Notes from a Head Cold

Day 1: Surprise! I’m moving into your head. You’ll think I’m just seasonal allergies for the first 8 hours. Ha! Puny human.

Night 1: Hope you don’t need to breathe. Or maybe I’ll just open up your sinuses and you’ll begin leaking snot like a faucet from your right nostril. Girl, you look so cute with a rolled up tissue sticking out of your schnozzola.

Day 2: I know, you were still hoping I was just an allergy attack, so I thought a slight fever and some body aches might cheer you up. No? Suck it up buttercup. I’m yours for six more days. 

Night 2: You imagined that nighttime cold medicine was going to let you sleep through the night as advertised, didn’t you? Bwahahaha! If I had a knee I’d slap it. Better yet, I’ll slap you. Headaches just make me more awesome. 

So I’m sick. Dammit. This is all my imagination could handle today. I have a couple of posts queued up, but if you don’t hear from me again you’ll know the cold won. 

Peace, people.

Snapshot #97

I’ve begun walking around our neighborhood with a couple of friends. The steps seem to come much more easily with the exchange of witty banter, and I am racking up the miles. 

One friend led us across the dam that borders Lake Yvette, and I snapped this picture halfway across. I’m calling it, “Damn Fine Dam View.”

Alternative Facts

I’ve tackled the Iditarod,
Sailed the seven seas,
Made a fortune in the market,
Survived the killer bees.

My art work’s in the Louvre,
Next to Munch’s Scream,
I swam the English Channel
Made the Olympic team.

Every day I run ten miles,
Uphill and in the snow,
I’ve earned a star in Hollywood,
Same as Russell Crowe.

In the tabloids I’m lauded
As the leader of the pack
I swear to you this all is true
In a world of Alternative Facts.

Trust and Obey?

There’s a new sheriff in town
I’ve heard he speaks loudly,
Carries a teeny tiny schtick
His minions denounce loudly,

Don’t mind his words
Just trust in his heart

But I’ve listened and looked
Can’t tell his intent apart
From the hate and the bile
He spews with such glee
If he expects obeisance
He won’t get it from me.

Trust and obey?
For there’s no other way?
To survive four years
Of a would be tyrant’s sway.
Pardon my dissent,
I’ll use reason and wit
Hide under the hedgerow
And gleefully resist.