A Place in Time

Past the parking meters on the street, there is a large, yet unobtrusive, two-story yellow house. The faded cream tone of the paint contrasted by the white trim of the windows, and the railings of the front stoop and the balcony above it. Out in the front yard just to the right of the paved walkway is a little red sign with white letters giving the only indication that there was anything more than apartments inside. Up the stairs, across the short porch, through the front doors, and just to the right. There it is, The Dragon’s Hearth.

The front room furnished with cheap pegboard shelves hold rows of colorful books and boxes, and several drab folding card tables. Over a disused fireplace is the head of a white dragon named Kryos is mounted; a rubber mask around a wooden frame that gives the store its moniker, it is the look of the thing that matters. If it is early in the afternoon it is always filled with people playing games. Wonderful people of all ages, playing such wonderful games made of paper and imagination. In the back room painted figures of pewter are engaged glorious battles as they are pushed around large green table.

At the very front of the store behind the long, glass display case I often sit on my stool  the ,between fish bowls full of dice, and the cash register. People come in to The Hearth just to chat with me, sometimes I play a quick round or two of whatever trading card game is popular this week. Mostly I just sit and survey things in silence or talk smack about gaming with friends. It gives me an overdeveloped sense of importance, like I’m holding court. I am happy not knowing about the years to come.

Anymore this isn’t a real place, just a moment that was sometime between when my father died, and when my world went to shit.

Now and then, since what I like to call my recovery, I build it in my head, to see if I really miss it. I don’t suppose it even matters if I do. That was there and that was then.

I am here and it is now.

RE: Got time?

I’m still on the fence about whether I like this version or Joe Jackson’s original better. I do think that I’m feeling the Anthrax a bit more today though.

It probably is a good thing this blog doesn’t count as my job, as it seems to becoming harder for me to stick to my self-imposed deadlines. I suppose there is an argument to be made about if this was my job then my current one wouldn’t interfere with that, but were not there yet and in all likely hood won’t be anytime soon. Two weeks ago I had to work longer hours behind the line because the areas university students graduated and we had to feed a few thousand of them and their families that weekend. Last week I was busy chasing my daughter around the yard making up for all the extra time spent at work the week before. This week it’s mostly just exhaustion, and body aches from too much running around getting to me.

And then there’s the internet.

I do most of my writing at night after coming home from work. I am usually very tired and have used up most of my attention span for the day by then and am apt to make rather poor time management decisions, none of which are likely to involve going to bed early so I am functional enough to accomplish much more than getting the kid to school and then coming home and passing back out at some point.

Instead it is a safe bet that my night will  turn out  to be a few hours of screwing around on some antisocial network, binge watching some TV show on Netflix, and culminate in me realizing that I haven’t done diddley squat and am now trying to keep myself awake to see the end of some inane movie that I wouldn’t have even bothered to watch except that it was two thirty in the morning, and what the hell I’m up anyway right.

The problem isn’t that I need more hours in the day I just need to stop filling them with stupidity.

Anyway that’s what I’ve been thinking about this past week.

Happy Monday.