Cheater!!!

No, I am not calling you a cheater. I am a cheater, and I am even admitting it. See, I could have gotten away with it and not even told you that I was cheating and you never would have known, but I am too darned honest. So, as punishment for trying to cheat before I even had a chance to do it, I am making myself do both of the things I was going to do. Ha! So there, that is what you getting for trying to cheat, me!!

To explain to the person reading this who has no idea what is going on in my head, or to explain to myself when/if I go back to read this and say, "What the hell was I talking about?" I will fill you in. I had two thoughts on what I could do today. I could just write about my trip to the Museum of Science today (in four part harmony), or do another writing exercise.

This sneaky little part of my brain perked up at that particular moment and said, "You know, you can use your number roll and decide if it is something you want to write about first. That way if you roll and it is something you don't like you can just say to yourself that you just wanted to write about the museum trip anyways."

I rolled and found that I liked the topic, and then the ethical part of my mind said, "But wait, isn't that cheating it to do it that way? That is not a fair way to do things; you should be more honest about it to your readers and to yourself." While there was the temptation to throttle that little voice, it was also true. The sneaky part of my brain may have gotten away with not doing the writing exercise if it was something I really didn't want to do, but that is just between you and me, right?

I will start with the trip to the Boston Museum of Science. It may take a moment to gather my thoughts and decide whether I should tell you about actually being in the museum, or the actual trip to and from the museum.

As a nerd, I have an appreciation for museums, especially one dedicated to science. Sadly, I did not have much time to actually explore in the museum. The Museum of Science in Boston is three floors high and separated into three sections. We were given about two and a half an hours to see all of this. I saw maybe one third of the museum, preferring quality of the time there over quantity.

That was my time in the museum. The trip to get there and back was a bit over an hour each way, and my company for the trip was dubious to say the least. At one point there was a person who seemed sure that he knew huge amounts about science and just about everything else also. He spent a fair amount of time talking about the science involved with information from Star Trek books he had. Now mind you, I love Star Trek, but a good deal of the science is much more on the imaginary side of things then real science.

The conversation with him started because I was reading a book in The Vampire Earth series by E. E. Knight. He also enjoyed talking immensely, and did not like to stop talking. For the most part this was tolerable, but when he started talking about Dungeons and Dragons and suggesting that they were responsible for ritual sacrifices that did start to irritate me quite a bit. There also seemed to be no line between pagan and satanist in his mind, so I not even insert any of my own knowledge on the subjects, as it was obvious to me that, in his own mind, he knew everything and would not be dissuaded.

Another one of the people I met was one who just liked to randomly blurt things out at volume that have little or no consequence to the rest of the world. So, more or less he talked to himself. Now, when I am alone, I may talk to myself or my cat or my computer. I do tend to reserve these conversations mostly for when I am alone, though, and they tend to be of a higher caliber then what I was hearing.

I did bring a book with me as I mentioned, but I find it difficult to read when people are talking loudly at or around me. I was having a difficult time concentrating, so I barely got any reading done on the trip and have a headache now.

Writing Exercise: My Epitaph
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I stand at the edge of a precipice, a familiar feeling rising in my depths. This primal fear of heights haunts me. Does no one see me here, hanging on the edge of oblivion? I have but one purpose in life, if I am broken it will all be lost. I would have no reason to go on. Why will no one see me here?

It would only take a careless push, a slip. It is all so senseless. Please, don't leave me here alone! You must see me and help! I can already see it happening, the vision plays over and over. I fall to lie broken and shattered on the ground below. As much as I try to make myself stop seeing it, I cannot push the image away.

When it does happen, it seems to last forever. A hand reaches, but misses in its hold. I slip from fingers reach, tip forward and fall. Falling seems to last a lifetime, then the impact. Shattered. Liquid splatters, like blood. I hear a wail as things begin to fade.

"Jimmy, don't cry over spilled milk," I hear the mother say to her son.

"I am not crying for the milk, mommy. I am crying for the glass."

Ah, my epitaph.

(The exercise was to write something from the point of view of a glass on the edge of a table, I did not want to give the store away by telling you that before I started though. Did the story work?)