One of my old journals is falling apart. I’d like to throw the raggedy thing away. There are only a few parts I care to remember, so I’m going to post those and then toss the rest.
I guess late last year I was just starting to get into rhyme mode because I found this limerick.
Have you heard of the cat who was black
Except for the patch on his back?
It was white as the snow
And he hated it so
He hid himself deep in a sack.
And there were lots of silly couplets. I wrote them as a warm-up. I wanted to write a song and I thought it might go easier if I started with a nonthreatening subject like my cat.
He’s a cat from outer space.
Come to tame the human race.
His fur is as black as the sky at night
Except for a heart-shaped patch of white
So cute upon his belly.
His breath is always smelly.
He chews the carpeting down to the tacks.
He’s fond of curtains and eats them as snacks.
I didn’t finish the song. I didn’t even get very far with it. That’s the weakness of journal writing. Journals aren’t intended to be read, so there’s no reason to finish things.