Thursday, April 22, 2010

Adventures from my home office (i.e. my kitchen table)

Today, I'm trying the whole "working from home" thing.
Today at work, at about 9:30, I smelled something. Well, first thing I did was check my shoes. Nothing. So I stuck my head out of my cubicle and noticed others seemed to be smelling the same thing, heads poking out of cubicles like the proverbial  office prairie dogs.
Soon, the source of the funk was found.
Evidently, someone on the 2nd floor (not GRW offices) clogged up a drain somewhere, and Lex Rooter was snaking it. Well, since I found this interesting enough to blog about, something went wrong. "Poo water", as my co-worker Brooke so eloquently put it, was leaking down through the ceiling and into the architecture suite.
So we did the only logical thing and gathered up everything that we didn't want to smell like dookie (for me, my coffee mug and my favorite ink pen) and evacuated the suite. I've been going over documents for a prison project from the comfort of my kitchen table this morning. It's less than convenient, but it works.
And the worst smelling thing at my house is my cat.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

"Twinkle's Bad Day"

Upon reflection, my last entry was very serious, even sort of dark. So this week, I thought I'd lighten the mood a little bit with a fluffy sort of fairy-tale. I'll be back to writing horror and suspense before long, but for this week, sit back and enjoy a lighthearted sort of tale.

No, it is NOT girly. It's just....


That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 

"Twinkle's Bad Day"
Aaron M. Smith- April 2010

Dink knocked harder on the rough-hewn wood of Twinkle’s door, her tiny fist barely making a noise on the wood of the solid tree in which they lived.
“Twinkle! Come on, we’re going to be late!”
“I told you already Dink, I’m not going.”
Dink’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Finally, she squeaked, “But you have to go! We have to go! We have a very important job.”
“Well you can all go without me today.” Twinkle’s tiny voice was miserable.
“Twink,” Dink whined, “Come on! You’re going to get us both in trouble.”
“I don’t care,” she replied.
“Hey,” someone called, and Dink looked to see a tall (by comparison anyway) male fairy dressed in a tunic of yellow dandelions come jogging down the hall, past the little identical doors to stop next to Dink. The yellow fireflies on the walls illuminated the worry on his face.
“Hey, what’s taking so long?” He said, his blue eyebrows knitting.
“Twinkle says she’s not coming today,” Dink informed him.
“Not coming!?!” he sputtered. He turned and pounded on the door, which barely made a sound on the ancient wood. “Twinkle!” he shouted at the door. “Come on, enough joking around! There’s work to do!”
“Go away Newt,” came Twinkle’s muffled response. “I don’t feel like it.”
Newt looked as if Twinkle had just spoken to him in a different language. “Oh, come on now Twink! Up-and-at-em! Rise and shine! There’s a big, bright, beautiful day out there just waiting for us to spread the magic!”
“Go sit on a thistle,” Twinkle shouted.
The worry on his blue face changed to confusion. “Twink? This isn’t like you, come on. We’ve got a job to do.”
“Do it without me today.”
“But-but-but—” he stammered. “We’re happiness fairies! We’ve got to deliver the happy!” His voice cracked.
‘Well maybe I don’t feel so happy today!” Twinkle’s voice squeaked.
Newt fainted.
“Oh for the love of Titania,” Dink mumbled. She grabbed the fairy by his pointed shoes and dragged him out of the middle of the hall, where no one else would trip on him. The productivity fairies were going to be up any minute, and it wouldn’t do for one of them to stumble on him and break a wing. Dink pushed her bubblegum-pink hair behind her long, pointed ears. If Twinkle was going to play hard ball, so was she.
“Okay Twinkle, that’s it, I’m coming in.”
“Dink, don’t,” Twinkle groaned, but didn’t otherwise protest. Dink pushed open the door to her room and walked inside.
Each fairy’s room was different in the Great Tree, as unique as the fairies themselves. Twinkle was rolled up in a silk sheet, snuggled in the center of a colossal lily, giving her bed the appearence of a small cave within her room. As Dink entered the room, the sheet inside the lily-cave moved and mumbled, and Dink saw a shock of Twinkle’s bright green hair.
“Twink,” Dink said softly, closing the door behind her and walking over to her friend’s bed. A pitiful mumble came from beneath the blanket. Dink sat down on the edge of the bed and approximated where Twinkle’s head ought to be, digging through the sheets to find her friend’s hair.
She petted Twinkle’s hair affectionately. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said.
“No,” said a muffled voice, but Twinkle’s resolve was broken.
“Was it Shemp?” Dink asked. Something not unlike a nod came from the pile of sheets. Dink sighed. “Tell me what happened.”
Twinkle finally emancipated herself from the sheets, her emerald hair a tangled mess, her sea-green eyes red-rimmed and puffy.
“We broke up,” she muttered. The tips of her ears sagged.
“That troll,” Dink grumbled. “What did he do?”
“He was—” Twinkle sniffled. “He was at the bee hive with Penelope yesterday! And he knows that that’s our spot!”
Dink clucked her tongue and continued petting her best friend’s hair. “You’re too good for him. Where does he work, anyway?”
Twinkle finally met Dink’s eyes. “He’s a surprise fairy,”
“Well, ‘surprise!’, turns out he was actually a troll.”
That elicited a damp, teary chuckle from Twinkle. She sat up and put her arms around Dink’s shoulders, leaning on her for support. Dink took the hairbrush from Twinkle’s night table and began to brush the tangles from her friend’s hair.
‘The only surprise he’s in for,” Dink continued, “is when he realizes what a great fairy he missed out on.”
“Thanks Dink,” Twinkle said, burying her face in Dink’s shoulder.
“I’m a happiness fairy, it’s what I do,” Dink said, still working on Twinkle’s tangles.
“I don’t feel much like a happiness fairy today,” Twinkled murmured.
“Oh, you just need to get your happy back.” Dink pulled back from Twinkle’s shoulder smiled at her friend. Twinkle smiled back, and for a moment the sparkle had returned to her eyes. “Now come on, we’ve got work to do. It’ll take your mind off of him.” Dink stood, walked to Twinkle’s closet, and, after a moment of looking, extracted Twinkle’s nicest chrysanthemum dress from it. “Wear this today. It’ll help you get your confidence back.”
There was a sudden crashing noise, followed by shouts and cries from the hallway. The productivity fairies were no doubt up and about by now.
“What was that!” Twinkled cried, sitting up straight in bed.
“That would be Newt,” Dink said. “And by the sounds of it, you’re not going to be the only one having a bad day today.”

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

"The Beast"

I wrote this while on vacation in Germany. I don't speak German. Don't make too much out of this; I had a great time on my trip, but being unable to speak German was incredibly frustrating, and sometimes even depressing. I wouldn't call this poetry, because I've never been any good at poetry. I don't know what I'd call it.

"The Beast"
April 2010- Aaron Matthew Smith
A human speaks
a dog barks into the silence
A human hears
a dog recognizes noise
a human directs
a dog is lead by the leash
a human understands
a dog is ignorant
here, I am a dog, or less
a dog is bread for a purpose
to fulfill a need
I am but an object
a dog will find comfort
in its own kind
I have no kind
none would claim my kinship
I am no dog
I am a tethered beast
ashamed to be what I am
but unable to be anything else
Needless to say, I felt a lot better after I got that out. It was still a wonderful trip, and I would love to someday go back. But being utterly unable to communicate was more frustrating than I can accurately describe with language.