Bored for Life

This weeks blog post is supposed to be about the boring job I ever had.  I am supposed to wax poetically about how I thought would die of boredom.  I wish I could say that I have had a boring job.  When I am paid to do something, I can find something to entertain myself while I get the task done.  It is when I am unpaid that my mind begins to wander and think about all the other things that I could be doing.  An example of this would be, Laundry.

It is one of the unpaid necessary tasks that I do, because I don't want to be wrinkled or smelly.  I think laundry is one of those things that just has to be done, but the thought of sitting and matching socks, makes me want to go dust something.  At least when I am dusting, re-arrange the toys on the shelf and sometimes play with them.  Infinitely more entertaining than trying to finding a white sock to match with another white sock.  Even talking about folding laundry is boring, thankfully the next blog prompt is a little more entertaining.  Next weeks prompt is; "Describe your most memorable family holiday, and explain what made it special for you."

Deathbed Confession

I am  running behind this week.  I was going to do a long post talking about last weeks prompt and announcing this weeks prompt and then things went pear shaped. Every time I thought that I had several minutes and the inspiration was with me, it was quickly swindled away by the distractions of the internet  or responsibilities.  

This weeks prompt is "write from the point of view of a character on his or her deathbed."  In my head it translated to "Deathbed Confession" and my brain started to spring into action on what horrible ailments a person could die from and if a person really knows when they are on their deathbed. I think I have myself straightened out and that I came up with something that does not have a person dying from eating expired Jello.  ( I spent some time cleaning out my grandmothers cupboard and trying to figure out the last time Jello was $0.33 a box. The possibility that Jello could kill has weighed heavily on my mind this week. I am not obsessed with Jello.)  It took a little while, but I finally came up with something. If you feel so inclined, below is my "Deathbed Confession."

Juliet

My gaze looks unseeing to the audience.  I was told it was the biggest crowd of the year. The last show often is, since family and friends make an effort to be there.  Something about it better to go out with a bang than a gasp. 

The heat of the lights are making me melt and I wouldn't be surprised if my make up is beginning to slide off of my  face.  The body next to me lies still and unmoving, but I can feel the heat radiating through my clothes.  A clattering jostling noise happens just behind me. It sounds like metal armor hitting a stone floor. 

Taking a breathe, I say the next line, knowing only two more come after it and then it is all over for me.  It has been a good run, though eventually the curtain must fall.  My time is up.

Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,

I pick up the crooked dagger that is next to the body I am lying against and examine it.  I extend my arm out dramatically and say my next line.

This is thy sheath;

I bring my arm quickly to my chest and feel the blade slip into my bosom.  Blood seeping from the wound spreads.   With my last breathe, I gasp out my  last line.

there rust, and let me die.

I close my eyes as the rest of the world moves one. My curtain has fallen.

Treatment

Lucy didn't like waiting for the doctor to show.  Sitting in a thin hospital gown on the examination chair, she tried to ignore the way that the paper crinkling with every time she shifted. The walls had boring health posters to remind a person the importance of washing their hands and to check for lumps and there was no music. Just the hum of the air conditioner.  Lucy was trying to resist the urge to check her phone, to see how much time had passed, since there wasn't a clock in the room. She wished she had brought a book with her. 

Just as Lucy thought she was going to die of bordum the door opened, and the doctor breezed in. Clipboard in hand, white coat, gold rimmed glasses skimmed the notes on the paper before they focused on her.  

"Hello, Ms. Carmichael.  How are you?  I am Dr. Anderson. It says here that you have been having trouble sleeping?" Dr. Anderson asked, but then he looked back down to the clip board and read more notes.

Lucy tried not to shift to make the paper crinkle. Truth be told, she never really like going to the doctor, but her mother had told her that they could help.  They had helped her with the same issue and now she slept like a baby. 

"Yes, I am not sleeping well.  It is hard to fall asleep and even harder to stay asleep at times," softly replied Lucy

"How has your appetite been?  Are you eating well?" Queried the doctors as he made notes on the chart.

"I haven't been all that hungry lately.  I have been exercising. I have been trying to go for a run in the evenings to clear my head," nervously replied Lucy.  She shifted a little and the crinkling paper could be heard clearly in the room. 

"Have you been traveling or anywhere that can be crowded?  There is an epidemic going on, and it is incredibly infectious," warned the Dr. Anderson.

"I don't really go anywhere. I go to the book store,  I go to work, I go home.  I don't travel.  The most crowded place I go is the grocery store," muttered Lucy. 

"It doesn't take much.  It passes in the air and lack of sleep is one of the first signs. Loss of appetite is the second.  If this continues, you will feel achy and restless.  You will tear up at odd times.  Communication with others will be limited."  The doctor looked at her grimly.  This was the worst news.  Everyone knew that there was an infectious disease going about. She just didn't think it would happen to her. 

"Can this be treated?"

"Yes.  It is the early stages.  If you sign this consent form, we can start treatment right away.," advised the doctor as he flipped the page on his charge and pulled a piece of paper off.  Handing it to Lucy along with a pen, he started to set up for the procedure. 

Lucy looked down at the paper.  It was a standard consent for treatment.  Looking for a pen, she began to wonder what the name of the infectious disease was.  If so many people had it, why didn't it have a name? The milk at the grocery store even had a name. Daisy. Daisy was the brand name of the milk she drank, but this infectious disease didn't have a name, so a person didn't know how to avoid it. 

"I need a pen," stated Lucy as she chewed her lip, trying to decide if immediate treatment was the best action or if she should try and research other treatments, but first she would need a name of what she had.

"Of course, my apologies," replied the Doctor as he pulled a small hand drill out from the bottom of the cabinets on put it on the counter.  Pulling a pen from his front pocket, he handed it over to her.  Lucy tried not to look at the drill on the counter as the doctor started to pull out bandages and cotton wound pads.  The growing pile of supplies on the sterile countertop was beginning to make her nervous.

"Ccc-aan I ask wh-what the name of the in- Infectious disease is?" Stuttered Lucy, her nerves and fear finally catching up with her.  Her fingers tightly gripping the pen  as she clutches the clip board against her chest. She could feel her pulse racing as she wait on his every word.

"Oh, That is easy.  You are infected with Ideas.   You hang out in dangerous areas, such as bookstores and you think it won't affect you.  Your carelessness finally caught up with you.  A couple quick nips with the drill and we can get those ideas right out of your head and you will sleep the best sleep you have ever had," explained the Doctor with a wide smile on his face.

Infectious

Infectious 

The first week of the prompt challenge has gone by.  As some people may recall, I was instructed to write an article that would be worthy of the Weekly World News.  Sadly the Weekly World News is no longer in publication.  A current news source that reminds me of that beloved printing is The Onion.  My goal was to write something that would fit in with their type of articles, which is where the inspiration of Sarcasm Recognized as Official Language came from.  

This weeks prompt is a little more vague, which means the only limits I have are my mind.  I received a one word prompt: Infectious.  When I think of Infectious, I think of movies such as: Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Stuff, Omega Man or even a relative more recent film, 12 Monkeys.  

I am not sure what I am going to do with my prompt yet, but it is certainly getting my head moving.  I want to wish lots of luck to Faye on her prompt.  It is about a different kind of infections. (Love.)

Sarcasm Recognized as an Official Language

Sarcasm Recognized as an Official Language

Sarcasm has been recognized as an official language.  Unofficals from Webster have started that language is a body of words and the systems for their usecommon to a people who are of the samecommunity or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition, and sarcasm falls into that realm as a common communication utilized by those that have not leveled up in years significantly and is a faint cousin to wit.  Sarcasm can  be just as diverse and intriguing as colloquialisms, but with out the pretense of localism. 

Local community college states that adult evening classes are schedule to roll out with new semester to help bridge the communication gap between the five generations in the workforce.  Many have come forward claiming to be naturally fluent in sarcasm and have been speaking it socially for years. Teenager have collectively begun rolling their eyes and loudly sighing at the announcement.

Please see A Challenge blog post for writing prompt.