Oh, busy Monday. Ugh. It was fine. Just busy, and I hate busy. I also dislike the fact that the sky started to dim at 3:30 pm tonight. This season of dark is hard on a body. But also, swoosh! If it is going to be this dark and cold, let it snow already.
I’m pretty sure I post this every year, but I’m doing it again, because Bring It:
This weekend has left me spent. The Fun is exhausting. I don’t really know what to poem tonight. Snow? Anticipation? Gah, I don’t know.
I’ve told many about the banana with the broken arm, but I don’t think I’ve poemed it. Maybe that’s a poem. A college-town poem College people are funny.
Your team is quite close to their team, on the highway. How do rivalries work between teams unequal? In this, the Plan B of fancy restraunts there are twelve pigs, in different media and materials. In the bar with eh old school entrance there were slippery leaves and twelve backwards hats. In the place to be there were twenty-three televisions and about as many folks, and even reckoning between girls and jello. Isn’t’ it interesting how we forgot? Count the things. Count all the things. Count the details, because they add up. Don’t forget to tip and refund, and don’t be shy with the birthday boy at twenty-three, stop holding your mom voice back, just go ahead and say “that was too many neon-colored shots at once”, and be the old lady. Go ahead and grab in your purse for the phone and failing to find it to take a picture of the broken banana, on the way to the way out of Health and Human Services, the banana with the new-broken arm and only the banana to wear back to the dorm. Maybe you are old enough to say what you mean. And vice versa.
So tired and still after the weekend, poem friends. Good night, and peace on your Tuesdays.