Flash Fiction Friday: Something to Work On

Published May 9, 2009

It's been a while since I laid hand on the rudder of this sailboat, so I went ahead and picked the rule this week. If you're feeling adventurous you can posit a guess as to what that was, and the way you'd go about figuring that out would be to read the pieces (that will be) written by Robin, Caiti, and Gabe. Or not. Suit yr darn self.

Most questions have easy answers, but I’d swear its better not to know them. A lot of things could always be done. There’s really no reason not to do them, either. Sometimes just a teensy bit of effort has the potential to make a huge difference, and if big changes could be good things then maybe the little ones wouldn’t be so stressful. I could make sure to trim my nails every day instead of just whenever they started to bug me. Maybe I wouldn’t wind up biting them, and that’d mean I wouldn’t have my hand near my face so much, meaning I wouldn’t rest my chin on my fist and smush my chubby cheeks all over. I’d have fewer pimples, too.

Acne is my worst enemy. Attacking zits is like feeding the beast, but it’s really hard to think about the big picture when you notice that people aren’t looking you in the eye anymore. Mom always used to nag me about it. She sent me to the dermatologist once just so I could hear it from a professional. The President of the United States of America, or God Himself could say, “Jim, you really oughtn’t pop those pimples. It only encourages them!” I know that and I believe them but for some reason it’s not even really an option. I can’t not pop them.

If I rubbed lotion into my knuckles maybe they wouldn’t get dry and bleed. I hear it helps with the temptation of nibbling on cuticles. Sunscreen would help prevent sunburns on my vulnerable skin, but then again there are downsides. My dad always threatened me with skin cancer, and at some point I think the prospect actually scared me. Mostly, though, I can’t stand the smell and the junk all over my fingers, and as far as inevitable ailments go, skin cancer seems alright. Great Grandpa Graham dealt with it, and I can only hope to be half the man he was. Hopefully with half the loss of sight, too.

Without a tan I couldn’t disguise the fact that I really spend all of my time inside, sitting on my couch, wishing I had the energy to read the novel on my lap. Maybe if I made an effort to get exercise I might be tired enough to go to sleep at night. Talking about problems might mean I wouldn’t have to think about them so much. I could set the alarm, or several, just to make sure I wouldn’t sleep ‘til lunch. People tell me to eat breakfast because I complain about gorging myself on lunch. Maybe if I didn’t feel so stuffed all the time I wouldn’t be so self-conscious of my body. A little courage might make all the difference. You can’t just get courage, though. I guess people try to buy it with surgery or steroids or alcohol. I don’t think any of that would be worth it, though. I’m not quite that desperate.

I think compliments do some good. At least it’s organic. Well, the feelings of receiving a compliment come pretty naturally. On the other hand, giving compliments isn’t so easy. At least not for me it’s not. I’m working on it, though.