01JUN10

So here the monthly travel begins and yet procrastination is not my destination. For my intramural endeavors are pinned on my corkboard. A board that demonstrates the coalition of sanity and obsessive-compulsive disorder – what an exciting time we live in.  The pins represent the coherent sparks of my keen eye whereas the cards are my business plan. You know, with string, photos, newspaper clippings and anything else that’s impressive from the American TV shows. Hell, my own mosaic.

There’s no better way to grease up the morning with slippery bacon and an oily rag egg (toast included). It’s the only time to contently stare blankly over coffee stained papers and last week’s Sunday pullouts. Apparently, denim is in. Now who would have thought (conjure) it? Designers’ are magicians – where do you think capes came from?

My voice is just like Ledley King. It can only be used two or three times a week or it births frogspawn (no one has a sour tooth). Blood has shot my eyes like an old second hand banger and my pique, well, is more like a temperamental exhaust pipe. Quick Hatton jabs to the embalmed ego.

My girl is in a cuckoo clock (country) and I am in a cuckoo psyche. Camping out by her bedroom door plotting out new positions on the pavement in chalk. There’s a limit to pantyhose doodles. 

There are two slight steps to my workplace today. Chair. Laptop. Masking tape. Ah, the tape is for my bad boy digits (twiddling away like a fiddler on an ocean-liner). Sometimes I wear fingerless gloves to be Bob Crotchet. A saddened candle at the corner of the desk ticks away and the piles of coin will never amount to much. Nevertheless, I have a wonderful family (and I’m just the boy on crutches).

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  1. thatkypieguy posted this