I’ve always been a
crab that has walked a straight line.
While my schoolmates pushed the envelope and tested the waters, I obeyed
the crossing guards and never wrote in my books. Although, looking back, it seems they
experienced life, while I only passed through it. On the positive side, I am still surrounded by margins just begging for a ZC footnote.
You should know me by
now
I’ve not changed my
seat
these are the same
fingers
that keep hitting
delete,
No, I won’t change my
password
I won’t play your
game
Your face recognition
should remember my
name,
I’ve seen every photo
that shows a stop
light
and each time you’ve
shown it
I’ve gotten it right,
Just what is your
problem
I know it’s not me
you’re making this
harder
than it needs to be,
I’m pulling your plug
it’s not me it’s you
my pencil still works
it’s my old number
two.
So there.
Zobostic Corwin
So when does it get to be my turn? I’d like to lay down. I’d like to rest. I’m tired.
I could use a break. What about me?
I found the above chiseled onto a
headstone. I’m guessing they got their
turn. I’ve seen some grave markers with
humorous things on them, reflective of the occupant, I’m guessing. Mostly, however, are the standard statements,
Born________ Died_________ Loving father or Devoted Mother, or Pesky
Brother, blah, blah, blah.
And who are these last statements for? It is either the odd passer-by, or the
grounds keeper. As I wasn’t cutting the
grass or pulling the weeds, I guess I was the odd passer-by.
I have brought my camera on such adventures,
in hopes of what, I’m not sure. But, you
never know…
Only once, did I get a very strong feeling
that I wasn’t welcome, and I should leave.
I did.
It’s everything together. It’s the hum when I start the computer, it is the light from my monitor that illuminates my desk, and it is the strong aroma of my morning coffee that makes me feel that I am right where I should be.
Some of the missing bits are the rocking motion of being below deck on a ship, although that’s fine with me. Thinking of the perfect topic – something blog worthy, something so amazing that… well, had I thought of it, I would have put it here instead of this.
Having all of this outside, instead of in here. Being warmed by the sun, having the breeze tiptoe across the keyboard and maybe having all of the crows watch and see how this is done, so maybe next time they can do it for themselves. I shouldn’t have to write everything. They could accept some responsibility, don’t you think?
They are the ones
always yelling, complaining about this and that. But, then… If I had my desk out in the
driveway, all of those pesky dog walkers would be stopping to chat. “Hi Zobostic, what are you working on?” “Hey there, how’s it going?” And, of course, I’d lean over and pat the
dog. Now I wouldn’t want to pick up my
donut without first washing my hand. NO,
I guess in here is just fine.
ZC
A Field Guide to Life
Don’t climb to the mountain top to get a
better view of the lightning.
Never use lemon juice to disinfect a paper
cut.
Climb-it change isn’t realizing halfway up
you’re going to need a taller ladder.
If you can’t solve the story problem, change
the story.
Save a little something for later.
Never admit to anything and chew with your
mouth closed.
There are people sitting on park benches, and here and there, a statue of someone standing. If reincarnation is a real thing, I never want to come back as a statue. I’m just saying, I prefer not to stand for an eternity, always facing the same direction. Does the artist ever consider what his statue is looking at? You’d think a good artist would take that into consideration.
Is that something they teach in art school? Does the city or parks department get any say in which way they face? Are there committees formed, is it put to a vote? It doesn’t seem very poetic to have a bronze Shakespeare gazing off in the distance at a fly infested dumpster, or at orange traffic cones and a flashing walk – don’t walk sign.
Is it nobler to
suffer the slings and arrows of a passing fender, gaining the outrageous
fortune of a lawsuit, or to take arms against a poorly marked crosswalk and
thereby end them? I have no idea what
that means.
I suggest you look
away.
ZC
When it is cold like this, I don’t use the handle, instead I wrap both hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth of the coffee. It feels good, even though that tends to cool the coffee faster.
It obviously influences the subject matter of this blog. But enough about me, let’s talk about you for a minute. I picture you somewhere tropical, maybe a Hawaiian shirt, sipping some exotic coconut drink, with flowers sticking out of it. Shorts and flip-flops, not at all far from the beach.
But I don’t see you as a surfer. No, a surfer wouldn’t be bothered reading some dude’s blog. I see you more as someone in their late thirties. When you do go to work, you dress better and sell something that you don’t believe in, like insurance. Your car has seen better days and your girlfriend grows impatient waiting for you to get more serious.
The thing holding you back is the mystery of her leg. She has one leg that she never shaves and it drives you nuts wondering why. You don’t want to be rude and ask her, but it still festers. What’s going on with her leg?
Fine, now you’ve got me wondering about it. Why would a person only shave one leg? How would I even research that? What do I look up? Do I go to Google and look up Hairy Leg Syndrome? Then again, maybe it’s a vision thing. I guess it could be possible that her peripheral vision is somehow impaired, causing her to only see one side of things. Was she ever in the debate club?
Well, as you may have
guessed, holding my mug with both hands doesn’t allow me to use the keyboard,
so I’ll stop here and return once I reheat my coffee.
ZC
