Sick Day XIX

I’m sick of people who have to tell you about every crumb of food they ate at some restaurant. I’m sick of people who insist on taking fifteen minutes to tell you about a dream they had. I’m sick of people who feel they have to tell you every detail of a movie or a TV show they saw. I’m sick of people who have to not only tell you about their relatives that you have never met and will never meet, but they also have to tell you exactly how they are related to them, like the sister of a cousin’s ex boyfriends father… I’m sick of baby pictures. I don’t care how proud you are to be grand parents; I don’t like babies and I certainly don’t want to see their photograph. I don’t want to be introduced to your pets either.

It’s a wonder I communicate at all. And speaking of communication, it's February and that means it time to stock up on anti-depressants. Yes, Fisher Poets is right around the corner. Do you think we can get the state to dump some lithium in the water supply to stem the tides of expected suicides from all the bad poetry? It's a public safety issue, they should be able to do something. I am coming to town during one day of this event to meet my hero and fellow blogger, Matt Stanberry and his lovely fiancee. Matt, a fly fisherman wants to walk on the wild side for a weekend. I'll assure him that he can return to his graphite Fenwick and never have to think about nets and crab pots again after it's all over.