The weather’s bringing me down today. Side note: I’m also obsessed with this FOB song.
This is usually the moment I tell you to make the most of the rest of your weekend, but that would be hypocritical as I’m currently sitting on a couch in the dark basement of my parents’ house. At least I’m listening to pop punk.
Today is one of the rare afternoons on a weekday that I have nothing to do. It’s in those times that I tend to think too much, thinking about every aspect of my life, and not in a healthy way. I have a habit of looking too closely at the minutes of a day, wondering too much about why I’m doing what I’m doing and making a list of all the things that are missing. I envy the people that live so carefree, loving the moment and embracing alone time with love. I wonder if they’re acting.
Last week was rough. Here’s a hint…don’t catch stomach bugs. Luckily, I like to think of Sundays as the day to start anew. I survived Hell and now is my opportunity to bounce back. Good thing the TV lost its signal, because now I can say I started the new week with a poem.
There’s still time to accomplish something wonderful before Monday rolls around, folks. It’s up to you to figure out what it’s going to be.
I can’t explain why it’s my favorite word. It’s something to do with how romantic it sounds and all the connotations it holds, both good and bad. It’s animalistic and peaceful. It’s simple and loaded with meaning. It’s perfect. Say it and listen to it’s beauty: unfurl. What’s your favorite word?
Today was certainly a Monday. Unfurl a little tonight.
I’ve eaten nothing but cookies for the past five days. That’s what happens when you make them on Christmas Eve and double the recipe because your mom told you to and end up with a full box of leftovers because you made too many cookies. I think I’ll go for a run today.
I wanted to post this poem yesterday. I’d set my intention the night before: I will write a poem on Saturday morning. But somehow I slept in and before I knew it I was out of the house, starting my day, and I’d forgotten about poetry completely. It’s a rare occurrence–me forgetting about poetry–but I’d like to think there’s some meaning behind it.
Philip Dodd was born in 1952, lives in Liverpool, England, has a degree in English literature from Newcastle University, and has been writing songs, stories and poems since he was twelve. He has had poems published in his local newspapers and in The Dawntreader, a quarterly poetry magazine, published by Indigo Dreams Publishing. His book, Angel War, was published in April, 2013, and is available as a paperback and as an E-book. Reviews of it can be read on Amazon and Goodreads.