A Surprisingly Uncrappy Day Full Of Crappiness, A Heartfelt Apology, And Yeats
You would not believe today. I am having a hard time believing today. Strangely enough, I have been doing a really good job of maintaining my composure and good spirits, but the good decency I have been exhibiting is beginning to wear thin.
I have not been sleeping well for weeks, and last night I finally fell into a continuous deep slumber that lasted right up until the alarm clock went off well before 6:00 am. The reason for this is that the Fiery One left for Montreal this morning and had to be up and ready to go to the airport at an ungodly hour. I can't begrudge him this, because he had to get up for work reasons, but there was just no going back into my happy sleep between the alarm and the snooze alarms and the lights being on and wanting to be up to kiss the man goodbye.
I checked the weather before heading out to wait for my bus, and it was a stupid -24°C (-11.2°F)! I was careful to put on an extra sweater under my coat and wrap myself up thoroughly in my toque and yellow scarf, but I should have foreseen what sort of day I was heading into and put on my longjohns and another sweater. I waited and waited and waited at the bus stop, not knowing that the original bus had broken down and had to wait for another to arrive and transfer its passengers before getting to my stop. The tops of my feet were aching from the cold by the time I boarded the bus.
When I arrived at work, I started the two coffee pots (one for weak and one for strong coffee) like I usually do, but the coffee came through looking like tea. There was no electricity making its way to the perks for some reason, so there was no heat to heat the water. I jiggled some cords around and played with the power bar a bit until the the pots' lights came on. By this time, co-workers had shown up and were wondering what I'd done to the coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, we had an office meeting. I didn't feel like it. It was a meeting. Enough said.
Following the meeting, I went to my cubicle actually looking forward to all the work I was going to be able to get done today. It's one of those days where you know that you have the drive to get a heap of things accomplished. My computer crashed not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times. In between crashes it chose to randomly close down internet windows, Word documents, and my office e-mail. I had to call the tech guy in three different times, the last of which had him carrying my whole computer away. He said, "I'm taking this," and I said "Fine." I don't know where he's taking it or if it's coming back, and frankly I don't care. I just hope that before they put it out of its misery they let me have a private moment with it so I can give it a swift and exacting kick in its little computer booty.
And then, when I went to eat my lunch, I found that my banana had frozen in the stupid cold and turned stupid black. I was really hungry, so I ate it anyway, and it made me cough. Yes, bananas make me cough. Yes, I knew that when I brought it to work for lunch. Shut up.
Then, when it was 1:10 pm, I entered the kitchen area to start heating up my lunch. I usually take my lunch around that time, and I was really looking forward to my roasted lemon potatoes. I was reaching into the refrigerator for them when one of my co-workers told me that we had a meeting starting at 1:15 pm. Jesus freaking Christ. Not one, no, two meetings today. Two meetings and now no lunch.
Premature waking, frigid weather, a bus breakdown, disabled coffeemakers, a meeting, a busted computer, a black banana, and yet another meeting. Oh, and let’s not forget the part where my bus for my trip home was ten minutes late.
But still, I am reasonably happy. At some point today, I just shrugged my shoulders, sighed, and thought to myself that whatever was going to happen was going to happen and that I better just go with it. Now I am at home eating ranch-flavoured Crispers for supper, yum, which I am going to top off with a bowl of buttered popcorn and a glass of milk. The Fiery One has not even been gone twenty-four hours and my diet is going to hell in a handbasket. When we’re old, I’d better die first.
Would you believe that I wasn't thinking? That I haven’t been thinking all fall? It's true. I wasn't thinking when I was posting poetry near the end of each post. You see, most of it wasn't my poetry. Most of it was poetry written by other people, and I didn't think to ask permission to post them. I have made sure to link to info about them on the web, but I honestly wasn't really thinking. So, I apologize if you are alive presently and took offence to my posting your poem here. Really. I won't do it anymore. I will link directly to good poetry, though, and no one can stop me.
By the way, do dead poets count? Can I safely post dead people's poetry, as long as I properly attribute it and give adequate information? Do they have to be dead for a certain length of time before it’s okay to quote them liberally? I feel foolish for having done what I've done, and I feel even more foolish for asking these questions, but do any of you out there know? Drop me a line if you know the answer, and be kind to me. I was only stupid for a short while. I've recovered most of my faculties now and plan on a full recovery by at least mid-spring.
I would like to direct your gaze to the sidebar at the right. I have put up a list of featured poetry with a link to the poem itself and a second link to the author more specifically. I do hope that this suffices. I like it, because I can browse through the list much more easily than my individual posts.
”The Circus Animals’ Desertion” by William Butler Yeats
Check out Art Is for Losers.
Build your own optical illusion dragon.