Introducing Atticus and Thoughts That Follow:
A series of events has for whatever reason brought you to this journal, at this specific time, for whatever reason, and you are now reading my words. These words are being written with a paper and a pen, and connected to that pen is an average amount of hands for one person. Those hands are connected to the arms, shoulders, head and its contents, which is owned by someone you will know as Atticus. Atticus (myself) is roughly ten pounds of age. He enjoys writing, thinking, reading, and the occasional drawing.
Why are you talking in the third person?
Fine, disembodied-voice-of-the-reader, I will revert back to the person in which I was meant to speak in. Anyways, back to what I was about to tell you before I was so rudely interrupted by your brain questions.
I have recently found myself at a crossroads. My days of formal education have ended, and I recently retired early because of injury. I spend my days doing crossword puzzles and busying myself with assorted carpentry projects. I miss the times where I always had a book to read, a place to go, and a job to do. I also have no spouse or children to share any of these activities with. I think I should rather like having one of those.
Perhaps someday some event in my life will happen and I would be compelled to travel, marry someone, and have a young one or two. Perhaps.
A Fine Day For A Walk
Today is a fine day for a walk, you know. "How do you tell it's a fine day for a walk?" I hear you ask -
I didn't ask anything.
Hush, you. It's a rhetorical device! Anyway, the steps for determining how fine a day is and whether or not it is fit for walking are as follows.
1. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your overall disposition, ten being "Better than ever! I feel like taking a lovely stroll." and one being "I am bedridden and have never felt worse."
2. If the prior step is greater than four, prepare for walk.
Now that you have determined that it is indeed, a fine day for a walk, you are ready to move on to preparing for said walk. I will discuss walk preparation along with walk activities in a future post.
Shouldn't you be on that walk about now?
Oh, heavens! You're right. I almost missed the opportunity for a lovely walk. I shall return to you with a play by play of the walk.
Fantastic. Through this medium I don't have the ability to depict gestures or body language, so just imagine me rolling my eyes.
I have returned from my walk! And what a glorious walk it was. I walked all the way to the book shop to purchase a fine novel, then on the way to the park, I saw three dogs - three! - and Mrs. Bentley was watering her lovely flowers, too. They were all sorts of pretty, and Mrs. Bentley takes great pride in them. When I got to the park, I found a lovely reading spot under a tree. I read for a while and then took a short nap on the soft grass.
And now I'm home. I should like to write a letter or call my sister and my brother-in-law. I haven't seen them in ages, and I have yet to meet their child, who should be about ten now. Usually when I come to visit, he is staying with a friend or with his grandparents on his father's side. Disembodied voice! Please type up a letter for me.
Why me? Do it yourself.
I can't write in italics.
Dear Mr. And Mrs. Hobbes,
It's been so long, we must catch up. I would like to meet that lovely son of yours and I should enjoy being a part of his life. Perhaps he could stay at my house over the summer months, if you so choose. I hope the cat is doing well and that things are moving steadily at the homestead.
From The Disembodied Voice
I've known I could take over entries for a while now, but I haven't needed to until now. I think that Atticus's state is a little too... tender to be writing right now, but this is important. Currently, he's curled up on his red "thinking couch" staring at the wall. He's been sitting there since the letter arrived.
Dear Mr. James Atticus
I regret to inform you that on the evening of the 25th of July, Mrs. Victoria Atticus Hobbes and Mr. Jonathan Hobbes perished in a fire that started in their home. According to Mrs. Hobbes's will, their son, James Hobbes, is to live with you until he is eighteen. James will be arriving on the 10th of August. Please prepare for his arrival.
My deepest condolences,
He's simply destroyed. Something in him broke, I think. He hasn't left his couch since noontime yesterday. He was so chipper before, it's terrible to see him this way.
I had better go. He can explain his situation better than I can in a few days, when he's ready.