Return of the Community Storyboard! New Guidelines!

(Sorry!  We forgot to make the blog public when we returned!  Oops!)

We’re back!!!

After careful consideration and discussions with a panel of experts (we hear voices), we are implementing some not so drastic changes.  In the spirit of keeping this a fair and fun community for everyone, we have rearranged some privileges, made some editorial changes, and adjusted our guidelines.  Some of you who had free posting privileges prior to our closure may now find that you are restricted and need an editor’s approval before posting.  After a history of consistent quality posts, you may regain privileges to post without editor approval.  This is not anything personal or a judgment against your writing or talent, but we are striving to take the CSB in a more positive direction.  To do so, we need to establish more quality control.

Going forward, we ask that people remember that this website is about feedback.  The ‘C’ stands for Community and we mean it.  Even if you dislike a piece, please feel free to comment on it with respect and integrity.  Consistently coming to the editors with an issue about works that are represented on the blog does not help the author in question learn and grow.  If discussions do get heated and cross the line of civility, the editors will step in and there will be the risk of removal of offending party(ies).

Without further ado, here are the New Guidelines!

  • This blog is intended to feature Short fiction, non-fiction and poetry, as well as art pieces and musical works. We would prefer if your submission was no longer than 1000 words long, unless it has been arranged prior.
  • We ask that you limit your posting to 1 piece per day unless you are an editor or have previous permission.  The exception to this rule is during contests, prompts, and themes that require more than one post per day.
  • The work you submit must be original and all rights must belong to you. If you are submitting work for someone else, you must include a signed release with your submission. Any work that is deemed as not original will be promptly removed from the site and you will no longer be allowed to participate. This includes any art work or photos that are an accompaniment to your writing, unless it is public domain.
  • Your work will be published as determined by the editors of this site, and on the schedule that works for them.
  • We will not edit your work for you. It will be published as is.
  • We maintain the right to refuse to publish a work at our discretion and without any further explanation.
  • We do not claim any rights to your work. It is yours to do with as you wish. If you no longer wish to have your work featured on the site, please use the contact form on the Submission Guidelines Page. Please remember to include the title of your post so that we may easily find and remove it. It may take up to 72 hours for it to be removed from the site.
  • Please keep in mind this is a community.  Choose only your best stuff and post the rest to personal blogs.
  • The formatting of your piece will be handled by our editors, unless you have posting privileges. WordPress sometimes does odd things. We will do the best we can to ensure that it comes out looking great.
  • If you are submitting an excerpt of a published book, please also send us a link to the book and the publisher information.
  • Fan Fiction will NOT be accepted.
  • NO self-promoting via single links to your blog with no other content.
  • All content on this site is property of the individual author. If you are going to use it in part or in whole somewhere else, you must have permission from the author first, with the exception of reblogs.
  • Please include the links to your website/sales pages with your work if you wish to have them posted.
  • Please note: It may take up to a week for one of our editors to get back to you.
  • If you wish to have a photo included with your submission please note this at the top of your submission and we will send you the appropriate email to submit it to. We kindly ask that you limit your photos to one per submission, unless you are doing a photography post that has been previously approved.
  • Please ensure that your photos are appropriate for all audiences and are not offensive.  This includes graphic nudity, violence/gore, sexuality, and anything else that may be construed as inappropriate.

We hope everyone has a good time here and shares in the joy of reading and writing–Thank you, the editorial team.

Keep a look out for a post about coming events such as an artist contest and the bi-monthly theme, which will be replacing the weekly prompts.

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Z Land

​Have you ever had a wonderful, beautiful, tragic, romantic, heart-rending dream before?


There is this girl (I don’t know how old we are in my dream) but, if it’s in relation to her age, I should be late 20’s.

Lord, I hope I’m not a dirty, old man in dreamland…. 

All I can remember about her (after waking up 3-4 times at intense moments during the dream, then losing the flow of the dream and then trying to get back to sleep like a crazy person) that she has fair, smooth skin…light hazel eyes, reddish brown or dark strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, and a smile….

A smile that makes me wanna cry..

Usually does… 

She evidently has a recurring role in my psyche somehow, because I have “known” her since I was a teenager; you know….when us boys start dreaming about the fairer sex.

I can’t remember how many times I’ve seen her but, it’s long enough between episodes that I almost forget about her; then, she reappears.

I don’t know her name yet but, this is what happened last night…

Best that I can remember.


I am sitting on a couch, talking to unknown people, subject unknown.

Dream talk….

When a door into the room opens up and “my girl” walks in carrying groceries…

I freeze…..it takes me a second….don’t I know her……….?

The closest I could get to Lady's likeness...




 She’s seen me just as I see her and she drops the groceries, runs to the couch, crashes down on top of me and wraps her arms around my head. Laying her own beautiful red head down slowly; she’s looking into me; those pale green, sleepy, painful eyes…

Oh…there you are. Now, I remember… 




I’m looking at her again…her wet cheek dug into my chest and shoulder, her arm across my chest, her legs across my lap; she says…

(tears in my eyes now in really real)

She say’s…(I can’t see)

“Where have you been?”

So soft, so tenderly….

“Where have you been for soo long?”

Her eyes are glistening now…….accusing…..forgiving…..hating me.




I don’t want to be back in the awake place…

No one likes me here…. 

Guess what now?… I’m thinking…..”I should have stood up when she walked into the room, instead of just sitting there… been a gentleman”

Why that thought? It’s only a…..dream, right?

I must truly respect and cherish this lady; esteem her greatly I must.

Then, smiling to myself like a freaking Cheshire cat, I say to myself…


“Thank God…she’s back.”…then, of course, crying myself to sleep…..still smiling.

Glad that “she’s” back…

I’m fighting to find sleep, trying to find her again.

But’ I couldn’t…

I had left her there…in my…”our” dream…apparently again.

I’ve eft her sitting there beside my spot; haven’t I? Clutching at empty air like a gasping person, be it out of despair or need…terrified that I had faded away from the couch and left HER, once again (Crying again now in this really real; my hands are shaking)

Oh my god…..she’s probably still sitting there holding my empty air.

I flatter myself…. 

Maybe shes screaming my name!wpid-wp-1417907323877.jpeg

I am empty air.

What a bastard I must be…in this awake place.

I understand a few things more clearly this day; a true zen moment has occurred in my life; other than the fact that I am empty air in a dream romance….

Maybe it’s real to her….

Maybe…..it’s real to me.

Wanna know why about the zen?

A) I do not know this “lady’s” name

B) I have NEVER had a dirty dream about her

C) I have never kissed her.

But last night…last night…(crying in the really real, again)

I think dreams are real…

Last night was the first time, THE FIRST BLESSED TIME I ever heard her voice!

She actually spoke to me, and I can feel her fingers in my skin as surely as I can hear myself sniffling now!

Maybe thats why I couldn’t stay there….

What a bastard I must be…in this awake place.

If heaven is where dreams come true…then I either came one step closer to it last night, or I saw it on a hill….


I felt heaven there…in a dream…on a dream couch with bad cushions; my dream lady holding me…crying into my shoulder…shaking…Her loving me and me not knowing her…

Be back soon Lady…..

I know it and I can’t wait.

But, what if it’s years, like last time? Will you come? Will it be your turn to forget?

Or, will it be like that one time, where we passed each other on a crowded street and only had a second or two to die inside…..as we brushed by each other, the people shoving us along, keeping us apart?

Adrift on the waves. 

Here’s what I promise to the Sandman or God; whomever is in charge of dreams…

I’ll behave and commit no sin, I’ll eat all of my vegetables and pick up my dirty clothes.

I will eat tomatoes…..

I’ll beg the Lord for forgiveness and beg him to let me see you again …maybe I can stay a little longer next time…and we can talk…on our dream couch…


What a bastard I must be…In this awake place.

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#Sharing #CoverReveal #SummerMagic

The Write Stuff

sm cover at 30 percent

One more thing before I head to bed. I finally decided to expand Summer Magic by a few more poems and put out a print version, so I asked my cover designer, Nicki Forde, to come up with something that was the embodiment of a magical summer night. When I got to her house today, she had three covers for me to choose from. All of them were beautiful, but THIS one just stole my heart away! It’s everything I imagined, and more! Going to bed now, to dream of dark summer woods filled with fairy lights! *happy sigh*

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The Gate

“Are you in there, Daddy?”

Dad smiles back at me, his eyes shining, a look of glee on his face.

He grins wider and squeezes my hand harder…

He has no idea who I am does he?

*She can’t hear me can she?*

*I’m looking right in my baby’s eyes and squeezing her hand but, she just looks at me with her sad, pouty face she’s used on me since she was 2 years old, right after the time she dropped her very first piece of birthday cake. That was a very unhappy girl; she was sitting there, so big on a big pot, in a big chair so she could reach her big plate of cake on the big table.*

*Such a big girl….
I remember it like it was yesterday….
How long ago was that…yesterday?*

I look into my daddy’s eyes and I can tell he see’s me but, like the Doctor says “The lights are on but no adults are at home, only a 3 year old”

I wonder if daddy can understand what I say to him?

What’s he thinking?

I hold his hand tighter and lean towards him; Daddy likes this and grins bigger.

“Daddy, Mama died”

I burst into tears….
I can’t help it.

It’s not fair.

My mom knew me to her last
breath; my mommy died with her ungrateful child’s name on her dry lips.

My dementia ravaged dad is frowning.
He probably doesn’t know he is….
Did he hear me, does he understand what I’m saying?

He’s grinning again and patting my hand; a comfort pat.
He remembers what tears are, at least….maybe.
I shouldn’t get too excited though.
We all know what tears are.
Some more than others.
Tears are in our DNA.

I’m grasping at straws….

*Lisa’s dead?
My wife of 62 years is dead?
My junior high school crush is dead?
The girl down the street that used to beat me up everyday, when we were kids, is gone?
Lefty is dead?
My Lisa…..gone.

And here I sit on my big, flat dumb ass; I can’t do a damn thing about it except grin and giggle, pat Casey’s hand and drool like an idiot.*

*I’m trapped in here.*

*It’s like my body is a car and I’m in the passenger seat and I can’t move or talk and no one’s driving.*

*I’m dead in here*

*Is this hell?*

My heart keeps me alive out of spite, I’m sure of it.

*Am I in purgatory?*

*Am I not getting to spend eternity with my lover, my best friend?*

….. dead

My Honey Biscuit is gone.

I’m trapped in here.


*I’m watching my baby girl fall apart right in front of me, at my very knee, and all I can do is slobber and mew like a cat.*

It ain’t fair…

Something outside the window has caught daddy’s attention, so much for reaching him today.

I just can’t handle this right now….

“Daddy, I’ll come back tomorrow morning, we’ll have breakfast, OK?”

*I hear Casey leave; she doesn’t want to shut the door*

Poor baby. Such a great kid.

*Be strong, kiddo*

*I don’t think we’ll make breakfast.*

*Your mom is here to get me*

*Bye, baby girl*

*Thanks for being there for me, it meant everything, more than you’ll ever know*

*Lefty says you’ll be just fine, so I guess it’s OK to leave*

*See ya on the other side, Case’ *

note: I hate crying when I write


The Dying Rain Falls

To  busymindthinking: Memorial Day 2016 is coming…

You told me a story once….

And, it touched me….

I have to pay tribute to this much, too shortened friendship.

It’s amazing how things can move you….isn’t it?

What’s the point of life if we can’t be moved by others experiences.

Without movement, we go stale.

Because I think of her now, when it rains.
The Dying Rain

The rain began to patter on the window that looked out over my best friend’s small garden.

I was holding her frail hand, the one with her “green thumb”.

I smile at this…

She always giggled when she told me that she could kill a plastic plant…

I’ve seen it happen.

But now her eyes were closed, her breath labored.

….. today was a good day for her, considering everything….

She may have been asleep but, her fingers gripped mine as hard as she could squeeze.

I could barely tell I was holding her hand at all, as weak as she was.

It’s so painful, beyond belief really, to try and imagine strength draining away from the strongest person you have ever known.
….like sand in an hourglass.

I laced my fingers thru hers, gripping them a little harder, tracing the veins on the back of her hand with my other fingers.

I can’t believe I’m losing her….

My bestest friend in the whole world is dying………Dying!rain3


I can hear the thunder in the distance, the rain coming and going, the branches of the trees scraping lightly across the panes of glass

In the storm graying light of the small bedroom I turn back into time to think of our lives together.

I have done this more than usual lately….

Six months…..

Too fast…

…..Way too damn fast.

Doesn’t it seem weird that when you are about to lose someone close to your heart, a piece of your very soul, that we start to reflect on our memories of them more, as if though trying to burn them deeper into our hearts and minds….

It’s as if though we are afraid that we might forget something important….forget them?

I look at her face as she sleeps….

She’s so beautiful……..even now.

My flower is fading….rain7

The sun is leaving her eyes.

The rain reminds me that I must not cry……

Cloud tears trickle down, the beads of sky diamonds ornament her window…..


I won’t weep…..

Not now at least, she gets upset when I cry.

I sit there, holding my friends tiny hand, staring out the jeweled window as the storm drums the shutters.

The lightning is bright, the thunder is closer….the rain, more insistent…..

I can smell the trees.

I begin the stroll down our memory lane; it isn’t raining here.

There is only laughter, joy and our high school prom.

There is only skinned knees, gum in our hair and boyfriends we shared.rain4


I am brought back from my breaking heart to the bedside when I feel her stir under the blankets….

The thunder moves her.

Her eyes are open and I follow her hooded gaze.

She is looking out the window, watching the storm.

Shadows of the window panes, rain drops and lightning dance across her face…..

She is quiet….Still.

Oh, so still…..

I notice a small tear is running down her pale cheek and across her dry lips…

I reach up and wipe the tear away with my finger.

I feel guilty that I am alive.

She grabs my hand and presses it to her lips and then….she drops my hand with a tired sigh.

She turns her face toward me….dream9

I raise my finger to my lips and kiss what’s left of her tear….

She gives me that shy grin of hers and turns back to the storm.

“Will you do me a favor?” she asks in her beautiful, weak voice; the stormy sky reflecting in her dimming, pretty eyes.

“I don’t know” I say “I’m kinda busy” I grin.

She squeezes my hand again before turning to look at me, her gaze imploring.

“I’m serious” She says.

My face softens, I will not cry….

“You bet” I whisper, both my hands pressing hers to show my promise.

I can’t squeeze hard. She lives very close to pain that I can’t imagine.

She turns her face back toward the window as the rain dances across the roof, the thunder making the panes tremble….

She says “Think of me when it rains….”rain6

I cannot cry in front of her….

I will not….

My best friend in life is slipping away like a dream, like water thru my fingers….

“I hope it rains forever” I say….

Her eyes are closed now…

Her fingers relax in mine….

“It doesn’t hurt anymore…” she whispers.

I thank God for this small answer to my anguished prayers….and I curse him.

“No…don’t go…” I say

I feel like an asshole for being alive.

I never thought that would be the last thing she would hear from my lips.

No God….not her….

Not my friend…..

Take me instead, I’ll go. I’ll go right now!


She dropped my hand.

Her heart has finished its toil.

I can’t breathe….I gotta get out of here….I…….can’t…..breathe….Oh my God! Oh my God!!!

She has gone from me into the storm….

She lives where lightning is born….rain8

Our joined lives continue as memory….

I guess I can cry now….

But, I think it still upsets her…no matter.


I will dance in the rain with the memory of my friend, and we will laugh…

I rejoice in the fact that as long as I live, she will be there with me.

She will watch our children grow.

She will watch our children become best friends.

It is time for me to weep for my lovely…

I thank God for Heaven and eternal life….

Oh my God, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of her?

I can already hear her voice in my head…

“Cry baby”

I smile….

rain1It’s true….

She’s here…..right now.

She is alive in the thunder and rain.

I will think of her….

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In My Head, Goes “bump”

Where does inspiration come from?

It comes from recent rain and rainbows, music from your past, a babbling brook that loves to download (2)gossip, fresh cut grass that makes your tennis shoes green, or a beautiful woman that takes your breath away.

It can come from babies laughing, a word on a roadside sign, the way a person treats another or it can come from a sudden flash of understanding and perspective about something you weren’t even thinking about in just that moment; as a matter of fact you haven’t thought about it in sometime then…”BOOM” there it is….

Then, there’s the other place that inspiration comes from….

It can come from the dark, when your eyes are closed and your mind is supposed to be at rest.

It can come to you in the night; where things go “bump”

When it comes, it is the type of nightmare that nightmares hope they never have….

It’s real….

I would not categorize what happened to me last night, whilst in my heavenly repose, as a nightmare.

I did not twitch, jerk, wet my bed, sweat or wake up screaming tangled in twisted blankets and all of my pillows on the floor.

I woke up quietly.wpid-wp-1417908021574.jpeg

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

“Am I back?”

Not “awake”….”Am I back?”

I remember whispering that this morning after I laid there for a while, in the dimming light, only a small, gray sliver of light from the window to stare at.

That’s what struck me a little later.

I had gotten up slowly, musing on how real the “episode” had seemed and how much of it I remembered.

It wasn’t like your typical dream, or mine usually; running thru our fingers like water or sand as Dickinson would say.

This one was sticking….

I dressed slowly, I got up slowly, I moved slowly….

I was exhausted from a burden that I carried in my heart and mind.

As I walked up the echoing sidewalk toward the office under a cloudy, morning sky, I stopped.

Why did I whisper “Am I back” and not “Am I awake”?

Did I actually go somewhere else?

Did that mysterious part of my brain know something that I didn’t?wpid-20150109_062042-picsay.jpg

How else could I return from the undiscovered country of my mind unless it has known how to get there and back in the first place, like it’s been there before, as if though it were a real place.

One thing was for sure…

I don’t wanna go back there.

It is a dark place where you go to scratch at old wounds and make them bleed.

It is a place where you cannot cry, only watch.

It is a place where you only talk to yourself.

But, in Gods infinite goodness, there was no running or screaming in this “place”, nothing chasing me, nothing breathing in the dark…..

The only monster there, is me.

This is the place we go to, to re-visit mistakes and regrets as a restrained and gagged bystander, as a silent witness to your own stupidity and ignorance.

It is the place where you re-live your past and there is NOTHING THAT YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE ANY OF IT.

The only power you have is to toss your head in your sleep and moan “no….”   “No….”

You don’t gasp “wake up” because you don’t remember that you’re asleep; you know…I know, that this is as real as it gets.

In the awake place we can force ourselves to quit dwelling on the past, to get on with our lives, to quit “beating ourselves up”; we’re only human after all, we all make mistakes.wpid-img_20150220_121756-picsay.jpg

Not there, not in the undiscovered country of our minds.

The monster that is you sits across from you in a small room and tells you a story.

It is not a long story but, it is true.

….oh, so true….and dark.

“Am I back?”

You cannot protest, you cannot cover your ears, you cannot look away.

I have to look at myself.

The worst part is, is that you are unable to make excuses.

Your monster that is you, knows that you’re a liar….

He knows how I can be….or was.

And he will never….EVER, let me forget.

But, you still try to soften the condemnations….

This isn’t real….

“Am I back?”

When the monster that is you has finished with your tale, you just sit there, swathed in fresh guilt and regrets, all of the old wounds begin to fester anew.

The fresh whip marks across your shoulders, face and back burn and gape.

No one can punish you with such ferocity and relentless spite and contempt, as can the very own monster that is you.

s,v,“Look what you’ve done” it keeps saying…..

And I looked…..



I opened my eyes.

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

“Am I back?”


I’m sitting here in our break-room writing this. I am looking around at the vending machines, a gurgling coffee pot and occasionally glancing up at the humming lights. I’ll tap a key or two on my laptop as a new thought or memory about last night comes to me.

“Am I back?”

I can’t tell…..

It feels….

….like that other place.

Wish I may... Wish I may…


Useful Posts for the author, writer and blogger in you #WriterTips

Over on my blog, I recently ran a series of posts dedicated to help others, mainly from a reader’s point of view. Check out the links of ones which interest you.


Rosie's Notebook


May 6th 2015 – Checking your WordPress is linked to your Twitter helps others share your posts http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7L2

May 13th 2015 – Writer’s Craft books by Rayne Hall full of REALLY useful tips http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7Ma

May 20th 2015 – Hyperlinks, Short links and Linkys http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7Rl

May 27th 2015 – Making your post titles easy to share on Twitter to maximise views. http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7SA

June 17th 2015 – Creating Twitter pics that fit http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7Y4

June 24th 2015 – Creating a slideshow on WordPress http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7Yo

July 1st 2015 – Getting the most out of Google+ posts http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7YM

July 8th 2015 – Automated Tweets, LOVE ‘EM or HATE ‘EM? make use of them http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-7Za

July 15th 2015 – What’s Your Book Genre? http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-84S

July 22nd 2015 – Should you write dreams into your work? http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-84Q

July 29th 2015 – What can I read in the first 10% of your book? http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-84W

August 5th 2015 – Dialogue – he/she said http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-87T

August 12th 2015 – Creating Twitter Lists – http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-8ck

August 19th 2015 – Making best use of your Twitter “Thank-You” http://wp.me/p2Eu3u-8cn



Remember me?
It’s Trey…
I used to be quite prolific on this forum of ours, for a wanna be blogger sans talent or education.

I ran into life, lately.


It’s funny how that happens, ain’t it?
You’re just walking around, doing your thing and BAM!!

Life reminds us that we are real.
We forget…

Life reminds us that we are human and subject to external stimuli such as politicians, preachers, perverts and easily offended people.

God Bless America….

Life reminds us that although it goes on and on in whatever form it chooses i.e., bacteria, ashes to ashes and dust to space dust, we do not go along for the entire ride.

Life reminds us, over and over, that our bodies will not last forever and sometimes, they just can’t or won’t hold the ghost. No matter how much we pray, fast, repent or
sell the occasional kidney or cornea.

I had an 80% blockage in my heart.

They found it by accident.

I thought I was just getting checked out for a chest cold, though I never get sick, you see.


I grew up on a pig farm. I am impervious to viruses and bacterium.

I have never had the flu.
I hardly ever get colds, unless I smooch on my disease ridden wife or kid….


I can’t remember the last time I was ill that was not caused by Budweiser.

My wife gives me headaches, does that count?

“You need a stent”
This isn’t real.
This only happens to other people.

I was scared but, hey! I don’t’ have cancer….right?!

“No, you don’t have cancer”
Thank God for small favors, or perhaps a big one.

I have beloved that are fighting cancer as I type….I have no idea what it would cost in really real pain.

Cancer only happens to other people….

I recently saw a little blind boy, couldn’t have been more than 4 years old, celebrate stepping off a curb using his new blind person cane. Please watch:
Handicap able!

His mom was so excited for him and you would have thought he was Superman….the way they carried on.

Silly, lovely people….

I’m such an asshole sometimes…..an ungrateful asshole.
Guilt feels good.


I see healthy, energetic, talented people brought back to reality by disease, circumstances or just shitty luck.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, with their bald heads and weight loss, blown off body parts and wheelchairs; their bankruptcy and suicides.

I won’t bitch about my heart stent.

And that goes completely against my nature….about anything, except maybe getting used to this new keyboard.

I have no right to bitch; not over really real stuff.

My heart is fixed, for the time being.

I still have to take pills and I eat like a caveman that hasn’t discovered fire.

I watched the whole heart Stent installation procedure unfold as the total strangers invaded my body.

I watched my smoky gray heart on a black and white TV with a little squiggly line bouncing around.

I would’ve preferred Hi Def…

I was amazed when they told me that they would be inserting the stent catheter into my wrist vein to get to my heart.

“But….my heart is in my chest…”


I re-educated the physician, pointing to the center of my chest.

The Doctor in Sponge Bob scrubs poked me in the chest, a little right of my poking finger and said “Yep, I’ve seen a few and it’s more like right here.”

Smart ass Doctor with all of his thousands of surgeries and 500 years of school! I know where my damn heart i! It’s in my freaking throat!

Do you know what the doctor said during my procedure?

DO YOU!!??

Dr Sponge Bob quotes: I swear TO GOD!!!
“Crap, that isn’t right, I don’t think that’s supposed to spurt like that”
“Hold on Trey, this is gonna hurt like hell”
“Nurse, cut off his pain meds, he’s a tough guy”
“Now where is that dang heart you were pointing at?”
“Hmmph, I think….I’m done”
“Where’d that damn stent go…?”

Ha. Ha. Ha.


Never let the doctors know you have a sense of humor as sick as theirs.

Reminded me…..Doctors are human, too.

I guess that’s what scared me the most during the whole procedure, I reckon….and afterwards for sure; Kinda like a post operative flinch.

My doctor was a human. Wow….a really real person.

But, it sure helped to have a doctor that laughed when I cussed him out.

It takes a special kind of person to be a doctor, nurse or cop.
Try to remember what it takes to care for a sick hubby, wife or child.
Gets old quick, don’t it.


Now do it for 50 plus years with every conceivable ailment known to man occurring without going bat-shit from all of the sorrow, pain and suffering that you can’t do a damn thing to alleviate other than making them comfortable….

Oh, and try not to curse or blame God.

Now that I think about it, that’s when I know that I won’t have long to live;
When I hear the doctors say “We’re just trying to keep him as comfortable as possible”

I’ll take a cussing, condescending surgeon any day, thank ye.

Anyways, let’s wrap this up, I gotta go to work….yes, on a Sunday.
Yes, I am a sinner.
Yes, I am a pagan heretic…

I got my stent. Only cost me $34,342.00
My heart is fine.
I am broke.
My old laptop crashed, that’s why you haven’t heard from me as consistently as you need to.

I got back ahead a little bit and took a chance and bought my own truck; don’t be crazy, I’m leasing it.


I can’t afford $130,000!

New bionic heart…taking chances!

Oh, if any of you are new to my blog I drive an 18 wheeler for a living. Yes, all 48 states…except NYC metro.

Only crazy people go there.

Oh, I’m on a Hopi Reservation somewhere in Arizona, right now.

I get to see places most people only read about.
And yes….this country is beautiful.


Just ignore the politicians, litter, abandoned towns and buildings and places where you grew up that are gone and where there’s a parking lot or Walmart there, now.

I’m not gonna bitch.
I’m pretty lucky, really.
I’ve been blessed to put up with other humans on my earth for 51 years and survived…to a point.

I’ll try and remember…..
I am not a blind 4 year old on a curb….
But, I could have been.
You could have been.

Sunday Message: Nothing is trivial

p.s: I’m glad to be writing again. Even if it’s on this stupid Nextbook keyboard that took 30 minutes longer to type out this post than it should have…..


p.s2: I will not bitch


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