Dear Mr. Scratchy:
I came into the blog this afternoon with a plan. By the time I got my coffee and opened the page to write, plan was forgotten. It's one of those days where even though I'm doing fairly well, the quiet is getting to me. Not the physical literal quietness of the place. That's always a happy peaceful few moments in the building I live. But the everything has slowed down and I don't have any obligations, quiet. It's moments like this I miss hugs. Yeah, hugs. Sitting on the sofa with the guy, or curled up in bed with him, or even just those really long hellos or goodbyes when you're standing in the hallway just loving the moment with the guy. It's these pockets of time that get me. The quiet. It's one of those pockets.
The other day, I'd been out most of the day, was on bus coming home. Bus stopped in front of the bar and a stack of people got on. It's a bar, they stank of beer. Have I mentioned I hate beer. Well, anyways, this old guy who was like in his 70's at lest, reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of men's cologne and sprayed half the bottle on himself. Did I mention he was sitting right in front of me. Yeah, I wasn't fast enough to duck, and spent the rest of the day smelling of it. Short blessing that I was headed home and not going anywhere important.
Okay, so now I've made you laugh, I need to get back to the twenty or so projects I have on my to do list.
I imagine Herman, that you're checking in today after a long day at work. I seem to think you are having a bowl of vegetable soup for dinner. The canned kind at that. I seem to think you're reading this, craving marshmallow squares for some odd reason. I think you are wearing a pair of black track pants that you've cut into shorts, runners no socks, and a light material jacket. I think you just got back from a run. Don't ask why, just roll with it. I imagine you're sitting there reading this, seriously arguing with yourself about something your buddy said to you. Maybe you went to some random palm reader or something with them so they didn't feel so embarrassed about it. And I think the reader did your tarots for you, giving you some out of the blue information that you're unable to get out of your mind. You want to ask my thoughts on the cards...and that's the inner argue.
Oh Herman; Mr. Scratchy. These post its might seem easy but trust me, they're not.
As always, dream of me