Got To Go

It's Sunday and the blues are in my pocket and I haven't seen Owen since last week and I have rehearsal this afternoon so I am going to rocket into town to see that boy. Mr. Moon is going to babysit him this afternoon for a few hours while Lily and Jason are at work and I'm at the Opera House so I have to take this time to go get my fix, my sense of peace, my sugar, my heart, my joy.

I woke up cold, both feet and soul and the chicken water keeps refreezing. Betty and Carol are hanging out together and we ate some of our hen's eggs for breakfast with grits and bagels and let me admit it here- bacon. One piece. I had one piece. I swear. Breakfast warmed me up but not enough. I have to go see my grandson. I had dreams of long-dead friends and that shit freaks me out and so I want (need) to go see my boy who is very much alive and remind him of who I am. The chickens are fine, Mr. Moon is fine, the dogs are fine, I am sure that Owen is fine but I can hold him while his mama does some laundry or whatever it is she needs to do. I am sick of making soup and it isn't helping and I cleaned out the refrigerator and so what? and we took the tree down and put the stockings and Bad Santa away but none of that fed me, not even the bacon, but I know what will.

And after I get his sugar I'll go to Monticello where I'll play with Jack and Jan and Colin and Marcie and Pat, and Kathleen will get to be the boss of us and that, too, will feed me.
Hey! When you're hungry, you have to feed yourself.
And sometimes soup won't do it.

I'm off.

Be good. Feed yourself if you're hungry. That's all I have to say.