rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Having a Ball

It's more dull than not here. The biggest excitement of the day was being awakened after four hours of sleep by Portia hacking up another hairball. That's getting to be a habit. By the time I got the hairball cleaned up I was too awake to go back to sleep. Several hours later the afternoon heat sent me into a stupor, and then I fell asleep. That's getting to be a habit, too.

I dreamed about the beach. The one good thing about falling asleep in the house in the afternoon and dreaming about the beach, instead of going to the beach and falling asleep in the afternoon on the sand, is that the latter would undoubtedly lead to severe sunburn, while the former leads merely to missing dinner at its proper time. Better a late dinner than a severe sunburn, I always say. Well, no, this is actually the first time I've ever said that, but I'll certainly say it in the future, assuming that there is a future. I could, after all, contract some fatal cat disease from cleaning up hairballs and die before another occasion to say it arrives.

But I definitely intend to have my long-delayed dinner before I die. The cat has probably tossed up her hairball quota for the day, so maybe I can eat in peace.

Sunday Verse

Pretty Halcyon Days

by Ogden Nash

How pleasant to sit on the beach,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun,
With ocean galore within reach,
And nothing at all to be done!
No letters to answer,
No bills to be burned,
No work to be shirked,
No cash to be earned,
It is pleasant to sit on the beach
With nothing at all to be done!
How pleasant to look at the ocean,
Democratic and damp; indiscriminate;
It fills me with noble emotion
To think I am able to swim in it.
To lave in the wave,
Majestic and chilly,
Tomorrow I crave;
But today it is silly.
It is pleasant to look at the ocean;
Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall swim in it.

How pleasant to gaze at the sailors.
As their sailboats they manfully sail
With the vigor of vikings and whalers
In the days of the vikings and whale.
They sport on the brink
Of the shad and the shark;
If it's windy they sink;
If it isn't, they park.
It is pleasant to gaze at the sailors,
To gaze without having to sail.

How pleasant the salt anesthetic
Of the air and the sand and the sun;
Leave the earth to the strong and athletic,
And the sea to adventure upon.
But the sun and the sand
No contractor can copy;
We lie in the land
Of the lotus and poppy;
We vegetate, calm and aesthetic,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun.

Bonus linkage in honor of summer's music: Meet the Beetles.

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