‘Tis the week after Thanksgiving
and all through the house
there’s mess upon mess
and grouse upon grouse.
Things are misplaced
by invisible gnome
who ransacks and tangles
my piecemeal home.
Cleaning up from Thanksgiving
left me plopped in a chair
with a screeching to-do list
mauling the air.
And stir into the pot
of holiday mush
a molar extraction,
hence maniac rush.
Likely I’ll lose
two days, maybe three,
as consequence of
unloved surgery.
We all know the drill:
when days will be lost,
we work them in elsewhere
and some things will get tossed.
Next week is the loss
so this week has been
instead of days seven
a jammed nine or ten.
I’m huffing and puffing,
can’t read and can’t write,
I walked in molasses,
my kitchen’s a fright.
“I need it like a hole in my head” —
my words when I’m fretting.
The irony for Christmas:
that’s just what I’m getting!
Been there, done that, you say? Yep, we all know when we lose days next week we have to work them into this week. But did this cold have to happen? The snow is beautiful, the ice on the side streets, not so much. A sleigh and eight tiny reindeer would come in handy about now.
I’ll be back to blogging as soon as I can be. Meanwhile, dear reader, I wish you a happy St. Nicholas Day, which is tomorrow. Maybe Dan and David will lift an adult beverage to the occasion.
Oddments 