It's not about the house.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Oh, Balls

I so started to write my poem for today.

I was writing, and working, and listening for the knock at the door and handing children candy.

And then I ran out of candy.

And then I ran out for candy.

And then I turned my ankle.

And then I broke.

I couldn't finish the poem, because I hurt too bad. I think I am not actually broken-broken, I think I am just sprained. Or, actually, I think I'm torn. I'll know more tomorrow. I'll let you know.

Oh, except, for those of you who might expect to be let know more personally -- you won't be.

Because, see, I called (or, actually, Johnny called, because I was a bit distraught) Lady #1 to tell her she would not be seeing me at work tomorrow (and she was very understanding, as she always is), but when we dialled the number to call Lady #2, the phone line broke.

I heard her -- I can hear all of you -- but you can't hear me.

And Comcast doesn't give a poop.

They say they can't get here till Friday.

So if anybody out there sees my Lady #2, please tell her that I'm broken. I'd be there if I could.


Yes, I know, I have a cell phone now. I left it at my Dad's last weekend. So?

1 comment:

jen said...

You write so much, its gonna take me eight hours and 472 cigarettes to catch up.
SUCKY ANKLES ANYWAY>||
I MISS YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!