I am more or less recovered from the gut-wrenching food poisoning of the night-before-last, but in its wake I feel tired and lonely, and my voice is shot, so I can’t even sing. Instead of kvetch any more, perhaps I will write a little poem, even though all I really want is my girlfriend, a hamburger, and a bathtub full of beer.
Some days are just more difficult than others. I don’t mean to complain, but I do. It just seems like some days the world is heavier, and the levity brought by the simple joys seem cruelly inaccessible. It’s been six weeks that we’ve been here, and this is the point where I am walking around all the time with a broken heart, and am having a hard time remembering to find the joy that makes the tenderness so beautiful. But there you go, just writing that I remembered! Those little moments of space can make quite a difference. I’ll take what I can get, as long as it doesn’t give me food poisoning again.
Here’s a little poem:
you know what you can do with that breakfast?
you know what you can do with that lunch?
you know what you can do with that dinner?
you can put them all in a bucket, I clearly have no use for them anymore.
just please do it quickly so I can get some sleep.
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