Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Tired Writing

For me tired writing is something like drunk texting, I say things that I probably should not to people that I most certainly should not say them to.
I am not admitting any sort of horrible thing, mostly because of the fifth amendment, but I have said more then my share of things to people late at night that I have had cause to regret in the morning.
Once, I was up very very late. It was so late that it had actually become early, and I discovered that I had bought a car on E-Bay. The problem with this was two fold. I had not known that I was in the market to buy a car and, it was in upstate new york. It was a 1992 ford thunder bird with about a million miles on it. When I developed enough clarity to actually look at what had happened I discovered that there had been no bidders. Until Me. I had bid against myself driving the price up from .01 cent to 723.00 dollars. All in the last 5 minutes of the listing.
I found myself sitting at the kitchen table then, wondering how I was going to get to upstate new york, where that was exactly, and how I was going to explain it to the wife. The sleep gods smiled on me however. As soon as it became light enough to shoot, I received an email from the guy I had purchased the car from.
He was distraught, because he claimed he was new to e-bay and had failed to set a minimum price and listed the cars under the wrong category he felt he could get a much higher price by re-listing. I was just about to send him back a heartfelt thank you and don't worry about it when I got another email. From the same guy. Telling me that he knew he was voiding the contract, he was very very sorry and would I be willing to take 100.00 dollars for my time?
Of course I would and the check came two days later.
Another time, I had been a few days without sleeping and I was feeling the need to write. Remembering the purchase of the car and realizing that I was in truth very sleepy, I opted for a pen and paper.
I began to write and suddenly this story just poured from my pen to the page. It flowed like a crystal clear stream tumbling freely through vibrant mountain meadows. I wrote for hours. I knew with a certainty that what I was writing was destined for greatness, I could practically hear the money going into my account as I finished of the 14th page of the outline of the next great American novel.
As the sun came up I fell asleep with the happy thoughts of the marvelous story I had just told the world and I coiuld not wait to share it with everyone. I knew this WAS IT!!!!!
I woke that a little later that morning, refreshed and full of the creative joy. I ran downstairs and ran back upstairs. Holding the golden goose in 14 pages of handwritten excellence.
I handed it to the wife, and. From her expression I quickly deduced some little thing was amiss so I snatched the pages from here to see if I had perhaps grossly misspelled the first word.
Much much worse
I had written, for some reason known only to my asleep stupid brain.
14 pages, double sided, single spaced, small little letter Os. Os. Not a story, not an article. 14 pages of OO OOO OO OOOO OOO OOO OOOOO OO.
Tired writing, how the world would have enjoyed that story.

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