... little star,
holds your brightness from afar.
... little star
you shine always
even in our rage of pain.
... little star
you are the light needed
to bring a smile.
... little star
tonight I have a wish
for you to give a listen.
... little star
Rise up the laughter in us all;
to a T.
Territory (a repost)
This was from over a year ago, but hopefully it can still elicit a chuckle
1 neutered male cat (not declawed)
1 denim covered bean bag chair
1 short-tempered roommate
365 sq ft of living space
1) Place roommate’s bean bag chair in comfy position in sunlight
2) Toss cat lightly on chair, ensuring it stays
3) Repeat for three weeks or as needed for fur build up
4) Bring short-tempered roommate to low boil
5) Allow roommate to continually toss cat off chair in cartoonish fight for dominance
5) Wait for cat to retaliate by dousing chair liberally in natural cat juices
6) Continue trying to live with both cat and roommate afterwards
Ok hope this works for you..
i wake very early to do the commute thing. oh joy.
coffee is pretty much my lifeline to sanity.
the thing is , no one drinks milk except for me, so if we buy a carton , it just gets bad.
so i did things this way,
my baby wakes up at night, and she does drink milk. we keep a special reserve for her of homofinized, extra-protein, extra fat milk. it sits in a box and i warm up and serces when she needs it.
if she needs milk during the day, it’s probably an sos, and because its a hurried thing, we give her formula.
now, a few days ago we had to make formula. she was very unhappy, and threw the milk out, then got really upset, and there was no time to warm the milk, to appease her. so formula.
in the mornings, i take whatever’s left of my baby’s milk and use it for my coffee. only this time it was not milk and i totaly forgot, being so tired.
so i empty the bottle in the cup..
stir it up....
take a long , deseperate swig....
i wish someone will have a camera sometimes, to capture how i look when things like that happen...
baby formula tastes sweet, but it has a definite aftertaste. somehing like a rusty pipe, or having a coin in your mouth.
i drank it down, though. god gave us coffee. it is the ultimate show of conpassion. it is a sin to let this beautiful nectar go to waste.
on the plus side, baby formula gives you somewhat of a sugar rush...
ok, that was terrible. here are a few things to cheer you up:
trees with budding leaves,
the sun rising,
steam whisping away from food, when you are hungry,
babies, and children when they are not monsters,
reading a book in bed on a rainy day,
a good movie,
people posting stuff, which is clearly terrible writing..
birds flying in formation,
a non-deoressing part of a david atrenborough documentary,
satisfying completion of a writing post,
music( i am now listening to the rachmaninov piano concerto no.2 the second movement, my favorite is coming up..)
"Helo my name is Catto. Welcome to my restaurante. The 'e' is silent but I'm not telling you which one, but it takes a non-government regulated scientist to figure it out. But don't tell the drones-- I mean birds I said that."
You don't know how you got here but you sit in a booth. You ask for a menu.
"No menu!!1! You can order scrampled eggies and tea or starve."
You don't want scrampled? eggies, but you can't disappointe this catto. He's only had a restaurante for five minutes, and he could also serve tuna but that's his lunch so you can fite him for it. You'll lose. He has claws. "Scrampled? Do you mean scrambled?"
"Nooooo!!! The chef can only make scrampled eggies with cheese. Do you want them?"
You want to leave. At home, you have Chicken Alfredo on the stove, but it will probably burn since you don't know how to leave since you don't know how you got here. You order the scrampled? eggies and tea. Catto zoomies into the kitchen. He is the head chef too, which is why he knows the menu by heart and how to make it. You wonder how much it will cost to eat here. There are no windows.
About ten minutes later, catto comes out carrying a tray with a plate of scrampled eggies and a teacup full of tea. He sets it down in front of you. Scrampled is just scrambled, and you inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. The tea smells like catnip and echinacea. Both of which are safe for cattos to consume.
Catto watches you eat. The eggies don't taste like much, but you think they've been seasoned with a little salt and the cheese, chedddar, adds flavor. The tea is unsweetened because cattos can't have sweetener and also you're not sure if catnip and echinacea is a good combo or nah. This restaurante is meant for cats but you are human. You finish eating.
"Did you like it?????????????"
You say yes.
"Here's the bill."
It's 25 dollars. The look in the cat's eyes says that he expects you to tip. You only have 26 dollars. Catto takes it but you can see he's angry about the one dollar tip, which isn't even 10% of the bill. This was an expensive lunch.
You blink and you wind up back home. The clock says the exact same time. The food hasn't burned, even though you were gone maybe half an hour at most. It even looks the way it did before you left. The water is boiling. The sauce is thickening. The chicken still needs cut up.
You can't remember if it's the FBI or the CIA who does all the mind tricks and control on people, but you're pretty sure they're onto you and sent you to Catto's restaurante while they searched your house. You just know it. You know something is missing, but you don't know what. You look at the cat tree in the living room, and you remember your cat was there. Catto looked a lot like your cat and even had the same name. That was just coincidence, and the memory was quickly fading away.
You look inside your wallet. The money is gone.
What happened to your cat?
Do you know that feeling you get at the beginning of the annual two-week vacation?
Well, that’s exactly what I feel today!!!
Abandoned joy, happy anticipation, uninhibited enthusiasm for life. All of these and more!
Its strange how I don’t ever rise above smiling acceptance through the year. And then, suddenly, around the corner I see that vacation. That special fortnight when I switch off from the entire world and devote time to myself.
That ultimate form of rejuvenation – solitude – that will keep me afloat for the rest of the year.
And my heart jumps as if an electric current has suddenly coursed through it. I suddenly don’t need a caffeine induced high to navigate the day. And before I know it, lo and behold, here I am. The first day of my vacation!
I have the ultimate hide-out for my annual vacation – a small farm house I bought myself a few years back. A tiny house with a pocket-handkerchief vegetable garden on the edge of a deep, quiet patch of woods. Long walks in quiet, sun-dappled greenery, hours of contemplating the tiny rivulet that valiantly fights its way through the vast undergrowth, endless hours gazing at the star-studded sky, wondering what it would be to live there, in that endless space, far away from the world.
The vacation ends, as it must. But the peace, happiness that it generated, doesn’t. I take it into the next year, confident that it will last me until the next vacation.
I hate how much I love it
I think of your smile, often. It's disgusting.
I've become one of those revolting people who can't stop talking about their person. I know it's annoying. I know no one cares. But, I can't stop.
Who am I becoming? I used to be smooth. I was the one who never got too deep, the one who casually dated. The one who smiled and flirted with baristas for fun. I used to get messages all the time from random people telling me I'm pretty and I laughed about it. I'd giggle and smile, playing with people like a little game.
Now, I am excited to see a phone call from one person each night. I look forward to it like my eldery grandmother looks forward to my visits. It's pathetic.
And the absolute worst part of it is that I don't even care to stop. Because I like you. I like you too much to even care that it's disgusting and pathetic.
All I care about is that I see your crooked little grin when you laugh. And I hate how much I love it when you do that.