I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Manic Madness

Things are hot this summer. I've been overscheduled since April. We're trying to get some custom bookshelves made and installed. An idiot backed into my car making a body shop visit necessary ($860 worth of stupid, and to fix the two other small dings from shopping carts, $925, we're just doing the major stupidity). There's something like a hundred emails I need to write, I need to submit those stories back out. I need to work on the house outside. I need to clean on the inside, again. I need to get rid of the rock/weed bed in the front yard.

It just keeps going on from there. And I need to write. Must write. Then write some more.

2 comments:

Camille Alexa said...

Some people call this the 'pre-dirt-nap phase' of existence.

Steve Buchheit said...

Well, there is that. It's better to be vertical and on top of the ground.