So, 15 minutes later, shaved and lotioned and moderately more resigned to being awake, I found a scrap of rhyme running through my head.
I so tired
I so weary
Who pick I up and call I dearie?
Who take me from my warm, warm spot
And put me on this cold, cold pot?
My mommy, my mommy, dat’s who!
Somebody, somebody, I froo!
This poem is an old family tradition — I have no idea who wrote it, but I can’t remember not knowing it. At times when I’m too tired to form coherent thoughts of my own, this poem takes over. It’s like my mind’s screensaver. Figures it’d be a potty joke.
Speaking of my mommy, my mommy, dat’s who, she’s on her way to Pennsylvania today for a funeral. My Great-Uncle Harry (Pop-Pop’s brother) died on Sunday, and the funeral is tomorrow. Is it unpatriotic to be relieved that Mom’s driving instead of flying?
I better get to work, and make my being at the office at this crazy early hour slightly more worthwhile. I’ll probably start the day with Spinner.com‘s “Laugh Trax” channel, in the hopes they play some Eddie Izzard, my new favorite comic. He’s the only human I know who can make Agamemnon funny. Highly, highly recommended stuff, if you can find it.