well now don't you tell me to smile

Sunday.
Honeywell to the rescue.
Even the name sounds succulent.
Honeywell.
While I haven't tasted it
I can tell you this fan
Blows a smooth sound
Sending me air
By far fresher
Than white noise
On recording.
So tonight I envision a good sleep
And I fight off the blues
Trying not to think of sundays as funerals.
I go over the good things to come
The way my mother used to "tell me the days".
Tomorrow at work I will continue writing that chapter
Drink good coffee
From an environmentally friendly thermos mug
My only new year's resolution.
I will go to the gym
Meet with the personal trainer
A short man with no neck.
I know it's in his best interest
To make me feel like a work in progress
So I'm not falling for it this time.
If I work any harder
It'll be because it makes me feel good
And I don't care what he says.
I'm going to eat grapes at night.
Sugar turns to fat while you sleep, my ass.
And even if it does
I don't want to talk about it.
My father is coming to visit and
I'm going to try not to let his
Craziness get to me.
Maybe it's time.
My grandfather came to me
In my dreams last night.
And I can't help but wonder
If it was a sign.
There are interviews
And appointments
And a baby to be born.
Nothing is everything and
I'm trying to hold on to that feeling that
All of the pieces are coming together
Like planets.
Intergalactic
Gravitational pull.
I allow them to circulate loosely
Trusting
Beyond my reach.