Prompt: Earworm


Once there was a way,
To get back homeward.

Once there was a way
To get back home.

Sleep, pretty darling,
Dot not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise.

Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

My brain is oh-so-literal, judging from the soundtrack it’s put together for insomnia. But the brain forgets that the insomniac will bounce through soothing lyrics in triple time, completely neutralizing their somnolent qualities.

Still, it’s a lovely song, from the Beatles’s Abbey Road album. Lovely, but with something angry bubbling to get out. Perhaps my insomnia soundtrack should be more ragey (let it all out before sleep) or more sweet (no hidden anger).

Or I could take a pill.

Cherish is the Word

Prompt: Cherish

merry christmas rabbit

My Christmas presents this year:

  • “Happy” perfume
  • Terry’s Dark Chocolate Orange
  • Computer headset
  • Poncho
  • Red gloves
  • Tablet stylus
  • Beatles’ Eight Days a Week documentary DVD
  • Sketch-a-Day Journal
  • The Interpreter of Maladies (novel)

What I cherish:

  • My family, friends, and dog
  • Chocolate


Prompt: Teen Age Idol
Who did you idolize as a teenager? Did you go crazy for the Beatles? Ga-ga over Duran Duran? In love with Justin Bieber? Did you think Elvis was the livin’ end?

faint beatles


“Who do you like better, the Beatles or the Stones?” asked someone named Rick.

“The Stones,” I said, like everyone else there, in a sulky, surly gathering of young adolescents, had said before me. At that moment, I betrayed all that I held dear: my past, my future, my integrity, my identity, Paul, and John. Way to go, Stones, and puberty.

My friend Cathy and I were typical fans, cramming all the statistics about them we could into our pre-pubescent brains, and dedicating our hearts and souls to them as only pre-teens can do.

Then that puberty thing hit, where I thought my nose was the size of Ringo’s, and that everyone stared at it and secretly laughed about it behind my back. Cathy liked boys, and I thought they were foreign matter that had evolved from a completely different strain of amoeba. I dreaded them noticing me.

So I said, “The Stones”, and Rick moved on to ask the next person. I breathed a sigh of relief, though I felt that the Beatles could somehow feel my betrayal, over there in Liverpool. But sometimes survival calls for betrayal. I did what I had to do, to avoid Rick noticing my nose.