Combining my eggs in one post
Some days, I worry about the spammyness.
So my mom has little sense of humor. Not in a bad way. She, like most of my family, loves to laugh, but she sometimes doesn't grasp the funny in front of her. I sent her the link, first posted in annlarimer's journal: http://doihavepigflu.com/. Her response? "Are you sick?" No, Mom, though I have nothing but respect for the fact that parents never stop worrying about their kids no matter how old we get, it's a joke. Click on the link. "I clicked on the link; I get the joke. Are you sick?" No, Mom. I love you, too.
So April has sucked. My work screwed me over. A car accident that was no fault of ours is screwing us over. There is no work and my unemployment benefits are half of what I was earning weekly. But May is a new month. I am determined to shake off this Disappointed-With-Life induced apathy and try something, anything, to remember what it is that makes life worth it for me: Joy, Laughter, Family, Friends, Words, Stories, Kids, Magic, Mystery. In honor of this effort, I present my Poetry Friday offering about one of my favorite subjects:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
So my mom has little sense of humor. Not in a bad way. She, like most of my family, loves to laugh, but she sometimes doesn't grasp the funny in front of her. I sent her the link, first posted in annlarimer's journal: http://doihavepigflu.com/. Her response? "Are you sick?" No, Mom, though I have nothing but respect for the fact that parents never stop worrying about their kids no matter how old we get, it's a joke. Click on the link. "I clicked on the link; I get the joke. Are you sick?" No, Mom. I love you, too.
So April has sucked. My work screwed me over. A car accident that was no fault of ours is screwing us over. There is no work and my unemployment benefits are half of what I was earning weekly. But May is a new month. I am determined to shake off this Disappointed-With-Life induced apathy and try something, anything, to remember what it is that makes life worth it for me: Joy, Laughter, Family, Friends, Words, Stories, Kids, Magic, Mystery. In honor of this effort, I present my Poetry Friday offering about one of my favorite subjects:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.