Monday Monday

Monday
You ain’t no fun day
You’re the one day
I’d like to lose
But if I did
Then I’d hate Tuesday
and Tuesday morning
I’d sing the blues  
boppa-da-be-bop- da-be-bop da-wotta-wottayy

Tylenol, the Red-Headed Stepchild

hello there old friend

I’m back after lo, these many years
I said goodbye a long time ago
and never looked back
I didn’t miss you
you won’t hear me singing “nobody does It better”
because in my opinion, many can do it better
but here we are
you and I
forced together, more or less, so...
I will try to make the best of it
you should be grateful

The Real Burl

 

Asleep At the Wheel

I am suddenly exhausted. In addition to actually being tired, I’m overwhelmed. OVERWHELMED. By what? -- you may ask. By the sheer magnitude of life as it teems all around me: the people, the lives, the daily dailies, the routines, the ruts, the successes, the failures, the joys, the heartbreak, the drama, the hubbub, the hullabaloo. It plays in my head, all day. I can’t keep these all these balls in the air. I can’t keep my hands on the wheel. I am falling asleep at the wheel. And the car of life is going to miss the curve.

The Tender Hour

Restaurants all over the country are serving breakfast right now. Waitresses who have already been up for hours are pouring gallons of coffee into plain white ceramic cups. The tinkle of spoon against cup and cup against saucer is the music of the hour. In the kitchen, dozens of eggs are being cracked and fried, along with rashers of bacon and mountains of toast. The air is infused with the smells of coffee and syrup. And somewhere, everywhere, people are actually eating pancakes at the Tender Hour – people with stronger constitutions than mine.

The Tender Hour - I like that. I am going to start calling it that. "Honey please -- a little consideration during the Tender Hour."

Other people must feel it too. It’s a little quiet at breakfast. For the most part, you won’t find the din of conversation layered over conversation at breakfast. People are still waking up, for chrissakes. Take it easy. Go gently into the light of day. For soon enough, they will have to leave the cocoon of the Tender Hour and face the tough, cruel world.

Blargish Thots

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BLARGH!!
STELLAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!