A Meme-story about the Collision of Writing and LIfe

 

First it was fascination. A few stolen words.

 

 

 Then it became more serious.

 

 

But there was a fella...and there were rings.

 

Not like

 

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.

 Buy you know what I mean.

 

Then this happened...

 

 

Four times.

 

Yeah. I said four.

 

It was like:

 

Because I had to say such things as:

 

Yes, you can put the AT-AT in the bathtub because with bubbles

it looks like they're walking on snow..

 

Stop poking the dead fish. No, really stop. If you break it open---

Ok. Wow. That smells bad.

 

and... 

 

And I felt inferior because

 

Yet I found a little time for me here and there.

You know what I did with it.

 

  

I want to be unstoppable.

 

But I am very stoppable. 

I admit it. Because



 Which leaves my head space full of anything

but the words that I love so much.

 

I do a lot of this. 

Not enough this: 

 

Or this:

But in the mean time, those toddlers have gotten older.

 

 

They found words of their own.

While they don't need as much supervision anymore,

they do need guidance.

They either are, or soon will be, men. 

And I want them to be good men.

That takes way more time and more forethought

than making sure the bottles, wipes, and

clean bibs are in the diaper bag.

 

 These days are golden. I don't want to miss them.

But as often as I can, I write.

Because the truth is: