Mental Health Optional

I am not a poet. (Not since high school, anyway, and everyone was a poet - generally a bad one - then.) But I wrote a haiku last night about being right-handed. My inspiration? Clipping my fingernails:


My poor Right Hand, it
Prettily paints Left Hand's Nails...
Left repays in smears.


...Just thought I'd share.


Woke up this morni afternoon groggy, and having dreamed music again. For the first time, I remembered the tune... but I'd already dreamt that I woke up, and tried to get it all down on paper, garbling it in the process. So while I remember the tune, it's the one that turned out crap. So disappointing.

There was also the dream about a houseful of possessed people, who'd taken my friend, and whom I felt obligated to beat over the heads with sledgehammers - and the dream wherein my high school chorus teacher gave alliath a going-away gift, because apparently we were leaving the choir - but you don't need to hear about those.

Who, me? No. I'm fine. Really.