Seventeen syllables, No. 67

Morning news flutters
Into my unfurling head:
Black news, radio wings.

The case of the advanced alarm clock

I don't remember whether I've already mentioned this, but I have an alarm clock that sets itself to Daylight Saving Time whenever the time comes for it to do so... in the US Mainland. Living in the Plantation means never having to worry that you have to "spring forward and fall back," but that is precisely the predicament I find myself in.

But it's a testament to how busy I've been (or how much time I've wasted) that I just now realized that I've been getting up an hour earlier than usual. I know this because there's a discrepancy between my alarm clock and a Mickey Mouse mechanical clock somewhere on my wall. And yet I don't save any time at all, I find: usually I fall right back asleep.

At least I only have two more seventeen-syllable entries to go.

Thanks for reading.

Song in my head: Jim Brickman, Michelle Wright, "Your Love".

Seventeen syllables, No. 66

The cloud-wrapped Moon looks
Like the sound my bedroom makes
When I fall asleep.

Seventeen syllables, No. 65

Artificially
Quick winds blow my hair when I
Roll my windows down.

Seventeen syllables, No. 64

Somewhere behind these
Yellowed pages, the almost
Forgotten songs wait.

Seventeen syllables, No. 63

It's just as if the
Skater outside grinds on the
Pavement of my ears.

Noodle soup

I haven't been sick in a long time.

Then again, the last time I said that was much, much less than a year ago. Perhaps the correct thing to say is that I am not likely to remember the last time I was sick. That could be a blessing in itself, couldn't it? ^_^

The semester is winding down. It goes by fast when you aren't minding it... or if you're forever trying to catch up.

Oh, well. That's what next semester is for.

Thanks for reading.

Song in my head: Jordin Sparks, feat. Chris Brown, "No Air".

Seventeen syllables, No. 62

If you were a boat,
I would rather be your sail
Than be your anchor.

The Hexadecimal Half-dozen

This weekend I once again did something that I've never done before. I took some cats to a recent sterilization clinic, where the cats were spayed and neutered.

Since I was a child I have been aware of cats who haunt our house (in the Philippines) near dinnertime, who have heard the sound of metal on ceramic (the stray cat signal for "food"). We have never kept any cats in the house. So when I saw American movies and TV shows where the pets were kept inside the house, it made me think. I was pretty sure that the cats who frequented the back area of our house in the Philippines were my pets, but according to my Western sensibilities (which I back then considered foreign) they weren't. So I reached a tacit compromise: I'd call them my pets, but I refrained from giving them names.

So now we come to last week, where I am standing in the middle of an animal clinic where Guam Animals in Need was holding a sterilization campaign, with six clipboards in hand, and the same number of kittens in a box. All six clipboards are asking for a Pet Name.

The next time I saw them I understood the difference between the cats that hung around our house in the Philippines and these cats.

These cats are my pets.

Sorry for never coming up with names for you all, but hopefully you like the ones I gave you.

Alice, Belle, Calvin, Dale, Eleanor, Felice.

Thanks for reading.

Song in my head: Taylor Swift, "Our Song".

Seventeen syllables, No. 61

Your facemask balloons
As you laugh—I forget the
Metal in my mouth.