Crackpot poetry
As a liberal arts major, I’ve had to read a LOT of poetry. And for the most part, say, like 95% of what I’ve read, poetry is not my favorite thing to read. I’m sure it’s got a lot of hidden value that I’m just not deciphering right, but frankly, I’ll take a Nathaniel Hawthorne snoozefest any day over Sylvia Plath.
That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy composing my own poetry. I mean, if Rosie O’Donnell can do it, I can do it too! Yeah! Maybe! Let’s see!
Bedtime
It’s 7:30
Time for bed
Wait – no.
It’s not time for bed!
It’s time to run around and laugh hysterically!
It’s time to jump on your sister!
It’s time to hide in the bathroom, and THEN jump on your sister!
Brush teeth.
With toothpaste.
Spit toothpaste everywhere. EVERY.WHERE.
Jammies go on, but first we must have Nekkid Running Through The House.
Quiet.
Kids are in bed.
They are not quiet. Oh, no.
Wine is in fridge.
