I've just inhaled
One and one half pots
Of Starbucks dark French roast coffee
Made four times too strong
Poured into mugs
That were four times too big.
I've just consumed,
In a fit of caffeinated frenzy,
The remnants of one obscenely
Expensive little bag of beans.
Logic should tell me
That spending
Eight dollars
And
Seventy-five
For a stomachache and the inability to sleep
Would be foolish.
But ill never put this mug down.
And I refuse to take my trash out on time.
And yes,
The lo mein was the source of that weird smell.
The crisis averted with open doors, windows, and a fan.
Truth to be told, I only vacuum because I like the pattern it leaves.
The dirt, in general, doesn’t seem to bug me much.
But the lack of pattern…
Damn, that pisses me off.
I prefer to leave my clean clothes in the laundry basket
Until the dirty outweigh the clean, and I must displace them.
I let my kitty sleep where she like,
Her peaceful sleep on my white fur rug,
And I wish for the ability to nap in the kitchen as well.
On mug number three,
I should be doing so many other things
Certainly not watching television shows
About the worlds most deadly bugs,
Or painting my face in the mirror because I’m certain…
That nobody is watching.
I like those shows about babies being born,
And I rub my tum and wonder,
Proceed to freak out,
And swear that ill never do that myself.
‘Tis a shame,
To tell yourself a lie.
Its these simple things, that
No flamboyant grammar can shine up
No amount of my tipping the pen towards inspiration
Will ever change.
I’m a procrastinator,
A deadly bug liberator,
A feline comforter
A religious vacuumer
A litter box poo-scooper
A non-folding launderer
A twenty year old domestic disaster,
Who just paid
Eight
And seventy-five
For a stomachache.
But you cannot help but to
Lather, rinse, and always,
Repeat.
(Because it just feels so damned good)
[ 24 May 2002: Message edited by: drea ]
One and one half pots
Of Starbucks dark French roast coffee
Made four times too strong
Poured into mugs
That were four times too big.
I've just consumed,
In a fit of caffeinated frenzy,
The remnants of one obscenely
Expensive little bag of beans.
Logic should tell me
That spending
Eight dollars
And
Seventy-five
For a stomachache and the inability to sleep
Would be foolish.
But ill never put this mug down.
And I refuse to take my trash out on time.
And yes,
The lo mein was the source of that weird smell.
The crisis averted with open doors, windows, and a fan.
Truth to be told, I only vacuum because I like the pattern it leaves.
The dirt, in general, doesn’t seem to bug me much.
But the lack of pattern…
Damn, that pisses me off.
I prefer to leave my clean clothes in the laundry basket
Until the dirty outweigh the clean, and I must displace them.
I let my kitty sleep where she like,
Her peaceful sleep on my white fur rug,
And I wish for the ability to nap in the kitchen as well.
On mug number three,
I should be doing so many other things
Certainly not watching television shows
About the worlds most deadly bugs,
Or painting my face in the mirror because I’m certain…
That nobody is watching.
I like those shows about babies being born,
And I rub my tum and wonder,
Proceed to freak out,
And swear that ill never do that myself.
‘Tis a shame,
To tell yourself a lie.
Its these simple things, that
No flamboyant grammar can shine up
No amount of my tipping the pen towards inspiration
Will ever change.
I’m a procrastinator,
A deadly bug liberator,
A feline comforter
A religious vacuumer
A litter box poo-scooper
A non-folding launderer
A twenty year old domestic disaster,
Who just paid
Eight
And seventy-five
For a stomachache.
But you cannot help but to
Lather, rinse, and always,
Repeat.
(Because it just feels so damned good)
[ 24 May 2002: Message edited by: drea ]
this is great drea 
