speaking of that bitch

Got sent home early with half my day's work done. Which, oh, included half a day's work from last week that I couldn't finish cause I didn't have enough damn time.

Instead here let me post up a song I wrote the other day. It's my new happysong.


-----
[that bitch]

who says I never wanna take a chance
who says I never try
who says I never wear my underpants
who says I always lie
and pretend
that I'm somebody
who says I don't deserve the time of day
deserve a piece of pie
who says I don't deserve to run away
with you into the sky
the horizon in front of me

she's jealous I've got
all I desire
that bitch in my mirror's a liar
a liar, a liar

it only takes a little criticism
takes a little poke
she can deflate me with a witticism
make it just a joke
that I just wanna make you come
or maybe something got away from me
it wriggled through the crack
she's acting like she's all afraid for me
I'll never get it back
oh, there's no more
where that came from

she's mad I got up
when she'd thrown me
that bitch in my mirror don't own me
don't own me, don't own me

there's something on the other side of me
it's dancing to get out
she makes an ugly little pile in me
of fear and shame and doubt
shoves it all up against the door
but now it ain't to her I'm listening
I swear I'm gonna learn
love and grace and gifts and giving
ain't no thing you gotta earn
let me learn
what my heart is for

where is truth, where is love
there is power
that bitch in my mirror's a coward
a coward, a coward
-----

On my way back to the apartment from the train I saw five black crows chilling in the unpaved parking lot across the street. Maybe six. I told them hello, I was happy to see them, they were beautiful. Extremely beautiful. As soon as they caught sight of me one flew up to a wire and checked me out, and when I crossed the street onto my block it came over and sat on top of the lamppost I was walking under. I told it thanks for stopping by, that I wished I understood but I didn't understand. As I was heading up to the front steps I told another one, which was looking at me from a lamppost across the street, that if it really wanted to reach me, dreams were the best way because I have a head like a rock. At that the five of them took off and flew into the alleyway that leads behind the building, but a sixth stayed on the lamppost across the street and watched me till Dave came down to let me in the front door.

Things like this no longer weird me out. They seem as natural as people stumbling over their own feet if I look at them suddenly when I'm roiling with tension, or environmental city noises providing appropriate punctuation to important conversations, or warning omens preceding bad luck or the impulse to a stupid decision.

I don't even think of that as what magic is anymore.