Give It Up Already, Man
by Tom Swift
I am tired of the sound of my own voice.
I have listened to me all day (out loud and inside this melon on my shoulders) and, frankly, I have not had much interesting to say.
By the end here, well, I slipped into a little something crabby.
My apologies to the ether!
And to the dude at the pet pharmacy who had to take my call after somebody messed up our order.
I have given out entirely too much foul energy in recent hours.
Will you forgive me? What if I say petty please?
With a special mea culpa to said dog.
I do want to write. This time is time set aside to write. I come to the cursor to provoke, to entertain, to inspire. Or at least wrap the brilliant ideas I started writing about this morning.
Er. Um. Something like that.
But I got nothing, Jonesie. Nuthin!
It’s not that I have no gas in the tank it’s just that I can see the fuel light on. And it’s flashing. Fast.
Pass the carbs. (No, I don’t care if I already ate pasta. And cereal. And blueberries. Not all together because … what do you think I am — a freak?)
Yep, pass the carbs — and the pillows.
It’s time for rest.
I can resume being better than this tomorrow.