My diary is not interesting, and I need writing prompts. I'm imagining how fun it would be to have the typewriter pictured above dole them out, and that might make a good story, but... I lack the time to fiddle with a story like that. So, today, I'm going to write random things"
In the mornings I pack my car with my work bag which usually has student papers that I did NOT grade the night before. "School, not tonight!" I take my water bottle and coffee out and set them in the cup holder and console thing, and then go back in the house and adjust the thermostat and turn off the lights and lock the door. I let the car warm up while I figure out if I want to hear a podcast or an audiobook, and set off. Usually it's dark and I creep up to the main road, avoiding rabbits. This is my favorite time of day, driving along in the predawn, having coffee and contemplating things or listening to someone else tell a story.
A memory stuck in my head is looking at a cut on my hand, about two inches long. I'm holding my hand up while being the passenger in a car driving through Kansas. it's healing. It is summer and hot and the windows are down. My teenager is listening to a Metallica tape, it fits the landscape. The sun is out and the wind is blowing in and Kansas is flying by and my hand is framed in the window. I remember remembering the broken soda bottle in the crate that left this cut, and my shirt cuff is dark blue.
Bachelors buttons used to grow in the alleys of south St. Louis. They smell really good, a scent which I can only describe as a dusty blue smell. I'd walk in the alley sometimes, to go to friends' houses, or just to walk. I'd pick those flowers and bring them to my room. Near our house on Christy I would walk around the neighborhood and imagine the little taverns being mine, but turning them into something else. I like the word tavern, and they can be nice to visit, especially now that they are smoke free. I remember that Mary Hopkins song would pop into my head, sometimes. It seemed to have an effect on me as a kid, though I didn't know why. Maybe the unusual, to me, instruments. Songs are funny that way, and I'd like to take the time to really explore why some songs could just wallop you, somehow. Here's the link.
I recall a summer camp experience. I did go to camp a few times as a kid, a week long girl scout or campfire girl camp, and one particular time probably in my 4th grade year, I had a very strong experience. We had cabins with maybe 8 girls and a counselor or two, it seems. Regimented activities. I recall this girl named Adair, and she and I immediately hated each other. Did this ever happen to you? I remember the drama being mostly in my head, but I did want to punch Adair. When my mom came to pick me up, my baby brother had learned to walk that week I was away. I still get a smirk on my face whenever I hear the name Adair.
~Dorothy Dolores
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