Thursday, February 06, 2003

Twas the night before Benmas, and all through the flat, A strange sound was sounding, but it was just Snack. The baseboards were scrubbed, so white that they glow, With Mom's voice still ringing, I told you so.   The Snack he was sitting, all snug in my lap, While Loki went out for a cold winter's nap. And feet in their comfies, my torso in fleece, I'd just settled down for scotch made from peat.   When out from the alley there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. Away to the balcony I flew like a flash, Maglight in hand, ready to kick someone's ass.   The streetlights glowing on the asphalt outside Gave the lustre of mid-day to the scene of the ride. When, what to my wandering eyes should show up, But a pizza delivery vehicle, which looked like a truck.   With a little punk driver, his eyes were pure gloss, I knew in a moment this guy must be lost. More slowly than glaciers, he walked up the porch. Looking up dazed, as his eyes met my torch.   "Now, Mister, hello, did you order a pizza? I'm sorry it's cold, but I almost did miss ya. It's pepperoni, with tobasco, a dash, And sir, if you please, I'll be needing your cash."   As dry leaves that before a wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So down the stairs my legs they did fly, Grabbing my wallet as I walked on by.   And then, in a twinkling, I opened the door, Greeting the driver with a hearty felt roar. He was dressed in sneakers, untied, and a kangaroo cap, I laughed when I saw it,  expecting a rap.   His eyes, how they twinkled! His face was a frown! His cheeks were sallow, his nose small and round. His slack jaw was hanging so low, I thought he might floor it, five feet below.   God, there's nothing as exhausting as transposing bad poetry.   So, less than six hours. All the baseboards are scrubbed. Every item of fabric cleaned, and put away. The floors vacuumed and waxed. I am ready for the year. Which is about more music, heard and played. I was reminded of my NEED to get a piano again when I plinked around the other night. I'm craving that release. Which I can't get anymore in Bloomington, since I can't walk two blocks and play on the Steinway in a dark church, as I could in Indy. And harmonica. Maybe even picking up chromatic. And getting out to hear friends play. More meals cooked here, for friends. That recharges me, in a different way than music, but as important. More Syzygy. That is my mission, my raison d'etre, defeating bad technology. Being good. Less women. Maybe a woman, if someone interesting comes my way. But no more crazy date o' the week schedule. Another marathon. Maybe two. More swimming. More, later in the year, camping. More, later in the year, illustrated books. Sumi-e, now. Maybe more completed writing projects. Therapy. Health in general. And I don't know yet what the new thing I'll learn this year will be. Maybe boxing. Once I get good disability insurance. I hope my mom, if she does her 8:06am call this year, remembers that it was Central Daylight, not Standard, and doesn't wake me up at 7am my time. I have my most comfortable clothes in world laid out, which I'll change into after the Zoo Web kickoff meeting. I partly wish that I'd scheduled it for Friday instead, but I can't imagine a better way to celebrate my birthday than starting on our first decent sized project. Yay. Happy Birthday.        1:39:13 AM