Adam Womack

My room still smells like flat coke. It’s kinda gross. I’m fairly certain that someone must have poured it into the air ducts or something. It doesn’t matter. I’m more worried about my brain (and why my computer has glitter all over keyboard, did it come that way?)
This damn logic course has me thinking in different number systems. I randomly think of things in base 12, or hexadecimal, or binary. I can figure a 6 digit number from hex to binary to octal in like 15 seconds. It’s getting pretty crazy, like to the point where I can’t even focus on anything for more than a few minutes before I start thinking about equations, set theory, or stupid puns/jokes regarding 2’s compliment in binary. Don’t even ask me about the cartoon I drew. I mean the highlight of my day was a joke about why the number two and three couldn’t see the number eight’s new best friend the square root of -1. HA!

I need to find more sleep. That’ll solve it. Right? I’m looking forward to this weekend. Maybe I’ll get some rest. Gotta Go it’s almost 1010. (…yeah…)

Snapped out of a dream by the alarm clock, I reach over and silence my pest. Buzzing alarms always remind me that there is somewhere I don’t want to be looming in my near future. I stare at the perfectly rounded numbers 08:00. The Chinese believe that 8 is a lucky number. Fuck the Chinese. Before I could even drift back to sleep I hear my phone calling to me, like a child that knows exactly when the parents awake, my electronics today refuse to let me miss this occasion. Fuck me, right?
I roll over to see what important penis enlarging offer was in my inbox that my spam filter found necessary to allow through, like a sentry heralding great news to the monarch of the land that is my groin. Or what great video online that my mother finally saw (after everyone has already forgotten about from it’s viral celebrity back in the ether of history that was 6 months ago.) Turns out it was neither, worse yet, it was a phone call.
I hate the phone. No one ever calls with good news, that’s what texts are for. Phone calls are always “we need to talk.” It was Andy.

“Dude, I’m here. Let’s go.”
“You said 9:00” I remind him
“I said 8.” He reminds me.
“I heard 9.” I lie.
“We’re gonna be late.”
“Let’s not go then. Nothing worse than showing up late.”
“You have 10 mins, shower and shave, I’m gonna get us come coffee.”
“Ugh, I hate coffe… sound great.”

I stumble to the shower and turn on the water. I stare at my reflection as the water beings its evolution from unbearably icy to managable tepidness and weight the decision of my shave. My three day shaddow had the distinguished look of a prisoner and the tender caress of sandpaper. All in all the look I was feeling, but was it what I wanted to put out there? How would that be recieved? Maybe they’d send me home. Or maybe I’d just be looked at as the pathetic loser I was. Shave it is.

By the time I shower and shave and found something decent to wear my coffee was is and Andy doesn’t seem to happy.

“We now have 15 mins to get across town” He chastises me.
“You’re right, we should just go to the casino instead.”
“We’re going, you’re gonna smile, and tell her you’re happy for her.”
“But I’m not.”
“Well it’s her wedding and she really wants you there.”
“Just not next to her.” I mumble; luckly the sound of his truck was louder.

It’s hard to believe it was just yesterday 
When that airplane took you so far away
And I’m left here all alone without knowing why
I was just ten mins from giving my heart
Now you’re hanging out under that Gateway Arch
And my bed’s so lonesome I swear that I could cry

All the things I’d do, Just to get to you

I’d fly three hours on an east bound plane
Or spend three days on an amtrack train
Just to get me back for one more night with you
I’d drop four grand on a taxi cab
Just to kiss those lips that I want so bad
You have no idea what I’m willing to do, Just to get back to you

I stay up late watching our old game shows
But I can’t seem to answer the ones you know
And the cartoons aren’t the same without your smile
When I lean over to kiss you goodnight
I’m forced to remember you catching that flight
And how we’re separated by over two thousand miles

All the things I’d do, Just to get to you

I’d fly three hours on an east bound plane
Or spend three days on an amtrack train
Just to get me back for one more night with you
I’d drop four grand on a taxi cab
Just to kiss those lips that I want so bad
You have no idea what I’m willing to do, Just to get back to you

With my necklace around your neck
Girl you know you make me a wreck
And forgive me for this pun but you see
You’re in St. Louis but I’m in misery

All the things I’d do, Just to get to you

I’d fly three hours on an east bound plane
Or spend three days on an amtrack train
Just to get me back for one more night with you
I’d drop four grand on a taxi cab
Just to kiss those lips that I want so bad
You have no idea what I’m willing to do, Just to get back to you

Someone drew a picture of me on a napkin. I don’t see any resemblance

I walked in to work and asked a co-worker of mine for a word to get my 10 mins of writing done for the day. I only got about 8 but it was a good 8 mins for me.

Floating, falling, soaring, tumbling, the wind’s hands grab and throw the beautiful creature through the sky. With a small, insignificant twitch of a single feather the direction changes course. Tossing beautiful aerobatics into motion. All the world below like a static, stoic statue underneath it. Miles fly by in seconds, altitude changes in the blink of an eye. I yearn for the freedom and grace. The carefree splendor of a creature alone in his world of the open blue. Jealously I watch him paint the sky with his tail. his ease mocks me as I sit waiting to go into work. I won’t have the fresh air and sunlight. The sound, the ability to sing to my heart’s content. Instead I’m like the domesticated version. Grounded forever, my wings clipped, locked in a cage, society’s cage for me. With toys and mirror that don’t hold my attention. I pine for the sweet taste of freedom that will never come.

This is a poem I found the other day looking through some boxes. I’m not saying it’s a gem. No real rhyme scheme and I have no clue when I wrote it but I like it.

It’s 12:37 I bet you’re asleep
I hold my breath through your door I creep
Slowly and shutting the door carefully till
An audible click seals your fate

You don’t even stir as I fill the syringe
I’ll end our live as you ended my dreams
We’ll die together like shakespereian teens

I re-read your text “Let’s just be friends”
And we will, friend’s till the end
Stupid little girl, who are you to hold my heart?
Why I care so much about you, I’ll never know.

As I draw the needle from your neck
I watch the blood run down. I taste it
And load again for me to join you.

You look so peaceful as I enter my vein.
Maybe it’s the chemicals, but
I’ve never been more in love with you
As I lay down next to you I whisper in your ear “I’m sorry.”

I got my friend to try this 10 min exercise with me…. I won’t publish his for reasons untold, but this was mine.

Writing Exercise- Polyester

The satiny, smooth highway my fingers travel across, slipping and sliding around like a drunken ice skater on the freshly zambonied surface, sends a scratching, tingling sensation up my digits. I can hear the ever increasing pitch of the my fingers zipping across the tightly weaved material. This bastardization of clothing, trapping me in, not allowing precious air to touch my skin. I am plastic wrapped inside myself. My faux fabric prison embracing me. I hear my arms rub against my sides, the scratching of an invisible DJ in my head. Thinking back to my holographic baseball cards I rip a little tune against my chest. My brightly colored shirt, held together by white plastic buttons is like a siren in a storm. Calling out. I wish I had a volume knob on this thing. My ears are ringing with the severity of its loudness. My voice is all but a whisper in a tornado of my machine washable, tumble dry only confinement. This torturous material seems to press the sweat against me tighter. Like the t-shirt worn by the fat kid at the pool so he doesn’t feel like everyone is looking at him, my shirt makes me stand out, clinging to my body. A decaying smell of burned fabric tickles my nostrils. How many water bottles were shredded to make my cage?

So my first writing exercise was to write for 10 mins on a topic and stop when the timer went off. The topic was Holding Your Breath and this is what I got:

For the first few seconds, the rush of cold, clean fresh air feels like you can hold it forever. As you stand there, your will binding your lungs holding on tightly to the saving life inside you begins to tremble. The cells of your body, no longer refreshed begin to ache, begging for more. The sweet, smell has left your nostrils and blood surges to your ears. The black ghosts in the corner of your vision encroach upon you, overtaking you. Panic has set in, trembling, shaking, pulsing your heart echoes in your hollow body. The thumping reverberates in your temples. Space begins to spin and time focuses on one second. The clock hands stop moving as the periphery fades. Tiny details, the missing paint chipped off the corner of the wall you never noticed before become so glaringly obvious. Shouting across the room at your. What should be so small and far away is somehow in your face screaming. You can feel air caressing your skin. Air begging to be allowed into your dry, cracking lungs. The stinging in your chest has moved into your ears. You can’t remember if your holding something in- a scream, a cry- or if you are keeping something out. As the sights and sounds blur to one your will breaks, shatters. Air spews forth and is just as quickly replaced. Blood drains from your face and is recirculated through your blood thirsty vampire-like cells. Your muscles drink it in with lust…

I know I’ve been doing a lot of photos lately, but this turkey meatloaf I made looks great in this picture. It might not have been the best tasting meatloaf I’ve ever made, but it was good, and healthy so deal with it.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted one of these. I’m so super excited to have this magnetic strip in my new kitchen.

Here we have my herb garden. Including (but not limited to: Rosemary, Three types of thyme, two kinds of mint, cilantro, sage, fennel, oregano, parsley and more.

Ok, so I’m moving into the new place and we have an avocado tree.

I have a customer who has caused nothing but problems at my store. She has come in, demanded discounts, 2 for pricing when buying one item, etc, etc. She’s called corporate to yell at them and try to get her way. She even told my manager that our VP of sales works for her now. Needless to say she’s a freaking beast.
She came in yesterday to return everything she fought to get at those prices and deals stated above. She wanted cash, since that’s how she paid for them. I can understand that, but I explained to her that since her transaction was quite large, I can’t give her cash back. Our registers just won’t allow us to give that much money back. I’d have to issue her a corporate check. She yelled at me saying “That’s not OK. You had no problem taking my money.”
“True,” I retorted, “but you have to understand that we deposit cash in the bank at night and I can’t pay out cash I don’t have on hand. I’m sorry but this is company policy.”
I asked her to fill out the contact information we ask all customers for any return. She refused. She pulled the shipping label off the box she brought the stuff in, destroyed the shipping paperwork we sent her and took anything with her name on it. So I looked her up in the computer and she yelled at me, saying I was invading her privacy. I simply stated it was our return policy and I’d get in trouble if I didn’t do it. And I apologized but expressed that it was company policy.
She explained that it’s not an OK policy. That we are a horrible company and she doesn’t want to shop here anymore. She said she knows it isn’t my fault, but I’m the representative for the company so she has to take it out on me.
Needless to say, I gave her as much as the computer would allow me to give her at one time, crippling our float on the register for the day. She left and I was actually applauded by other customers that were there- all saying I really handled her well.

Now I come in to work today and my manager informs me that she made the mandatory calls (to check on any cash refund) to ask this customer if I had actually given her the cash. She said she refused to verify that I gave her anything. My boss asked if that meant I didn’t give her anything and she said “I refuse to verify that I received any cash. Your employee could be stealing.” My boss thanked her for her time and she chimed in again “Didn’t you hear me, your employee is taking money from you.”
What the fuck!?!?! This bitch is trying to get me fired. What the hell did I do to her? It’s really dumb to pull that shit on an employee that can easily look up your personal information. I’m so pissed that this lady has to make it her mission to get me fired. She needs to get a life. Preferably one that doesn’t cross mine ever again.

I know I haven’t posted anything in a long long time, but I have a good reason, I have spent my time amassing candies. BEHOLD WONKA’S NEW KAZOOZLE!!!!!!!