Stuff I wrote at work

Nothing
my brain screams
stretching the word out to breaking
but quietly
and to itself
instead of shooting off its mouth
and disturbing others who might be less than understanding
at my inability to function without something to distract me
and why is it that when I have to the time to do something right
I will nearly always do it wrong?

***
raindrops keep falling on my head
and running through my brain
but only that one line
over and over again
and maybe i should sing the song that has no end
attack being the best way to defend
but that would just result in my attacking myself with something worse than I already am
farout, this is doing my head in

***
um ... a single rhyme to while the time
that is passing so slowly
but so
I find I'm lacking a rhyme
to torture and tease into some kind of line
leaving me in a bit of a bind
and bereft
loose
dangling in the wind
like unconfined genitalia
and the afternoon continues slowly

Sunday

Only five minutes left of paid internet and I've read hardly anything and how am I going to write anything in that time? gah!

Moooooaannnnnnnnnnn

Aye currumba - these new people - darn them - they leave no signs.  No checklists with insultingly large ticks.  No leaving the grill door open so you know they've been.  Nothing.  Nada.  I have to wait (and anticipate) a letter containing disheartening comments.  Probably they will say something about my old fridge which is currently residing in my carport until such time as I can find someone to take it away.  Maybe they will insist it be gone in two weeks and come back and inspect.  Who knows?  I could care less.  I am sick.  I care for nothing.  Lord please kill me now, so that I do not have to suffer this cold further.

There are no obvious coughs or running red nose to garner sympathy with.  I just feel really really bad.  I live on in vain hope that Glenn Richards will magically release his solo album over the weekend and I can at least die happy.  (I have fingers crossed it will be out by the end of the year).

I am an embarrassement of a fangirl *sigh*  I acknowledge my failings.  When working the election hotline I mentioned him and Augie March whenever Shepparton cropped up or some other town mentioned in one of his songs.  Even Melbourne airport was a trigger, cause the only reason I knew how to spell it was because of The night is a blackbird.

Having spent the last month answering questions about early voting, whether or not somebody is on the electoral roll and attempting to reassure panicing little old ladies about fines, I am afraid I am a little over the election. 

I am still considering watching the coverage this evening, which will make this only the second election I have ever done that for.

Leadup to latest Rental Inspection

Why do my cats always vomit when I clean house?  I woke to the sweet sounds of retching.  I gave gentle encouragement to Mary-cat to stay in the one spot and to please, please, vomit on the floor and not on an object. The time one of my cats vomited atop my flatmates black mesh entertainment stand and it dribbled through into the television and dvd player is still vivid in my memory.  They are not used to vomiting these inside cats.  They fight against it.  No history of habitual grass chewing and purging behind them.  She tries to swallow it down as it comes up and chews on the remnants like a ruminant.

Morning

I could but flee in horror.

I puttered over to Palmer Street to sit in the sun and breakfast but some middle-aged/old man with a microphone and an electric piano was singing some kind of easy listening/country music song.  Swear to god it was market music (you know ... there is always some older man with a punch and a PA singing "if I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me" or "sometimes you have to fight when your a man").  Insupportable at such an early hour.

So I went to my usual place where the food is not so great and the view is of a building sight.

I feel better now.

Sooooooo fuuunnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyy

This woman is just awesome

Monday Night

Michael-cat mewed to come in.  Late night snack time. When finished he hopped on to the ottoman near my chair.  I petted him.  He hissed and swatted my hand.  Blossom-cat approached.  Michael-cat hissed at him as well.  He stared and stared and stared at the door, looking desperate and nervy.  I got up to let him out and he promptly nicked my chair, sprawled out aggressively limp and went to sleep.

I'd been faked out by a fat old cat with dermatitis.
Sheesh.