Carpal Tunnel Anonymous

Right hand of mine, I am very pissed.

The least you could do is make a fist.

I know you’re swollen and full of pain.

Carpal tunnel is my ugly bane.

My head is full of things to write.

Trapped in my skull all day and night.

Could someone invent cyborg tech, please!

I’d like a new hand to write with ease.

Swollen and tingly, stiff and sore.

My hand has been that and much more.

Oh surgery,ย  I invoke your name, and on the schedule you shall be.

Great solution! Thank you so much for being available to me.

Now excuse me, readers, as I put my hand in the snow

And I’ll pop another ibuprofen before I go.

-Beth โ˜บ

Salem Owns Me

Little kitten on my lap

Purring loudly as you nap

My fingers stroke your glossy back

Soft to the touch, a midnight black.

Whatever hindrance comes my way

So long as on my lap you stay

I shall pet and enjoy the sounds you make.

And here I will remain until you wake.




Give Me Cheeseburgers or Give Me Death!

“What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”

Friedrich Nietzsche, you nailed it. Your immortal words speak through the generations. And now, it is my turn to not only quote them, but feel them.

Mostly in my aching muscles as they punish me for making use of them for the first time in 20 years.

But my entire body is learning to shrink. And pain has been its eager teacher.

Don’t get me wrong, dear reader. I’m still a fat ass. Just a slowly shrinking one. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Please eat a cheeseburger in my name and tell it how sorry I am…so sorry!!!!

Damn it…





Winter might need help.

Well, my readers, looks like Winter got plastered yesterday. So much so that when she woke up this morning, she blocked out all sunlight and violently regurgitated her load all over my town.

We are all stranded in our houses until she recovers. Her ladies-in-waiting, aka meteorologists, predict with rest and lots of toxin-purging, she will get better and we can all return to work tomorrow morning.

Until then, I combat my boredom by deliberately testing my cherub father’s patience and making a fabulous spaghetti dinner. Complete with homemade bread (mercilessly beating dough with my bare fists gives me great satisfaction, oddly enough).

God, I love snow days.


Sappiness equals Happiness

My money’s short, but my happiness is long.

Glad there’s no price for being where I belong.

I eat knoephla with my family, 30 years a member.

Laughter roars all around the table as we all remember

Beth’s incident with the milk jug or Pete’s bout with the snake.

And that great trip to Montana with the crystal-clear lake!

Politics!! The world is going to hell at this rate!

What’s that, my dear sister Sue? You went on a fun date?

What about Grandma Rose’s escape with 10,000 in cash?

I’m glad sunny Great-Grandma Hulda was not as prone to dash!

All that we were and all that we are today.

We’re reminded of over noodles, kraut, and play.

Merry Christmas! ๐Ÿ™‚




The Cold White S**t

Snow is sticking to the windows today. The wind howls as it angrily beats the walls of our house, apparently frustrated that it’s tree-bending strength is no match for the American-designed home.

Meanwhile, I sit in horrid agitation, feeling much like a restless prisoner would in her cell.

But I’m not alone.

The 75,000 residents of my hometown share my woes. My fellows, my brethren, my inmates. Only 5 months until the mountains of cold white shit disappears and we can enjoy the outdoors again. ๐Ÿ™‚



Did I do it right, Shakespeare?

Come forth, forgotten words of old! I summon thee!

Call upon the great odes and bring them back to me!

What is a blank page to a writer, but a vent for all her thoughts?

So, I tell thee, pen in my hand, bow to my overflowing plots!

What ails thou, gray matter in my skull, that makes thee hesitate?

Thou ail me, brains! Rally at once! โ€˜Tis no time to meditate!

Get on with the story! Thou know how it ends! And stories donโ€™t write themselves!

Foul thou are, Blocks of Writers! Thou can go F*** yourselves!