Old Stuff

This is Friday. My last blog post was published Wednesday. That night, sometime during the night, I was awakened by the sound of hammering coming from upstairs. My bedroom is downstairs; no one lives upstairs. And yet...

I sat up in bed and listened. Bam! Bam! Bam! (I thought: "I know I'm not dreaming this.") Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Finally it stopped. I don't know what it was. I haven't gone upstairs and looked around, but when I do, I don't expect to see anything unusual. My house has been subject to strange, loud noises and other weird occurrences ever since I moved into it. I've blogged about these occurrences numerous times. They don't happen as often as they used to happen. But anyway, the hammering had stopped. I lay back down and went to sleep.

Today, I got up early (for me) because I wanted to buy groceries before the store got crowded. I drove to Walmart and got there at 7:30AM. I bought food items (so many choices...should I buy two family size boxes of raisin bran crunch or the mega size box?) and returned home and put them away. Since then my day has involved Skyping with Nuria, practicing Spanish, napping, eating, and soon: more eating. And washing dishes. By hand. The way I did it when I was a boy. Washing dishes was one of my daily chores in those faraway days. I hated it. Maybe it's why I put it off so much now. I wait until the dirty dishes are everywhere in the kitchen—on counter tops, on top of the stove, on top of the cutting board, and so on. Then, when not even I can stand it, I give in and wash them all and put them away. It's a small achievement but I feel good about it for a while. Until I take out that first dish and use it and leave it on the countertop or in the sink.

I am pondering publishing some of my writings that I did many years ago. I've been writing a long time—since I was a school boy. I used to sit in class, open my notebook, and begin a story. Sometimes I would write poetry. But little of it has survived the years and even less has been transferred to a PC. The writings that have survived are lost somewhere in the room that I call the Hell Room. If you could see it, you would understand the name.

I'll continue my pondering and see if I can find any slivers of writing that are worth publishing. I was really into science fiction back in those days, and so most of my writing was of that genre. No promises, but maybe I'll publish a little piece of that old stuff now and then.