6710 Grand

I pondered boredom often after Crazy Angie and I first discussed it.  I thought of every possible cure, but could come up with no activity that would interest every human being.  We all have our own personal preferences, but surly there must be one that connects us all.  I was determined to find it.  One afternoon at Crazy Angie’s house I finally had the answer.      I knocked on her door and waited.  For some reason, she took a long time in answering.  I knew she was home.  She never went anywhere without me.  Not only that, I could hear her on the other side of the door.      “Crazy Angie?  Are you there?”      “Hold on a sec!”  She yelled, grunting heavily.        “What’s going on?”      “I can’t get the door open!  She grunted.”  I ...

When I first met Crazy Angie, she was what most would define as perfectly sane. I can’t say for myself because I didn’t know her very well. We were merely aquaintences—I knew her name and she knew mine. We had a class together in high school—creative writing. Sometime during our freshman year, she stopped coming to class. I noticed her so little, that it barely disturbed me that she wasn’t there. It was when she came back that I began to see the true nature of she who is now my dearest friend. Many who knew her after her return would insist that something must have happened to drive her insane. I am quite sure they are correct. Whatever it was, Angie was much more enjoyable and highly amusing. It was then that we became friends. Of course we had class together, but eventually we took it to an after school level. I don’t know what happened to her during those months she was gone and I don’t care to ask. I only like the way she is now and appreciate her insanity as a very orig...

Chapter 1 It is in my nature to analyze things. I consider myself a philosopher and great lover of the arts. Perhaps one results in the other. In my life’s work—whatever that may be defined as—I have become interested in the behavior of my fellow human beings. What makes us who we are? What makes us different? Why are we here on this earth? These are questions with no concrete answers—at least, not yet. Perhaps that is why they so interest me. Perhaps I only seek to find answers to the questions that appear to have no answers. Take boredom, for example. What is it really? What causes it? Why does it exist? This question has been on my mind for quite some time. I am often a victim of boredom and it is, to say the least, horrific. I sit in my room with thousands of things surrounding me, yet none of them interest me. Something I had been so engrossed in yesterday is drab and dull today. How does this happen? How can I prevent it? I brought these questions to my very best friend, Crazy An...

I'm supposed to have a notebook that I carry with me everywhere. That's what writer's are supposed to do. It's for freewriting or that one big idea that hits when you're sitting on a public toilet at the mall and inspiration just "hits". You could scribble it on the wall with the rest of the graffiti, but then you'd have to return to that very same spot the next time you sit down to write and need somewhere to start. Having a little notebook and a pen at all times helps to prevent these bathroom incidents (among others). I don't have one. I've tried it. I've bought countless notebooks of varying widths and sizes that fit in my purse or my bookbag or my pocket. All of them have either been turned into a place to write my grocery lists or something to write notes on while I'm sitting in church and should be listening (ok, so I don't do that anymore, but it was really handy when I was in high school). The only notebook that I've be...

I've been married for six months. My husband and I are deep in the warm embrace of wedded bliss. We live far away from most of our friends and family. They rarely see us together, and understandibly, have no idea what our relationship is like. Everyone wants to know how we like being married. I used to think I would hate this question. It's like someone asking you how it feels to be twelve on your twelfth birthday. "It feels...a little squishy." What kind of a question is that?! Anyone can ask me how I like being married any time they want. I love answering that question. To say that we are happy is an understatement. To say that we enjoy marriage would not be doing justice to the institute of holy matrimony. Being married is the best thing in the world. I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone if they can find someone who fits them as well as my husband fits me. We are glowing. We can't get enough of each other. We want to spend every second of every minute o...

I've been reading The Writer's Desk by Jill Krementz--it's a thin book full of black and white photos of famous writers in their elements, presumably, as they write. They all have a short blurb of encouragement or a brief description of their methods--it's all very motivating. In fact, I've done more writing this week than in the past month, probably. Amidst all of the chaos, I wonder why I don't have more time to write. I truly believe it's mostly that I don't have a good place to go. Excuses excuses! I know, but it is most definitly part of my problem. So, I start to day dream. What would my picture look like if I were in this book? I'd have a large bay window with thick heavy curtains that would let in or keep out the light. My back would be to the window as I write at my mahogany desk that has a computer but plenty of room for free writing by hand as well. Shelves line the walls and they're completely full of books. In one corner is an overs...

The wafting aroma drifts into my bedroom at 3:45 am, just before my alarm goes off. (DEEP INHALE) Ahh, that's the good stuff. The drip drip drip of that amazing beverage gets the covers thrown off and my feet on the floor faster than any buzz of my alarm could ever hope to. It's the most effective alarm clock I could own--the standard drip coffeepot--with a few added features. I shop for coffee pots like most might shop for cars. I don't just head to Target for the cheapest model. I shop around. I have an idea of what I want and what I expect it to cost. True, I can't barter, but if one brand just doesn't have it, I'll not hesitate to head to the next. My coffee pot must have an auto feature. I set it up the night before, push the button, and when I'm up in the morning, my coffee greets me warmly and aromatically. My coffee pot must be thermal. There's nothing worse than bitter, burnt coffee (exept maybe Starbucks, oh, wait, that is bitter cof...

Hello out there! I'm sending a message out into the void, hoping that there's life beyond my own fingertips. I'm hoping to use this space as a way to make my writing mean something, even if it's just to me. It's an exploration of ideas, a furthering of my thoughts, a comma at the end of a sentence that pushes me to keep going. I hope you find a laugh or two and if I'm really good, I'll make you cry!