Who do I still think I am??

This one's about to be unedited.

30DBC PROMPT: "Today's prompt will be a challenge for many of you. Today, you are NOT ALLOWED to grammatically edit your entry! The judges will disregard any spelling and grammar mistakes, so feel free to let it all out. This is a free writing exercise. Think about the fruit of your choice and then write anything that comes to your mind. If you start talking about something else, go with it! See where it takes you! Write like this for 10 minutes at least and see where you end up . Have fun! "

What is up? It's been a week of not much going on, and today's "Funny Friday" prompt, in all honesty, really isn't all that funny...or at least I don't see the humor in it. But I will agree that it's challenging, and here's why: because I type and look at the screen at the same time, fingers have already tapped the backspace key before I've even realized it. Case in point: I've already done it five times in the last two sentences, and you haven't even noticed it. But I'll be a good sport and try to play along as best I can. And yes, I'll be sticking strictly (dammit, I did it again) to the ten-minute time limit.

I actually tried doing this exercise earlier this afternoon, and kept catching myself screwing it up by constantly correcting myself. Then I made the mistake of leaving this page, not saving my entry, and coming back to it approximately five minutes later...which means Windows 8.1 refreshes this particular tab. It only hasppens to WDC, and only when I'm writing. And it happens too. I can't even get mad about it anymore, because it's my own stupid fault for not left-clickingmy pal, and my pal, the "Save and Edit" button, or using a third-party situation like WordPad to write an entry before copy/pasting it over in full...but to me that's more of apain in the ass, as well as a pain in the ass also, because you've got to edit spacing and other things and I don't really care not want to be bothered, nor do I care, and nor do I wanr to be bothered. I mean "want". Or don't want. Nor do I want. I want want, not wanr. Wanr isn't a word. And I want nor, not not. Nor do I not want wanr. I think.

Well, I'm seven minutes into this, and I haven't had to talk about fruit yet, which is mentioned in the prompt and I'm really not good at talking about fruit, besides the fruit of my labor, which asI mentioned in the above paragraph, I mentioned I tried to do this earlier but was disappointed. Not fruit-smashingly upset, and that's time outta my life I will never see again, btu is a way of measuring the output of an air conditioner I believe, but not as angry as I've gotten in the past over lost entries.

Another fun reason why I don't think this prompt will work? The built-in spell-check functions between Windows 8.1 and WDC will auto-correct certain words so that I don't have to. It's already fixed a few for me so far, an yet it's not smart enough to know the difference between "an" and "and". I did read somewhewe that somewhere there's a way to teach your auto-correct to not redline words you know are words but your spell-check doesn't, like your name for example. Most names come up as being misspelled if you run a spell-check; mine certainly does, which can be embarrassing if you're one of those people who hates being told you're wrong even when you know you're right. There are probably some eery, very insecure, indecisive and insecure individualos (that's Spanish for "individuals", I think) who are likely having arguments on the regular with their computers always questioning them as to the proper spelling of their name.

Ok, well, time check: yes! I've managed to rampble on, whilst rambling on through the minimalamount (that's "minimal amount", for you intellectual completists out there) of correcting and editing. It's hard ya know, 'cuz you can't just tape down the damn backspace key and pretend it's not there. I'm not the perfect typer, but I'm not a "hunter and pecker" (*snicker snicker* I said "hunter") either. Usually when I see I've effed up a line pretty good my pinky's rubbin' up on the backspace/deletes before I've even fully comprehended that maybe I've done something on the keyboard I shouldn't have. Too bad there's oh, say, not a way to disable certain keys entirely, just for the sake of this entry or others like it. But then you wouldn't be able to type at all, which is kinda senseless. Like if I he;d and held down the "g" button for ten minutes (or more), you's see you'd see multiple versions of lines that look like this: hhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Only it'd be a backspace repeated, which I think I've just stretched this entry into the possibility of negative characters, and I swore to myself once I decided I'd like to write occasionally as a hobby of sorts I'd never (or, at least, as little as possible) try to introduce math into grammar. But I can tell you're thinking..."Man, if I wrote a chapter full of backspaces, that would really hurt my NaNoWriMo counts...looks like I better start using more adjectives to counterbalance that!" Or maybe it hasn't crossed your mind. All I know is that I'm done talking about this, becauase spelling things wrong and not changing them while I'm being a typist is thoroughly annoying the stuff I don't want to leave me outta me.

BCF PROMPT: "How did you come up with the title for your blog?"

Whew...I have to admit that it feels a lot better being able to backspace on my own terms and conditions. And it's kinda funny that just a few days ago I was actually very thankful for that. No joke.

I missed a few good prompts this week, mainly because I wasn't up to participating. Being tired a lot will do that to you. But I didn't feel quite as bad missing the "Blogging Circle of Friends " 's one year anniversary, because pretty much everyone else in the group missed it too. It wasn't until CJ Reddick brought it up a couple days later that it was acknowledged.

But anyway, let's talk about this simple, bang-out and be gone one-liner. As you're pretty well aware, the title of this blog is "Who do I still think I am??" , because it's a continuation of "Who Do I Think I Am??" . That was necessitated because I ran out of internet to play with last time. Or, if you listen to what The StoryMaster says, in his own words (or something close to them), "book items" (which is what WDC considers blogs) have limits, and I "exceeded them" in terms of kilobytes or megagrams or whatever the kids call that sorta thing these days. But I like my explanation better.

Well, that, and after around 380 or so entries, you, me, and the things that define and divide both of us still haven't come to a consensus on just who the hell I think I am, anyway?! As it turns out, I seem to have a different answer every frickin' time I have a new entry. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I guess it makes for decent entertainment...we laugh together, we get sad together, we dream together, and sometimes we just go on a random left-turn rant about how the last time I tried to buy underwear at Wal-Mart, a mens' medium was way too large, and the manufacturer doesn't make mens' smalls, but the youth XL's fit almost perfectly, although a year of not moving as nicely as I used to almost makes me kinda wish I'd gone with the mediums instead, but who can predict the future while standing in the underwear section of Wal-Mart?

See? You've just answered your own question of "Why do I always click on this??" And if you don't like the answer, always remember this one thing: I'm about 450-some entries into trying to figure me out, and I still don't know who the hell I think I am.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

I was really at loss when it came to this point, because there aren't many songs that touch on bad grammar and poor editing (or lack of editing), and if there are I would hope one of you fills me in. I almost went with "Ten Minutes" by The Get Up Kids because the initial prompt was "Write about some something or other for ten minutes" but then I failed that by taking up about twenty minutes. And at the end of this entry, I actually went ahead and submitted my final, now-public view with Moby's version of Schoolhouse Rock's "Verbs: That's What's Happening" but later changed my mind (which I'm known to do). So I'm gonna go with this instead, because, well, words. And stuff.

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

If you're reading this and you or someone you love enjoys the game of hockey, I'm asking you here on WDC to please do us all one simple favor. It's not often that I ask of anything of you kind people here, but please, on the upper left portion of this screen, where it says "Writing.Com Tools", please click on that and scroll to the very bottom of that menu until you reach "Suggestion Box". From there you can, in the privacy of your home or in the ether of your mobile device's interwebs, concoct an impassioned plea for help in getting hockey fans on WDC around the world what they really deserve and desire more than anything...a true, real hockey emoticon (because almost anything is better than the busted-ass combo of emoticons a few of us have been using the last few years). It'll only take a few moments of your time, but you'll be making a difference in our community, which is around the world. And even if you don't want to write your own message of support to the cause, which is gaining steam around the world, you can still click the "Like" lettering under Lyn's a Witchy Woman 's and/or my own personal testimonies regarding the creation of this wonderful hockey emoticon. It doesn't cost you a thing around the world and you'll never have to read another overembellished instance of anyone ever italicizing around the world again. I promise. Act now!! *Restrictions may apply. This offer is valid in but not limited to places around the world.

Earlier this week I posted what is perhaps the greatest E-card in the brief but wondrous history of E-cards known to man on Facebook. I won't repost it here for the sake of rating, but it involves use of the eff-word in place of a comma, which I found to be insanely humorous. That, my friends, sums up my week (and that's "week" as in "my last seven days previous", not, "since Sunday" or "since Monday" or "Whenever you goddamn feel like it"). Saw my therapist last week, which I really didn't mind since it would be close to the time I needed some refills on prescriptions anyway, and a couple needed to be reauthorized by my doctor, who I wouldn't be seeing until next week, but since I was gonna be there, I could just leave a message in person and in the next day or two pick them up at my local drug store and life would go on. Got that so far?

And it did, only unmedicated.

The nurse practitioner was in the damn receptionist's room when I came back to make my next appointment. So she knew I was there, and I knew she knew I was there. Eye contact, y'all. So Friday (the next day) I called in the scripts I thought I still had available refills on, and Saturday I went to pick them up. Out of four, I got one. It was the one I least needed. Go figure. The pharmacy said I was out of refills on one, and had no refills on the other, and left a message for the doctor. No kidding...so did I.

Monday rolls around, I was able to get another one of my meds, and I called the doc's office to see what's up on the other two (which are for moods, seizures and sleep). I had to leave another voice mail explaining the situation. The nurse called me back and said one script was called in last week, and the one I really needed "would be ready to be picked up tomorrow afternoon". So after barely sleeping at all Monday night, but lying in bed unable to move because you're a combination of too tired and too afraid that if you do move you won't sleep, I waited around Tuesday until I got the automated call from Kinney saying I had scripts to pick up. Cool. Got down there, signed for it, and...there was only one in the bag. And it wasn't Ambien. I was displeased, but Kinney had no record of me needing it.

Mind you, all this walking is killing me.

The doctor's office is sorta between where I live and the pharmacy, but I would take a different, slightly shorter route if I were just going to the store. So the doctor's office is now out of my way, but that's where I went. And sure enough, my paper prescription was there, waiting for me to be picked up. In person. Every other time, they've called on my behalf to the store so that I wouldn't have to pick up a slip, go to the pharmacy, and wait or come back. And on this occasion, all of my other meds were called in, but not this one. But off I went, back again to Kinney, somewhat relieved that at least I'd actually get some sleep that night.

I went to the drop-off line, handed my script to the guy at the counter, and told him I'd wait for it. He kinda laughed and said he didn't know how long it'd be, because their computers just went down. I think at that point my mind had had enough with the brain cells I'd already smashed throughout the years, and just started going apeshit on what was left, because I turned into the whiniest, blubbering mess I'd ever been since the time I was 13 and got dumped bad by a girl I really really liked.

"Ya know, I wouldn't even be here today if the doctor had just called this in like I asked on Thursday, and I've been back and forth here all weekend, and..." I don't even know what else came out of my mouth. I might've recited chemical compounds off the top of my head for all I know. I know the pill-count-verifying lady behind the counter's eye's glossed over a little during my rant, which then triggered her to say something like "We'll be more than happy to fill it for you, as soon as the computers come back up." Meanwhile, the guy I originally spoke with at the counter had moved away from me and was now joking about his lunch plans, which coincided opportunistically with the technological meltdown occurring in the pharmacy.

I really wanted to just curl up in the waiting area and take a nap while they sorted out their problems. After all, the least they could've done was offer me a pillow, no? But instead I just decided to shop around. I didn't need anything, but at the risk of otherwise feeling like a shoplifter I grabbed a basket, with Orwell's 1984 happening in the fancy part of the store as my alibi for limping around the aisles with just an ad and a jar of hummus (because I can always use hummus...who can't? You're wrong if you say you can't.).

Somehow I made it with minimal cursing (which is something I will admit to the exact opposite of earlier in the week) for about an hour and with no screwfaced looks from Kinney employees wondering why I'm pretty much loitering as I've taken at least three laps around the interior premises. Finally, I was able to go home and eventually sleep the whole night through with the proper controlled substances.

A few weeks ago I went through a phase where I began signing up for free trials of products on the internet. Mostly just from companies who want your email address and don't want to go through the trouble of getting it shadily from third-party sources because, basically, you're stupid enough to give it to them. Thankfully, my junk mail catcher on the email machine is weeding out most of the crap, but when did I sign up to receive a free trial of Astroglide lube? At least I might page through an issue of Smithsonian magazine, but waterproof lubricant? This taking of medications before going to bed and then using the computer for awhile before actually doing the sleep thing needs to stop happening, because I keep waking up the next day with little to no knowledge of my last half-hour or so of consciousness from the previous night.

And with that, I'll say thanks for making it this far into today's entry (even though I basically went over some recurring themes), enjoy your weekend, and we'll catch up soon. Peace, it's been a pleasure backspacing with you all, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!