William Had a Headache...and So Do I

I slept very ill--I am tired, and have a bad headache.

What a great holiday.

Actually the headache isn't bad, and I think more tiredness-induced than anything. Celebrations were fun -- they happened in at least two states this year (Indiana and Maryland), which is significant growth from last year. If anyone else celebrated in any other states, I want to know! My goal really is to see this printed on calendars someday.

I was glad to be able to attend, having had to leave work early (thankfully I had gotten all my work done for the day) and go home and sleep off whatever Steak 'N' Shake had done to me. Grim determination also helps, and WHHD is only once a year.

We honored the holiday at the Fiddler's Hearth, kicking off with Sonia's limerick and an original sonnet of mine (printed below), and going on to read the poetry of various other (and better) poets than Wm (one gal, the fabulous Laura, is herself published, and brought her own. I was as green as the beautiful cover on her printed book with awe and envy). MP read "Nutting" with the most delightful innuendos in her tone, much Guinness was had by nearly all, and ridiculous arguments about Wal-Mart notwithstanding (this girl was quite enjoyable till she insulted everyone in the USA who can't afford to shop anywhere but Wal-Mart -- as a proselytizer she's decidedly inept -- and after awhile, tired of the badly formulated arguments and possibly impersonal but still inexcusable rudeness, I forcefully suggested we talk about something else, so we discussed them Cubs and the nature of Frank's Place, a charming dive in my general neighborhood), the holiday was a brilliant success. The Meg Formerly Known as Boss was there, and her friends Jennifer and Matt, and altogether it was roaring good fun. We stayed too late, and I slept too little, but today I'm so full of good poetry and good camaraderie it doesn't particularly matter.

Tonight, though, I'm kicking back. I've been extremely social after eight or nine months of being extremely antisocial (Meg and I agreed that my nine months in PEDS were like a gestation period, and now I'm suffering separation anxiety and she's suffering post-partem depression), and my body is just plumb worn out.

So Happy Wm Had a Headache Day, everyone!


The Lost Poem

Tonight I'm so exhausted I can't write--
With all the watching underneath the trees,
While Dorothy bought our food and shoes, of bees
Whose velvet stroking on the clover white
Inspired such ecstatic contemplation
I nearly lost my great and noble mind--
With wrestling all the thoughts of all mankind
I lost my gift for penmanshipped oration
And asked dear Dorothy if she'd write, for now,
The words that I myself could hardly say
That I would claim as mine the foll'wing day,
And while she did, if she would rub my brow.
But now perhaps my greatest poem is dead,
Because she told me no, and went to bed.