Ghost of Babers?

I think I actually wrote a poem last night. Well, maybe not quite a poem. More like just thoughts that kept circling in my brain that I had to get out before it became a song or even something more annoying… like a chant. That hasn’t happened in a while. I used to create poetry when I was younger, but decided after high school that it was no longer cool. (Shut up.)

It all started when I was brushing my teeth and caught a glimpse in the mirror of what I thought was a lump under the covers of my bed. Like someone was in there, the way it looks when Babers is in there, waiting for me to finish my nightly routine. Kind of reminds me of how it feels when you lose a pet. You find yourself looking down before rounding corners or hopping off of beds so as not to step on them. As if they’re still there. Not to compare Jason with a dog, it’s just… similar, in a way.

Sometimes to my own advantage, I like to pretend he’s still there during the week. For instance, when I’ve been a little lazy on picking up after myself, I like to shake my head while picking up the multiple cups I’ve left around the house. “You may have a nice ass and all, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with leaving your cups every where.”

Or, when it’s really cold in the mornings because I’ve set the temp too low, I like to jump out of bed cursing “just because you are hot natured doesn’t mean I have to suffer. Brrr!”

I’m pathetic.

Maybe I’ll post this “poem” later. If I get brave, that is.

P.S. - How cool is that bed? www.slmetalworks.com/beds_a.html