as a writer writes pt.1

As a writer writes, I scorn my pen and inkwell. But hello, I am here with you, right now, for the next  moments of your life. I have decided to write this introduction at the end of the story rather than it's beginning. It’s not really a story, just thoughts of people and lives and danger and chipmunks and more. Can you handle it? I hope so. Please call me after you read this and tell me what you thought. I’ll set my telephone to stun or silent or super loud; depends on the time of day you call me at. I hope you like the following, wait, let me reword that, I don’t care if you like the following for you are now stuck to read it, or use it as a white wine coaster on the eve of Thanksgiving if you believe in that anyways. Tea time is anytime and as I write I am drinking Ooolong tea, 79 cents for 25 bags. I’m learning about the healing qualities of tea through experience but I am still a novice. What a beautiful day to be alive. The crisp snow on the ground. The wind blowing every which way. Smiles on the children’s faces getting on the blue bus going to class and singing lullabies and prolific chants of Zeus or Hades or Rebecca, the girl in my grade 10 history class which I had a huge crush on. She knew because her locker was beside mine and I always had something to say to her. She’s probably married by now, with 4 or 5 kids running around the house and backyard and cul de sac and starting to experience joy and emotion and their blessed Bodhisattva senses. What a word. I look in the mirror to see if I still exist, and I am there, looking back at myself, beard growing, hair messy, teeth chattering. I smell like lemongrass. I have to be in touch with my feminine side to get anywhere in this life. Je suis done with the drinking and smoking and pot and curls and coffee. I am one with my Being and I meditate when I can. Tea works though. Ooolong. I’m a long ways from home and keep travelling so I can never stop the restlessness in my legs and joints and aura and body. I read, wisdom, I have some I hope. And that’s all what we can do in this life is to hope. Where there is life, there is hope. And I fell down some stairs .  So, why judge. If it is rational and you can think it, you can definitely do it. I can type and so can you? Criticize or parade. Or love and hate, I will still type. I’ve never made creamed coconut before but my friend mentioned all I need is water and a whisker and I can create some sort of beverage I assume. But all I really like doing is looking at the package, it’s neat.  Tidy and intense. Let me describe it to you. It’s about the size of a pack of Pall Mall king size large with two coconuts, one cut in half to insist the whiteness of the flesh. A big green vegetarian check mark and a label that says one hundred percent pure. 150g. And it’s from Sri Lanka on the side imported from a tiny little city named Concord Ontario. There you go. I look at it as you read and it is definitely going to be made tonight before rest and relaxation. R and R. This is all foreshadowing if you haven’t guessed that already. I’m excited for you to read this yet I hate every word on the page. I’m just repeating myself now so please do not take me or you seriously. And we have almost hit a page, so I will let you enjoy for yourself. And if you don’t like, I’d say good day, but I am apathetic and don’t really care at this point. So… Enjoi.