This is the post excerpt.
This is a new space for me. Here you will find stories, poems and literary things. My passive-aggressive posts are located at the regular location. I will be filling this page soon. Give me a few moments to get myself together.
This is also a place for you to share your postables.
Our dog, Melville, is a hero. Not really but you would not know that if you were to talk to our neighbour’s six-year-old daughter. I did not have the heart to tell her Melville (breed unknown and it doesn’t matter) likes to pull things from under other things. These underthings are usually buried by Melville. How Sasha, the six-year-old, never sees this is amazing; she is a stalker.
Melville is pretty much a decent god even with the burying habit. Did I say “god”? Yes, I did. Divine and I do not treat him in such a way, yet for some reason when you meet him, you are compelled to leave offerings. Don’t. They will either be buried under planters or left underfoot.
Melville was toilet trained when we got him. I am very thankful for that as it has been colder than all get out these last couple of weeks. I don’t know how long our relationship would last if I had to spend two o’clock in the morning outside to watch Melville take a wee in the dark.
This writing thing is really complicated. I can’t write every day. Ten minutes turns into a half hour due to the phone at work. Hey, I have downtime during the afternoon so I sneak a little writing time.
I also need time to coffee during my coffee break. I have to bring instant, as I am the only one here who cares about the fate of the coffee farmers. However, don’t tell anyone, but I don’t mind the odd cinnamon infused green tea with a scoop of chai and a dollop of whipped coconut milk. Just not at work. I am the youngest here (43 going on 44), so anything overly hipster, like herbal tea, is feminism gone wild!!! Apparently.
I do not work in a harsh lady environment, no, not at all. Ladies have their place and that place is in a cup of English Breakfast tea surrounded full-fat chocolate chip cookies. Sorry for the North American speak here, my dear friends in the places other than Canada and the United States of America.
I have yet to tell my co-workers I am gay, living with a woman and a new dog, and still thinking about the veggism. I lied when I said the tofu cubes were spiced chicken. I used a non-feminist spice just to make myself comfortable and to not cause the ladies in the room any distress. I think they could smell the garlic and dill. I even went as far as to say I got the recipe for the coating from the Methodist lady on Pinterest.
I did not mention Jolene is married. She has been married to Dustin (a fine name for a baby born in the mid-1970s) since June 1999. I think they chose 1999 as it was a good year to party like. Apparently.
Dustin and Jolene have chosen not to have children or pets. Plants are a for-sure-on-that. Don’t tell the plants they are replacements for small humans and fuzzy animals, this would ruin their chakra. Divine and I have considered adoption of a dog. The only problem we are finding is telling people who get all soppy that neither of us is going to be mums to a, and I quote, fur baby. With our luck, it will look like me.
Divine and I are converting to vegetarianism, yet we still don’t know what to do about our dog. Well, Divine has next week off, she will do the research. I may have to do some as well, as I will most likely be the one to get my hands all vegged up.
Okay, let’s try typing for ten minutes. I am on my phone, which is proving to be interesting. I cannot type with my thumbs, as they are much like lady versions of breakfast sausages. Not Mennonite sausages, as I am a godless Anglican (term stolen from a friend). I can’t have that, especially since I use Twitter quite a bit. I don’t want to be followed by some weird Trekster who hopes to start a family. We wouldn’t work out anyway, as I prefer Star Wars.
My girlfriend, Divine, finds my goal of writing for ten minutes rather good. ‘Good’. I need a better word. I will ask her. I usually am very good (again) at creating words just not an expert on using words that exist. I think that is why I do so much better as an Accounts Payable clerk than a wordsmith. She asked if I would ever incorporate these writings into some hipster bookie thing, and I am seriously considering it. My sister thinks it is also a good idea, as long as the publisher makes sure her name is spelt correctly.
“Not worried about being mentioned? I can change your name,” I told Jolene.
“What?!” she exclaimed (did I use that right?) “I’ve had this name for forty-six years, I bloody well own it!”
Divine does not care either. She does hope to be the photographer. I now have to make this a photo-story-novel book. Divine has owned her name for fifty-two years. Yes, an older woman!
Oy, in a good way. *insert wink emoji here*
Today is not going well. Jolene and I missed our bus. No, we do not live together like two spinster sisters, this is not Midsomer Murders. I love Jolene to death, only I don’t think I could live with her at this point. She lives two stops down from me in a nicer house. I should not have mentioned the house. I live in a house as well.
Jolene and I got an invitation to our cousin’s wedding in Vancouver, BC. I did not know she lived in Vancouver. I am sure you didn’t either. Then again, you don’t know Candace. I am trying to come up with a plan to accidentally forget to go to her wedding and be covert enough to get all the sites in before we leave Van City. That is what the folks there call it, I think. Maybe I should look that up before I set it in stone. Divine, my girlfriend, through the power of Gruff Rhys (lead singer of Super Furry Animals), mentioned that British Columbia (BC) has the best marijuana in the country.
Due to the wait for the bus, which came quicker than I hoped, this will not be a ten minuter.
(This is the beginning of my short story collection. I have finished the second set in this series, which will come in the next few weeks. Please, take a read and let me know what you think. I send a big thanks out to Dave for his editorial edits. Thank you! – Wendalynn)
For a lark, I decided to write for ten minutes every day for seven days. I cannot understand how I convinced myself to do this and for what purpose. The rule is (I think there is one rule) is to not correct spelling mistakes, paragraph formats, syntax (I had to Google that) and just live with what is left over. I am trying to not fix my mistakes, though I do, on occasion, write like I am preparing a collection of memes. I need to find myself some talking cats. Or I could get my sister Jolene (she didn’t pick the name) to draw some for me. Yes, cats are still a thing. Apparently.
Jolene and I (my name being Isobel – not my choice either) must have been destined to be friends. Sisters, well that was determined by Biology (or God, depending what side you are on). She is three years my senior. Technically, I am two years younger at one point in the year due to when we were released into the atmosphere. June 1974 for me and September 1971 for her. In most cases, three years can make all the difference in the world when it comes to music, television and Star Wars, but not for us. One thing is a bit different, though, I do have a better book sense than she does. What she lacks in readability, she makes up for in driveability.
I am on my fourth car in less than five years.
This will be the only conscience-based post I will put up here. I set up some ideas about how I want you to view this space.
I do believe we should be allowed to express an opinion, the only problem I have is the reason behind it. Oddly enough, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms will enable people to be racist (for example), though it also protects those who are subjects of hate-speech.
You have every right to criticise a religion, a government or a celebrity; yet, you need to understand others have the right to challenge your process. Reposting a meme or a rant from someone who fits in your hate space is not a form of dialogue. Okay, it is if you are 17 years old and having an argument over the best episode of ‘Big Bang Theory’.
Be cautious of what you say, as we are in a place of wanting a verbally cleaner place. This may mean taking stock of what you term as “important” in regards to ethics and morals. There is not an increase in xenophobia, only now we see those committing it no longer being afraid to hide it. That being said, those of us looking for a better place also need to be aware we cannot be arseholes either.
I have tried to combat the hate with love, but that does not work all the time. I do occasionally ask for those in full speed hate to take a day off. It could mean they are tired of watching Bravo Television for six hours a day. Or, they may need to use the facilities.
Sometimes having a poo can make things feel so much better.
Cull your hate-filled herd if you need to, I do it quite often. I also encourage some engagement (this applies to close relationships, mind); this is a reminder to both of you that there are parameters to adhere to. Those mashings that involve unknown combatants should be taken with a bit more care. By care, I mean do not engage. These conflicts are for “likes” more than anything – disregard. Agreements need to be set up, arguments hashed out – hopefully ending in a beverage of choice (if a personal meeting) or a meme hug (if on the Internet).