The Blathering and Yammering

All of my journals. Blank. Also, someone’s pencil. Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash

Welcome to a short yet drafty intro and index of my stuff, pinned to my profile because I can. Eventually.

When I click on a writer’s profile page I’m only allowed to see a few stories. I have to click for more, wait…then more, wait…more, wait…

Back in the days that were, we could read a list of clever titles and subtitles — scrolling far beyond the realm of where we should really be going.

Will I really read them all? I want the option, and I’d like it with ease.

Sadly, that is no longer.

Someone was bored and…

After watching a program about life on a Victorian Farm, what has stayed in my memory bank over the years is the small bottle they found in one of the farm’s horse barns. The label read, ‘For Gripes and Fret’.

Yes please! I don’t much care how it tastes or that it was made for horses, give me about a dozen bottles! That’ll settle everything.

“Have you ever heard of anyone taking up smoking at 47?”


“Me neither.”

The topic of smoking came up within our 'have a good weekend' replay, one of at least five topics tossed between…

and then they gave me garbage

First there is obsession.

I’m just minding my own business, cleaning or wishing my house would stay clean. I get a text of a link, Spotify or YouTube.

The sweet citizen of neurosis visits me then and I wait until I’m either in my car or can put my earbuds in to play this texted gift. Everyone knows you truly shouldn’t listen without an appropriate sound.

“I want this played at my funeral." My sister texts me Nathaniel Ratecliffe and the Night Sweats, ‘Son of a Bitch’.

After listening, I immediately look up about a dozen of their songs, continue to play my favorites…

mental illness, psychosis, and keeping death at bay

Photo by Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash

Our days before were precious, simple, full of joy. How I ache for your sadness, your madness, my beautiful boy.

“Just sitting here, waiting for heaven.”

I stare at his text as I often do when he answers more than, “yeah.” I want to ask him if he really took his meds, but he will answer “yeah”. I respond instead to his questions about heaven, hell, and love.

Has it really been almost a year?

“Recovery from psychosis is a long process and is different for everyone. I believe for him we may be looking at up to 8 months.”

Photo by Dekeister Leopold on Unsplash

Let me live in my cave.

I do most of my shopping online. I grocery shop at the crack of dawn on weekends when nothing else is open and there are only a few other weirdos out like me.

Needless to say, but I will anyway because it’s my story, there have been a few purchase ‘mistakes' over the years.

A 'beach wrap' arrived recently, so unrecognizable to me that I thought I had either taken drugs when ordering or that someone’s Great Aunt Bertha was using my Amazon account for their wonderful pastel satin pineapple themed house dress purchase.

Long ago, stumbling into my 22nd year of life, I woke up one morning with a squirrel face. I had gotten a front tooth implant the day before, and was fairly sure my face was reacting to it. The area from my sinuses to my upper lip had swelled just enough for a solid Cats performance, but I had to go to work instead.

Also, I had a lunch date.

I worked at a jewelry store in the only mall for 300 square miles. This is before internet, before online dating — all I had to do as a single…

How about on backwards?

My black dress slacks are so extremely comfortable and pleasing in every way possible that I have memorized the brand, buying 6 pair. They don’t shrink, don’t wrinkle and don’t fade. No button or zipper, just pull them on like an elegant yoga pant for the office — say what!?

These pants feel like I’m wearing soft butter. I’d like to think they also transform my butt, but I like to think I can eat donuts and cheesecake because God wants me to be happy, so…

As you can see below, they would look nicely paired with my black open…

Author’s pic of our summer fun, camping for the first time.

We wake up super early every day of the week regardless of any decent factor so that we may enjoy all of the benefits of waking up super early every day of the week.

Sunday morning, 5:30 a.m., Tim left on the boat to fish for a few hours. The time between that and my 9 a.m. grocery shopping is lost to the air. I did things, but the ADD was…present? Also, reading causes hours to disappear. “It could be heroin.”, I tell him.

We hadn’t shopped for quite some time and were out of important things like Amaretto flavored…

Your Daily Fiber

Photo by Josh Felise on Unsplash

Churning out stories that continue to entertain, amuse and possibly arouse, these writers are not always given the accolades that I physically want them to have (a stadium of enrapt readers, a Ferrari, a bedazzled crown? probably a hundred million dollars).

I was excluded from the recent select given the $500 golden ticket. Just when I comfortably keep my pennies in perspective, I feel the need for an additional $500 pat on the back? Yes. Ridiculous? Of course.

But some of the best humor writers in the universe were excluded. Not all, God Bless America. And I don’t really know…

Photo by Filipp Romanovski on Unsplash

living life together, or something like it

“When I’m dead and gone you’ll get married again and he’ll get all this stuff and the land."

I’m not getting married again.”

Yeah right. You’ll need to.”

***silence (and some counting to ten)***

“What I need is to live alone. I have no interest in being married again, I don’t want to pick up after a grown ass man.”


You’ll just screw around.”



“See what? And you’re not dying.”

“It could be cancer.”

But it’s a pulled muscle.”


This was just a couple of days ago, while we tossed around the merits of land buying-packing-storing-building…

Laura Johnson

Yammering bits and some blathering. Humor is my first language, my second skin, and my hello.

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