Writing 101, Exercise One: Stream of consciousness

Twenty minutes! I know how this will end up – convinced I have nothing to say and then wishing I had another five minutes to go to – what? Explain? Clarify? Re-word? Well, let’s see what’s in the old noggin tonight. First up: who in their right mind would want to interrupt a religious and family holiday like Easter to begin this thing? But I don’t dare ignore it because I might get behind – as if that mattered. It is, after all, only twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. Now that’s an idea. What would anyone do with that twenty minutes if they knew it was all the time they had left in the world?

I would be quite dumb about it. Dumb as in preparing-for-a-trip dumb. I’d gather up my most precious family pictures, my Bible (the old one with all the notes and the highlighting that’s bulging with snapshots and notes I haven’t had a chance to transcribe), Then the old Rosary with the finish rubbed off poor Jesus’s knees,  And the family Bibles and pictures – they have to come, too. Then what? Leave a note? Yep – “Deed to the house is filed under ‘Home’ in the filing cabinet that Donna stood on and dented the top.”

What next? I’d make sure I had all my ID. Then what? Feed the neighborhood stray cats – it might take a while before anyone thinks of them. Take out the garbage. Now have much time is left? Five minutes? Oh, brother! No – I’m wrong – it’s ten. Whew. Still time to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do all my life: I would advance on that wretched telephone and rip it right out of the wall. Then I would take it to the back door and do my best baseball windup and see just how far I could throw the idiot thing. I want it gone. Pulverized. Nothing left of it. I want to see it draped around that other monstrosity in the back yard – that ugly, thick, black cable from the – you guessed it – TELEPHONE COMPANY. At least I think it’s the phone company. Maybe it’s the electric company. So maybe I’ll aim at something else. Oh shoot – just throw the thing in the trash – time’s a wastin’.

Then be sure the bougainvillea is watered. People are always telling me that how those love to be dry and left alone. Phooey. Mine wants rose food and lots of water. People take too much advice on how to raise plants. Love ’em and give ’em what they thrive on. Like children. Same thing.

Oops – almost out of time. Not going to bother about writing notes to anyone – they all know I love them. (That’s one thing I know better than to leave till the last minute.) Then I can just crawl up in my rocker and tell God how glad I’ll be to see Him and the rest of the family. Been such a long time for some of them. Then I’ll probably start to wonder if that’s really where I’m headed. Maybe there’s something I’ve done that I’ve forgotten all about that will trip me up at the last minute. I sure hope that twenty minutes is up before I can start worrying. But it is, so I’m okay, I hope….

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