Tag: just goofing around

Musical

You ever been in a public place, like a coffee shop (where you were writing), and a song comes on that you like, and you start singing it in your head, and then wonder, if you got up and started singing it aloud and dancing, would everyone else join in, like in a musical?

No, me neither.

5

Perfumed

The perfume of you and I

still intertwines

with the thoughts of what we doing

what we meant to say

before we went away

left me wondering who we think we’re fooling

we never talk

and stay distant in our walks

with a feeling that something’s brewing

it never boils and never perks

but it’s always there, it always lurks

I think our love is cooling

 

 

0

Screwed

I finally did it!

I finally fixed my Roomba.

The Roomba robotic vacuum cleaner had become quieter. Its softer noise made us suspicious, so we conducted a paper test. The Roomba failed. Then I removed the collector, got down on the floor, and confirmed that the brushes weren’t turning. Bummer.

That was months ago. I began looking into repairing it, but then, I thought, maybe I should buy a new one. They were on special at Costco and seemed pretty damn attractive. The display models lacked the scratches and wear and tear plaguing my current beloved Roomba. The new ones had that great new Roomba smell, too.

I read reviews and comparisons, checked prices, and thought, and thought. Eventually, I decided the old one probably only has a couple thousand miles on it and deserved to be fixed. Besides, it now felt like part of the family. I reminisced about the time that poor sick Lady had decided she’d piss on the Roomba, and how you just need to pick it up to send Quinn through the pet door with a sonic boom. I wrestled with what I do with it if I got rid of it. Taking it to the Goodwill seemed wrong. I refused to even think of the landfill.

The parts, a new enhanced cleaning head (I don’t know how it was enhanced), purchased for $49 with free shipping, arrived yesterday. Three minutes later, the Roomba was repaired and making its rounds again.  The weird thing was that iRobot had sent new screws with the replacement part. I used them, which meant I had four perfectly good screws left over.

Perfectly good.

I’m like a compulsive scavenger. Whenever I have left over screws, nuts, bolts, or hardware, I add them to my collection. It’s a fine collection, begun when I first moved out when I was eighteen. At first, I integrated left over screws with others in my various drawers and containers. Then I began keeping them separate, with little notes. The notes had their original planned use and the date. That way, see —

I don’t know what was planned there. It was just an idea. What I’d realized was that most of the screws, bolts, nuts, and fasteners were too unique to be used elsewhere. Most of the time when a fastener was required, I’d go through the collection, testing their viability, conclude that what I have doesn’t work, and go buy new ones.

Having recognized this, I threw the four Roomba screws away. It required a lot of grit, opening the trash can, putting my hand with the screws over it, letting the screws go, and closing the lid. It took a lot of grit, and just five minutes, but I did it. I kept my eyes closed, though. I couldn’t bear to watch.

So that’s it. My days of being screwed are over.

Now, what do I do with the old, un-enhanced Roomba cleaning head? I could just trash it, I suppose, but I think I can make some room on a shelf. Because you never know when it might come in handy, right?

5

Day #101

I like the sun

I like the rain

I like how the day

smells this way

I like the breeze

that’s sometimes a wind

I like the scents

that tease and spin

I like the hours passing me by

and the time spent

with no one asking me why

 

 

0

Distance Calling

The distance calls me

I try to see

who it is and what they want from me

the distance calls me

from outside

full of hate and telling me lies

the distance calls me

the people I know

urging me to love and telling me to grow

the distance calls me

without knowing why

I hide away and slip inside

0

The Trap

He doesn’t want his father to die, but this person that he sees every day doesn’t tell the jokes that his father used to make, and he doesn’t drink beer and coffee, doesn’t go walking with his dog, or wash his cars, or go for drives (driving too fast), or watch television and argue about sports.

He doesn’t want this man to die, even though his beard is white and wispy, and his hair is gone, and the lean, tall body sags like a worn fence, and he no longer barks out demands and orders.

He doesn’t want this man to die, the drooling one who sits in a chair and stares most of the day, the one that doesn’t eat much, mostly eating candy when he does eat, the man who doesn’t remember his name and needs help to use the toilet.

He doesn’t want this man to die, no matter what kind of wreck he is, because he knows that he’s still his father, and he will miss him more when he’s gone.

But he doesn’t want this man to suffer any more, because he is his father, so he comes every day, visiting and waiting, wondering and remembering, wishing that he had hope for something besides what it is.

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