Writing on the verge

I was at this writing dealie today. It was kinda fun, kinda lame, but I think that I realized that I can actually write. And I don't mean it like "Oh, I can make letters and words" I mean it like "People seem to like what I have to say and how I say it." That's kinda scary, because it makes me feel like I should be doing more, but it also makes me feel like I shouldn't become a big jerk about it. We'll see. Anyway, I thought I would share one of the pieces I wrote today. We had to take some artifacts (translation: other people's crap) and write a story about this person without knowing who they are. The list of artifacts I got (the other word for this day was "clusterfuck", but I am SO not about to bore you with all of the details) had these four things on it: Journal (my healing device), keys to my house and car (my security), my computer (my creativity device), my cell phone (connections to those important people in my life). Here is what I wrote:

After taking a glass of wine, she began to write about the day she’d had in her journal. “Dear Sky,” she began. She felt a need to address her journal by name because it was a piece of her after all, a discrete facet of her life that existed as surely as she did. As to why she chose the name Sky, she wasn’t quite sure but retained a fervent optimism that some day an answer would appear as suddenly and unexpectedly as a mushroom on the lawn after a midnight storm.

“Today was not the best day by any stretch of the imagination. As soon as I got to work, I locked my keys in the car. This wasn’t such a big deal because I have a spare key in my computer bag, but I didn’t discover that I had done this until lunch, so after I had gleefully skipped my way out to the car, I had to trudge right back into my office for the damn spare. Everything quickly went downhill after that. You know my period started yesterday, so I needed to pop into the bathroom to “freshen up”. I don’t even like to say that much to you, Sky, so I’ll spare you further details. Suffice to say that I managed to drop my cell phone in the toilet. Yes, my new cell phone that I spent three hours programming all of the phone numbers into, I dropped it right down the… well, I’m just going to say it: I dropped it right down the shitter. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the years of close confidence, but I know you won’t think any less of me for saying that. Anyway, I started to cry a little, yes it was the hormones: I know. But then that bitch from Accounting (you know the one) had to ask if I was all right and I about snapped her head off. I had to email her an apology later because I felt just awful. Then, when I downloaded the cute puppy picture for my apology email, I caught a virus that crashed my computer and then infected the mail server. So now I have an official reprimand for improper internet usage on my permanent record. Finally, I just couldn’t bear it anymore, so I pleaded cramps in order to flee this awful day. Of course, by the time I got home I was in such a state that I locked my keys AND my computer bag in the car before I had unlocked the house. Then I had to sit with Mrs. Kleiner for two hours and listen to her stories of the Depression while I waited for the locksmith to show up. Worse, he wasn’t even that attractive, which I suppose was a good thing especially after that last fiasco. Oh Sky, sometimes I wish that you weren’t just me writing to myself in a silly little way, but a real someone that could take care of me sometimes. But until I find that someone I guess I am stuck doing it myself. That’s all I have to tell you today. Until tomorrow."