Tuesday, July 10, 2012


I've accepted a challenge to write 750 words per day from some very cool and very, very talented writer friends!

This challenge is to write 750 words a day and runs until the end of September 2012.

I've mentioned that I pretty much do my roaming of the world now from my lovely plastic patio chair that is parked in front of my large, computer screen with software enhancements for blind people, or maybe I didn't. I can't remember. Anyway, I've changed my focus quite a bit from the days of tearing around the southeastern United States, sliding in under down beats, playing mad concerts with Alan Parsons Project, or Styx, drinking dinner, then getting up after 3 hours of sleep, checking in with some IT honcho and fixing his shit over hotel wifi and taking off for another gig that night. I actually did that for years.  

Well, I am doing something else now, and something that looks to be at least as much fun as my past gigs. I have written on and off all my life. I grew up in an extremely literate household. This sounds really lame, but I don't know how else to phrase it. My daddy was in college when I was born and he was the first parent I bonded with. He took me to class; I had no sitters and my ma worked 3 part-time jobs. She was on the run and would come home and play with me and feed me during her little breaks. Not that I remember any of this.

Anyway, I do not remember not knowing how to read. Period. I've always read. Just like this. I'm sure I didn't, because I am not the Admirable Crichton or any type of prodigy what so ever. I've always written pretty much like this as well. Writing was something I toyed around with, but music was my big love and then computer science became a second career for me. 

Because of the events and challenges of the last two years, I've had some doubts about whether I really wanted to continue living or not. I state this baldly. At one point, I couldn't walk and the physical therapist sounded doubtful (they're usually so upbeat.) As my physical health has improved, my mental health has deteriorated (delayed PTSD??) So, I fell back on something that I had done and amused myself with and enjoyed. I wanted to see if others would enjoy my writing as well.

To this end, I started the infamous HOMELESS CHRONICLES IN TAMPA blog. I say "infamous," blog because that sucker won't die. I am no longer homeless. Come this August, it will be 1 year since I've been homeless. People still say, "oh we miss HOMELESS" Well, I resurrected it, and I think I've found a use for it.

I started to say something lofty like “Social Justice,” but that’s not me, unless I get really outraged. I mentioned a while back, that it’s like playing the viola professionally and even better, with little or no rehearsal. You do it in the moment. So, I don’t do “planned outrage” on paper or blogs. I pretty much let it fly when it hits me. I know injustice when it hits me. I know how to use the language. It’s like knowing the language of the viola. I do funny and digression (oops, next time I’ll try some funny.)

Here’s another problem: While I may not have a carnival act going on in the next room, I do have certain other distractions. There are whole worlds to be conquered in Runescape; Dragons must be slain and there are vainglorious monsters that need to be belittled and teased. Over on Facebook, I have friends who count it as a waste of a day if I don't spam their entries: "Put my sound effects on 100 for Techno, all I hear is Metal," says one. I reply, "Put sound effects on 100 for Bathtub, all I hear is Gurgle," After the 24th spam, he types, "ha ha, Mary you bitch!" He's one of my favorite people, for realz. I also must plan my day's eating.

Eating is a real pleasure for me. It is also a way to stave off death and boredom, so it's a win-win (is that passé yet? It needs to be) or something. I have malnutrition and malabsorption; probably some other mals too, but who's counting? Anyway, I have a license to eat and boy, do I. All. Day. Long. And generally, late into the night. 

The other night, I woke up and my darling was wrestling with a cashew can that I had left in the bed. One teeny, tiny problem. I had passed out in a cashew and pastrami sandwich induced stupor and left the lid off the can. My love was rolling around in the cashews that had been strewn around the bed. Oops. Luckily, he's not allergic.

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