their souls floating to heaven, Telstar still playing from the ruined speakers
I've just spent 30 minutes writing a play by play of the last week of work only to decide it read like crap and deleted the lot.
It's the Superbowl weekend, Denver and Seattle, in New Jersey. It's billed as the New York game but that's not real, it's in the Garden State. Home of wiseguys, the Boss and petrochemical haulage. polluted to the nth, the only time I've been there is passing through too and from Newark. it looks... flat.
Here's an example of the 30 minutes of trash:
"Just prior to an operation in the drill floor the drill rode fractured. not refused to go in, or didn't fit. it "fractured". sheered. it became kaput. Patient's already asleep. shiiiiiiiiitttttt....
I'm running down the main corridor, heading for the washroom. do we have the spare kit ready?
No. Two hours to process.
Shhhhiiiiiiitttttt.....
I go back and Colt's understandably sympathetic but I can tell the frustration is bubbling and the man's on his way to doing his own St. Helen's impersonation if this doesn't get sorted. We started sorted through the spare rods and finally (thankfully!!) one fits and we're back underway. The stress was so much that when the seal on the fluid detached and drowned me in warm saline (not an unpleasant feeling I have to admit) I didn't even blink. just swore."
See? ummm... it's good, it's just meh.
I'm trying to get some pep to continue with Book 2, but January is making it difficult. January always does I think, it's the weather and the lack of money. and the relentless rain. I've really gotta knuckle down concerning this. I guess I'm still uneasy about my birthday this year. 35. I don't feel like 35, talk to anyone in work I sure as hell don't act like it. my momma says age is just a number, true enough I guess but it's still used by society as a benchmark. and I still feel like I'm on parallel rails to the rest of my friends and family. it's not an uncomfortable feeling, but it does breed uncertainty in the sense that I can't see what's ahead on the road and if I do hit the proverbial boulder it will be only me experiencing the gravity defying flip and bone shattering impact.
It was difficult yesterday as at times I was finding it hard to remain quiet when a colleague at work was riding my professionalism. I took my displeasure out on a scrub gown (Hulked it to bits) but that was as much purchase as the wolf inside me got before it went back to sleep.
I always liked Wildchild in X-men. Even though he's a boy the depiction in AOA (Age of the Apocalypse) of a mute, feral, straggly blonde haired kid whose kept on a choke-chain by Sabertooth and rides on him as a mix of guard dog and younger sibling (Sabertooth is hardly domesticated!) strikes a chord in the feral side of me.
I can talk but at times I just choose not too.
Is that wrong? Dysfluency inside I initiate talking when I have time to contribute, otherwise I don't.
Add the long hair, rangy limbs and growling and viola. Treat with kid gloves honey, this one might be a handful.
And I need to get in the shower asap.
It's the Superbowl weekend, Denver and Seattle, in New Jersey. It's billed as the New York game but that's not real, it's in the Garden State. Home of wiseguys, the Boss and petrochemical haulage. polluted to the nth, the only time I've been there is passing through too and from Newark. it looks... flat.
Here's an example of the 30 minutes of trash:
"Just prior to an operation in the drill floor the drill rode fractured. not refused to go in, or didn't fit. it "fractured". sheered. it became kaput. Patient's already asleep. shiiiiiiiiitttttt....
I'm running down the main corridor, heading for the washroom. do we have the spare kit ready?
No. Two hours to process.
Shhhhiiiiiiitttttt.....
I go back and Colt's understandably sympathetic but I can tell the frustration is bubbling and the man's on his way to doing his own St. Helen's impersonation if this doesn't get sorted. We started sorted through the spare rods and finally (thankfully!!) one fits and we're back underway. The stress was so much that when the seal on the fluid detached and drowned me in warm saline (not an unpleasant feeling I have to admit) I didn't even blink. just swore."
See? ummm... it's good, it's just meh.
I'm trying to get some pep to continue with Book 2, but January is making it difficult. January always does I think, it's the weather and the lack of money. and the relentless rain. I've really gotta knuckle down concerning this. I guess I'm still uneasy about my birthday this year. 35. I don't feel like 35, talk to anyone in work I sure as hell don't act like it. my momma says age is just a number, true enough I guess but it's still used by society as a benchmark. and I still feel like I'm on parallel rails to the rest of my friends and family. it's not an uncomfortable feeling, but it does breed uncertainty in the sense that I can't see what's ahead on the road and if I do hit the proverbial boulder it will be only me experiencing the gravity defying flip and bone shattering impact.
It was difficult yesterday as at times I was finding it hard to remain quiet when a colleague at work was riding my professionalism. I took my displeasure out on a scrub gown (Hulked it to bits) but that was as much purchase as the wolf inside me got before it went back to sleep.
I always liked Wildchild in X-men. Even though he's a boy the depiction in AOA (Age of the Apocalypse) of a mute, feral, straggly blonde haired kid whose kept on a choke-chain by Sabertooth and rides on him as a mix of guard dog and younger sibling (Sabertooth is hardly domesticated!) strikes a chord in the feral side of me.
I can talk but at times I just choose not too.
Is that wrong? Dysfluency inside I initiate talking when I have time to contribute, otherwise I don't.
Add the long hair, rangy limbs and growling and viola. Treat with kid gloves honey, this one might be a handful.
And I need to get in the shower asap.