I looked in the closet
Under the bed
And in the clothes basket
And couldn’t find the time
Maybe I’d left it in the living room
Or in the car when I was out the other day
Doing errands, like buying food
It could have fallen out of my pocket
While I was walking
Or taking a nap
So I’d better check the sofa cushions
I retraced my steps
But the time didn’t turn up
I challenged my brain to remember
If I’d loaned it to someone
Or maybe gave it away to the Goodwill
While Marie Kondoing my life
After a while
I tried reading a book
Thinking that maybe by not doing something
And freeing my brain from that weighty effort
Of finding the time
I’ll remember what I did with the time
Because I just can’t find the time.
And another Friday has attacked.
My energy is low this March 4, 2022. All three of my floof companions are sick. That begs the question, WTF? One is cancer, and we’re just doing comfort and quality of life for him. He fights on, impressing me with his spirit and determination. Death not going to take him by the neck without feeling his murder mittens and their deadly devices. The other two…is it a cold? Malaise? COVID for cats? Another matter? WTF.
It’s a gray and cold, damp day. Like charcoal briquets from last summer’s final grilling. The sun’s energy today would lose a heating competition with a fast-food restaurant’s lamps. Rose before quarter to seven this morning. Gonna stay up there, dealing with the clouds, until just after six this evening. Temperature is now 37 F and weather services say a fist of degrees more will take us to our high. The clouds — must be more than one, but who can say — are a featureless gray monolith, like someone infused the typical blue with a squirt of gray so pale, it doesn’t seem like a color.
The neurons folded a Tom Petty song into the morning mental music stream. The neurons thought it an appropriate response to my chatting with one of the ill felines. “You Don’t Know How it Feels” from 1994 seemed right, though. I was trying to understand what the cat was feeling. It’s him singing it to me. I know little about his life. He goes out, is gone a bit, returns and seems fine, but what did he witness out there? Anyone try to get him?
Those sentiments can be glued onto just about anyone. Beyond their physical manifestation, we rarely glimpse their true history. Their inner world is shut off to our senses. We don’t know how it feels to be them. They don’t know how it feels to be me.
Definitely time for coffee. Stay positive, test negative, etc. You should know it by now. And it’s changing. Fingers crossed, right? Sure.
Here’s Tom. Cheers