Tag Archives: bubbles

Good Things This Morning

So today as been surprisingly awesome so far.  And I should mention that having a good day that starts first thing when I wake up is extraordinarily rare.  Usually I wake up late, have to take care of a hyper-active puppy whilst getting myself to look presentable before rushing out the door cursing with a granola bar in hand.

Today was a lovely exception and I thought I’d share just because there’s no one else is here besides the pup to brag to.

So for today I’ll mention some More Happiness .

Note: A couple of these things occurred last night. I usually don’t drink in the mornings, not heavily anyways.

Happiness is…

Weird, captivating dreams.

Two, perfectly fried over-easy eggs and perfectly toasted toast.

Bernard (my doggie) when he’s not being a whiner, beggar, or turd-burglar.

A white russian and intriguing romance flick with a good friend.

Friendly neighbors saying hello.

Gorey, cheesy horror movies.

My Honda when it’s NOT making painful noises.

Two surprise tickets to an AWESOME Halloween concert.

Plans for pumpkin carving.

Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up” while I apply mascara.

Good things happening in the morning.

Appreciation of those good things.

AND David Bowie, of course.

Dammit, I need to appreciate these good things more often.

This is how I usually feel in the morning

How I feel today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hope you’ve had a good morning too.  If it’s been a typical cruddy one, put on a record, read a poem, jump on the bed, or do all three! Have a good weekend folks.

 

 

 

 

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Perhaps some poetry?

Bubbles

Bubbles in a boiling pot,

Second layer of skin.

Original color of hair, written in the

fine print.

Seeds of the fruit and popcorn in your teeth.

A splinter under your nail and

the tears choked down all the way to your

feet.

Secret loves

that we keep in the shoe boxes of our

hearts,

manifested in the hairs that prickle as we turn the corner.

Night sweats and belly button

phlegm,

this, the subconscious lives in.

Paint splotchs

I Am Muddy Puddles

I am

muddy puddles and flowers atop prickly cacti.

I hold onto

dog-eared pages and wine-soaked lips.

I feel my

clay encrusted feet and sandy bottoms.

I smell

the dust-covered romance novels and the spiders on the rose.

I wear

holey jeans and big, chocolaty smiles.

I see

melted candles and paint splotches.

I am

baby boogers, with a hint of mint.

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