Chronicle 268 ~Ode To B Yesterday~

I know who The Beetles are, but that was way before my time. Yesterday I was nowhere near. I have had 418 yesterdays without my boy, and I’m looking forward to this 419th one being over. I won’t be anyway near as productive. “Ode To B Yesterday”

Saturday, March 26, 2022

Chronicle 268 ~Ode To B Yesterday~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which should give me plenty to write about. Don’t worry, though. None of it is poetry.

In fact, I was telling Braxton yesterday (via Time Travel) I should publish “Gulp” poetry. Oh, before his book? If I was a better man going on some 419 days, I wouldn’t have to yet. I swear my tears over my son are always better than those for having to wake up in the morning. My piddly ass existence. Already, today will be nowhere as productive. And as for next week… Even today, I can’t pick out any day ending in Y that I look forward to, Lady Lunalesca. But not one of them can be “Another Day,” ever. That wanting, laziness, and indifference led to my son’s death over a year ago. Hell 419 days of not joining him. And I should, Lady Lu.

But I get up, and instead of working in the den. It’s where I planted all my stuff. Even better, yesterday when I made it to the dining room. No, I climb right back into bed, struggling. The thoughts are creeping in that I should stay here today. It’s not like the “Rebeccas” would miss me. My last paycheck means I’ll be eating into my tax refund more. There’s always more soup and pizza rolls. I can scrounge up one more BLT minus the “T,” ha. And as for “Spilling the Tea,” as THEY say, I know this is all my fault. You would think that my hatred for the Day Job. Which led to the indifference which killed B. I’d work harder than ever.

I don’t mean at the Day Job but at doing anything in my power to avoid ever stepping foot inside that place again. All my yesterdays add up to the tomorrow of being in that Hell. Unless I get lucky enough to drop dead. I’ve been speaking of doctors, hmm. How about publishers, like the one I paid years ago to do nothing. Writing failure. Lunalesca, I haven’t sent them the final copy, so again my fault. I’m constantly failing. In truth, it’s a fact I’m not closing. I look at women and every other want, but you know what pains me? Seeing the words I wrote go to waste like yesterday. And no, I’m not like the Beetles. Yesterday, whatever. Ode To B Yesterday.

419 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

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