… rantings of a depressive procrastinator. Did I mention, I write? …

Tagged: Kate McIntire

 At some time during the past decade, the term “bucket list” sprang into our everyday vocabularies.  Certainly, neither of my parents nor my grandparents, any grand-uncle or, even, cousin had a bucket list.  Guess they were preoccupied with settling the territory for statehood, winning the 1st and 2nd World Wars — if winning

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This is something I need to do! It certainly isn’t funny, not meant to entertain. Some facts have changed in the eleven years since I wrote this. If I were Rupert Murdock, I’d print this in one of my zillions of newspapers simply to clear the air.  I’m not. This is MY blog and the post [...]

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2010-09-12 :: Kate // Fiction
Kitchen-table talk had it …

            Kitchen-table talk had it that when Uncle Junior was young and dashing, he was in love with the Maconochie girl—Sharlene. They were to marry.  She was quiet and pretty in a flowered dress sort of way, a little taller than he but her sweet way of smiling at him made them go together well. Junior [...]

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2010-07-14 :: Kate // WAG
WAG #30: Paybacks are Hell

      I last saw Daddy when I was eight. He said he was “getting married”; he said he wouldn’t be seeing me again, but–dammit–I was eight. Glad for him, I guess I wondered if I’d be going to visit him, now that he’d have a house. What I didn’t get was he was walking away to [...]

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2010-05-25 :: Kate // Verse
Beetle on a bathroom window

Pin-striped beetle with a polka-dotted head
one of your antennae is curled.
Now, untenable antennae
make your computations many.
You go ‘round and ‘round and ‘round
in your world.
In a word, concentric circles are confining.
There’s no nourishment upon the central shelf.
You’re alive—but are you well,
as your curled antennae tell?

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2010-05-24 :: Kate // WAG
WAG #23: the Visit

Til now, only family had talked with me after dying. I went cold when I realized who it was  — our former church minister [imagine his surprise when he opened his eyes  and was not standing at the Pearly Gates.] For a quick second, I wished I could see him. This one is hard to believe.
But, [...]

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bastard bit me so I threw off my fluffy robe, pulled the t-shirt over my head and reached up my own back as far as I could. While I’m doing this flailing-arms-and-titty dance, a guy in a ballcap …

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dawn at a low slant
beneath the elms
watch the sun

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I put two in his face, handed the .22 to Dub and walked away thinking, Some guys shouldn’t be allowed to take their penis with them when they leave the house.

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2010-04-29 :: Kate // WAG
WAG#19: pick a pocket

Writers are snoops from childhood, I’m inclined to believe. Shrinks call that “a high level of curiousity” and declare it a good thing. However, I used to get in big trouble for snooping–any purse left unattended–even in the owner’s bedroom, drawers, shelves, the heart-shaped red chocolates box my Aunt kept her letters in. Definitely not the [...]

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