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Kymberlie Ingalls is native to the Bay Area in California. She is a pioneer in blogging, having self-published online since 1997. Her style is loose, experimental, and a journey in stream of consciousness. Works include personal essay, prose, short fictional stories, and a memoir in progress. Thank you for taking a moment of your time to visit. Beware of the occasional falling opinions. For editing services: http://www.rainfallpress.com/

Monday, May 2, 2011

A Writer Of No Words

It really sucks to be a writer with no words.  Like a carpenter whose tools are stolen on a rainy day, it's a double-whammy because it messes both the brain and the body.  Can't sleep, so I'm walking around in a zombie state of mind.  Can't think about anything else yet words escape me as if they were a prisoner on the run.

A long time ago, my dear teacher Mrs. Borem gave us the task of journal writing.  Every few days in class we had to sit for ten minutes and write.  I hated it, and have never been faithful in keeping a diary.  One day I gave the obligatory groan when she told us to pull out our notebooks.  She said "Just write.  You'll be surprised how fast you can fill up a page when you have nothing to say."

And I did. 

And I am.  I'm here with nothing to say. 

If my thoughts could settle themselves into some sort of assembly line, they might go something like this: 

"Wow.  So whatshisname… Osama..  is dead.  Now what?"

"Why is it Taylor Swift can carry a tune in a recording and never on stage?  Oh, wait, this isn't
Taylor - just another Taylor wannabe."

"There really has to be a law on the books somewhere that an insurance company can't fault you for an accident and pay on it without at least asking if you were involved."

You lie like a penny in a parking lot “now that’s a good song…”

And, as I read the quote of the day in my chiropractor's office - "The kinder and more thoughtful a person is, the more kindness they can find in other people" - well, sorry, I call bullshit on that one.

And I've had the day to prove it, starting with the crazy person who didn't like that I didn't like that she was tailgating.  After letting her know I wasn't appreciative of this newfound closeness by hitting my brakes just before turning off the road, this big beefy broad in a redneck-style SUV follows me and tracked me all over the parking lot yelling something out of her open window. 

She saw me parked and on my phone, thinking I was calling the police – coincidentally, I was on the phone with my chiro’s office setting my appointment for that afternoon. 

I started the day off with every intention of being kind.  The day just wasn’t kind to me. 

Look at that… I filled up my page.

© Kymberlie Ingalls

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