Song Lyric Sunday has asked us to post songs about fixing and making things. This may be stretching things, but I couldn’t resist posting “Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die” by Country Joe and the Fish.
Here’s a link that shows the lyrics, all except the last two verses, which none of the sites seem to show. I listened and copied them down, but Forgottenman warns against copyright infringement, so here is the link to the partial lyrics:. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1J9ACOKIPH4
Click on photos to enlarge.
I can’t believe that I went back for 5 years in my media file and couldn’t find one predominantly purple photo except for these flowers! I also couldn’t find one thing in my house that was purple, in spite of the fact that I love the color.
I’m deluged by duty and lack an excuse.
A note from my mother won’t stop this abuse.
My boss has turned into that proverbial bully
who insists that I carry my job tasks out fully.
He says sweep the corridor, empty the trash.
It’s a menial method for earning my cash.
Wish I’d paid more attention in school back when
my teachers insisted that I take my pen
and answer those questions in English and math,
and started my life out on some other path.
Now I’m pushing a mop instead of a pen,
thinking too late of what might have been!
Prompts for today are excuse, corridor, proverbial, deluge and duty. Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash, used with permission.
I just dropped my Mac Air and it fell down vertically like a knife edge and sliced open two toes. I was sure they were broken, not to mention my computer, which sat unheeded while I found a napkin to soak up the blood. This is one is a series of freak accidents I’ve suffered in my life. I had been on Skype with Forgottenman and Skyped him on my other computer saying I didn’t know what to do as I couldn’t stand to touch my wounds but couldn’t imagine how it would hurt to pour alcohol on them. He suggested hydrogen peroxide and by then I’d wrapped a napkin around my foot and determined nothing was broken, so I limped to the bathroom only to discover that a bottle of cherry-flavored Robitussin had spilled out over and seeped under 3/4 of my medicine drawer! This, friends, has not been my night. I found the Agua Oxigenada (Spanish for hydrogen peroxide), washed it off, hobbled to the shower and poured it over my toes, then waited for them to dry and administered an antibiotic ointment and bandaids. I’m now at my desk typing on my Mac Air, which seems unaffected by my trauma. I’ll spare you the photos that I took of my bloody and skinned-back toes to wring sympathy out of Forgottenman.
Here, by the way, was Forgottenman’s sensitive response after I sent him the photos of my foot:
Since I couldn’t send you all a May basket on this first day of May, here are some old ones:
Because my startup disc is nearly full, I don’t have access to any new photos, so I’m reposting some flowers from the past until my problem is fixed. These flowers were made from egg cartons, glue and paint and included in May baskets I took to friends that year. I remember I couldn’t resist eating the caramel in this one, so had to go buy another on the way to my friend’s house to deliver it. The first is a basket made of shredded paper and white glue formed over a custard cup and peeled off when dry. The second is cut out of tissue paper–a pattern shown to me by my mother.
Marriage Vows
Sure of their joyful union, they’ll never rue the day
that they exchanged their vows on that blissful day in May,
but read their bitter interviews gathered five years hence,
accusing and denying, angry, bitter, tense.
Those whom God hath brought together let no human flout.
Every couple means their vows when given, there’s no doubt,
but kids and bills and taxes and a pretty new assistant
can create a need to grow increasingly more distant.
Hard to keep compliant to a former vow
when fate intervenes with that ever-changing now.
Prompts for today are union, sure, joyful, may and interview.
Goodbye Note to Harvey
I’m gobsmacked by your foolishness, tired of your guff.
Your tales of glory are too much and this girl’s had enough!
Your mercurial rise to fame, your hobnobbing with stars,
only bought you membership in a club with bars.
Now they are behind you, the power, women, booze.
I trust they’re not available in the cellblock where you snooze.
Prompt words are gobsmacked, mercurial, snooze, membership and guff. Image by Grant Durr on Unsplash, used with permission.
