The days off
Might just be the best.
Work can drag a man down
But thank goodness for Sundays and rest.

So why not go for a long run
Watch a bunch of football
Sneak in a nap or two
Then wait for nightfall.

And work tomorrow.

“Comedy is, for the most part, just an obsession with injustice.” Whitney Cummings

Long days, short nights
Working fitness angles, working all those hours
The lines start to appear
The bags get heavier
Then it all goes awry

A comment taken the wrong way
A look misinterpreted
Jokes marching over the line,
Missiles fly with interpersonal precision,
The hurt gets splattered all over an ego

Eyes go Lizzy, finding the weakest spot to chop
Hacking away with a non-verbal ax attack
That might have been avoided
With a little sleep, a little less screen time,
More peace and quiet.

The loft is dark, blinds drawn
The air holds a chill, outside of my blanket
I’m barely awake under the weight of a sleeping dog
Things could only be better
If the kids would appreciate silence…

The creative juices are just not there
Only inspired by the ways of my cat
Who has the right idea
Totally conked out
Head down
Breathing so smoothly
So deeply
So soundly

I’m trading this keypad
For a couch, fan, and pillow
And get my feline
Slumber going
Right here on the couch
With some peaceful Keb playing
Background to muffle
Whatever snore I can muster

Work, work, work
Rush, rush, rush
What’s the hurry
What’s the reason

“Grapes in season!”

No that’s, Thunderbird
But I’m lost at why there is such bustle
To all we do
I’m guilty
Wanting to write each day
Find time for photography

And I’m off for the summer

How do people
Go, go, go

Not today
I’m going to kick back
On the couch
And make the vocabulary lists
The wiki pages
Work in some mobility time
Make some lunches
And whatever easy stuff
I can relax into