Tag: personal

Why do Mondays suck?

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Why do Mondays suck?
Well, in the old days, when there weren’t many people, God used to make everyone line up single-file every Sunday night.
Then, he’d walk along the line with his Sack Full of Mondays and make everyone pull their Monday out of the bag.
Some were bright and shiny, while others were squelchy and stank like a dead possum.
Over time, the line got too long, and the wait was longer than the rest of the week, so God gave up the practice. Made everyone’s Monday suck.
By the way, Joe, this coffee tastes like dead possum.

The Tire Swing

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Back when I lived in Shermerville a long time ago, there was a huge willow tree in the yard.
My dad hung a tire swing from it, and we’d swing on that.
When the knot would come loose, the tire would fall and roll and bounce around.
If you were inside it, well, you got knocked around with it.
After a few times that happened, instead of making the knot safer, the rope and tire were removed
Sometimes, I think back to that tire swing.
Then I look around at the world, and I realize, the knot is coming loose.

Jacketless Day

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Today is my first Jacketless Day of the year.
It’s nice enough out for me not to wear my leather jacket.
I figure I’ll leave it on the back of a chair for a few days, then it will go back up in the closet, waiting for the next Jacket Day of the year.
I should go through my jacket pockets and get everything out of them that I need, but leave a few things in there to surprise me when Jacket Day comes again.
Nothing sharp, though. Just something weird, like a slinky or a green glowing golf ball.

The Scrubber

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As I lay back in the tub and relax, I look up at the shower head and the lufah scrubber hanging from there.
My eyes are cloudy from the steam and the stress of the day washing off of me, so when I look at the sponge at the end of the stick, it looks like a cross between Mr. Peanut and one of the California Raisins.
I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning. He’s squinting, for certain, but his expression is really hard to read.
Who cares, right?
So, I reach for the stick and scrub my back.

Money can’t buy you time

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Today was a very expensive day.
Nardo was sick this past weekend, and had a few problems with the litterbox, then didn’t eat for a day.
I got him to the vet today.
He needed to go in anyway, being an older cat. You’re supposed to take them in every six months.
They looked him over, took some blood, and said he’s probably fine. Just something he ate.
Yeah, I spent a lot for a tummyache, but then I look at the shelf where Piper, Edloe, and Frisky are.
Boxes of ashes.
Once they’re gone, money can’t buy more time.

Gift Basket

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My wife is making the cats a gift basket.
The gifts include treats, new collars, and catnip.
A few toys, too. As if they don’t have enough toys already.
There’s also a lot of colored tissue paper that the cats will like to play around in.
Despite the fact that the basket is on a high shelf, the kitten’s managed to find a way up there and inside the basket.
Based on how much of a pest she is to the other two cats, I don’t think she’s trying to say she’s a gift to them.
We need more catnip.

Cookies

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My mom always made the best cookies. I have recipes, but it’s not the same.
It was so hard to resist them. They never lasted long.
When she made plates of them for others, she had to hide them, or wrap them with several layers of foil and plastic to keep the rest of us out.
She put a plate on the front bench to take to the neighbors, but the next morning all that was left was the plate.
No foil, no plastic, no cookies.
The dog had eaten them all.
Or, at least, that’s what we told her.

The Diploma

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Okay, so I hit it off with this chick at a bar, we’re both drunk as hell, and she says come back to my place.
So, we do.
I don’t know how we got there, but we got there.
We both took our clothes off, and… we…
Agree we’ll do it in the morning. Just too damn drunk.
I wake up eight hours later, and…
What the hell is her name?
I look around, and her medical degree is over the bed.
Aha!
She wakes up, I say her name, and…
She goes by her middle name.
Oops.
I lose.

2000

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My grandfather owned a wholesale grocery warehouse.
In his office, there was an antique cash register and an adding machine you had to pull the crank to get the numbers out of.
I calculated how old I’d be in the year 2000.
Then I did it for my brother.
And my dad.
And my mother.
When I wanted to do it for my grandfather, he chuckled and said he didn’t think he’d be around for that.
“But, Grampa.”
He was right. Ten years short, seven kinds of cancer ganged up on him.
Nobody knows where that adding machine ended up.

Catquake

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I am sitting on a sofa, next to a sleeping cat.
He is purring in his sleep.
I watch his whiskers twitch, his toes wriggle.
He is dreaming.
What is he dreaming of? Walking through grass? Laying in the sun?
He’s twitching more. Maybe he’s running?
If he told me, I’d keep his secret.
But he never does.
A secret never told is a secret kept.
His fur ripples, his paws padding the air.
His whole body is writhing, orange stripes like waves.
And then, he wakes up with a meow.
Licks a paw, and drifts off to sleep again.