I have been asked by a friend, a hot soccer mom friend, to begin my writing career again. She fancies my work I guess (and no, we've established that's all she fancies - though I am great with her kids I hear). The problem is I don't know what to write about. I do... I have so many topics running through this tangental mind of mine it is amazing I remember which street I live on.
She tells me, "write about a story. Pretend you are a fifth grader coming home and telling your mom about Johnny's chocolate milk shooting straight out his nose and all over Billy's face." I try, but the words are blocked. Clocked by self doubt, fear of failure and a pervasive laziness (yes, perpetuated by all of the aforementioned). So many excuses...
I'll try...
My world stopped today. It has happened to me twice before in my life, but both of these were positive.
I'd been trying to reach my parents for the last couple of days and assumed that since they weren't answering they were just out cruising on their boat, a simple joy they both enjoyed often. Mom called around 7, you could hear it in her voice. "Strokes. Paralysis of the left hand. Problems with vision." That's all I heard . The world kinda stopped.
A month ago he was fine. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, in a little pain, scared and angry, but alright. Now... It's been a week and a half since I've seen him and I hear "lost a lot of weight" from my brother. What the hell does that mean?
Shit man, a month ago he was fine. Fine.
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