Thursday! the E-Zine for February 21, 2024

V4, I13

There’s a couplet in one of my favorite songs¹ that goes:

Sometimes I think life is like a rodeo.

The trick is to ride and make it to the bell.

These days, that’s a fairly apt description of my life. I don’t have a solid explanation for what is happening, except that most of it is below the surface, in my heart, in potential, and in possibility. I am teaching more in my church — in fact, my Pastor asked me after the service Sunday if I would preach our Good Friday service. I have a feeling of restlessness that is less discontent and more, well, I wonder if this is how a late-blooming caterpillar might feel as the cocoon begins to crack and a new light spills in.

Or not. It’s tough to say whether I’m talking about a cocoon or the cave of a scared hermit. Still, something is going on and it’s producing good things. I can only pray that when the bell sounds, I’ve been doing the right thing. We shall see.

But that’s all weird Jimmie stuff! You’re not here for a lot of that right? You’re here for other weird Jimmie stuff — stories and poems and various word-shenanigans and metrical cavorting. I have some of that, too. If things move a bit in ways I want them to move, I’ll be able to do a couple different things later on, too. I know, I know. I’ve said that before, but I’ve not forgotten it²! My plans are for…more.

Cool? Cool. Let’s read!

Poems

• Happy Hump Day

Stories

• Jerry and the Cassette of Mystery

• Make Things Happen

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Happy Hump Day

Wednesday, they call it Hump Day
A celebration dromedary
To me, it is more Grump Day
With the humped one my adversary.

Jerry and the Cassette of Mystery

The cassette tape appeared on Jerry's desk with a small pop that woke him up from a very nice daydream about winning the lottery. He looked around, but as usual, he was alone. No one came into the building unless habit or their duties required it. Like Jerry. He couldn’t blame them, really. The place was old, dreary, and situated next to hundreds of acres of stubby, wild nothingness. Not for the first time, he thought of finding a new job.

Instead, he gave the tape a close examination. It had no label, no marking, no nothing. It was a mystery, entire and complete, right there in his hand. Maybe it had fallen from a hole in the ceiling, though he couldn't see how anything could get through all that plaster. That only left fanciful explanations: magic, aliens, time travel, magic time-traveling aliens, interdimensional DJs hungry to share their mixtapes.. He supposed he could play it and see what happened. There was a cassette player out in his car. He had stuck it in the back seat two years ago when he got it from...somewhere. He couldn't remember. He always meant to move it but never did. Like working for people who buried him in a backwater office or living in his too-small, too-old apartment. Jerry meant to do many things but never did.

He gave the tape a shrug and tossed it into his backpack. He'd get to it after lunch, maybe. Or tomorrow.

Outside, time rolled on.

(Back to Top)

Make Things Happen

The bright yellow note on Tanya's vision board read "MAKE THINGS HAPPEN". She stared at it, unblinking, for a full minute. Her breathing deepened, her shoulders dropped a fraction as she relaxed. Her lips moved soundlessly as she repeated the mantra to herself.

She couldn't remember writing the note, just as she couldn't remember writing the others that had shown up in the center of the board over the past...how many weeks? She couldn't remember that either. What she could remember is how they made her feel. Powerful. Relaxed. Complete. 

Today's note dominated the board, larger and newer than any of the other scraps and stickys pinned there, some of them so old that she could no longer read them. Not that she wanted to. They were her old life -- shopping lists and phone numbers and reminders to buy wine and things she no longer needed now that she had the vision board. Now that the bright yellow note in her strong and confident hand gave her direction for the day. 

She ran her fingers through unwashed hair and crooked-buttoned her frayed sweater. "MAKE THINGS HAPPEN" burned in the back of her mind, whispered in her ears from the inside. She said it one more time, aloud but in a near-monotone whisper. 

"Make. Things. Happen."

She could do that. Yes, she could. Today was her day. She was going to make things happen.

Tanya shoved the last block of explosives into her shoulder bag and yanked the zipper closed. 

(Photo Credit: Gerald on Pixabay)

(Back to Top)

1. “Rock and Roll Girls”, off of Centerfield. John Fogerty is a heck of a songwriter. Take a listen to “The Old Man Down the Road”, which always makes me want to write yet another creepy end of the world story.

2. Neither have I forgotten that I owe some replies to the very kind and uplifting comments and e-mails some of you left me last week. I have plans to write them before the weekend. I also have plans to write three other things before the weekend. My plans are still not well-coordinated as you can see.