Lucy left about a month ago. My cat gone again. I miss her but she has many generations of feral cat in coursing thru her mostly blue point Siamese veins. I believe she is happier living on the wilder side of life. Sounds like a david allen coe song. I miss my dog too, but I know he would rather be hang'n with his dog buddy then being my side kick.
So I go to Sedona today for 3 haircuts ($) always a good thing for my always over budget life. And I will go to my poetry group up there that has morphed into a prose thing. I will see my poetry man. Gez, I am crazy about him but he lives up there and I live here. He so dedicated to his writing, so eccentrically self absorbed.
sounds like a torch song bubbling up like champagne. and if I couldn't sully up to a bottle of Don Perion I could always rely on so dry white. So, metaphorically speaking, I sullied up to a young white Chardonnay the other night. Now I feel like I aways did after a night of white chards of the past, hung over and looking for the morning fix.
and I do believe the end of the infatuation with the poetry man must come to a halt. darn. and much like the cheap metaphor this tacky little dog eared tail this story has become, needs to be reworked. and my phone is ringing, a message is left from a former co-worker(male)(married) wanting to get together and show me his photos of his last trip to Sturgis. Ahh the tale getting more tawdry by the moment.
so here I am, back at the blog, my faithful companion, never lets me down, asks nothing from me, its reciprocal, I love my blog, never runs off, doesn't want to be with some other dog, and is married to ME. Who could ask for more.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
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6 comments:
P.S. I won't be looking at any stupid fucking pictures of Sturgis.
Then things are already looking up. ;)
yes indeed :)
Good for you!
Maybe Lucy Blu will come back - didn't you find her once after she had been gone for a really long time?
Passed thru Sedona last month, struck me as a tourist and retiree town, but of course in and among some amazing countryside.
Sorry to hear about Lucy Blue. You should get another cat! Here's to a few more options besides a remote Poetry Man and a married Sturgis guy with pictures of dudes in black t-shirts flipping the bird to the camera.
Actually, I have a spare cat . . . naw, nobody wants him. He's a bad, bad kitty. We all have our crosses to bear.
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