Mean streets

I woke up feeling rundown and mean. Went down for my morning coffee and ginseng ..but that didn’t help. I set up the deck furniture .. cursing at myself for being clumsy. Nothing’s falling into place. I change the newspaper at the bottom of my ‘birdcage’ porch ..cursing at the birds. I tell myself to relax ..otherwise, things seem worse. Doesn't stop me from wanting to scream at Don’s wife tho – tell her to quit turning their side of the creek into an English garden ..because once she got on my case for chopping down a eucalyptus tree. So, I’ve never learned her name ..and, hey ..it’s her property, live and let live, whatever, blah blah. Better to sit here and say nothing if I don’t have anything nice to say. I get the same gut-wrenching reaction to this mornings’ news ..I write the usual unprintable letters to the editor ..then put my legs up on a chair and begin dozing in front of my laptop. My neighbor Don shouts across the creek: “Don’t work so hard Bill ..!” I wake up startled. My initial reaction is to correct the misconception that I'm working hard. Then I realize he's joking ..then I answer back with something like: “Can’t you see the pressure I'm under here ? ”