Chores is not the correct word. It doesn’t have the right ring to it. Chores, chores, chores. A bastardization of shorts. But what is the correct word, if not chores?
Pantaloncitos. The diminutive.
Mujercitas.
The rules are as tedious as the experience of reading and memorizing them. Language is all rules with little emphasis on the way the language feels. It needs to feel right. It is such with English, and it is such with Spanish. When they don’t feel right, they cannot be spoken. There’s the awkward pause to ask for assistance.
“Eh, como se dice?”
My grandfather did that often. “Eh? Eh?” His most prominent feature was his eyebrows. Mine grow wilder by the year.
I am becoming scattershot.
You tell me “you’re killing yourself.” I like knowing that I’m the one’s going to do it.
The things I don’t talk—or write—about are my jobs. I’ve had many. Did you know a woman’s shoe size is 2 greater than a man’s? A man’s 6 is a woman’s 8. Take that with you to the Footlocker. Black box testing is testing software in it’s final and packaged form. White box testing is in-depth analysis of the code and data. I don’t care for the latter. It requires deliberate critical thinking. Mine is incidental. Pushing a lawn mower allowed time for reflection on bitterness. I started early.
So many young people want to just be taken seriously. Sex, cars, jobs, debt. It’s a generational chant. Take us seriously. The older I get, the less I do, the less I care. I worry about my relational future. Can a man interact on an even keel when everyone is beneath him?
A lesson you learn twice is don’t trust a written voice. You learn this in regards to authors you don’t know. They’re far away and it becomes easy to separate them from their work. The second time you learn it is in regards to human beings who you feel you know, but you don’t. What they write you is not them. They are not the words.
I upload a text file (that’s TXT) every day with the assertions that I found during my playthrough. When I do this I’m tempted to ask, “Who am I?”