact that the child sized Lightning McQueen sleeping bag my son has zipped around me actually has room in it. Wonders of wonders it fits looser than a stuffed sausage. I don’t even think my kid will have to grease my carcass up to get me out of it which is amazing in itself. We take turns feeling cold like some desperate dance. His tummy hurts, and then my tummy hurts. He is freezing, and then I am freezing. He’s hot; I’m cold and vice versa. We trade headaches and symptoms like cards in an endless game.
I imagine Bob Harper scaring the fat off my a$$ like he does the countless contestants on the Biggest Loser, and even that doesn’t bring a smile. I wish our snowman had magically taken my big a$$ with him when he packed up his balls and left in the night. I would never get it so easy. Sending a nasty memo to my a$$ wouldn’t have the desired effect either. G0d knows there are some days I wish it would cop an attitude and be gone. Pity that there is sweating, work, and a G0d awful diet involved in the quest for weight loss. All that trusty snowman had to do was hydrate himself with a little water from the heavens and he was able to kiss his big happy a$$ goodbye. Where is the fairness in that?? If I didn’t know better, I might be convinced I was at the edge of the depths of despair staring into the abyss hoping against hope that any of this mindless dribble is golden. Writer's block may be best handled by the same theory used in the "Field of Dreams". If I write it, it will come!
My mind is rambling, the wind chimes tinkling in the wind, and I continue to write attempting to find my groove. Have I found it?? Hell if I should know. I did write something. Whether it was worth a look see is entirely up to you, the curious reader. Rest assured I am still three sandwiches short of the picnic basket that has been forever lost. Even worse, I’m not even sure I ever had a picnic basket in the first place. Yogi Bear would be so disgusted. Bless you for stopping in to check out the latest rambling about the life of a trucker’s wife.