http://dailypost.wordpress.com, DP, Daily Prompt
Write whatever you normally write about, and weave in a book quote, film quote, or song lyric that’s been sticking with you this week.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us INSPIRATION.
It seems that this was the prompt just a short few weeks ago, but hey, what do I know. And maybe it was so good that DP decided to try it again. Or maybe I am supposed to learn something the second time ago.
This week I have been sitting in my rocker going bonkers on what I do wrong. I blame it on so many things. Not possibly believing that it could be me. It had to be some other reason that I knocked the sugar shaker off the stove. That just when Al wanted to be cleaned up from the supper table, I was scraping and scooping sugar before it ran too far down the crack between the stove and cupboard.
Looking over at Al and seeing the shit-eating grin on his face as I am cleaning up. I think that smile represented, nice to know I am not the only one who screws up. Alright Al, I will give you kudos on that thought.
Or how about the incident in the shower with Al and his walking steps. Me getting all paranoid wondering what that shower girl may be thinking. Alright, I will admit it. My mind can roam free as if living with the prairie dogs.
Why in the world did I become frightened? Crap happens right? Turds are dropped in our lap when we least expect it. We just wipe off and flush the crap and start over. Isn’t that what you all told me to do basically?
Just a sentence or two out of a stranger’s mouth can leave a nasty taste in our mouths.
I clung to the fact that if Al fell by accident again, I may lose him for being an unfit sister. I let it rule my roost and I ended up crowing like a big fat rooster first thing in the morning. I sounded ridiculous, I must admit, and I was over-reacting.
What I am doing is digesting all of the comments that were left to me. I am beginning to realize that I can never be a perfect anything, let alone a perfect sister. I know without a doubt I love my brother and he loves me. I know that I do the best to make sure he is as comfortable and happy as possible.
I now know that everything that happened was only because it was a Monday.
Garfield: Yeah, my loyal and fragrant subjects. Please, thank you. Briefly, I hate Mondays. I hate em. Therefore I decree, from this day forward, there will be no more Mondays.
Related articles
- Daily Prompt: Earworm (dailypost.wordpress.com)
- DJ Earworm Releases The SummerMash for 2013 (electroupdate.wordpress.com)
- It’s official – I’ve got an earworm! (tuilere.wordpress.com)
- Dotted Lines: DJ Earworm’s SummerMash ’13 (dailydot.com)
- Earworm Wednesday (isthatyoudarling.wordpress.com)
- Blog Series Part One: Get out of my head, Earworm! (jugsbones.wordpress.com)
- Earwormed – Can’t Touch Me (projectskylon.com)
- psychedelic adjacency #2, double earworm induction (slowdensity.wordpress.com)
- DJ Earworm Unveils Summer 2013 Mash-Up (amp.cbslocal.com)
- Earwormed: Slazy (projectskylon.com)
Who I am 
Pingback: Earworm: What Does It Mean? | Khana's Web
Pingback: It’s Officially Anthony Weiner “Roast” Time! | Joseph Rathjen - Freelance Writing
Pingback: Listening to the little voices in my head… there’s no place like home… | 3rdculturechildren
Pingback: Daily Prompt: Earworm | Moments In Your Life
Pingback: 3rdculturechildren
Nobody is perfect but the Lord will enable us gradually as we continually to abide in His presence and live in His way
LikeLike
exactly Yoshiko, and one day you and I will see everything so clear
LikeLike
Yeah, I’m hoping for that one day
LikeLike
Pingback: Lazy bones, sleeping in the sun | Vivir, que no es poco
Pingback: How Does Your Garden Grow? (Advice to writers) | The Jittery Goat
Perfection is an imperfect concept, however, just because something is unobtainable doesn’t mean we should stop trying to close the gap. Sometimes it just requires a new approach.
My Father always tells the story of a construction worker who was, intently, studying a set of blueprints as he walked across a building site, not watching where he was going, fell down a big hole. Luckily he was unharmed but then a few minutes later he did it again, and a few minutes after that he did it again. Finally his exasperated foreman approached him and asked,
“Smith are you soft in the head or something, why do you keep falling down that hole?”
Smith replied, “It’s really not my fault, chief, according to these plans that hole doesn’t exist.”
I look at it this way, we, none of us is perfect, least of all me, but by learning from past missteps, we can avoid falling down the same holes twice.
That’s what I admire about you, Terry. You are not just learning from past events and evolving, but your are also passing on your knowledge and sage advise to the rest of us, your readers.
BTW. I hate Mondays too. I am officially removing them from my calendar. 😉
LikeLike
thank you Cliff, I enjoyed the story about the construction worker. It is true that we should easily learn from our past mistakes, but for some we just keep falling down the same hole. I try hard, maybe too hard. I can’t fix everything but I keep trying new ideas.
Hey, let’s get together and invent new calendars, with no Mondays!!!!! anyone working would buy one!
LikeLike
Hi Terry, Glad you liked it.Growing up, I heard that story a lot, guess I wasn’t an overly bright lad 😉 It really makes sense though. When I mislaid things like school books, lunch pails,reading glasses etc, which happened all too often, I used to tell my Dad I had looked everywhere. He would just give me that bemused, world weary half-smile and tell me to go look down that hole.
Oh and yes count me in on the new calendar thing. Maybe we could double-up on Saturdays or Sundays. I think “Say no to Mondays” Tshirts would sell well too! What say you?
LikeLike
I think all kids go through a stage where nothing is really important where it lays or was placed and then we come around. No way, no Mondays, Saturday and Sundays, its a go!!!! T-shirts? Of course, and matching hats!
LikeLike
Very useful info. Hope to observe more posts soon!
LikeLike