It’s morning 2 of this week’s work marathon. Every day this week, except Sunday, I’ve got to be here 7-5. That’s not bad, but considering the length of my commute added to the fact that it’s my week to feed the horses in the morning, I have to get up at 5:30. On cheerless mornings like today, there are only two ways (that I know of) for a woman to raise her spirits: go back to bed or shave her legs. The first, today, was impossible — not because I was afraid of being late (the cold truth is that I can be ready and out the door in 15 minutes, if motivated) but because a bloody huge white cat had commandeered my pillow the minute I got up to turn off the alarm. Grrr.
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.