June. Blossoms. Oh my dear.
I might have nearly found a rhythm, a chang clang, rail splitting, spiritual singalong whereby I release my meme collection back into the cloud farm, a bit at a time. For now.
I say the word collection. It is a heap; a hoard, there is no order and no search function. I am releasing my, seemingly compulsive, need to grab at everything as it goes by. Google does a far better job of keeping track of these things anyway. And can’t I find something better to do with the time? My time? Honestly. Can’t I?
It’s a start.
Also, it finally occurs to me that I do not need to produce another book of poetry - at the moment. What I need is to get the poems off the computer into a collection. Another collection. This time with names.
So I grabbed another blog name, or three, recently.
Here now, something rather than nothing.
The other night at a dinner party someone thought perhaps I might’ve taught theater.
Pat laughed uproariously. I don’t know why. Doctor, professor; we’ve both heard it before.
Once an older lady stopped me in Walgreens to help her make a selection of some sort. I told her I didn’t work there. She said well you certainly look smart.
I still like it every time.
The sum total of my accolades is being mistaken for someone else.
The bag lady character in Lily Tomlin‘s one-woman show in the 80s, perhaps, was sitting wistfully on the curb with her chin in her palm.
“I always wanted to be somebody. I should’ve been more specific.“
Here, for you. Smile until you feel your breath.
June 4, 2022