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Beautiful World: Excuses and First Friday

Someday I will sit and write every day.

Actually, I do sit and write most days, but they’re words commissioned by other people. That’s ok. Words are everything, from space shuttles to shark attacks to lullabies. They tumble into the bingo wheel and are pulled out each day–lining up perfectly for a host of lucky players. Bingo! I just made a sale. Bingo! I just encouraged a careworn woman to connect with someone just like her, dispensing medicine and holding up heads, tending to her beloved mother with Alzheimer’s. The words charge through the real world getting shit done.

I wonder how many non-commissioned words go unwritten, though. The ones I want to string together, more like necklaces than the lucky five that line up for Bingo.

I’ve watched an entire month slip past during which I was going to start writing. There are those deadlines that crop up, softball games and practices and soccer games and T-ball games. Dirty floors and piles of laundry and weeds. Good God the weeds. And evil time-sucking Facebook, where you likely found this post in the first place.

So long, month of April.

Tomorrow is May 3. The first Friday of the month, and my friends at the Pajama Factory are at it again, making creative things and inviting the locals of central Pennsylvania to see what it’s all about. My door will likely be open for a little while, later in the evening, after the children’s sporting events that take precedence over All Else. If you swing by and see it closed, look for the small bucket of chalk. Write a note for me. Tell me one thing you saw last week that was beautiful.

Here’s the door:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s blank right now… but if you stop by, find a piece of chalk and tell me a piece of a story.