We’re Going to Die

Eight days since my last post.

Fever.  Chills.  Taking self far too seriously: delirium.  Supplies low.  Morale slipping. A miracle: my life-saving location device bings.  It’s Daisy.  Wasn’t she going to the mountains?

Daisy: I am going to die.

Jane: Inconvenient.  I need more Kleenex.  Why?

Daisy: Google Donner party

Jane: We are going to die b/c of cold white stuff?

Daisy: We will hv to bake each others limbs.  Oh wait.  No power.

Jane:  That’s ok.  Cut into chunks, put on stick.  Flesh-cicles!

Before she can respond, I add:

Jane: pack Koolaide, sprinkle, instant fruit flavor!

Daisy: only Vodka left.  And, um, EW. You sound better?

Jane: Oh I’m probably still going to die, no ETA anymore

I’ve written reams of stories.  Be grateful none of them were put up here.  You’d be hot-footing it to the mountains with your sticks and paper packets of titanium dioxide-laced artificial flavoring.

Okay, I just caught myself about to post a Jane-A-Phrased poem.

About mud.

Original by Robert Frost, and…not about mud.

I’ll back away from the keyboard…

9 thoughts on “We’re Going to Die

  1. I can go your slice of cake one better: a slice of chocolate cake plus vanilla ice cream plus chocolate sauce, plus naked ladies.

    Check my blog. It will cure what ails ya.

    1. All you wonderful lurkers out there, GO read Aarene’s NaNoWriMo book, it’s fabulous! I’ve ordered my pinata, and fully plan on taking part in the next parade.

  2. I am terribly sorry that you may or may not die, with or without koolaid flavoring, but it would be a huge disservice to humanity if you failed to post the poem.

    Robert Frost, like Williams Carlos Williams, is best read when the poems have actually been written by someone else. Whatever you wrote has to be an improvement on the original.

    Especially if mud is involved.

    1. I aim to please. One serving of Robert Frosted Mud, coming right up.
      I thought I was the only person in the world who was not, um, completely in love with Robert Frost. Not even a teeny little crush.

      Pretty much: you hold him down, I’ll take away his quill and parchment.

      1. Nobody loves Frost. If they did, they would actually read his poems and realize they do not mean what popular opinion thinks they mean. Although… have you ever explicated a Frost poem to someone who thinks they like him? It’s like telling kids there is no Santa Clause. Literary bullying at its best.

        It’s almost as much fun as riffing his work. But what can I say?

        Two poems were assigned in Freshman lit and I, sorry that I could not read them both, and still go partying… I read the one that was more obscure, to impress my prof with my difference.

          1. Of course. I was very vocal during that part of the discussion.

            Which meant that when we got to the road more traveled, I could fall silent and count on not getting called upon. Because I had already participated for the day, right? And someone who had read the obscure poem must have read the well-known poem as well, right?

            I played class discussions like finely-tuned instruments. Better, since I can’t play instruments.

  3. Are you not feeling well? Please don’t die, because I love your posts! I hope someone comes by (with Kleenex) to brighten your day as much as receiving these e-mails does mine. As I say to my dog, “Heal!” ———–Marge

    1. Definitely not dying. As my family would say: “Could you please stop being SUCH a drama queen?”. Let me check. Nope. Not today. Tomorrow isn’t looking good either. I’ll pencil it in as a New Year’s resolution, that should last a week.

      I had an itty bitty little sniffly cold. That I cured with (Daisy, Shaun, Bella, and Alice, please do not read further) a slice of cake. Here, have a slice!

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