I don’t see how my glass being half full makes me an optimist

Au contraire, motherfuckers. Top me up!

I thought I could maybe use some roughage in addition to those little fucking midges I keep swallowing entire clouds of, so yesterday I went to Metro and got kale and some other stuff. It’s like jerky that shit and I think it would make a better raincoat than side-dish.

It’s too frilly for me and too green

Which reminds me of one of my fave Shakespeare lines. Can’t remember where it’s from. Don’t feel like googling. Prefer maybeing although spellcheck does not. Goes like this: My Salad Days, when I was green in judgement, cold in blood. Which btw is where vegetarian restaurant Our Salad Days, next to Clutterbucks in my imaginary world, got its name.

I don’t have the patience for poetry much any more. I prefer people just get to the point, you know? I’m glad I read what I read when I read it though because now I can get all the pleasure simply by tweaking a memory or two which sometimes happens by surprise.

I can only handle the kind of poetry that is brief, mostly, and has a punchline

Looks like my fish are finally catching on. Either that or I’m catching off because I think they’re starting to communicate. I am unsure what they are mouthing at me through the glass but it’s something like ohhhhh or maybe even woooow which is most likely in response to my new self-inflicted hair-do which I thought was more of a hair-don’t but I stand corrected.

Or, to be more accurate, I sit corrected or even lay down. And while we’re on the subject, does this couch make me look fat?

How about the leggings? I know they are threadbare but I think that’s a thing. 22-year-old Twin B’s leggings are all swirly with nicely sculpted see-through areas and are very nice indeed. My see-through bits are a lot more, you know, ‘80s grunge which is still in, right? But most of them are on the verge of disintegration and the unthinkable is happening: I am running out of leggings. Not to be confused with running in leggings. Which would be a much better idea and would also probably end this entire conundrum. Nip it in the butt if you catch my draft.

I’ve been eating frozen grapes at night instead of ice cream

And in the same or at least a similar vein, I’ve been buying things on my credit card instead of my debit card. So you see I am not gaining actual weight or spending actual money. Awesome, right?

Maybe this should be a self-help blog after all. You know. Put your fridge down and be like me

All day long I eat healthy af but something happens after dinner and I am consumed with consuming.

Keto all day and Cheeto all night

It’s a problem. I have a problem. They say half the problem is admitting you have a problem but that half was a cinch. Did I do it right?

Anyway, I prefer my grapes liquid

30 seconds ago I was on the phone with my friend Pam who I see maybe a handful of times a decade and love wildly. She makes me laugh and she makes me think. This time she got my head out of the sand at least momentarily when she likened this virus to a bomb and our current situation to the days that spun around WWII. They got through it and they coped at least in part by drinking beer and listing to Vera Lynn.

And that’s why I love Pam and that’s the part I thanked her for and hung up and ran here and started typing

Because I have a pocket which contains Churchill and Vera and my parents and grandparents and Uncle Billy and Keith King and Martin and Susan and enough with the names but the crowd is thick and getting thicker all the time. They drink beer and they sing Vera Lynn songs as a simple way of gathering bits of joy and when I lean into that pocket I get joy, too, but most of the time I forget it’s even there. The pocket I mean. And maybe the joy.

And remembering the things we almost too carefully cherish is like remembering little bits of sublime poetry, only better

Pam and I decided that we will sit in each other’s vicinity soon as we’re allowed. I was going to add Hope she doesn’t mind if I bring my fridge in big orange type but I’ve just had a better idea.

I’m thinking of getting a fridge tattoo. You know. In a heart on my bicep if there’s room

But back to Vera Lynn for a minute and the things that take your breath away which is what happens to me when I listen to Pink Floyd’s Vera which is sung by a nicely unhinged Roger Waters. Please listen. Because I think the question he asks at the end is pretty fucking poignant and maybe what this is all about.