The Post with No Name
BFI has come for the children, late and reneging on his promise to take them to breakfast. Still won't take them overnight as his imaginary chigger problem continues. Thanks to Steve D. and Velmar for doing chigger research which pretty much lays to rest any doubt that BFI's contentions of continued infestation (or any infestation at all) are bogus. Have on classical music and trying to decompress after awful week at work and the usual day to day kiddy madness.
New torture at Binder...solitary confinement. I have been torn from the company and camaraderie of the other writers and have been seated in a no-man's land across from the Evil Brenda's office. I have been told this move had nothing to do with retribution. This is a lie and I miss my buddies. Steve has been moved away from other writers as well and poor Jamie sits by himself now. Jamie put it succinctly when he said it was a "divide and conquer" move. Now there is nothing making the place bearable, which is probably the point. They want us to quit.
In other bleak news, Issac Mizrahi has been replaced as Target's star designer by a snow-boarder named The Flying Tomato. Somehow I don't think the Flying Tomato will be designing clothes for the over-forty ladies crowd. Deep and heavy sigh. Must rouse myself and think happy thoughts...
The Boy is being considered for The Honor Society! My cold is better...there is a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon when I leave work now...I'm not married...I don't have diabetic neuropathy or lumbar spine impairment...anybody who can come up with more reasons to be cheerful, please post...
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
Raymond Carver
BFI has come for the children, late and reneging on his promise to take them to breakfast. Still won't take them overnight as his imaginary chigger problem continues. Thanks to Steve D. and Velmar for doing chigger research which pretty much lays to rest any doubt that BFI's contentions of continued infestation (or any infestation at all) are bogus. Have on classical music and trying to decompress after awful week at work and the usual day to day kiddy madness.
New torture at Binder...solitary confinement. I have been torn from the company and camaraderie of the other writers and have been seated in a no-man's land across from the Evil Brenda's office. I have been told this move had nothing to do with retribution. This is a lie and I miss my buddies. Steve has been moved away from other writers as well and poor Jamie sits by himself now. Jamie put it succinctly when he said it was a "divide and conquer" move. Now there is nothing making the place bearable, which is probably the point. They want us to quit.
In other bleak news, Issac Mizrahi has been replaced as Target's star designer by a snow-boarder named The Flying Tomato. Somehow I don't think the Flying Tomato will be designing clothes for the over-forty ladies crowd. Deep and heavy sigh. Must rouse myself and think happy thoughts...
The Boy is being considered for The Honor Society! My cold is better...there is a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon when I leave work now...I'm not married...I don't have diabetic neuropathy or lumbar spine impairment...anybody who can come up with more reasons to be cheerful, please post...
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
Raymond Carver
posted by MJ at 10:16 AM
5 Comments:
I know a reason why you can be happy about yourself and your life, you were smart enough to guess that an ear is a protuberance! I never would have guessed that in a million years, I wish I had a brain with your capacity!!! Your sister loves you!!
i love carver's catherdrals. honor society! the boy rocks on.
schmucks don't change their spots. so sorry you have one in yer life. aren't their sprays or bait trays you can lay out?
The boy DOES rock, as does Carver. Jr. you are a lovely girl and my brain is full of tumbleweeds and whistling wind. FP, BFI is like a cockroach, nothing kills him (I suspect it's cause Satan loves him).
ah, he is one of Satan's little helper. eh? they walk among us.
Sr. where are you??? Have the children unplugged the phone again?
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