Bloggerstock: The Story of What's on My Desk

I have recently joined an organization which randomly pairs you with another person from the blogosphere so that you can write on their blog under an assigned topic for each month. No, this is not a cult. It is actually quite cool, you'll see. 

I was selected to post on Kara's website at http://chowschatter.wordpress.com so that's where my post will be lurking for those of you who enjoy my writing. You sick, sick, people, you. 

The following entry comes from my Bloggerstock cohort for this month - Essie. After reading the following entry, head over here - http://lochessmonster.blogspot.com/ to read more from her. You won't regret it. I promise.     

The Story of what's on my desk

This is the true story of what’s on my desk:

A PC.  My husband bought it at Incredible Connection before I took all his money in the divorce. And also his PC. And his desk.

Divorce is awesome.

But I thought that I should aim for at least a few more words and something at least remotely interesting so I tried to lure a mythical creature onto the desk with a bowl of cream (no really – read Bryan Froud, that’s how you do it).

In all seriousness, I suppose the only thing that stood out for me when looking at that plain pine desk was what WASN’T on there: our wedding picture. It used to balance precariously between the pens and books and dead minitiature potplants. In the months after our separation we delicately started removing the photographs, but it doesn’t really help. You still see them in the spaces where they’re not.

Of course, the whole dance of marriage is so bizarre, I don’t really blame either of us for figuring out the steps. I remember feeling somewhat pissed off at the tiny, plain piece of paper the pastor handed us. I expected gilt edges and curliques – not a scrap of office paper with handwritten details and crude signatures. Thinking back that is probably symbolic of the whole thing – a watered down but weightier version of what you hope for.

There ARE still elements of him on the desk. A heavy stone I picked up in a mine in Kimberley and brought home for him to use as a paperweight. A plastic bunny we got in cereal box. A ceramic fairy we bought on honeymoon. A pen he had stolen from me that I stole back.

Whatever we are to one another now, wherever we live – you never really separate from one another. You become part of each other’s stories, even if your lives split in two. Despite everything that happened I do like that a part of him is always in the back of my mind and even on top of my desk.

PS. But I’m not giving it back.

My Quadrennial Pub-Hopping Vacation

"Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. But I assure you, It's far more important than that."

-Bill Shankly

As you may or may not know, tomorrow marks the beginning of the quadrennial most important month on planet Earth. Groups of 11 men from 32 nations around the globe will be fighting for the right to call themselves Masters of the Soccer Universe, while billions of others, such as myself, watch on television. To onlookers, this ritual is slightly strange. To those on the inside, it is equally as important as over-celebrated life staples such as food, water and Justin Bieber. It is because of this event that I will be blogging less in the next month.
   
Now, I understand you may be concerned for my well-being during my welcome absence from your life, so I have concocted a plan : I have created a Twitter account, from which I will be regularly updating people and assorted computer proficient animals on the various banalities of my existence, as is Twitter's purpose. Follow the link for 140 characters per serving scoops of my drunken existence (plus random World Cup news.)

Dear Phone Company

Dear Phone Company,

Not only did Mr. Patrick Owen Doors give you a fake number (mine) but he also gave you a fake name. While I have come to enjoy the brief chats with your various Customer Service Agents for the past few weeks concerning this matter, I will have to ask that you stop now. I will, of course, pass on your urgent message for Mr. Paddy O' Doors concerning his account status, but one would assume that not being real might hinder his ability to be concerned about tangible real-world matters such as telephone bills and account statuses.

Love always,

Rob.

P.S : Same goes for his wife, Patricia.