Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
When it was almost one, I thought the thoughts would soon be done.
Then it was past two, and there were still a few.
When the clock showed three, I got up to pee.
Then, at four, I peed some more.
Seeing five, I fought to close my eyes.
Then it was six, and there was no fix.
When I saw seven, I mourned the dawn,
and realized at eight, I was going to be late.
I hit the road before nine with a tired head,
now it’s ten, and I want my bed.
At eleven, I stole a nap in my ride,
which did nothing for my back, neck, or side.
Dragging myself back in at twelve with sunken eyes,
I sucked down coffee just to feel alive.
At one, I splashed my face.
At two, I realized I had three more hours of this place.
Striking three, the coffee made me pee.
But at four, I drank some more.
Then it was finally five, and I’d somehow survived.
Home at six, I got ready for a party mix.
Seven found me with my friends, ready to go.
When it was eight, we got some food on a plate.
Then at nine, we paid the dime.
Ten found me at a club, having fun.
By two, I was heading home, tired and happy, but wishing it was one.
At three, I laid down in bed,
and then the thoughts returned,
plaguing my head.
Do you ever listen to the start of Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion” and think that it sounds like a cat saying meow with a prolonged techno accent? Listen to the video and see if it doesn’t sound like, “Mee-oowww,” at about the seventeen second mark.
No? Is it just me?
Today’s theme music comes to me from Pink, 2001. I woke up streaming it. I’d paraphrased the words, though. I was singing, “I’m getting up, so you better get the coffee started, I’m getting up.”
Here is “Get the Party Started”. I enjoy the beat and lyrics, and her activities as she’s getting ready, like sniffing her pits. LOL.
You try the high road,
but you struggle with the reach.
So you slip into the low road,
but suffer in the stench.
So you look for the middle,
striving to be comfortable and well,
but every time you read the news,
you feel like we’re on the road to hell.
If you have a cat, does it ever come up to you and give you a casual sniff, and then suddenly becomes alert, avidly and intently sniffing you for a minute before drawing back and giving you a look that asks, “What have you been doing?”
Yeah, disconcerting, innit?
Ever get out there walking and feel the air and a sharp wind, and, giving anxious glances toward the sky, think, oh, no, I’m not dressed right? But then the sun clears its throat and heat finds you. Songs start streaming in your mind, powering you into a faster pace. Busy people and singing birds fill the background, and the air acquires a sweet freshness, and you think, this right here, right now, this is a good day.
Floofculate (catfinition) – a tendency of cat fur to aggregate or come together in lumps or loose clusters.
In use: “During the week, the cat’s fur floofculates into little replicas of the cats hiding under furniture and appliances.”
A good one out of the eighties, a reflection that, no matter what happens or who you appear to be, you have a core of who you are. In this case, Sting is the “King of Pain”, part of the new wave rock movement. I don’t know why, but this was the song streaming in me this morning as my cat curled up on my pillow and purred against my head.
Michael Seidel, writer 