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Mostly Minutiae No. 5

Monday came. And so did our
“weekday” coffee. I was going to
say work week which no longer
applies. To me. I have writing
weeks. And waiting weeks.

I brewed a ten cup pot of our
preferred daily; affectionately
known by us as Maxie Meecie.
By you, Maxwell House. We give
nicknames to everything.

As a matter of fact the coffee was
so outstanding this morning that
I drank my second cup well into
my computer woes for the day.

If WiFi printing is possible in
openSUSE, I couldn’t find it; I
couldn’t find three days of data
either. Not in my repositories.
Said it was. In hyperspace I guess.

Project lists, to-do or in my case
not-to-do lists, journal entries,
and secret stuff gone!

(I think.) It occurred to me after I
panicked electronically that maybe
I really didn’t write it to begin with.

Back to breakfast thoughts from
where I digressed. I’ve had crackers
“x” days in a row. I needed a change.
Then I saw the bagel in the fridge.

I stood there with the door open
thinking about what Natasha said.
[Cool enough to be an undercover
spy for countries I can’t mention
here. She is my new PA.]

My hereditary high cholesterol had
reared its ugly head. “You ‘vill’ take
your Lipitor.” (Accent on the VILL.)
Well, I looked up at her to meet her
stare. I was blinded by her white
teeth grinning at me.

“But, it was a test. I can’t take it.
It put on weight. I’ve never weighed
this much in my life. Just shoot me!”
“You ‘vill’ take your Lipitor!”

“Sweetheart, who are you talking

“No one, my dear. Just talking to
the refrigerator.”

Thoughts of my vixenish PA vanished
as I grabbed a bagel, whipped chive
cream cheese, and closed the door.

I wiped a touch of cream cheese from
the corner of my mouth wondering
how much I’ll weigh six months from
now when I have to see her again.


Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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