He Forgot

Picked up orchid and primrose on sale in grocery. Noticed someone with orchid at check-out, zeroed in sale sticker, came about, and bee-lined to Garden Department. Done deal already.

Primrose a bonus.

First thing tomorrow, I'll re-pot primrose, right?
Nope... went online... now time pressing. Ma~nana.

Once knew fellow. Time management consultant. Stickler.
He'd be all over me. Priorities! Delegate! Squash... relax.

So, howdy, Chester. I've forgotten your last name. (ONI?) As-is.
Way it goes. No distress! Yours not my line of work. Kismet.
(Have to take this form after thinking to search Facebook.)

Then again, you've got to consider who constitutes your audience.

Had brief conversation with fellow attending writer's session.

Though the reads are obtrusive (stretching modus milieus) and some people are merely recounting what clinicians who conduct group therapy term "war stories," in this instance with constituent elaboration and a too often exhibited (thus the aural display) compensatory vulgarity. As if they feel somehow "liberated" from, shall we say, academic rigor. Beating their chests, poking their crutch, taunting their Über-Ich(s) before the ships at sea... take your pick of metaphorical monstrosities.

Now I once also knew a literary critic who "enjoyed" watching people make fools of themselves. Academics of a stripe do, I surmise, take pleasure in such disdain, sometimes to sadistic effect - and there we go, for what comes to mind (Facebook not being any place to have this out.) is sociopathic affect. Little Cornelius Vanderbilts getting off on ruination and "moving on."

I did not mention Grand Central Station (Busy As) to the writer, but said it was probably necessary for to find one's audience; to see what engages, what moves, what's effective. Otherwise, is it display behavior seeking strokes in a striving toward fortune and fame? Or a skew, which, in a transactional sense, they're simply talking to them's collective selves?

Cuppa Java don't need such rigmaroles.