Often a creative person feels the urge to create yet no inspiration at all. They stand or sit paralyzed by their keyboards or canvases or clay and nothing sparks ignition. That is tough to go through. This image full of thought balloons is an example of what might occur to a creative mind in the desperate search for a hook to hang a creation on.
In my Phoenix visit yesterday (about which in a future post) I was happy to see my daughter had given my Green Queen, made, if memory serves, about ten years ago, and given to her thereafter, shelf space. She will preside over this true story:
At the prescription counter of the largest chain store you can imagine, I gave my name and birthdate to the counter person. “That’s just the one prescription, right?” “Yes.” “That’ll be two hundred and thirty-four dollars.”
Sure she was kidding, I asked her if I could have maybe a ninety-percent discount. But she wasn’t kidding.
After giving her my insurance credentials, which they’d had already for a different prescription, she reassessed: “That’ll be twenty dollars.” That still seemed steep so I said, “That still seems steep.”
A higher-up, who was literally higher up than her, drug counter stratification being what it is, ventured that a repackaging and rebilling would net some additional savings. “Come back in twenty minutes.” I did. “Sorry, it’s not ready yet. I’ll put it on CRITICAL.” I waited ten more minutes. “Bowers?” “Yes.” “That’ll be eighteen dollars.” Grumbling, I paid and left.
At home I discovered they’d given me six times my usual prescription amount. Long story short: Unit cost went from $234 to $3–far more of a discount, in the long run, than I’d imagined. Crazy world, ain’t it?
Soon I’ll replace all previous avatars with this, the Real Me, Groundhog Day 2014. This supersedes all prior offers to sell and solicitations to buy. Accept no substitutes.
My friend Joe challenged our poetry group to write a poem about metal, but not gold, silver or platinum. I wrote this:
yum yum yum molybdenum
say it thrice it makes you thrum
with it i am o so chummy
want to be molybdenummy
love it quickly love it slowly
worship it as holy moly
moly ringwald moly hatchet
moly fever let’s all catch it
that is why i gave it chase
wound up with a moly face
This morning I frantically riffled through my archives for a second Holy Moly. Here it is:
Two Holy Molys will see me safe to Phoenix, where I’ll see my mother, my daughter, and, I hope, my ailing stepfather. Au revoir!
One with Clay, Image and Text 