I have unfinished works: Poems and stories. I’d like to say it’s for a valid reason, but to be honest, I’m just lazy. I can’t seem to be bothered to finish writing a story, but I suppose I should keep on trying, and maybe something will stick.

Stick!
Like an insect,
or sticky like sex,
it’s all the same, I expect.

As I write this, I wince in pain. Well, okay, maybe not quite wince, but the pain in my wrists is part of why I’m not writing quite so much as I used to. My bass sits lonely and sad, waiting for me to pick him up and give him a pluck, but so far, I’ve managed to play the first four notes of “For Whom The Bell Tolls” by Metallica, then the pain set in.

Burning and itching,
swelling and clicking,
the pain in the wrist is
first on my list.
First to sort,
then I can cavort.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this musing in the manner I am, but it feels natural, so I’m just going to keep going. The funny thing is, some people try to force something into a shape that they want, but I tend to just write (or create) and let it take on its chosen form. I do that with my jewellery making, too.

Bending wires and words,
twisting them into things of beauty,
sometimes things of torment,
but I try to work with it,
naturally. Never against.

This musing was supposed to have a higher purpose, but it seems like I’m just rambling and banging on about a bunch of crap. Oh, speaking of crap! I’m supposedly being trained on a new process at work. I’ll believe that when I see it. Seriously, people promise that kind of thing, but they never deliver. Ooh, a rhyme, and it isn’t even a poem section! I’ve currently got a magpie pecking at my window.

Musing about work,
then this magpie comes,
he smacks his bill
upon my window,
perhaps he’s having a crisis
of identity?
Thinks he’s The Raven,
well, Mr Magpie,
NEVERMORE!

Or something like that. I might write about something political at some point, but honestly? I can’t be bothered with politics. It’s all the same: War, death, taxes, famine. I just can’t be bothered expending my energies on such trifling manners. Though, ‘trifling’ is rather the wrong word to use. The matters do... Uh... Matter, but I have my own things to worry about, and can’t exactly think too much on whether Israel and Palestine will ever get on together, or if Africans will ever manage to stop starving, or if the guy down the street was beaten up by Jackie’s brother’s best mate’s sister’s cousin from Cambodia, just because he called the guy a name.

Things that matter to me
aren’t ‘important’,
but they are to me.
Importance is relative to the situation,
that’s too long a line,
but I’m not one to whine.
As if I care,
about current issues.
Yes, it makes me look ignorant,
callous, and nasty,
but I like my current level
of insanity.
Thus, I shall carry on regardless.

...And now I have Carry on Regardless by The Beautiful South in my head. It’s not too bad a song, but it’s an annoying one to be in your head, especially when you can only remember that one line. Ain’t it annoying when that happens? You get one line in your head, and you know you know the rest of the song, but can’t place it... Until you hear it, and then you just can’t help singing, or screeching, along to it. Whatever your mimicking style is, you still have fun with it, or you should. Music isn’t purely about sounding good, it’s about having fun. I hate the way that music is still locked away, and only accessible to the super rich. Yes, there are lessons on YouTube and other places around the Internet, and there are always books available, but one-to-one lessons are still really expensive.

Music is an expensive business,
but it should be fun.
Those with private tutelage,
often take it for granted,
that is what makes me rage.
I know someone,
spoilt rotten.
Given the best education affordable,
now she just wastes it.
Given a good life,
and now she doesn’t even taste it.

Speaking of music, I got a new pair of my favourite earphones at some point this week. It’s been a long week, I can hardly remember what happened on which days. Anyway, the last earphones broke when the rain got into them. It was a particularly stormy day, and the wind whipped the earbud out of my ear, then the rain totally humped it. From then on, I was using my Sony ones, but they’re not as good as my Sennheiser ones.

Sennheiser... That’s gonna be a bitch to poemise,
I think this poem has met its demise.
What a surprise.
Fries.

My wrists hurt. That’s another thing that happened this week. I went to the doctor, and she diagnosed me with RSI (Repetitive Strain/Stress Injury). As diagnoses go, it’s not the best, though not the worst. Now that I know what it is, I can manage it more efficiently. Maybe not type so damned much... Ah, but that’s hard! Four hours a night, I have to type. Okay, so I get a fifteen minute break at some juncture, but it’s still a lot of time to be typing.

Four hours slog,
it’s an uphill jog,
Grog, I wish I had it,
then work would be less of a habit.
Or something.

Lemme see, what else did I do? If this reads more like a diary than a musing, I’m sorry. I really am just thinking here, which I suppose is what a musing is. It does say “for the thinkers”, on the description, after all!

Ramble, ramble. Yeah, here’s what I did: Something damned scary! Well, scary and exciting. As of the time of writing this paragraph (29/01/2016), there are 92 days to go, then I get to meet her. Yeah, you guessed it! I booked my flight to go to America and visit Aria. Anyone who’s been following either one of us for a while, will know that we’ve been in a long-distance relationship for almost three years now. It’ll be three years in May, which is when we meet. I don’t sound all that excited about it on this page, but believe me, I’m crapping it, as well as bouncing off walls. It’s a messy time.

Kitty’s doing a flittin’
to be with his Kitten.
Three weeks of dates,
three weeks of love,
three weeks of Kitten!
Can I tell you how much I’m excited?
So much, it can’t be measured,
but man, it’ll be a time to be treasured!

I think that’s about it. I spent forever actually getting this written. My wrists hurt, my brain isn’t really functioning on the higher levels, but hey, what’s life, if your brain doesn’t function? Makes you an Empty Barrel. There are people in work who constantly talk, so I call them the Empty Barrels.

Life without a brain,
well that makes you an Empty Barrel.
So, shut it, you Empty Barrel.
Fucking dolts.

Kittylove
Andrew =^.^=