Life goes on.
Some random not-so-well formed thoughts from the week.
I learned this week, at very cool company offsite that I’m pretty good at cranking out Haiku, I’m going to call it a skill. Coupled with my outstanding ability to skin muskrats and to us the F-Word effectively I might have a new career to think about.
The problem I have when writing poetry, and I’ve written a bit of it, is turning off the ability to write poetry when it’s not needed. I find myself starting to think in a poetic measure, for example the formal measure of Haiku;
It really becomes
hard to quiet the voices
that create dribble
The harder I try
it seems, the louder they get
left brain thinking curse
I had the same problem when I wrote the parody’s of T’was the Night Before Christmas. Curse of the couplets.
For three days afterwards in my head I found,
myself talking like an insane person, profound.
You get the idea, I think,
Not so good to rhyme when you speak.
An when I speak in ways that match the heart that beats, it reminds me that I may have finally lost the thread that completes the knot that keeps my head from exploding, so it seems.
HA.. words are fun eh? (Iambic pentameter for those of you reading this column with your right brains)
OK, LAME moving on.
Coffee Pot Blues
A note from the daily battle to survive in house where every one things differently about stuff than I do, which by extension makes every other person in this house “wrong”.
I am the only person in the house who drinks coffee. I drink a lot of coffee. On Saturday mornings it’s my habit to put on a pot of Joe, go downstairs to the den and camp out until the rest of Team Sank-a-ray gets up. Most Saturdays this is about a 4 hour period of time, I get up around 5:30 on the weekends these days. Which BTW is lame.
The coffee maker is in kitchen, a mile away from the favorite spot in the den. To reduce trips I purchased a series of commemorative mugs celebrating American farm implements. Not that I’m a big John Deere fan.. I think of lawn mower when I think of a Deere, but I am a big fan of a 16oz coffee mug. Saves me trips to the coffee maker. Bottom line, unless the mug has a swastika or a still shot from Debbie Does Dallas on it, I’m probably going to like it, if.. if it’s 16oz.
Mrs S however, is not going to like it. Takes up too much room in the cupboard. And so this week imagine my shock when I couldn’t find my mugs, my special mugs. And I asked her about it, “Sweetheart, I seem to have lost my most favorite coffee mug, do you happen to have any inkling where I might have mistakenly left it? Dear?” But because I was in a hurry or didn’t have my right filter on it came out as “Where is my fuc$ing coffee mug. Damnit.” Little oppsie on my part.
“they broke in the sink”, came the quiet snarly response.
“both of them?”
She looked at me with that wifely stare that makes clocks stop and brings icicles on in the summer and said in a low monotone, “it was, dear, an accident.”
“It’s ok I can get a couple more at Fleet Farm”.
“Our house can be very dangerous for oversized coffee mugs.”
“But”.. never mind. You know dogs would be a lot more useful of they had opposable thumbs and could actually fetch useful shit like coffee and beer instead my socks or a stupid stick.
But I’m a dude and there is a way around this. I ran extension cord across the den, put the coffee maker on the coffee table by the sofa fired it up, and Bob’s Your Uncle… I can brew the pot right where I’m going to drink it and avoid having to get up for every 6oz cup.
She’s going to be so proud of me when she see’s how well I compromise. Just hope it doesn’t screw up the fung shewi in the room.
And I’ll be sure to put it right back when I’m done because I’m good at doing stuff like that.