… wander off to left field

I am not good with these sports metaphors. And they get kicked back, bounced off, and swung around. Everywhere. Seven o’clock in the morning, I got hit by a writing prompt. Wander off to left field. I am not sure what sports this is. With a field. So I am wondering. I can never hear whether someone said wondering or wandering. He was wandering wondering. He was wandering down the mountain path, wondering why he went up in the first place. But fields and wandering … Mostly people talk about baseball, football, basketball. Does it have to have balls? In it. Which of these has a field? It has to have a field, so they can wander off. Let’s try this by elimination. Basketball doesn’t, there are no baskets on the field. Not anymore. Just tractors. And they don’t go left field. They go in circles. Corn circles. Now, that’s not the point. Must be one of the two others. Again. For one they use an egg, for the other they have bats. That I know. I just know it. I don’t understand it. With the bat, I have seen more people stand behind a door or go neighbor hunting, than I have seen them on a field. Maybe, they should be on the field more often, then less people get hurt. With the egg … I don’t know. So I won’t comment. They can kick or throw the egg during the short times when they are not on break, I think. I guess you can’t make these guys work any harder. Kick the egg once. Rest for 23 minutes. Oh, here is the egg in a position where you like it … The coach calls and does not even ask whether you are rested sufficiently after a mere 23 minutes! I don’t know. Does egg kicker go back on the field? Or do the batters thrush the ball across the field? Both or none? Any others? There is field hockey, but no-one ever talks about it. Maybe no metaphors in common parlance? I like winter sports. They have mountains. Up and down. Mostly down. Downhill. But no fields. And here they hardly show this on TV. Especially not in winter, I find. So, no fields. No TV. No metaphors. No nothing. No wandering off. Not in these sports. But I wandered off to left field.

This was some writing practice late last year. I had fun …

I’ll make some calls

*Microsoft Copilot. (2024). Old-fashioned telephone on a prestigious writing desk in an administrative office [Generated image].*

I’ll make some calls, he said and waved his hand at me. Or did I make up the last part? Was he waving? In any case, I got it. After – it can have only been – 45 seconds, he asked Me to leave. Do people still say that: I’ll make some calls … He didn’t even have a phone on his desk anymore. All Zoom these days. Was he old enough to remember that offices used to have a phone line? And a fax machine? I didn’t even have time to look around his office. Did he have a fax machine still? Did he have his own printer? If the person was important enough, he used to have a fax machine and a printer and later a three-in-one. Or was that two? I’ll make some calls!?! Had he been more important, the fax and phone would be in the front office. And he would only call them to tell them who they must call to then call him so that he could call them. To call to call, to call to call, to call.

I walked out of his office. The chair in the corridor was no doubt still warm from my waiting. I calculated the rate of waiting time to talking time in my head. I was good at math. Better than the corrupt election machines. One to twenty. I had waited fifteen minutes to talk for less than a minute. What a waste of my taxes. Why did I come here? I’ll make some calls. Oh ya, sure. Make your bloody calls! Did I say this out loud? Was this suit, who just walked by, looking at me? Are you looking at me? I’ll make some calls. I. Will. Make. Some. Calls. My battle cry echoed in the long corridor. I will call. I took out my cell and waved it like a torch. I will make some calls. Does anyone have the number of the boss of this shit hole here? Oh come on, give me the number of your retarded boss. I will call him. Right now. Stop staring at me. Look somewhere else. Don’t you have any work to do? Ach, waste of time. I will make some calls … and start with the President. I will call him. He will pick up. He is like me, he likes to talk. He likes his burgers. And diet coke. So American. I will make some calls. Oh no, I will only call one man. The man. He will make it right again. He will make one call to this jerk. Lock him up. And there will be peace. And respect. And then this Crooked Office John can’t make any calls anymore and can’t have anyone in his office for 45 seconds. For the next 45 years. Enough already …

I have not been posting texts for far too long, I think and hope you agree, but I have been writing. This is from a session this week and the prompt was – you guessed it – I’ll make some calls.

post attack

Photo by Felipe Jimu00e9nez on Pexels.com

	Fear
	Beer
	Mere 
	Here


Now 
		she is not frightened of
	beer 
		that smell he spat …
	Mere
		defense of her self then and she
		says: I am more of a wine person
	Here


		They 
		are what she stands for
Now
		helping others
	Mere
		goodwill toward Earth
		A peaceful life
	Here


	We 
	walk around the lake and
	she
	speaks of life’s liberty and 
Now
	we've furnished the room in the attic and
	for years, we stay right 
Here