Stories and Wonders by Patrick Austin Ward
From the monthly archives:
I decided to venture out into public today. My jaw seemed to have settled a little, and my cheeks weren’t as swollen as the day before. I was still hurting, but I needed a little time away from this hobbit hole I’ve been keeping as my house lately. So, I shaved about 3 days worth of growth off my face, put a clean, public worthy shirt on and headed out the door for a little R&R at the local Starbucks.
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A short post on my attempts to get past perfectionism during this 30 day trial and the horrors I encountered after my recent jaw surgery.
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STOP! Don’t read this one. If you want to read the real story, you’ll find it here. 9th in my series of 30 posts in 30 days.
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This is a short intermission, to briefly reflect on what I’ve discovered about this project over the past week. It also gives me a chance to recover a little after getting my wisdom teeth out this morning. I’m a little doped up on pain killers right now, so the thinking cap isn’t screwed on as tight as I’d like it to be. In fact, I’m not even sure I have it on.
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7th in my series of 30 posts in 30 days. I’m not really sure where this story came from. To tell you the truth, I was thinking of a different story. I started the dialog though, and it just kind of grew on it’s own. Tell Me About Yourself I look up from the bottom [...]
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Sometimes, as I start these small posts, I wonder why it is I’m pursuing this idea to begin with. I mean, who cares about my silly anecdotes about rudeness at the airport, kites in a tree, or fears in karaoke bars? How does this help anyone? Is it just entertainment? A distraction for bored web surfers?
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The bags travelled along the conveyor like chocolate confections. A crowd of us had assembled to watch as they slowly circled the baggage area before dipping back behind gently swaying, neoprene curtains. I folded my arms, waiting, as they reappeared on the other side, often trailing new ones behind them. We were each looking for our particular flavor, the one bag that held all of our personal belongings; our ticket to get out of there and leave all these strangers behind.
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Walking the dogs this evening, I noticed a particular tree along our path; a thin red maple, it’s bark smooth and gray with shallow fissures. A week ago, it’s leaves had turned a brilliant scarlet color, which stood out against the evergreens surrounding it. Now, however, all but a few leaves had scattered to the ground, which left it a barren silhouette against the deepening blue of the evening sky.
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At it’s heart, worry is like a designer drug made just for you. It has full access to all of the memories, idiosyncrasies, and fears that make up the subconscious you. It uses this access to convince you of the most horrifying and uncontrollable images you can anticipate. Like all drugs it’s not easily kicked, but unlike all the rest it’s something nearly every human being is addicted to in some form or another.
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“Let’s go sing karaoke!” she said.
Thump, went my heart.
A unified “Yes!” poured out from the group.
Who are these conspirators that taunt me so?
Someone else offered up, “We’ll go to Imperial Palace, they have a great karaoke bar on the second floor.”
Another finalized the deal: “Ok. It’s settled then. Karaoke at 10. Imperial Palace.”
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