Temporary breakthrough

To say that I have written very little lately is an obvious understatement. I'm not even talking about updating this blog, but writing in general. The addictive time suck of social media, along with a lack of confidence has really caused me to essentially stop writing. It's been months since I've written a poem.

Months.

Since Meatgrinder last July, perhaps?

It's been a few years since I've written with any energy and grief stopped that in its tracks. Now, I have zero confidence in putting any thought to paper, let alone want to present it to people at a reading. I think I have successfully erased myself from the Columbus poetry scene. That's how low I feel.

Something was festering in my head for a few weeks though. The germ of a thought that came from an observation. Could I put it down and feel like i am not mining my son's life, which is (again) what the poem is about?



There was a moment in time before a webinar today when I set pen to paper and hoped. It took less than five minutes for most of it to be put down. I refrained from putting the paper in the shredder. During the webinar I edited it a bit and in typing at home it got edited a bit more.

Not the best, far from it. Not the worst, far from it. But it's something, and it's been a long time since I put something down that I did not immediately hide or erase.

Plumber's Butt Head

It was Monday night when my Scottish Wife came downstairs after doing a wonderful job of cleaning the bathroom.

"The toilet handle is broken."

Tuesday, after dinner, I went to the hardware store to buy a replacement handle. While I was there I got a wax seal for the bottom of the toilet, because I was pretty sure it was the cause for a leak that has been there for some time. The wax ring was cheap, and for some unknown reason I was DIY inspired!



The problem being whenever the toilet was flushed, a small amount of water dripped so we could hear it downstairs. Because of this, we have a missing ceiling tile in the kitchen that makes the room look bad. The water had already ruined one tile, no need to put in another that would only get water damage.

The replacement handle was an easy fix.



Trying to get the bolts off the toilet was a pain in the ass because the previous occupant of the house decided to caulk/seal/glue the toilet directly to the linoleum. Some of the tile tore up while lifting the toilet. I was covered in sweat because of the heat, became a bit frustrated and grumpy. No one got hurt though. Cussing was kept to a minimum

After I got the seal on, the toilet leaked even worse than before. Bad enough that a professional had to be called in. No real damage was done, no blood was spilled, and no water was shooting up from a pipe with no hope of shutting the flow. I called Roto-Rooter, they do not charge extra for showing up in the evening.

The plumber came, we cursed the previous occupants for doing a number of things wrong to the piping, some of it not up to code. He did all he could, including replacing a pipe and valve, which had corroded and worn out. He got the leak down to a very minimal amount, especially in comparison to before I got to it. The tooth was already damaged, I exposed the infected nerve during cleaning. Josh from Roto-Rooter did his job well with what he was given.



The toilet is leaking very little now, which is good, so it may be possible to replace the tile in the kitchen and find someone who is willing to seal up some plastic to iron piping. It is in the best interest of everyone that I no longer lift up a toilet to fix what is underneath,

Random Friday

What can I say about Writers’ Block’s Founder’s Night? People brought new work, dusted off some old poems – dusted off themselves to come out for the first time in awhile. It’s family, and I’m honored to be a part of it. Scott and Vernell have sustained a loving and supportive creative venue for fifteen years and I cannot thank them enough.

Did a new piece called “Slam Poet Junction” in which I took a scythe to slam poetry topics and put a dagger to the throat of my own work. You never know how new work is going to go in such a crowded setting, and I went first so I got to set the tone of the evening. Yes, the title is Schoolhouse Rock based. Yes, there is singing. Yes, it would sound good with bongos, er, congas backing it up!

Wrote it after watching a DVD of the IWPS 2009 finals; There was some very good poetry read, but I’m not sure it traveled well. Kind of like really, really enjoying a wine during a tasting at the winery. Meeting the winemaker, seeing the vineyards, then when you buy a bottle of the wine you just had and take it home, it does not taste as good. Terroir matters.

The week continued with my son’s school bus not showing up on time, again, on Thursday morning. It finally showed up when he was supposed to be in school. Transportation heard from me. The bus driver heard from me. They know I am not pleased with their lack of punctuality.

I finally got the title to the car and went to the BMV to get license plates. There was no one there. No waiting at the BMV is a great thing to receive.

There was a snow event in the city yesterday so the drive home from work last night was an adventure. I took it slow and steady, as did most of the commuters. There was one mini-van that went into the ditch on Fisher Road, but no one was hurt. Wound up getting all my errands done.

On getting home I found my Scottish Wife in our parking space, shoveling a path for me to park. That was sweet. She even shoveled the back walk while I put the new plates on the car. I shoveled the front, and the sidewalk of my neighbor. We ended up with about six inches of snow.

The car was frozen shut this morning and I had to chip away and wait to finally be able to get in though one of the back doors, push open the front doors – great fun in single digit temperatures, in the dark. Scraping the car of ice and snow was finger numbing, even in gloves. It could be worse. Wanted to head out to the car graveyard and salvage a couple of small parts for the interior tomorrow morning, but temperatures are once again going to be cold. So I’ll end up back at work for a couple of hours and will hopefully be able to see my son in the pool too.

Writers’ Block First Draft tonight. Nuku Haiku, including the haiku death match. Starts at eight at Kafe Kerouac. Admission is a mere three dollars. You can’t beat that!

There was a lovely moon set in the west that I got to see from the large window behind me. Nice way to get the day going.