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June 22, 2005

The mystery ... the intrigue ... the poop.


With their rigorous sleeping schedule, I'm perplexed how the cats manage to poop all day long, 24 hours a day.

The only possible explanation is that they have divided the workday into shifts. Each cat puts in six hours of pooping, with one hour off for napping. They probably rotate box duty during nap times. I must observe them more carefully to determine who has the graveyard shift, because that particular cat is REALLY NOT KIDDING with the pooping.

This is just the sort of gripping, edge-of-your-seat action happening every day here at Chez Spinster, all conveyed to you in REAL TIME through the magic of the Internets.

Before I run off and start the drankin' and the cake eating ... or, rather, before I run off and go to WORK and do some WORKING on a day I had requested off months and months ago (notice how I slip the bitterness in real quicklike) I wanted to share something. It's kind of a poem, but not really. It's more of a song. That way it's more acceptable to my limited intellectual palate.

Because ya'll don't tell anybody, but ... I sort of hate poetry.

I know you're supposed to respect and also appreciate poetry and feel connected to it on both a soulful and cerebral level. I know this. I do. But I don't like poetry and I can't help it.

This is because I am country.

Country people like to tell stories, and all these stories involve what you wore, what the other party wore, what ya'll ate, who said what to whom, who is related to whom, and also did you have the recipe for that potato salad made by so-and-so, too?

Poetry, on the other hand, never fully addresses these valuable questions. BOOOOOOOO-ring.

In college, I took plenty of literature classes (or litterchure, since I went to school in Tennessee) and can appreciate good Octavio Paz and William Carlos Williams. Yes. But mostly I like funny poems (which I learned in college are called "limericks" and it's not considered educated to like limericks). Also, I love rhyming, and I like really dorky haiku, which does not amuse poetry lovers. They think I'm making fun of poetry. I'm not! Mostly I just want to know what shoes the main character was wearing, dammit.

So no. I don't really appreciate poetry properly.

But songs? LOVE YOU SONGS! And this particular song, the first time I heard it, I knew it was poetry. The good kind. And I put this song on a mixed tape waybackwhen for a certain soon-to-be-ex-husband. I listened to it for years and years, and then... stopped. Just a few weeks ago I heard it again and lo and behold, it had a whole different meaning to me. About living out loud and honest.

At this point in my life by Tracy Chapman

At this point in my life, I've done so many things wrong I don't know if I can do right.
If you put your trust in me, I hope I won't let you down.
If you give me a chance, I'll try.

You see it's been a hard road, the road I'm traveling on, and if I take your hand I might lead you down the path to ruin.
I've had a hard life
I'm just saying so you'll understand that right now,
right now
I'm doing the best I can.

At this point in my life, although I've mostly walked in the shadows,
I'm still searching for light.
Won't you put your faith in me?
We both know that's what matters.
If you give me a chance, I'll try.

You see, I've been climbing stairs,
but mostly stumbling down.
I've been reaching high,
but mostly losing ground.

You see I've conquered hills ... but I still have mountains to climb
And right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can (at this point in my life).

Before we take a step, before we walk down that path, before I make any promises, before you have regrets, before we talk commitment, let me tell you of my past - all I've seen and all I've done, the things I'd like to forget ...

At this point in my life, I'd like to live as if only love mattered, as if redemption was in sight, as if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs, no matter if you find it.

You see when I've touched the sky,
the earth's gravity has pulled me down.
But now I've reconciled that in this world,
birds and angels get the wings to fly.

If you can believe in this heart of mine, if you can give it a try, then I'll reach inside and find and give you all the sweetness that I have.

And because it's my birthday, I had every intention of giving the song to you as a gift (totally illegally of course) for download, but then a wise friend cautioned me that really, with my history, do I need to bring trouble upon myself when I stumble into it so well on my own? Good call, there, Jennifer.

Now, go eat cake! Or go off and work, or poop, or whatever floats your boat on this beautiful sunny Los Angeles day in which we all cross our fingers that nothing near me catches on fire or gets arrested. Heh.

Posted by laurie at June 22, 2005 9:09 AM