Yes, of course I’m still watching April. Tell me you’re not. How are you managing to resist?
But I have other things going on, too. Thank heavens for multi-tasking skills.
There is a random man I see on my way home from time to time. He’s one of my “bus neighbors,” someone I don’t know but recognize because we’re both regulars on the B65.
He seems a nice enough man, but he drives me crazy because he’s always listening to his music and doesn’t use headphones. Last night I learned that he’s bought himself a little bluetooth speaker!
He plays music I like, for the most part, but that’s not entirely the point. If I’m trying to read or write (or sleep), that music is the bane of my existence. If, like tonight, a song gets caught in my head … GAAAAH!!
Till We Just Can’t
driving me out of my mind.
Same nonsense words, looped
over, over … and again.
You keep telling me
to “get up on the floor” —
you’ve been telling me
near a solid forty years —
If I dance, will you fade out?
This, of course, is utter I’m-so-tired foolishness, but it is also a chōka, and I’m going to take these where I find them until I can get some rest and try to find some deeper inspiration.
A chōka is a Japanese form poem with a specific syllable count per line: 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7.