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FLOWERS ON THE WALL
June 11, 2009
 
It is as if an agreement had been broken when you catch a bug in the summertime. Such things should be strictly reserved for winter. You try to ignore your sore throat for as long as you can, but soon it's brought all its disgusting friends along to set up housekeeping in your body -- a congested nose and chest, aching sinuses and a lassitude that leaves you with only enough strength to swear under your breath. Nothing more.

Maybe I'll get some writing done. I do have a few things to work on. But no; I seem to used up all my consciousness, along with all the tissue in the house. I can't seem to lift even one thought. Frustrating, yes, but frustration takes energy, and I can't seem to sustain a head of it for very long.

But I can play computer solitaire. It's a great way to avoid writing and a lot of other stuff, too. I have heard that some businesses block the games function on their company computers, but anybody with a smart phone can easily find his way around that. I lie on the bed with my eyes half shut, hearing the satisfying ding when I land something up top with the aces, the efficient shuffle when a new hand is dealt, savoring the thrill -- electric each time -- when I win and all the cards come cascading down in a congratulatory leap over the net to shake my hand. Sweet.

Except for the carpal tunnel, of course, I am better than I was yesterday and can be expected to recover fully by tomorrow sharp. In the meantime, I write a bit, sleep a bit -- and one thing more.


Flowers on the Wall

I keep hearing you're concerned about my happiness.
All that thought you're giving me is conscience, I guess.
If I were walking in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.
While you and your friends are worrying 'bout me, I'm having lots of fun.

Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.
As long as I can dream, it's hard to slow this swinger down.
So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doing fine.
You can always find me here, having quite a time.

Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.

Well, it's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.
Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light.
And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.
So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.

Now, counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.

Don't tell me I've nothing to do.
- Eric Heatherly, 1966
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