Thursday, November 20, 2008

It is 0830 hrs. ESPN2, Mike and Mike Morning Show is talking to me from the TV Set twenty feet away, off in the corner of the living room. Here in the office corner of the dining area, I’m laid back in the semi-important middle managers office chair I purchased years ago to satisfy a hate red I had developed for the worker bee cubical chairs.

And I’m bushed. Someone dragged my butt, backwards, through a knot hole. My fur’s been stroked against the grain and not petted smooth. I’m grumpy, but too tired to work up spit. The arrival of the email notifying me of tonight’s NFL game on the NFL channel was no surprise, of little interest; Go Bengals. Go, Steelers(?). Yea.

We tied up the case to which I was a juror. Notice the past tense. It’s done, it’s over. Well, it is done and it is over for this jury. I don’t believe I’ve met a more diverse, happy, sad, morose, intelligent, dumb, young, old, double sexed group of people in such a small room filled with eleven other beings. Not counting the bailiff and the huge basket of mixed candies, an eleven foot steel table, twelve chairs, book case, water cooler with five gallon water jug atop, two doors for the jakes (him and hers), and, least I forget twelve attitudes.

My reality suddenly narrowed to this small group for two complete days, and I developed a headache.

Yes. There. Yes, with your thumbs. Rub. Gently. Oh, God. Gently, please. Sigh. Yeah. There. That’s good. Fine. Ohh.

Thank you.

A day or two of rest and I’ll be good as new.

From reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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