It's true friends it is.
I am remodeling our kitchen, our 100 year old shitty kitchen,
My 7 year old cat is lying on my computer mouse and not being one iota ironic, and my
14 year old poodle is wailing upstairs, while I write.
My 14 year old boy, is ignoring the poodle, either that, or he is wearing headphones.
Either way, life is complicated, and difficult.
I am writing this post in a format that would suggest poetry, but I am giving only the most cursory thought to form, or function.
I am being,
I am not writing a lune, or a haiku, or a poem, or refined prose, I am being insolently sloppy and negligent,
even though I know better.
They might revoke my ENGLISH degree.
So back to the kitchen. My kitchen is currently a large square room with appliances. My mother, god bless her heart, is designing something that should make me very happy at some point in the future, but for the present, is only making me very nervous.
We are talking back splashes, and subway tile.
We are talking about making the archway into my mudroom 6" smaller, we are talking about oven vents, which makes me want to stick my head in the oven.
It will be beautiful.
My mother is a mountain of talent. Ashley, you used that term years ago and it remains brilliant, stealing it here.
I am keeping my day job, as expert worry person. I am working overtime, in fact.
That is the long and short of this poem to no one, and nothing.