Journal - July 17 - 7:09 - 9:14

Jul 17 >>> 07:09 >>> Placement 267 >>> Student 6379857 >>>  045

Oddly enough, chronological by 'date created' works the best. A master plan may be at work. The true test (for this plot that really does not exist) depends on the climax. Do final puzzle pieces exist to release the dramatic tension building?  :o)


Jul 17 >>> 07:26 >>> Placement 267 >>> Student 6379857 >>>  046

So here we go ...

How fitting ... Buzz selling tickets.

“Journalism is out of passion, but a girl has to eat,” she said.
I studied the possible routes. I accused her of setting me up and challenged her on the collaboration software. Not only did the Send key save journal entries, it  broadcast-ed them!  And for someone flying under the radar, her :o) postings were anything but. “To think, I treated you as a little sister,” I said.

She interrupted before I pointed the finger for running the termination pool. 

“I could make the same claims about you,” she said. “My holding back on the journal saved you from a Whack-a-Mole fate. Every time you share an inspiration, Whack! Whack! Whack it back down.”

With a deranged expression, she beat on the stapler. Regaining composure, “What's done is done,” she said. “Consider the journey ahead; the source of inspiration.”

“And where's that?” I asked.

She slid me the ticket and said Gate Four.

“So it appears as if you are finally dealing with that girl who has killed our dreams for so long?”

“You do know I was fired,” I said. “The writing's on the wall.”

“The writing begs to differ. The stories overlap for a reason,” she said.

Buzz snatched my blackberry and saved one final post along with her signature :o) , immediately prior to this one.


Jul 17 >>> 07:42 >>> Placement 267 >>> Student 6379857 >>>  047

I glanced up from the blackberry to find myself talking to air. The closed wicket appeared as if it was never open. The last thing I remember Buzz saying was “My job is done.”  Why all the curious looks? I'm not overdressed am I?

Jul 17 >>> 09:14 >>> Placement 267 >>> Student 6379857 >>>  048

Surprises never cease. My truck-driving-lunch-companion moonlights as a bus driver. Why is it I cannot remember her name?

The bus doors closed behind me and pulled out.

“Buzz and I quit in protest,” she said.

I sat my bag on the vacant seat across the aisle wondering how to respond to such over-the-top loyalty. Peering down the aisle, the faces looking back at me looked strangely familiar. Spending so much time thinking about the stories started to take its toll. The passengers fit many of the characterizations.

”What else do you have?” she said.

Still stunned by the greeting, I shrugged and gestured to what I carried.

“You are dying to ask, “ she said, “about the response to my manuscript. What else do you have? That is what I keep hearing.”

Talk about a writer's purgatory. At the newspaper, she bides her time delivering the stories of others. The story Dreamers and Deep Fryers crossed my mind. The main character, not one to dream, contently watches others haunted by theirs.

“But I have dreams too,” she countered as if I had spoken.

WHAT IS HER NAME?!!

She listed off ten life time objectives. It sounded like a to-do list. 'Publishing a novel' made the list once, not twice.

“Don't they realize I only have one in me?” she said.

I reclined the seat thinking how ludicrous that sounds. Hearing someone else speak it, made it hit home. As my eyes closed, I contemplated life without a calling amounts to little more than a to-do list. If journalism is not my calling, will one book as hoped, offer the closure to refocus on my current path? When I reopened them, reflections of the used restaurant equipment store blurring by in the window. Chelsea approached.