FreeSpeak
The rain is coming down in sheets outside, a torrential downpour not unlike when Fay rolled through our area last week and left behind sheepshead and catfish swimming in the ditch.
I was sitting outside on the back patio with Matt when lightning struck a transformer across the ditch and we lost power. We have a generator here, but not one big enough to power the entire building for the rest of the night. About four of our computers in the building are working, the Internet is a wash and there is a cacophony of consistent, high-pitched beeping as each of our power boxes demands to be reset. The power company won’t be here until 10:15 tonight.
One of the reporters has a belly so large and hard that he’s forced to lean backward - which only projects the stomach more - and teeter back and forth when he walks. He’s worried because he’s on deadline to write and his computer won’t restart. He’s waddling around the room like a mad penguin, cursing Florida weather, hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning strikes and God for this happening. I want to laugh but I don’t.
I’m hungover and sleepy. The air conditioning is off and it’s starting to get uncomfortably warm in the office. I need groceries but don’t get paid until tomorrow. I want desperately to go home but am not sure what I’d do when I got there, either. Shane was named PCL Pitcher of the Year yesterday. I have a strange and powerful urge to go to Wal-Mart and buy an armload of discounted books so that I may lose myself in the evenings for the next few weeks as high school football drags on. Speaking of high school, my 10-year reunion is in September (2009) and one of my former classmates created a Web site so we can all see what everyone's doing before we get to the party. I'm astonished at how many people have either married or had children. Guess I won't be one of those lucky ones by the time we all meet again.
I’m also nearly overcome with the want to write and write and write, maybe start a new book since the last one won’t be finished until life conditions improve. Maybe something about a little girl who lost her mother during the Salem Witch Trials. Maybe something about a veteran baseball player with dyslexia. Maybe a memoir or memory of growing up in Saginaw. From beyond the grave, Frank Wolfarth Walsh continues to inspire me.
I really would like to curl up on the couch in the living room with a good book and the T.V. tuned to SportsCenter or CSI or Making the Band. Tomorrow, there’s a 2-hour trek to Wauchula and Hardee High School football in store for me, as well as a trip to the race track in order to partake in “4 days and 3 nights of Motorcycles, Music and Madness.” Yee-haw.
Power just kicked back on. Back to the salt mines.
I was sitting outside on the back patio with Matt when lightning struck a transformer across the ditch and we lost power. We have a generator here, but not one big enough to power the entire building for the rest of the night. About four of our computers in the building are working, the Internet is a wash and there is a cacophony of consistent, high-pitched beeping as each of our power boxes demands to be reset. The power company won’t be here until 10:15 tonight.
One of the reporters has a belly so large and hard that he’s forced to lean backward - which only projects the stomach more - and teeter back and forth when he walks. He’s worried because he’s on deadline to write and his computer won’t restart. He’s waddling around the room like a mad penguin, cursing Florida weather, hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning strikes and God for this happening. I want to laugh but I don’t.
I’m hungover and sleepy. The air conditioning is off and it’s starting to get uncomfortably warm in the office. I need groceries but don’t get paid until tomorrow. I want desperately to go home but am not sure what I’d do when I got there, either. Shane was named PCL Pitcher of the Year yesterday. I have a strange and powerful urge to go to Wal-Mart and buy an armload of discounted books so that I may lose myself in the evenings for the next few weeks as high school football drags on. Speaking of high school, my 10-year reunion is in September (2009) and one of my former classmates created a Web site so we can all see what everyone's doing before we get to the party. I'm astonished at how many people have either married or had children. Guess I won't be one of those lucky ones by the time we all meet again.
I’m also nearly overcome with the want to write and write and write, maybe start a new book since the last one won’t be finished until life conditions improve. Maybe something about a little girl who lost her mother during the Salem Witch Trials. Maybe something about a veteran baseball player with dyslexia. Maybe a memoir or memory of growing up in Saginaw. From beyond the grave, Frank Wolfarth Walsh continues to inspire me.
I really would like to curl up on the couch in the living room with a good book and the T.V. tuned to SportsCenter or CSI or Making the Band. Tomorrow, there’s a 2-hour trek to Wauchula and Hardee High School football in store for me, as well as a trip to the race track in order to partake in “4 days and 3 nights of Motorcycles, Music and Madness.” Yee-haw.
Power just kicked back on. Back to the salt mines.