What to do when the shit hits the fan

I wish I had a good imagination. It’s feeble at best.

I’m pretty good at writing what’s real though. I learned that when I took a journalism class in high school. It came to me naturally. I got really good grades. My future was clear.

So that’s why I write my real life stories. It’s what I’m built to do.

For instance, the floor in my living room caved in today. Luckily I was standing off to the side when it happened. The shock wore off quickly because my dad is a war veteran, and when I was growing up, he was always telling me, “Brooks, when the shit hits the fan, you got to act as if the shit is always hitting the fan. Otherwise, you’re gonna freeze up in panic, and you’ll be no good to anyone.”

So the floor caved in, and rather than panic, I took a deep breath, felt calm, and took a look down into the hole. There was an underground pond down there, filled with alligators. They looked up at me with panic in their eyes, just like my dad told me not to do.

I wanted to help. So I crawled down into the hole. I went up to the alligators and pet their soft throats. I learned that trick on PBS. They said this area is the alligators must sensitive spot. When you pet them there, they relax.

Pretty soon there were twelve easy going alligators lazily swimming around the pond. I stayed down there with them for a while because I love to wade in ponds.

Hot off the press

I was up late when the angel appeared in my living room. I’m not into angels, but still I was surprised.

I asked what it wanted. The angel said, “Nothing, I just thought it would be nice to spend some time with you.”

I asked what that entailed. The angel said, “You keeping me company.”

Let me tell you that I don’t particularly care for angels because of this kind of vague shit. But my mother taught me to never be rude, so I said okay.

The angel sat while I wrote this story. I write because life is odd and if I write about it, I feel like it starts to make sense. Like I’m a journalist writing details about happenings. Hot off the press stories.

I wrote a story last week about a dog that spoke to me in Latin. I knew it was Latin because I had to take it as an elective in high school. I guess everything at some point fills a hole.

Sitting and Waiting

I sat and waited.

I waited a little longer.

Pretty soon I forgot why I was waiting.

But I didn’t want to get up and leave because what if what I was waiting for showed up and I wasn’t there.

I sat for a while longer. A tiger arrived and walked right up to me. It looked me up and down and licked its lips.

I didn’t want to look like I wasn’t sure if the tiger was what I was waiting for, so I pet its head. The tiger purred.

The Walk

In the afternoon, I went for a walk. At the normal turn around and go home place, I decided to keep going. Soon it was night. I wasn’t tired. So I kept walking.

One day past. Then another. I was on a non-stop roll. I drank from streams, ate from grass stalks, once I ate a pear off a tree.

I figured out a way to sleep while walking and not run into trees or out into the middle of the street.

Soon I reached the tip of Florida. I couldn’t go any further. I wanted to, but what could I do.

Interesting bedfellows

I was out late at night, walking through the desert. I soon got tired and went under a hanging rock to take a sleep. I laid down on the sand and was zonked out in seconds.

I woke up a few hours later to find that I was covered with sleeping rattlesnakes. They don’t snore, but shake their rattles while sleeping. That’s what woke me up.

I fought back my panic with the thought, “Oh, this is cute. They feel comfortable enough to sleep with me. Perhaps they might be my new found friends.” I managed to fall back asleep.

In the morning the rattlers woke up and thanked me for the warmth. I nodded and said I was glad I could help.