I forgive the girl with the purple pen who hacked up Charles Simic.
Without the leaves to sound proof, if I listen carefully, I hear the
semis roaring in the distance; it makes me think of Frost's "and
The sun on the back deck this morning made the sparkly frost look
just like the sugar on my batch of ginger cookies.
.I forgot to put the trash out this week.
He doesn't know it, but Robert Osborne is one of my bestest;
I have the hugest crush on him and those baby blues...Bob, you look
fabulous in your new dark blue suit and that green tie is tres chic,
my friend. (Got any of those bobble heads left? I want one.)
Bach's Sleepers Awake made me cry this morning.
Morning in the Burned House, Margaret Atwood's poetry, has been
delightful..."don't confuse me with my hen-leg elbows".
Today's a really good hair day; of course, I've seen no one.
Speaking of hair, I pulled a rat of it out of the shower drain today;
akk, I think I'm going bald...you know, I once dreamed my biological
father was Yul Brynner.
I'm severely craving a double fish fillet from Mickey Dee's; I might
just have to hop in the old Land Rover and go get myself one...don't
worry, I'll be good and skip the glorious fries. (forgive me Robynn,
for I am about to sin...)
This weekend is going to be incredibly fun...hope you all have one,
too, my bloggy pals~!