What follows may seem like pointless, random thought, and that this attempt at writing is a useless discourse, but I have my purposes. Well yes, I’m leaning toward stream of consciousness writing here, but a leaning is all you’ll get. However, please allow me to remind you that I remain disquieted with the glorification of sex or violence as principle objects of what some refer to as entertainment. I believe there are better things to write than those things.

I find such things in bad taste.

Therefore I write what I write.

This may leave my work out in the cold, for lack of readership, although I’m unaware of the event of such a thing happening to my work specifically. I am what I am, as Popeye used to say. This is how I handle alternative topics from the norm, for my reader’s casual pleasure, as well as my own. I can’t find anything more thrilling for my discourse at the moment, than to lean toward something wholesome and pleasant, out of the many possibilities which present themselves.

I’ve read a lot of stories.

I know, this one’s fairly docile.

I promise to at least be at least cordial, if not flat out amusing.

Some may find this thinking relaxing, maybe akin to the work of Thoreau.

You make you choices and get what you get, like the rest of us.

The snack cart arriving on the second floor this evening happens to be more modestly stocked than sometimes. There are occasional evenings, when residents have been known to hit the jackpot. The snack cart not only carries quantities of mandarin oranges, in individual servings. Also the snack cart features a number of servings, of chocolate with vanilla pudding, a carry over from yet another meal altogether. This remains a satisfying array of deserts and sweets available the most frequently, of an evening’s offering.

There are many favorites for sugar lovers, no doubt about it.

In addition, the cart sometimes offers sandwiches and potato chips and whatnot.

This evening, none of these sweet delicacies were unavailable at snack time. The only thing offered were homemade chocolate cookies, unless you’d like a PBJ before you retire. Those cookies turned out to be hard as a rock, to my unquestionable discomfort. Such a thing to have to chew with bare gums. They rendered the inside of my toothless mouth torn and sore, contributed to the satisfaction of my craving almost not at all.

I recently procured a quantity of ginger ale for my personal usage.

Whenever I get desperate, I’m free to imbibe a beverage right in my room.

This state of oral discomfort has persisted beyond the night, since it has already past.

The basic observation I have about such appetites, is that I am fully aware that I’m going through a phase of craving. A craving is something which will pass in time. At the moment, I crave a whole lot more sweets than I’m being served here at this very nice retirement community. The dieters among you will complain that I must be gaining weight. I know. I am.

I’m in need of a little more weight at the moment. Good thing, huh? Maybe I will have a milkshake, but can stand to have it just fine. I’m rather thin at the moment. Not to worry. Someone in my circles somewhere, suggested I make arrangements to smuggle in a milkshake passed security. How romantically oppressive a notion that is. The Krauts have manned the towers at the perimeter, as well as at the main access way to the building. Armed with loaded machine guns, and scanning the area for runaway staff members, who smuggle in clandestine servings of milkshake, to give to aberrant residents of the barb wire surrounded retirement home.

Well, there’s no such thing as guards to have to concern myself with here, in the initial regard, for my conspirator to be required to smuggle in anything so innocuous as a milkshake. We’re referring to an old folks home. It’s almost funny. Generally healthy residents remain at total liberty to eat whatever we can get our hands on, provided we’re up to going through the traces to make our own arrangements with another else’s cooperation.

I believe I can arrange for getting myself a milkshake.

I’ve taken a preliminary step already.

Sounds like a plan to me.

I’m only left with working out the particulars, and in no time I’ll be sipping away.

I enjoy the liberty of my personal privacy as much as I enjoy the company of certain people at certain times. My instincts have conditioned me to daily expect to wake up to nothing less than a state hospital dormitory, with a total of two very public day rooms. Such places are invariably equipped with two loud TV’s, working together to create mayhem, disturbing the peace all the live-long day.

There are people so menacing I wish they’d leave me alone altogether, and most of them do, at long last. I had made the acquaintance of one such person, who was so impetuous as to follow me around like a love sick puppy. To arrange for my continuing safety, as well as my solitude, I’ve found myself being required to make a couple of geographical moves, since the absolute wrong people were still happening upon me one way or another.

I don’t understand how some people refuse to let me go, until I choose to travel hundreds of miles, and dare to set up house there, obscuring every ID of where I am physically and virtually. What’s with people like that? They’re either not thinking, or they’re fantasizing about my supposedly grandiloquent financial status they have great plans for, in and of themselves. Such thinking is criminal, and has no foundation in propriety.

It’s incomprehensible how young authors with families ever preserve enough quietude and tranquility in their homes, to seriously consider even the initial germ of the story writing process, much less organize and write novel after novel, out of their cranial capacities and creative juices. I suppose it depends on what a person wants out of life, and what it is they’re willing to give up to get it.

I still find, unfortunately, that I’m not really ‘a good judge of horse flesh’ or companions either, for that matter. I continue to develop associations with unsavory characters. My usual selections, are still choosing me, rather than me choosing them. Those people generally prove themselves to be not in the least bit reliable, trustworthy, or even kind, in the long run. Therefore, I will continue to remain unencumbered by any major relationship, with my personal, nearly unlimited freedom arranged for by others, so that I can write until my heart’s content.

All distractions are extinguished and ushered out of my existence, in my blissfully solitary, environment of my private suite. I’ve moved around to obscure my address from certain people, out of necessity, and have obscured my various contact info endlessly. I’m as shielded and hidden as I’m going to get in this information age of ours. I never answer my telemarketer-ridden telephone service anymore. I only dial out. Now is the time to produce some serious creativity, never mind the sweets on the snack cart. This production stuff is some serious business.


About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at Amazon.com.
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