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SOMEWHERE IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

I woke up today and realized that I've been writing nothing for too long to admit to. So I picked up my cheap Chinese violin, which I finally got out of the Pawn Shop last week and I begin feeling really Irish. So I played like I had a million secrets and all I am is one big 130 pound bundle of mystery, a big throbbing zero on life's number line. If I stood on a street corner with a cup, I'd starve to death. Down here I would. Nobody wants that ethnic crap going on down here. I oughta go down there and sing Dixie. Some idiot's been adding Ku Klux Klan banners to the local newspaper. That's culture here in Oklahoma.

I had a plate load of pancakes for breakfast this morning, like I needed the damn things.

Have you ever gone to the glass store to purchase glass to fix a window and bought it too short in width? I caulked my way out of it, but you can bet I'll have to send in a professional. And there's a chubby hick behind me the whole time. He asks me as I'm cleaning out the frame, "Ya tryin' to break in?". I want to turn around and say, "Look, you Devil of Deliverance, what kind of a moron would break out a damned window to get into their own property!?" Instead, I said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm lookin for gold." My son looks at me grinning.

I'm stressed over writing. Over being Creative. Or not being Creative enough. Over being freaking stifled to the point that I feel like I could march Hi Hitler down Main Street and scream for no apparent reason. You'd think that after all the suffering and humiliation that God would get with it and help me with some grandoise brilliance. Instead, what am I doing? Huh? I'm turning into a Jewish grandmother. When I see my kids, I tell them 5 times, "Wear the seat belt.". Jesus, I'll have a full beard again in a few days. At least I can rub it as I play psychologist for the village. Instead of going berserk, I pick up that cheap Chinese violin and I play it.

I'm not ready to get old. I'm not ready to quit writing. I'm not ready to quit painting. I'm not ready to quit playing my violin. I'm pissed to high heaven.

Oh, Jesus, I'm at the library and I just figured out that my shirt was hiked up just enough to show that little extra tire I have at the top of my Levi's. Total humiliation. Next thing you know I'll be accused of exposure. Which is worse than having a little roll of fat.

Just when I get used to the fact that I'm an orphan, I seem to be drying up. Oh, gawd. The island days were great. The words began to flow. I read like a kid in a candy shop.

My new upstairs neighbor is acting wierd. All I know of the guy is he lives upstairs and used to leave everyday. I assumed to go to work. Because he'd be gone all day. Today, he's there all day. Zack and I return from an important errand and there he is camped out in his station wagon with his car radio blasting. I'm beginning to be reminded of the show Family Guy, which in my way of thinking isn't good.

If the Nudes show up, that's it, we're moving. Because down here, the stranger things get, the stranger things get. A social worker might show up to discuss the joys of incest. I've got a couple of zany neighbors who enjoy fighting. I walked out into my yard yesterday and she's got the guy by the feet swinging him around in circles. He's screaming, "Jesus, your killing me!". So she just lets go of his feet and he flies into their car. Strange days indeed daddy.

I'm telling you, the world's gone insane. I'm getting too old for this crap.

Learn more about this author, G E Barr.
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