Crehabit’s Weblog

Time is subjective, deceptive

it seems to stretch, then stumble,

twist and tumble

ticking away tasks left undone

taking away moments meant for fun

but there’s time enough

for a mini rhyme

I think, when I get a day off work,

I’ll do this and make that

and see things I don’t have time to see

I’ll pen rhymes and paint pictures …

But it figures that my day off

involves coughing and congestion,

cold sweats and indigestion.

But not all was lost.

A BBC Pride and Prejudice marathon,

chased by a shot of Bride and Prejudice

were duly savored.

I O.D.ed on Bollywood-flavored CVS Tussin

and Jane Austen,

gulped gallons of Airborne.

And it’s back to work in the mornin’

i wanted to take the time

to thank you for this rhyme

yes, it’s all because of you

who pushed me to be true

to my inner artist child

who needs to run wild

and let ideas free flow

around and over the downer NO

I’d like to thank you for urging me to do

and write and craft and create

what’s in my muddled, dreaming state

of mind, the kind of weird

and wondrous, feared

and frivolous stuff that sets me free!

crippity, crip, crap

you crummy corporate king of

quotas and bloody bottom lines

I’m just a figure, not a face.

I’m just a number, not a name.

Downsized and dumbed down

It’s all the same.

Mergers and margins,

the business of bargains

Timesheets tracking

the seconds of my soul

being sold to bang a buck

I just don’t give a —-

Ah, but my bills …

corporate kills

Yes, I am not ashamed to admit

I am a fan of the pants—the “traveling pants.”

Read the whole series in, what, two weeks?

Laughed, cried, and agonized with The Sisterhood.

The sheer number of times I cried …

There was a time I went for years without crying.

Nowadays, kittens make me weepy.

Crying is progress.

The pants are progress.

I also love Fruits Basket.

Me and tons of pubescent girls.

Why? you ask.

Because they serve up raw emotion,

our ugliest fears and tenuous ties

to the idea of love and happiness,

our totally twisted relationships with our parents.

Our very identities hang in the balance

amidst Prince Yuki fan clubs

and soccer camp.

God, I wish I could write like that.

The human heart laid bare.

Storytelling at its most addicting,

entertaining,

silly,

and honest.

Honesty is progress.

This one was written on my morning commute and is inspired by the rhythm of Jenny’s “Hot Mouth Chew”:

here are the things

i gotta do

i have to do

i always do

there are the things

i wanna do

i long to do

i rarely do

where in the world

do i find the time

to do the two

and still sleep too?

mondays are icky,

sticky with sunday’s sweet residue

they kick of the cycle of sleep overdue

mondays are mean

soaked in caffeine

wish it were friday

so i can go play!

baby games

and baby names

baby showers,

parental powers

I’d rather not possess

I must confess

I’m petrified of parenthood

I’m terrified of what I could

and would potentially do

to a child

the idea’s wild

the responsibility

beyond my ability

to even conceive of

Each week it is my mission

to take myself on an “artist date,”

the purpose of which

is to help me create.

Last week: Destination 99-cent Store.

There were sweet snacks and knick-knacks aplenty,

trinkets and treasures galore!

I got a pencil case featuring the fearless spidy,

Marvel valentine grams with lollipops,

mechanical pencils with eraser tops,

and a chocolate orange

to top off my decadent binge.

This week, with my new Kodak as my date,

who knows what wonders await …