Writing High


Well, it had to happen…after some pain pills to help with an injury I incurred while trying to knock down the carport with my head, I have decided to try to write something witty. I can see the wound in the reflection of my monitor, and I must admit to doing a fine job of gashing my forehead which is not difficult considering everyone in the motorcycle club I once belonged to used to call me “Tweety Bird” because I have a head the size of Texas! Damage to the metal carport was non-existent unless you count skin tissue attached to metal damage.

The current thought concerning big heads is that they hold larger brains than most. This thought process is groundless to say the least. Actually, large heads only hold more fluid to protect what I suspect is a smaller than normal brain. Everyone in the family has hit their head in exactly the same spot regardless of all the advanced warning I had given them after I built the damn thing. You would naturally expect the builder not do the very thing he has warned others against.

I will admit to being distracted for a moment while I tried to kick two small pieces of decorative rock off the sidewalk next to the carport and when I raised my head, cranium met metal and for every forward movement there is an opposite reaction – which equates to seeing stars in broad daylight.

Which brings us to the second subject – why must I be so anal about a few tiny rocks on our sidewalk? I have no excuse except, as a Capricorn, everything must be exactly in its place and that’s all I have to say about that!

Some famous author once wrote that to write high is OK as long as you proof sober. I am doing the former and refuse to do the latter. Let the chips fall where they may – I tire of being so correct all the time when writing. This is going to be my rebellion for the decade…I dare not make a habit of it or someone may confuse me with Hemingway or some other ridiculously successful author who always wrote drunk or high.

I dare not let my wife see this post…after all, her job is to proof and edit all my work. She doesn’t drink, do drugs or cuss. How in the hell did I end up with her? It’s a good thing I did though, because this won’t happen again – you can set your watch by it. With my luck, some movie producer will be researching my work and come across this sorry piece of authoring. I can then kiss the movie deal good-bye!

I’m just saying,




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